From the kitchen I can hear him grunting as his fists slap against the punch bag. His noises are turning me on, similar as they are to the noises he makes when he’s thrusting inside me. I’m snapped out of my naughty reverie by his growls of frustration. Panting and sweaty he emerges from the garage.
‘Are you ok, Daddy? You look very tired.’ I comment, my brow furrowed as I hand him a towel to mop his sweaty one.
‘I’m out of practice, Little One. I need to spend more time beating the bag instead of… something else.’ He glances at my behind to confirm his meaning.
‘You were going too hard probably,’ I say, as if I know what I’m talking about. ‘Slow it down, give it some gentler, shallow thrusts. I mean punches.’ I glance up and see him smile and chuckle lightly.
‘Careful, Little One.’ He warns. ‘I’m feeling a little bit shaky legged and you don’t help.’
‘Who said I’m trying to help?’
‘You’re being very naughty. Someone is looking for trouble.’ He throws his sodden towel to the side and approaches me slowly.