Beach Daddies: A Sweet and Dirty Texas Love Novella

by Shanna Handel

  He chuckled, heading for the door of our bedroom. “Tell you what. Why don’t you go ahead and order yourself a couple new ones, tonight?”

  I flopped onto the bed, picking up my laptop. “Okay. I’ll see if I can find some more modest bikinis.” My mind was already picturing a cute little fire engine red t-strap backed top with low cut bottoms I had seen earlier in the week but hadn’t ordered due to the fact it was made out of more material than I cared to wear.

  Wes froze in the doorway, his head turning towards me as if in slow motion. “I was talking about tankinis, or one pieces. Not bikinis.”

  “What? We went over this in Mexico—you know I love to get my tan on! How am I going to do that covered from head to toe in spandex?”

  “You are being dramatic, Carrie. I’m just asking you to cover up a little more when we go on a trip with our family,” Wes answered patiently.

  “You’re the one being dramatic. You want me in a burka on the beach!” I threw my hands up in the air, the computer wobbling in my lap.

  Brows raised, storm clouds formed in his grey eyes. “You want to rethink that attitude, young lady?”

  I knew I should rethink it, but I didn’t want to rethink it. So, instead, I said, “I think I should be able to wear anything I want.”

  He took two long strides over to me. “And I say you don’t need to be hanging around Ray and Jake, wearing a bathing suit that looks like something a stripper would wear on stage.”

  “How would you know what a stripper wears on stage? Have you been to a strip club?” I asked.

  “No. Never. And not on topic.” The look returned, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Well, I am not getting a tankini. Those are for moms,” I said.

  “You are a mom,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Not on this trip. I’m just one of the girls. Letting loose and drinking margaritas and tanning topless. The house I got doesn’t even have another house in sight, so it—is—on.” Dismissing him, I went back to my swimsuit search. There was a hot pink, high-waisted bikini on my screen that was screaming my name. There was enough coverage that it should count as a tankini.

  Wes’ stern voice interrupted my search. “I think you and I need to have a little chat about what this trip is all about.”

  Looking up from the screen, I inspected his face. Chiseled jaw was tight. Storm clouds thickening in those gorgeous grey eyes. Perfect teeth hidden behind full lips in a frown. Golden waves of hair slightly mussed from agitatedly running that huge hand through them.

  I gulped. Little chat was code language for one thing. Spanking.

  “I—I err… I like tankinis. I could probably find something online. Why don’t I just look right now?” Staring at the screen of my laptop, I began typing away in the google search bar. Modest tankinis that won’t get you spanked by your demanding Daddy Dom.

  Wes said, “Too late. You want to be sassy? Sassy is a surefire way to get spanked. I’ll be back in this room in ten minutes, and I want you wearing nothing but those black bottoms that you call a swimsuit…”

  Maybe I had read his cues wrong. He wanted some play time with me in my new stripper suit? Ooh goody—sexy time! I fluffed my golden curls, batting my lashes at him.

  He finished his speech, “standing in the corner, hands behind your back.”

  I wanted to protest. I wanted to argue. Instead, I sighed. “Yes, Daddy.”

  “That’s better,” he said.

  The door shut behind him.

  Closing the computer, I hopped down from the bed. First, I took off my top. My nipples tightened as I freed my breasts from my bra. I slid down my jeans and panties—despite my dread of my upcoming punishment, the dampness in the crotch of my panties gave away my conflicting emotion of desire—untangling them from my ankles and tossing them by my shirt on the floor.

  I picked up the slip of black fabric. Now I just had to figure out how to get this thing on. I stepped into the bikini bottoms, pulling them up over my hips. One glance at the full-length mirror in our bedroom and I had to agree with Wes. These were not appropriate for public viewing. The top strands came up over my hips, the high-cut front barely covered my pussy. The other two strands wrapped sexily around my hip bones. Turning, I gasped when I saw the back. The black triangle was almost a thong, rising high up on my hips, showing the full curve of my bottom.

  I put my hands over my bare breasts. Then I took them down. I turned in the mirror, getting a full view of myself. “Damn. I look sexy… Daddy is going to like—” My mirror time was cut short by the sound of boots making their way down the hall to me.

  Hurrying to my naughty corner, I had just enough time to get in place, clasping my hands behind my back just as the doorknob clicked. My nipples constricted, a shiver running through me as I felt Wes’ eyes looking over me.

  “Good girl.”

  A whoosh dampened my bathing suit bottoms, my pussy clenching.

  I heard Wes take a seat in the chair he liked to keep across from my naughty corner—the better to rest in while he admired my ‘cherry red bottom’, as he liked to do after a punishment.

  “Carrie, come here, now.”

  I tiptoed over to him, my breasts and bottom jiggling as I did.

  Wes’ eyes watched me, hungrily.

  “Sit in my lap.” His arms wrapped around me as I slipped onto his lap. Was that a bulge I detected underneath my bottom? The material of his trousers felt rough on the exposed bare skin of my ass. I wrapped my hands around his neck, my breasts pressed against him.

  “You look amazing,” he murmured in my ear. Fingertips trailing down my back, goosebumps covered my skin. His hand wrapped around my hip. His grip tightened, making me gasp as he whispered, “Amazing, but very, very naughty. Someone needs to go over Daddy’s knee and remember who is in charge around here.”

  “It’s just a suit, Daddy.” I pressed my hard nipples into his chest.

  “A suit that made my little girl get too big for her britches,” he said.

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I apologized.

  “And get a sassy tone with me,” he said.

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I said, again.

  “That’s better.” He gave my forehead a kiss. His eyes locked on mine. “I’m going to set some clear boundaries for this trip. We are going to have fun. And yes, there won’t be any kids there. But that doesn’t give you a free pass to go crazy and act like a teenager.”

  “That doesn’t sound like me,” I murmured.

  Wes raised a brow at me. “That very much does sound like you. Which is why I am setting your boundaries for the trip before we go. Right now, in fact. With you over my lap. Getting your cute little bottom spanked.”

  “Daddy,” I protested.

  Wes’ fingertips moved from my hip and slid down the crotch of my suit. The feel of his fingertips over the silky material, barely pressing into my pussy, made me shudder, my hips wiggling in his hardening lap.

  “Somebody’s wet,” he murmured.

  “Err... I, uh…” I stuttered.

  “Be a good girl for your spanking and I’ll take care of this—” I gasped as his finger rubbed at my clit through the suit. “—little pussy afterwards. But first, over my lap for your attitude adjustment,” he growled.

  I crawled down from my seat, kneeling on the floor beside him. I had been sassy but I just wasn’t ready to get spanked. I shot him a long look, hoping he might call the spanking off, rip the suit off and fuck the hell out of me.

  But Daddy always followed through. His jaw clenched impatiently, his finger tapping his lap. Heaving a sigh, I laid myself over his lap. Nervous butterflies filled my tummy as they always did when I submitted myself to my man. My bare breasts and peaked nipples pressed against the side of the chair.

  “So nice. This thing is so small I don’t even have to pull it down.” His fingertip ran from the waist of my suit, down the crack of my ass, over my pussy, tickling my clit. “But I think I will anyway.”

&nbs
p; He tugged the material from my waist, pulling it down just to the tops of my thighs. The suit was so tiny, it had gotten lodged in the crack of my ass. He left it just under the curve of my bottom.

  His hand cupped my right ass cheek, then my left. Having the black spandex constricted around and in my bottom, made the whole experience even naughtier. “Some ground rules, young lady.” His hand brushed my ass, then came down with a hard, slap, right in the center of my cheek. “No drinking more than Daddy says.” Smack, slap, smack! He was focusing on the center of my right ass cheek, his hand coming down in the same spot every time, driving the message home with a fiery sting. Smack, slap, smack!

  I whimpered, wiggling my hips. “Yes, Daddy.”

  His hand cupped my left cheek. “No sassy mouth.” Smack, slap, smack, smack, slap, smack! The punishing spanks all landed in the same spot on the center of my left cheek. I moaned, “Yes, Daddy!” wondering what my ass looked like. I was sure there were huge, matching red handprints, one on each cheek.

  “You’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and do what Daddy says… or else.” Spank! One landed on the right side, then, spank, one on the left. Right on the same spot as before. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out. He repeated the pattern, saying, “Daddy will spank you no matter who’s around. Even if you are on a big girl vacation with your girlfriends. If you act sassy, your friends are going to see you sitting uncomfortably in your chair, sniffling.” My bottom was stinging, my hips wiggling, I was whimpering from the pain.

  “Is all of that clear?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir!” The handprints burned into the center of my cheeks and I shifted my weight on my knees.

  “And you are going to follow my rules?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes, yes. All the rules. I promise!” I cried.

  “Good. Now let’s see if your little pussy got even wetter.” His fingers crept beneath the suit, slipping into my slick folds. “Dripping wet. My girl likes having her ass spanked, doesn’t she?” His fingers teased, circling around my clit.

  “Oh,” I groaned, wiggling my hips into his lap. “Don’t play with me!”

  “How else am I going to make you come?” he asked.

  Uh… hot damn. My eyes squeezed shut tight as his fingertips teased the entrance to my pussy. I gave a loud gasp as they plunged within me. He pressed his two fingers in and out, fucking me from behind. In and out they slid again. My hips were pressed into his thighs and I was whimpering, stars forming behind my eyelids. Then, he went deeper, his fingertips hitting my G-spot.

  My pussy clenched around his fingers as I rubbed my hips furiously against him, my clit getting massaged against his jeans as he continued to finger fuck me. I was going to come.

  “Oh my God.” My entire body tightened, clenching into one stiff muscle. “Oh my God,” I cried as I came.

  I collapsed, limp against his lap.

  He patted my bottom. “There’s my good girl.” He peeled the suit from between my thighs, pulling it down my legs. “Now get yourself over that bed.” I stood up and hopped over to the high bed on my tiptoes, bending over the edge, my ass high in the air.

  I could hear his belt unlatching behind me, his zipper coming down. Then, the fronts of his thighs were pushing against the backs of mine. His cock found my entrance and slid inside me. My fingertips clutched at the comforter on the bed, my face pressing into the material.

  “Oh my God, fuck me, Wes,” I screamed as he teased me, pulling out and in slowly. My pussy was tightening, begging him to go harder, faster.

  “Say please.”

  “Please, dear God, fuck me hard, Wes!”

  The teasing stopped, his cock slamming into me and fucking me hard from behind. I screamed his name as he pumped, hard and fast, just like my body demanded. I rose up on my tiptoes, my mouth now biting the blanket as he slapped my ass, crooning, “Come for me baby. Come for me.”

  The orgasm he’d given me from the finger fucking was just an appetizer. Bursts of white lights shone behind my eyelids as my legs tensed, my sheath constricted around his rock-hard cock, an explosion coming from within me. With one final thrust, Wes came, too. I could feel his load pumping within me.

  I lay limp on the bed, completely spent.

  And that, my friends, is what it’s like to have a Daddy.

  Jessica

  My husband is my Daddy Dom. And, sexy as hell. After becoming a father, Ray started working out. His goal was to get super buff to keep up with the boys, but his new physique had an unexpected bonus. Our sex life went into overdrive. With three growing boys in the house it was getting difficult to find enough privacy to do what we wanted to do. So, my husband turned one of our garage bays into a sex shack.

  Yes… he did.

  Our date nights consisted of kicking our boys out of the house and sending them to ride horses on Wes and Carrie’s Ranch. Then, Ray and I would catch up on our fucking. Right in the comfort of our own backyard.

  We had more toys hanging from the walls than our local sex shop called, Naughty. After a few hours of playing around, orgasms wracking my body, completely spent, and freshly showered, I would sit at the marble island in our massive kitchen. Sipping wine and watching Ray sauté garlic and onions in herb infused oil, cooking me an amazing dinner to replace all the calories I had just worked off.

  Ray is a dominant man. And what he says goes. But he is also very domesticated. Ray never turned his nose at changing diapers and for the first few years, he did all the cooking in our relationship. I tended to ignore vegetables as a food group and Ray does not get down with that, and so, he took over the kitchen.

  Besides the cooking, he also mixed the drinks. He used to own a bar in our tiny town of Poke—creatively named, Ray’s. It was also the only bar in town, but I had some of my best nights drinking and dancing at Ray’s. The schedule of being a bar owner wasn’t quite working for our family, and Ray sold the bar.

  Luckily, he had a brilliant mind for business, and the loss of the bar income didn’t matter. Over the course of a decade, Ray had slowly bought up about half the town of Poke. Now with all his real estate investments, he was a self-made man and working from home—a gorgeous home that he built for us in the rolling hills of Texas.

  Don’t hate me but—yes—my husband is rich, an amazing father, can cook, and spoils me rotten.

  Before marrying Ray and having kids, I also owned my own business—the cutest little hair salon you’ve ever seen. With my glossy magazines, expensive coffee, the latest cuts—including keeping my own white blonde hair looking fabulous—my goal had been to bring a touch of class and elegance into Poke. And I had done that. What did I call my shop? Just as creative as Ray, I named it—Jessica’s. You can tell by the naming of our enterprises, we were meant to be—Jessica’s & Ray’s.

  But that was ages ago. Now we are just a boring, happily married couple with three kids—though there is nothing boring about our sex life. I have grown to love routine. And being dubbed with the title ‘Town Mom’, of our small town of Poke. As most moms in Texas tend to do, I over committed myself to volunteering at the school as ‘class mom’, at baseball and soccer as ‘team mom’, and the list goes on.

  I can’t say, ‘no’. Then I get stressed out. Then I get mouthy. Then I get spanked.

  Which is why this vacation that Carrie was planning could not have come at a better time. I had just wrapped up three, end-of-year school celebrations—one for each of my children’s classes, and still had a teacher appreciation banquet, and a rec league end of year celebration to plan.

  Needless to say, I was completely, totally and utterly burnt out.

  Which is why, when I opened a box of what was supposed to be white, linen table cloths and saw red, instead—I lost my shit.

  “Damnit all to hell, Ray Stevenson. You have got to be kidding me. Are you being serious with this!” I couldn’t believe it. The linen table covers I was pulling from the Amazon box were… red. “This cannot be happening,” I murm
ured to myself, throwing the brightly colored table cloths onto the counter with disgust. “Raaaaaaay!” I hollered. Heat rose in my chest, reaching my face and burning my cheeks. This was just unbelievable.

  Ray strode into the kitchen. I gulped, my hand freezing in mid-air, tablecloth in hand. His jaw was clenched under his short beard, his dark brow raised at me. The way his massive biceps stuck out as he crossed his arms in front of his chest made me second guess the way I had spoken to him.

  “You called?” he asked. His brow rose higher as an intense look of displeasure settled on his face.

  It wasn’t enough to put out the raging fire inside me. He had ordered the wrong damn color, after all. “These,” I said, shaking the cloth in front of him, “were supposed to be white. Red is going to look terrible. Everyone in Poke is going to laugh at me when they show up to a blood-red end of year banquet.

  Ray spoke calmly. “You asked me to order the table cloths. We needed two-day shipping. Only Amazon could get the table cloths here on time. They were out of white, and so, I went with the red. It’s the perfect color for a Parks and Rec sports league dinner. White is stuffy and for grownups. Besides, the red will hide stains better and the town can use them next year.”

  I whined, “But I wanted white… I wanted elegance, class, a feel of—”

  Ray interrupted me, “Let me stop you right there. The color, we can discuss later. The way you addressed me, we will discuss, now.”

  Oops. Suddenly my choice of words in the heat of the moment seemed dangerously inappropriate. I began to back away from my huge husband. “I… uh… erm…”

  “No excuses. Luckily, the boys are down the street. So, I can take care of this attitude right here, right now.”

  My stomach clenched, heat prickling the back of my neck. I continued to edge away from Ray while he approached me like a panther to his prey. His brow wrinkled while he mockingly searched his memory. “Let’s see… what were your exact words? I believe you said, and I quote, Damn it all to hell, Ray Stevenson. Does that sound about right?”

  Oh dear. I tried to explain, “I… uh… I was just stressed out and I thought they were going to be white and now—”