Harsh Daddy

by Megan Michaels

If it hadn’t been for the tray of food, Logan would have grabbed her by the ear, tossing her over his lap just to teach her a lesson in pride. The arrogance was more than he could stand.

  “Yes. You will. You have no choice, and by your reaction, it’ll do you a hell of a lot of good. You need to be on the other end of people giving orders. I bet you spent most of your life scoffing and looking down your nose at cooks, cleaners, and gardeners around your house. But those days are over, my dear, and it looks like they’re over for a while. Your mother has spent all the money, and your father could not care any less than he already does. It is time that the princess sees how the other half of the world lives.”

  She blinked. Her eyes became shiny with unshed tears, and her long neck worked as she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Whispering, she said, “I’m not that way.”

  “Say that again.”

  She pursed her lips, gritting her teeth, and if her eyes were lasers, he’d be dead already.

  With sarcasm and attitude, she said, “I. Am. Not. That. Way.”

  “Really, because I just heard somebody with the most pompous and condescending attitude that I’ve heard in a while go into great detail about why she won’t wear coveralls and deal with diesel and mechanical things.”

  Her eyes darted. She’d been caught. Swiping at a stray tear, she said, “But it’s not because I hate blue-collar workers.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Logan blinked. “Really? Because that’s certainly how it sounded sitting over here.”

  “I don’t like to get my hands dirty, but it’s not because I don’t like people. I’m not that way. I am not. I’m a nice person. I’m not what you think.”

  “Well, princess. I see a beautiful, sweet girl, who can be very kind when she sets her mind to it. But Miss Charlotte Anne Winslow has been trained to be uppity and patronizing. And if I have any say—and I do—I’ll be working those character flaws out of you, or punishing them out of you. Either way, you’ll be a reformed woman when this protection plan is over.”

  “I’m telling you I’m a nice person. I’m not mean-spirited.”

  “Then let me give you your first lesson. A nice person—and I stress the word nice—would have said I don’t like the smell of grease and diesel or getting my hands dirty. Do I have to wear that, or can you order me a new one that doesn’t smell?” He narrowed his gaze, watching her face and reaction before continuing. “Instead, you berated and demeaned my person and a whole stack of people who work in this occupation every day. Do you see how that could be perceived as snobbish, showing disdain to anybody who is a mechanic?”

  She looked at him like the thought had never occurred to her before. Her eyes were wide, and Charlie just sat there silently. He knew she was thinking.

  And finally, with a small, timid voice, she said, “I never... I had no idea how my words affected you... or others. I mean... I guess I did. I’m a reporter. I write. I should know these things but—”

  Logan interrupted, “But you were never trained, and you were never schooled on how to phrase things differently, am I correct?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I prefer Daddy, but I will only force you to call me Daddy during discipline sessions. You can decide to call me Daddy at other times. However, it would make me happy, and I understand that making me happy is not your top priority, but it will be someday.”

  Abruptly changing the subject, Logan clapped his hands together and stood. “As I said, it’s time for you to go take a shower and get dressed in your coveralls. I know you don’t like the smell but, if necessary, and you behave, I’ll give you breaks. You can take it off and sit somewhere outside, breathing some fresh air with supervision. Do you hear me? With me—with supervision. But you will wear a uniform, and you will learn how to do some simple tasks around here. If you’re going to be one of my employees, you’ll end up blowing my cover if you just sit around somewhere in a skirt looking pretty.”

  Charlie sulked with her arms crossed over her chest, and he wondered if she was going to give him some trouble. Instead, she moved the tray aside, stomping out of bed, walking toward his master bathroom, and he noticed her bottom still had some red marks from his belt and faint bruises here and there.

  Stubborn brat.

  Logan would set up as many situations as possible today that would keep her backside out of trouble.

  And just to show some sass and vinegar, she walked into the bathroom and looked over her shoulder at him sitting on the bed, and then she lifted her foot behind, kicking the door shut with a loud bang.

  Damn. It was going to be a long day... or month.

  Chapter Eight

  Fuck him!

  Charlie grimaced toward the dark blue mechanic’s coveralls. She wasn’t going to wear them. That’s it... no arguments. She was an adult woman.

  An educated reporter, who was independent and socially above menial tasks and... uniforms.

  Since she had no other clothes, she would wear what she had on yesterday. Charlie tugged her small skirt up over her backside, hissing when the scrape aggravated all the marks and stripes from her lesson with his belt and hand.

  She adjusted her top and turned, walking down the hall toward the stairs to meet her torturer. He wouldn’t be happy, but she’d explain, and he’d see the light of day.

  Charlotte Anne Winslow was resourceful and ingenious. Logan would have no choice but to cave to her feminine wiles and intelligence.

  Logan Marshall was, after all, an investigator who contracted with the FBI. He was no dummy and was influenced by knowledge and rational discussion. Although he’d acted like a barbarian the night before and dressed like one in this role he’d taken on, he no doubt had a foundation based upon education and status.

  Speaking of which, she’d have to ask him later why and how he became a mechanic. To have this cover, running a garage, he must have a working understanding of vehicles, or he’d be routed out pretty quickly.

  She cautiously opened the door, peeping around it to see where Logan was located.

  His tall, lean muscular frame was leaning against a black Mercedes, his arms crossed and his angular jaw flexing with the gritting of his teeth. “What. Are you. Wearing? Or I should say, not wearing.”

  “Now, before you get yourself all riled up.” She batted her eyelashes at him, giving him her most winning smile. “Hold on, Daddy. You need to relax. Besides, it’s not good for your digestion to get this upset.” She shut the door behind her and sashayed up to him. Might as well flaunt what your mama gave you, as the song said. It certainly could only add to her chances of winning in this awful situation.

  With her hands on her hips, she stopped in front of him, tilting her head up and winking at him. “You see, Mr. Marshall, I’ve been trained and educated to use my mind and writing skills. I can do bookkeeping for you, scheduling, and would be perfect manning your front desk. I’m better suited to jobs such as these, and you’ll find your work much easier when you utilize the giftings of your employees—of which I’ve become, much to my chagrin. But I’ve decided, and I’m sure you’ll agree, that this would work for both of our benefits if we compromise. Capisce?”

  Logan’s dark curls fell attractively on his forehead, one long curl dangling near his piercing green eyes. He shook his head and then pushed off the vehicle slowly; he reached out, tipping her chin up. “You make some excellent points, my dear.”

  She smiled broadly at him.

  I knew I could fucking convince him.

  “Ohhh, little girl. Don’t get too excited. You see, princess, I’m the boss. Not you. I know you’re most comfortable manipulating a situation—or person—but let me assure you, I’m not your father, mother, or any other weakling you’ve encountered before. No. Not at all. You see, Miss Charlie Winslow, you’ve met your match.”

  She swallowed past the lump that had grown exponentially in her throat, blocking her airway—or so it seemed.

  “That’s right.” He dropped his hand from her c
hin, and she missed the comfort of its warmth. “We’re doing this my way. Push your skirt off.” He turned, walking away, the muscled buttocks flexing under his coveralls, and filling them out nicely too.

  He snatched a pile of blue material from his desk and dangled the length from his finger, sauntering back to her. “Put these on. You have a minute, or we’re having a discussion.” He let the garment drift to the floor, the blue heap an insult, and more like waving a red flag in front of a bull than a peace offering. But she supposed he meant to use it as a warning, rather than a reward.

  And just like that, he spun around, walking away. He knew she would comply, obeying his authority.

  Would she?

  Hooking her thumbs into her skirt, she shimmied it off, stepping out of the wadded material and tossing it aside. She glared at the pile. It galled her. The whole concept of giving in and conceding. She’d never been one to wave the white flag of failure and usually was able to connive and talk her way out of loss.

  He seemed immune to her manipulations.

  Why?

  Scowling, she angrily stared at the blue heap.

  A blur to her right was her only warning. Next, she was staring at a huge grease stain on the concrete floor and was assailed with a burning pain that permeated her ass, aggravating the soreness from the night before.

  “Ooooh! Oh, no!”

  “Oh, no is right, bad girl. I warned you.” Logan yanked her panties down, his hand smacking her ass, not leaving any portion ignored.

  Charlotte danced in place, unable to getaway. Logan’s muscled, burly arm pinned her securely against his hip. Twisting, she found herself restrained uncomfortably against his hipbone, screeching and now crying pitifully. Thankfully his paddling of her bare bottom ended quickly, but it certainly didn’t mean that she didn’t feel the heat of a thousand suns on the sensitive flesh.

  Once he released her, Charlie cupped her freshly spanked backside, howling and dancing in place. “Oh, why did y-you do tha-that?”

  He stood with his legs spread wide, his arms crossed over his chest, and quirking an eyebrow, he growled, “You took more than a minute.”

  “Fuck!”

  Nodding, he said, “Next time, you’ll be quicker. Put the damnable overalls on. Now.”

  Scurrying to the pile, she bent over, gasping from the burn of moving so abruptly. She rubbed her scalded ass. Stepping into the coveralls, she quickly zipped the front and wiped her eyes and nose with the too-long sleeves before rolling them up a bit.

  Charlie felt small... and sad. She’d only wanted him to see her as a grown woman, and yet, she knew underneath that she had pushed his buttons to see if he’d spank her again, treating her as one would a rebellious brat, wanting to bring Daddy to the surface and her little side as well.

  She stood in the overly large coveralls, hating every second of it, but instead, she pouted, her lip quivering. How had she been reduced to this... and so quickly too?

  “It’s not that bad, princess. I’m sorry Daddy had to spank you. Any further defiance from you today will have your bottom hole being punished as well. Am I clear?”

  What? Come again?

  Charlie couldn’t even answer. He’d punish her bottom hole? Was that even a thing? Part of her was curious, and the other part wanted to do whatever he asked to avoid whatever the fuck that punishment was.

  “I see the idea of this punishment hit a core in you. Keep it in mind, naughty girl.”

  Fuck!

  The scoundrel winked at her before snapping his fingers. “Come along. We have work to do. I want to show you how to change the oil on a vehicle. It’ll be your new job.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Charlie.”

  “Charlo—”

  “I know, I know. It’s Charlie now.”

  * * *

  Logan finished with his third car of the morning. The garage doors were down, and the closed sign posted. All the drop-offs had occurred, and he’d sent his guys to their hour lunch, and he hoped to do a bit of computer work, contact Mack, and see what his brat was up to at the same time.

  Walking through the garage, not seeing Charlie working on any of the oil change cars, he noted that the vehicles were still outside, and the assignment board showed she’d never done the work he’d given her. The brat had only been left to her own resources for a half-hour, maybe an hour? Christ. As he neared the back of the garage and his desk, she was sitting at his desk... and his computer.

  Maybe it’s nothing... maybe.

  Picking her head up, her eyes widened, and clearing her throat, she quickly slammed the cover down on the laptop. “Hi... uh... Daddy.”

  And there it was, her guilty conscience and startled alarm at his presence. She was up to something.

  “Don’t you Daddy me. What were you doing?”

  She scooted back in his worn, ripped black chair, the wheels squeaking with the sudden movement.

  Snapping his fingers, Logan barked, “Out of my chair.”

  She jumped up, her hands wringing in front of her, and he flopped into it, reopening his laptop.

  Immediately a screen popped up from the internet where she’d been researching the Tomasso family, along with another tab showing direct communication with Vinnie Tomasso, the godfather of the family.

  Keeping his eyes on the laptop, he barked, “I want you naked now.”

  She paused, and he fought the urge to glare at her in warning, wanting her own internal voice—and fear—to spur her forward.

  It worked. Within seconds Charlotte choked on her tears, quietly sobbing, and he heard the clicking of metal teeth disengaging on the long front zipper being undone on her coveralls. The rustle of fabric and brushing of material against her silky skin let him know she was obeying his command.

  She had entered into his secret files... he must have left them open when he shut the laptop this morning.

  Careless fuckery! Goddamn it.

  He could go to prison for the breach of his security clearance. He’d have to notify headquarters and Mack of his infringement of the regulations. Fuck.

  To the right of him, there was silence; her clothes must be completely off.

  He closed out the programs this time, entirely shutting the computer down. He’d have to be more careful.

  “D-Daddy?” Her teary voice was small... and afraid. And it broke his heart.

  He didn’t respond immediately. Instead he stayed focused on the task at hand until the black screen assured him everything was shut down. He slowly closed the cover, and then he leaned back in his chair, rocking a bit, lacing his fingers over his chest, and stared at her with a narrowed gaze.

  Her blue eyes were brimming with tears, and her cheeks showed the tracks of previous teardrops. Her bottom lip was red from her small white teeth worrying them. She appeared to be contrite and repentant; of course, he’d test that to be sure.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you? Or are you sorry you were caught?”

  She shifted, her bare labia moving with the motion, and just a hint of her juices seeping through the slit had his mouth watering.

  “I needed to know. I mean... it is my family.” She looked at him, those blue eyes blinking coquettishly through her lashes.

  “No. Correction. You didn’t need to know; you wanted to know. There’s a difference. If there were a need, I would have told you last night. You chose to disobey.”

  He leaned over, opening the top drawer of his desk. Having been prepared for just a moment like this and not wanting to punish her poor backside any further, he had brought the pink glass plug downstairs, as well as the larger one in the set of anal dilators.

  Holding it up for her to see, he stood. “Bend over the desk.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Bend over.” He rounded the desk in two steps with his long, wide gait.

  “I don’t want—”

  Grasping her upper arm, he said slowly, “I didn’t ask what you wanted.” He slapped her bare bottom
several times, hard and fast. “Bend. Over.”

  She pressed her body onto the top of his desk, her tits shuffling some of his work orders. His cock lurched, and he readjusted himself. Her pink freshly spanked bottom was spread open, her dusky bottom hole peeping from between her cheeks. Pressing the pad of his thumb against it ever so lightly, he waited until she clenched, the wrinkled pucker flexing.

  “Goddamn, your ass calls to me, princess.”

  Throwing her arm up to cover her face, she groaned in embarrassment.

  “You’re dripping as expected; don’t make my papers wet.” Christ. “Yes, indeed.” He slid the cool glass between her labia, scooping the excess juices along the head before poking the tip against the tight ring of muscle. “Push back, girl. Just like you’re going to the bathroom. I want to see that little hole open up. Make it wink for me, sweets.”

  “Oh... Oh, my God.”

  “Oh, my God is right. That’s right. What a sweet thing you are.” He teased her back entrance, poking and pulling the plug. “Tell Daddy what’s happening, Charlie.”

  She keened loudly, but when he slapped her hip crisply, she jumped and quickly shouted, “Daddy’s putting a plug in my... my bottom hole.”

  “And why is this necessary for Daddy’s bad girl?”

  “Ohhhh. I don’t want to say.”

  “Say it regardless!” He slapped her other hip, his fingers leaving bright pink marks on the white flesh on her side.

  “Daddy is putting the p-plug in because... because I disobeyed and was on his computer.”

  Logan thrust the glass to the most bulbous part, holding the uncomfortable wideness still, stretching her little hole impossibly—or so it seemed.

  “Daaaaaddy!”

  “I know. It hurts, right, baby?”

  “Yes.” She clawed her nails into the desk, moving her upper body, but was very mindful to keep her lower half as still as possible.

  He moved it incrementally in.

  “Ahhhhh!”

  And quickly pulled it back out to the most significant girth. “You were supposed to be changing the oil on those two vehicles I assigned to you.”