Girl's

  Daddy's Girl

  Darla Phelps

  (c)2010 by Blushing Books(r) and Darla Phelps

  Copyright (c) 2010 by Blushing Books(r) and Darla Phelps

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books(r),

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  The trademark Blushing Books(r) is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Phelps, Darla

  Daddy's Girl

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-106-7

  Cover Design: ABCD Graphics

  Blushing Publications thanks you whole-heartedly for your purchase with us!

  There are plenty more stories such as the one you've purchased from Blushing Books! Visit our online store to view our might selection!

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  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Chapter One

  Meg rubbed her palms against her jean-clad thighs, staring at the computer monitor. It was a long time before she could bring herself to click on the small printer icon at the top of her screen. To her left, the printer lights blinked, the motor whirred and an instant later the directions for how to get to Daddy's place dropped into an otherwise empty tray. There. She'd done it. Now she was committed.

  She made no move to pick up the directions. Instead, for the eighth time, she re-read his email:

  Drive slowly. Drive safely. Bring only yourself. Daddy will provide all else. Daddy David

  Was she really going to go through with it? At this point, did she even still have the choice of backing out? Reality sank into her, settling hard in the pit of her stomach. She said she'd go. Why was she still thinking about this?

  Abandoning her chair, Meg jumped up and began to pace in front of the computer desk. Her thumb automatically went to her mouth and she hugged her stomach with her free arm. She wanted her comfort blankie, and she wanted Bear. But because she said she'd go, yesterday-per Daddy's instructions-she had packed both into a box and mailed them to him. They were the only two things from her real life that she would be allowed to keep with her during this first meeting. Anything else, he had said, would be a distraction for the little girl that he intended to get to know better. If she wanted them back again, she was going to have to go and get them, which was, in and of itself, no small feat. Six hundred and eighteen miles separated her and the arid deserts of Tonopah, Nevada, where she'd lived nearly all her life, from Daddy's cabin located just outside of Oakridge, Oregon, a small town nestled on the western slopes of the Cascade Mountains.

  It would be an all day drive, and she knew she really needed to get going. Crossing the living room of her apartment to her favorite corner, Meg wedged herself between the entertainment center and Nanna's old rocking chair, a family heirloom and the only thing she had kept after her grandmother passed away three years ago.

  Meg squatted in the corner, her back to the wall. She hugged her knees to her chest and sucked her thumb. She wanted to go. She really did. A big part of her-rather the little girl part of her-desperately did. It had been so long since she'd felt secure and comfortable in a relationship the way she did every time she talked with Daddy. It was her big side, the one with big girl inhibitions and uncertainties that couldn't bring herself to get her car keys and go. What if he didn't like mousy brown hair or hazel eyes? What if he didn't like her? She wasn't thin or svelte or runway-clothes-model beautiful. He'd said he liked her picture, but what if he was just being kind?

  Was it natural to be this nervous, almost panicky, about meeting someone you knew only over the Internet? As this was her first time, she wasn't sure, but maybe it was. She'd been almost this jittery the first time she'd accidentally stumbled across the Age Play forum. Until then she hadn't known grown people besides herself liked this sort of thing, or even that some folks did it for real. In their real lives. Real women with real Daddies, who liked to cuddle and hold, spank and scold, take care of and make safe their very own, very special little girls.

  She had lurked on the outsides of the group, reading others' posts for nearly three weeks, admiring the easy camaraderie with which they bantered back and forth, before finally working up the courage to introduce herself. Of everyone who'd welcomed her, Daddy had been the first to email her privately. She'd kept his email, printed it out, and read it over and over again. That night she'd even taken it to bed with her just so she could read it one more time before turning out the lights. It had said: 'Little Girl, If you think I won't drive sixteen hours to take down those big girl panties you're wearing, put you across my knee, and blister your bare bottom, then you can think again. You never, never post your telephone number on a public website! It took me three minutes to get your full name and address. How many other people have it as well? Do you realize how much danger you may have placed yourself in? I can't imagine your Daddy would allow you to do such a thing!'

  It was two days before she tremblingly responded to his email. 'I don't have a Daddy.'

  His reply came back to her in less than fifteen minutes. It said very simply, 'You need one.'

  And then he'd called her. He hadn't even said hello first. Instead, he'd sent her to stand in the corner. His scolding had lasted ten minutes, but it had reduced her to tears in less than two.

  Then he had comforted her, soothing her distress and putting her to bed at the impossible-to-sleep hour of five-thirty pm. With the power of his tone and words, he had made her feel safe and cared for, something she hadn't felt in three very long years. Not since Nanna had died, and for the first time in her life, Meg found herself utterly alone.

  That first phone call had happened eight months ago; they had been planning this trip for six. It was Daddy's idea to take it slowly, to hold off on meeting until she knew for sure that this lifestyle was what she wanted. But Meg had known from the moment she'd heard his voice on the other end of the phone, more than the little girl lifestyle she dreamed of, she also wanted him.

  But would he want her equally as much? What if she wasn't pretty enough? Or if she was too much trouble? Or those few extra pounds that she carried on her hips were just a few too many? What if...

  Across the room, the phone rang, startling her. She frowned. She wasn't ready yet to come out of the corner, but if it was Daddy and she didn't pick up...Her bottom tingled with dread. That was one scolding she didn't ever want to hear again.

  She reached the phone on the forth ring. Taking her thumb from her mouth, she lifted the receiver to her ear. Very softly, she said, "Hello?"

  "You haven't left yet." He used a calm, unreproachful tone. "Why not?"

  Putting a voice to her fears was incredibly hard. The words clogged her throat, choking her and she couldn't answer him.

  "I can't rock you on my lap, if you're not here."

  She sucked her lip between her teeth, her eyes burning with the tears she had struggled all morning not to cry.

  "Talk to me, Meggie." A touch of steel crept into his tone. "Good girls answer their daddies when spoken to."

  Meg stomped her foot and bounced up and down on her heels, chewing her lip miserably. "I-I can't..."

  "Do I need to come and get you?" He did not sound happy. "I will if you force me. And then you'll spend the next sixteen hours riding in the front of Daddy's pi
ck-up on a very sore, little bottom. Is that what you want?"

  "N-no, Daddy."

  "Then talk to me, baby," he said. "If you've changed your mind, then we'll postpone the visit until you're comfortable enough with me-"

  "I am comfortable with you," Meg protested.

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "What if you don't like me?" There! She'd said it. That dreadful fear was out and couldn't be taken back, no matter how badly she wished she hadn't voiced it.

  The silence on the other end was very brief, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Baby, we've been talking for eight months. I have been your daddy for six. I don't just like my little girl; I love her. I love the big girl package she comes in, despite all that you say is wrong with it."

  Meg bit her lip harder, but she couldn't keep the tears from flowing down her cheeks. She sniffled.

  "Don't you want to come see Daddy?"

  She broke down. "Y-yes!"

  "Then no more dawdling. Get your car keys. Lock your doors and windows. And I want you to call me every hour so I can keep track of where you are, all right?"

  Swiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist, she nodded, then remembered that he couldn't see that over the phone. "'Kay."

  "We may not have met face-to-face, but we do know one another. In fact, I think I know you better than I knew all my other little girls combined. I live for our phone calls, Meggie, and for the sound of your voice. I love you, baby girl. You've been mine far too long for me not to."

  The wistfulness in his voice was calming. She smiled a watery smile, leaning her forehead against the wall as the little girl in her pushed her way to the surface. Meggie said, "I wanna be in your lap. I wanna be holded in your arms."

  "I want that, too. But it's not going to happen until we are actually face-to-face."

  "Daddy?"

  "Yes, baby girl?"

  "I love you, too."

  * * * * *

  That first night, she made it all the way to Klammath Falls before finding a hotel for the night. That left less than three hours of driving to go when she awoke in the morning. She showered, put on the same clothes from the day before, grabbed a bagel from the continental breakfast bar and headed out again.

  It was almost noon before she found the turn off that was Daddy's driveway. Called Potpourri Drive, it was a three-mile stretch of unpaved road, flanked along either side by huge Oregon pines. Just off the main highway, Meg stopped the car and got out. She stretched, arching her back and rolling her head from shoulder to shoulder. Then she bent down to rub her stiff legs. There was a good reason why she'd become a website designer rather than a truck driver. If she had to keep switching gears and pushing gas and brake pedals for many more miles, her legs were going to fall off.

  Oregon was beautiful, the scenery as perfect as a postcard. The trees were tall, bushy and green, and the weather cool but not cold. While summer hadn't yet relinquished its hold on Nevada, in Oregon the fall, it seemed, had already settled in and made itself comfortable. Birds were singing, the slightest of breezes played gently with her hair, pulling and swirling it about her face and shoulders, and somewhere just off the road, Meg could hear the faint gurgling of a free-running stream.

  Only three miles left to go and then there would be eight blissful, wonderful days from out behind the steering wheel of her shiny, little red Acura. And from out behind the steering wheel of her life, for that matter. A touch of yesterday's trepidation re-surfaced, but Meg stubbornly swallowed it. It was six hundred and fifteen miles too late to change her mind, and the realization sent a little thrill of excitement to mingle with the nervousness fluttering in her belly.

  Three more miles to go. Meg climbed back into her car.

  The unpaved road made the going nerve-wrackingly slow and reinforced in her mind just how badly she needed a new suspension. Long, pine branches formed a canopy high overhead, blocking out all but a few determined patches of sunlight that still fought their way through to the road. A tiny brown rabbit scampered from out beneath a wide-leafed fern, ran ahead of her car for several feet, then leapt back off the road and disappeared into the underbrush.

  At exactly two-point-seven miles, the woods gave way to a sunny meadow. A cabin lay at the farthest end, smoke rising enticingly from the chimney. And there, sitting on the front porch swing while he watched the road, was a dark-haired man. It was Daddy. Her daddy. Not on the end of a telephone line or a DSL modem, but in the flesh. Or rather, comfortably dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved, green and black flannel shirt.

  He stood up when her car crept into the clearing, and for a brief instant, Meg almost panicked. As he strolled out of the shadowy porch onto the sun-bathed front steps, he leaned his broad shoulders against a roof post and crossed his ankles. Raising his hand, instead of waving, he beckoned her forward and Meg suddenly realized that, in her panic, she had stopped driving. Her car was just sitting there, idling near the mouth of the woods. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks as she took her foot off the brake and approached the cabin.

  When she drew close enough, he came down the steps to meet her, strolling up to the driver's side door while she parked the car and turned the ignition off. Then she sat there, clutching the steering wheel tightly, unable to make herself move.

  Opening the door, David braced one arm on the roof of the vehicle and leaned into the opening. Amusement danced in his brown eyes as he asked, "Are you going to get out at all? I promise, I won't bite."

  When he held out his hand to help her. The fingers were thick, with neatly trimmed nails; the calloused palm strong and, seemingly, very capable. His hand engulfed her own as she accepted his help. He must work outside a lot, she thought. His skin against her own seemed lightly tanned.

  As she got out of the car, he said, "That's something we're going to have to work on."

  "What?"

  "You weren't wearing your seatbelt."

  Startled, she looked down at the empty driver's seat. "I-I stopped a few miles ago to stretch my legs. I must have forgot to put it back on."

  Still holding her hand, he cupped her chin with his other, tilting up her face to meet her eyes. "Your picture lied. You're even more lovely in person."

  Meg smiled shyly. "You, um-" she cleared her throat, "-you look very nice, too."

  "And you blush easily," he observed. "I like that. Let's go inside. We have some rules to go over so there won't be any misunderstandings while you're here."

  "All right." But when Meg turned towards the house, he stopped her.

  "What are you doing?"

  Confused, she looked at the cabin and then at him. "Um, I'm going inside?"

  "Not like that, you're not."

  "But...you just said-"

  He bent and, before Meg realized what he was doing, he had one arm tight around her waist and her bottom captured in his hand. His fingers prized her legs apart even as he lifted her straight off the ground and tight against his chest. With a startled shriek, she clutched at his shoulders, hugging fiercely to keep from falling.

  "Wrap your legs around my waist," he said.

  "You can't carry me!" she gasped. "I'm too heavy!"

  "Baby," he grinned. "You're not even half a pint."

  "But I'm fat!" she protested.

  He swatted her sharply, then pushed her hand aside when, in her startlement, she tried to rub away the sting. "You're perfect. And if I ever hear you say that again, I'll put you over my knee and give you a proper paddling. Am I clear?"

  Stunned, Meg stammered, "Y-yes, sir."

  "I'm not going to drop you," David said. "Don't worry, just do as I told you. Wrap your legs around my waist."

  More than a little in awe of his strength, Meg obeyed, locking her ankles behind him. His hand on her bottom felt warm, and oh so very right. That spot where he'd struck her right cheek tingled, but even that felt good in a funny sort of way.

  "You're too little a girl to be walking some places by yourself," he said as he carr
ied her to the porch and up the six steps. When he reached the top, he wasn't even breathing hard, and Meg melted a little in his arms. She hugged his thick shoulders, burying her face into the gap between her elbow and his neck. Old Spice. He wore Old Spice aftershave.

  Opening the front door, Daddy David said, "Welcome home, baby."

  And Meg dissolved into tears.

  * * * * *

  Meg sat on the kitchen table, her car keys in her hands, her hands resting lightly in her lap, watching as he moved around the kitchen. The rules, as he had already explained, were very simple. They would talk until she felt comfortable, regardless of whether that took hours or even days. When she was ready, all she had to do was give him her keys. From that moment on, Daddy was in charge. Period.

  "I've had three little girls before you," he was saying. He took a clean cloth from a drawer, wet it with cool water and came back out of the kitchen to the partially separated dining room. "They none of them lasted very long. I wasn't right for number two. Number one wasn't right for me. Number three was killed in a car accident; that was about five years ago." He smiled faintly, though it didn't mask the minute sadness that touched his eyes. Folding the cloth in his hand, he gently washed her face. "I've talked to a few women on various Internet groups, in chatrooms, and such."

  She closed her eyes as the washcloth passed over them, cool and comforting. She wished she hadn't cried so hard. Now they hurt. She sniffled.

  "I've met a couple of them. Either we didn't have enough in common or there was no chemistry. I don't think that's going to be a problem here, though," he said and chuckled, a low rumbling sound from deep inside his chest. "At least not on my end."

  Meg could feel the hot flush of embarrassment stealing up her cheeks as she confessed, "No...um, it's not a problem for me, either."

  "There goes that blush again. How charming." As he finished bathing her face, he bent to drop a chaste kiss on her lips. "It's a privilege that you would allow me to be your first daddy. I'm glad you came."