Georgia's Daddy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

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  Georgia’s Daddy

  By

  Dinah McLeod

  Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Dinah McLeod

  Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Dinah McLeod

  All rights reserved. No part of this 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 Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  McLeod, Dinah

  Georgia’s Daddy

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by 123RF/lilkar, Bigstock/NatalyaAksenova, and The Killion Group

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Prologue

  “What happens to naughty girls?” The demand was soft, but a demand nonetheless and she shivered as his mouth brushed against her ear.

  “They… they get punished, Sir.”

  “That’s right, they do. And how are naughty girls punished?” He reached around and pinched her bottom, hard, making her wince. “Come on, I want to hear you say it.”

  “Th-they get punished…”

  His long, callused finger ran across the place he’d pinched, soothing the hurt. “Yes?”

  “Hard! Naughty girls are punished hard, Sir.”

  “And?” He waited expectantly. He knew that his girl didn’t like answering these questions. He knew they made her stutter and blush, and that was half the fun. Not to mention the fact that with every admittance he wrung from her reluctant lips, his cock became that much harder.

  “On their… on their b-bare bottoms.” When she finished, she began to cry softly and though he normally got absolutely no excitement from her tears, his semi-hard cock began to grow and strain against his jeans.

  He wasn’t a cruel man, not by any means, but knowing that she cried because she anticipated a well-deserved, hard punishment was a bit of a rush. Even better was the knowledge that he got to be the man to give it to her. He eyed the smooth, unblemished skin of her behind. She had the most perfect ass of any woman he’d ever seen. The kind of ass that should be used to model underwear, which he happily would have suggested to her if he’d been of a mind to share her. No—he didn’t want anyone else seeing those perfect swells, the mouth-watering curves. He definitely wasn’t a man who believed in sharing. God had made her ass for two things—for filling out a pair of jeans like no one else could, in a way that made men crane their necks for a second and third look, and for spanking.

  He would have spanked her anytime, anywhere, just because his itchy palm and aching cock often demanded he do so. But his sweet Georgia did him one better—she liked to act out in a way that often merited a bottom-warming deterrent from ill-advised behavior. Now was one of those times.

  While he certainly preferred giving her erotic, love spankings for no other reason than because he liked to make both sets of her cheeks blush, discipline spankings were a necessity at times, too. And as much as he hated to make her cry, he believed that tears were a sign of repentance so every punishment required them. And even though her lip was already quivering and her eyes were shiny, this was just the beginning. They were still in Lecture Mode.

  “And sometimes,” he said, reaching up to stroke her hair. “Sometimes naughty girls are punished another way, too. Can you think of what that is?”

  Georgia whimpered and a lone tear fell from her eye onto her cheek.

  “Come on, honey. I know you know what it is.” He gently stroked her bare shoulder blade, but she still didn’t answer, so when he spoke again his voice was sterner, bordering on severe. She knew he didn’t like to ask twice. “Do I need to remind you?”

  Eyes going wide, she shook her head vigorously, sending her braid lashing back and forth.

  But he’d already made up his mind, and nothing deterred him once he had. Leaving her for a moment he walked over to the stainless steel table where he’d laid out his supplies. He selected a small—though not the smallest—butt plug and a bottle of lubricant. He eyed the bottle, making a mental note that it was getting low. His baby girl seemed to require this particular punishment quite often. And though she protested and fought it, he sometimes wondered if she secretly enjoyed the fact that he made her submit so completely to him—even her tight little hole would succumb to his stern ministrations. And while she whimpered and quivered, already bent over the wooden work table, he knew that she was secretly happy knowing that he would never promise a punishment and not deliver.

  He also knew, even if she never voiced it aloud, that it turned her on. She might not understand it—hell, he wasn’t even sure he did—but whatever the reason, her pussy got more sopping than a wet sponge when it was time to wash the dishes. It would leak out of her, first a slow trickle, then become a gush of warm, slick feminine oil that drove him crazy. If he inhaled deeply enough, he could smell it already and it was all the encouragement he needed to walk back to where she was, bent over with her naked white orbs pushed into the air.

  She heard the heavy trod of his footsteps and turned her head, wide eyes growing wider when she saw the butt plug in his hand. “Oh, no!” she moaned softly.

  “Oh, yes. You knew this was exactly what would happen if you misbehaved and you did it anyway. Didn’t I strap your naughty behind for the same thing on Tuesday?”

  “But—”

  His hand cracked down on one of her creamy cheeks, the sound of the sharp contact echoing throughout the barn. He watched as the imprint of his hand was painted in a rosy hue on her bottom. “No buts. You knew this was coming and you chose to do it anyway. Open up for me.”

  Georgia reached behind her and grabbed a cheek in each hand, pulling them apart for his inspection.

  He didn’t think there a sexier sight in all the world. Then again, he hadn’t known the meaning of the word sexy before he’d met her. Sexy or not, it wouldn’t save her from the punishment she had coming, and she knew it. The little whimpers coming from her as she waited in near-silent trepidation were evidence of the fact.

  Popping the cap open, he liberally coated the plug with lubricant. Then, he set the bottle on the table where she could stare at it, knowing and dreading what came next. He counted to fifty, giving her a few seconds to agonize over the coming punishment. He chuckled to himself. She’d call him a sadist, if she wasn’t so preoccupied with the state of her naked ass. He loved her dearly, and they both knew it. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe, and sometimes that meant protecting her from herself.

  “Here it comes,” he warned her, watching as her fingers clenched at her cheeks. “Relax, baby.”

  And if enjoying her squeal as the plug was inserted into her tight hole and his cock growing uncomfortably tight in his pants made him a sadist, well then, so be it.

  Chapter One

  Sam liked getting up at four in the morning, which was fortunate for him, because running a ranch mandated that such a thing was necessary. He’d been waking up at the same time for so long now that he generally beat his alarm, reaching over to shut it off before it even emitted its familiar, annoying trill of bells. He was the kind of man who liked having a routine. He had it d
own to an art form, and if ever anything threw him off his morning schedule, he tended to become a burly bear of repressed aggression by the end of the day.

  He took a shower, first thing. It was just as important a part of his waking up as his morning cup of coffee, which he drank out of a cup so big that his grandmother often teased that she’d have to buy him a pitcher if he ever wanted anything bigger. More often than not he grabbed two or three of her famous biscuits off the stove—she made them fresh every night so she could say that she fed him without having to get up alongside him to do it—just to put something in his belly.

  Once he’d donned his uniform of jeans, a flannel shirt covering his white tee, and his thick, sturdy cowboy boots, he was ready to greet the day. As much as he had to get done every single day—the list seemed to be never ending and much of it was done without any help—as soon as he hit the door he never failed to pause, savoring the sweet scent of fresh air. He loved how quiet, how very still everything seemed just before the world woke up.

  By the time he saddled his horse and went to see about the chores, the birds would be chirping and the squirrels would be looking for nuts. But for that one short moment on his porch he felt awed by the beauty of the world around him—as though God had made it just for him. It never got old. The minute it did, he’d retire from the hard, back-breaking life of a rancher and finally do something with his business degree, the way his grandma kept gently nudging him to. Until then, he was happy to work with his hands, modifying or repairing the old equipment until he had the time to rebuild. He kept telling him that he’d find the time, one of these days.

  Then there were the cattle to tend to, and sheep to check, and his little side business, of course. On top of everything else he did, Sam also made paddles, which were in surprising demand around these parts. What had begun as a hobby had now become a way to bring in a little much-needed cash. Running a ranch wasn’t cheap.

  He didn’t mind. Though his grandmother would get it in her head to try to persuade him from it every now and again, the pictures she painted of a big city life just didn’t appeal. He liked more than just the quiet—he liked being able to set his own hours, knowing that every dime he saw was a direct result of his hard work. The country life might not be for everyone, but it suited him fine.

  * * *

  It was lunchtime, and Sam had barely dusted his boots off before he heard his grandmother calling to him. She never said hey, or anything like that. That would be too normal. Instead, she started talking as though they’d been in the middle of a conversation.

  “Did you hear that the Millers’ girl is back from school?”

  “No, Gran, I didn’t.”

  “Well, what do you think?” she demanded, piercing him with that eagle-eyed gaze that told him she already had an opinion.

  “Are the Millers excited about it?”

  “Oh, Samuel, you remember that Jeanie Miller died last year. But Mr. Miller is thrilled. She’s his daughter, after all.”

  Sam paused to digest this information. Of course Gran would think he’d remember every birth and death in town, just because she did. “Well then, if he’s happy, I’m happy.”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic, Samuel.” She puckered her lips, using his full name to show her disapproval. “I think you should care about who your neighbors are. Back in my day, everyone knew their neighbors.”

  He squelched a sigh as he approached. This had nothing to do with being neighborly, and they both knew it, whatever she wanted to pretend. “If I happen to see her around, I’ll be sure and introduce myself, Gran.”

  She gave him another skeptical, searching glance. “You will? And you won’t be rude? Girls don’t like that, you know.”

  Biting back a grin, and trying to sound as serious as possible, he said, “I know, Gran.”

  “Are you sure? Because while I didn’t particularly care for that A-maya, or whatever that last girl’s name was—”

  “Talia.”

  “Yes, well, while I wasn’t her biggest fan, even a surly wife is better than no wife at all.”

  Both his eyebrows rose to his hairline. “So, what you’re saying is, if I come across the Millers’ girl I need to go ahead and drop to one knee?”

  “Of course not, Samuel.” She pinched her lips together, but for all her attempt to appear stern he could see the corners of her mouth twitching. “Fine—suit yourself. Keep playing the bachelor. It’s none of my affair.”

  He bent down and dropped a peck on her dry, withered cheek. “Thank you, Gran. Now, what’s for lunch?”

  “Roast beef, with lettuce and tomato. I’ve already fixed you a plate. You have a seat and I’ll get it.”

  “That’d be much appreciated.” As soon as he dropped into the chair across from hers, he realized how tired he was from what had already been a long day.

  “I’m just saying,” she continued as she came around the counter holding a paper plate, “that if you play the bachelor for too long you might find yourself stuck there.”

  This time, he didn’t manage to stop the groan that rose in his throat. “Gran—”

  “All right, I’ll be quiet,” she said as she set the plate down in front of him.

  Ha! Not very likely!

  “I just thought you’d like to know that Carol told me that she saw her after church this past Sunday, and she said the girl is absolutely lovely.”

  “Good for her,” he grunted.

  “Really, Samuel, you could at least try…”

  His patience worn through, he looked up from his sandwich long enough to give her a quelling stare.

  “Fine, fine,” she grumbled, raising her palms in the air. “It’s none of my affair.”

  Not that that ever stopped her, he thought as he took another bite of his sandwich. He’d better manage to bump into the Miller girl, sooner rather than later, if he wanted any peace. It would appease her for a time. Not for long, of course, but he was sure the girl would be moving on to one of the bigger cities soon, so it wouldn’t matter much after that.

  “You know, Samuel, come to think of it, this is the third Sunday in a row you’ve missed. You really should go more often. The pastor was asking after you.”

  With a shake of his head, he chewed in silence. He supposed that listening to his failings to God was preferable to his failings to marry and produce her great-grandchildren. Only mildly so, but enough to make him hold his tongue until it was time to go back to work.

  * * *

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to go looking for the Miller girl after all. She showed up on his doorstep when he’d only been in long enough to chuck his boots. He’d been about to head for the shower, which was why he answered the door in his wife-beater with dirt on his face and sweat in his hair. He’d hoped to make a better first impression—so that his grandmother wouldn’t have a reason to insist on a second meeting—but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  Funny, he hadn’t expected her to be so young. When he’d opened the door to see her standing there, her shiny reddish-brown hair in braids on either side of her head, he immediately did a double-take. Then he noticed the shorts she was wearing and how tiny she was. Had his grandmother said she was back from school? She didn’t look much older than eighteen. Surely, she hadn’t meant high school, had she? God, did she think he was that desperate?

  Of course, knowing her, she probably did.

  “Hi,” she chirped. “I’m Georgia Miller.” She stuck out a hand for him to shake.

  He took it gingerly, hoping she wasn’t the squeamish kind that minded a man with dirty fingernails. He couldn’t help but notice that she had a nice smile. She was practically beaming at him.

  “I know who you are.”

  “You do?” Her smile stretched wider.

  “Yes, my grandmother already warned me you’d moved back in with your dad.”

  Georgia’s eyes widened in a way that was entirely beguiling. Too bad she was too young for him. “Warned you?”
she echoed. “Oh, so he told her I’m a proud, pistol-wielding citizen, did he?”

  “No.” He frowned as he peeked around her, trying to see if he spotted a gun. “You don’t have a pistol on you, do you?” Not that he had a problem with girls carrying guns. So long as they were old enough to have a permit to carry one.

  “No,” she giggled, a trilling laughter that somehow made him smile too. “Can I come in?” Without waiting for an answer either way, she bounded past him.

  If it had been anyone else who had barged in without permission, he would have demanded an apology on the spot, then he probably would have politely but firmly told her to leave. But somehow her exuberant innocence had him charmed. What would it hurt, he reasoned. She was petite, and though she was curvy her frame was still small enough that he would have no trouble handling anything she could dish out.

  “So, you’re going to think this is silly, but would you be a good neighbor and lend me a cup of flour?”

  Sam felt himself smiling back at her. “I always thought it was sugar people borrowed.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll take some of that too, if you have it.”

  When he arched a brow, she laughed unapologetically. “I was supposed to go grocery shopping today.”

  “I see.”

  “My dad thinks I’m cooking dinner tonight, but that’s going to be hard seeing as how we have exactly two things in the fridge. One is milk and the other is lettuce that has seen better days.” She made a face, earning a chuckle from him.

  “You should probably throw that out.”

  “I didn’t know how desperate I’d be,” she explained, batting her dark, long eyelashes that framed luminous green eyes.

  He was instantly attracted to her, and then repelled at himself. She was way too young for him! Eighteen, at best. Gran, as much as he hated to admit it, had been right. It had been much too long since he’d entertained a woman. His body was responding without the proper protocol.