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Bailey’s Little Adventure by Summer Graystone – Sample

Chapter One

I drove home pushing the speed limit, shooting through yellow lights I should have stopped for, totally blowing through the stop sign at the end of my street. All I wanted was to be home, get out of this hateful dress and heels, and forget my day at work. It was stressful, full of arguments and missed deadlines, and the sooner I could get away from it, the better.

I hit the garage door opener, waiting impatiently as the door trundled up. Ian was a fanatic about me putting the car in the garage, and even though I was tempted to leave it in the driveway—leave it on his side of the driveway, no less—I knew that would be pushing the boundaries of our agreement. Outside the house, unless we’d made it clear ahead of time, I was an adult, a twenty-six-year-old grown woman with a job, and all the responsibilities that went with being that grown woman. Even though the garage was, technically, inside the house, I was driving the car, meaning I was the adult. Meaning the car got parked where it belonged. But inside, I was someone totally different.

Inside this house, I was daddy’s little girl. And more than anything, I wanted to be that little girl.

The kitchen was clean, more or less. The breakfast dishes were in the sink, the coffeepot half full of elderly coffee. Dinner was a distant dream, and there was a basket of laundry by the laundry room door. All of that was my responsibility, my afternoon chores.

“Fuck it. I’m not doing any of that crap.” I kicked off my heels, tension starting to leave my body. As I made my way to my room, I shed the rest of my adult outfit, walking into my room in just my bra and panties. They were lime green, trimmed with black lace. Ian had bought them for me last week, a reward for being a good little girl and giving him a blowjob. I loved both giving him head and the underwear. Hopefully I’d have the chance to do something else for him. There was another set of undies at Hot Topic in electric pink that I thought were wicked.

But today, I wanted nothing to do with being good. I wanted to relax, kick back, and chill. I yanked my hair into a ponytail and pulled on my sweatpants, and a worn, too-small football jersey that daddy told me needed to be thrown out. Or given back to the child I’d borrowed it from. Sometimes I thought about getting rid of it, because it bothered daddy. But I thought he secretly liked it, liked the way it stretched tightly across my chest.

I logged on to Facebook and started reading what my friends were up to. There was the usual drama and the drama queens behind it, breakups, cat fights, bitch fights, all of the usual suspects with nothing to do and all the time to do it. I flopped down on my stomach on the bed with the laptop, getting totally caught up with what was going on.

I was in the middle of texting with a friend when the bedroom door flew open. I jumped, rolling over, slamming the laptop shut. Daddy stood in the doorway, and by the look on his face, he was not happy.

“Bailey, there’s no dinner. The laundry is still where you left it this morning. And you’re on Facebook.” He pointed to the laptop. Guiltily I slid the computer under the blanket.

“No. I was… doing homework.”

He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me, Bailey.” He crossed the room. “You know what happens when you don’t do your chores? And you know what happens when you lie about it, don’t you?”

A thrill went through me. I knew exactly what was going to happen. I was going to be punished. I hoped I was going to get a spanking, but there was no guarantee. Not doing chores was pretty serious, but he could just make me do them. It might mean doing them in my underwear, or washing the floor naked while he watched. But that wasn’t the punishment I wanted, or needed.

I nodded. “Yes, daddy.”

“Then stand up.”

I slid off the bed, standing with my head down, hands folded in front of me, like he’d taught me. I could see his shoes as he walked toward me He stopped right in front of me. My breathing was already faster, anticipation building.

“I thought I told you not to wear this anymore.” He plucked at the sleeve of my jersey.

“Yes, daddy. But I like it.” I looked up at him and I caught the look of shock on his face. “It’s comfortable.” I arched my back just a little, the fabric pulling tight. Daddy made a noise I knew meant he liked what he saw. But I was pushing him and I wondered how far I could go before he’d get really angry.

“You’re my little girl, and I expect you to listen to me, Bailey. Is that so hard?”

I rolled my eyes, and that was the final straw.

“That’s it, Bailey. Now you’re going to get a spanking.”

I tried hard not to squee, but I knew he knew how I felt about spankings, and why I wanted them.

He sat on the bed, legs spread a little. It was pretty obvious he was sporting an erection, which meant this was going to be intense for both of us.

“Come here.”

I held back, hesitant, until he held out his hand. I took it, letting him pull me to him. The numbers of my shirt were practically in his face and for a moment that’s all he looked at.


I knew the drill and turned to the side. He ran his hands up my thighs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of my sweats. Slowly he pulled them down until they landed on the floor, his hands resting on my thighs. There was a heartbeat of silence and then he drew in a ragged breath.

“You’re my little girl, Bailey, and when you don’t behave, you need to be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Tell me why you’re being punished.” He slipped his fingers beneath the edge of my panties. They fit me like a second skin and it took a little more work for him to get them down over my curves.

“I didn’t do my chores. I’m wearing the shirt you told me not to wear.” I hesitated. If I didn’t recite every last infraction, there’d be more punishment.

“You were…” He waited, his fingers tensing against my legs, moving higher. “There’s more, Bailey.”

“I rolled my eyes.”

“Yes. And?”

I tuned to look at him. “I don’t know.” Was there something else?

He smacked his hand against my ass and I jumped, letting out a yelp. The sting was intense, mostly because I wasn’t expecting it, but he’d hit me harder than he ever had. He’d never spanked me like this, before I was in position, lying across his lap. Something was really bothering him.

“Bailey, you lied to me. And now you’re lying again.” He smacked me again, the pain radiating across my ass.

“Lied about what?” I turned to look down at him, hands on my hips. “I didn’t lie.”

“You said you were doing homework, and you weren’t, and now you’re lying about lying.” There was another smack, and I rocked forward from the blow. The pain sank into my skin.

“Oh… I’m sorry, daddy. I… it… I didn’t remember.” This had never happened before and I wasn’t sure what he would do.

He was breathing hard, his erection straining against his pants. I knew I was ready for punishment, and what might happen afterward, and it was pretty obvious he was too. But I couldn’t push him, or it wouldn’t be the same.

He caressed my ass, soothing the area he’d smacked. I wanted him to spank me, let me cry, let out all the stress and tension from the day. But this was unexpected, and it was pretty intense. There were too many emotions running through me, and I was confused.

“Fine. It’s time for your punishment then. You know what to do.”

With something like relief, I went through the ritual of moving to the side, kneeling down, and laying myself across his knees. It was always the same, and it set off the same anticipation inside me. And the same sense of safety. This was what I wanted, and this was how it was supposed to be.

When I had settled across his knees, he set one hand on my back, the other on my ass. I wiggled against him, feeling his cock pressing against my side. It seemed impossibly hard and hot, and it excited me to know I could make him feel this way.

The first hit was hard, and I winced at the sting. My skin was already tingling and this smack lit me up in a way I’d never experienced before. It was still confusing, but being spanked like this was familiar and comforting.

The next smack made me cry out, the pain sharp and intense. Then he rubbed his hand over me, caressing me for a moment.

“You know you’re my little girl, Bailey. And you need to be punished when you misbehave, don’t you?” His voice was low, just as soothing as the hand rubbing my ass.

Before I could answer, he spanked me again, and my answer turned into a gasp. As he gently rubbed my skin, I squirmed as the pain subsided from sharp and stinging into something warm and delicious—like caramel topping on ice cream, thick and sweet, running down over the cool treat.

The heat sank through me, like it always did, pooling between my legs. Instantly I was wet and as much as I wanted the spanking to continue, I was ready for what would come next.

But Ian’s hand came down on me again, quickly followed by another slap, and another. My cries went from gasps and moans of pleasure, to tears and cries. This hurt, it stung, and my tender skin felt like it was on fire. I gritted my teeth, hands clenched in fists, enduring each slap.

“Daddy, please.” I turned, looking up into his eyes. Ian blinked down at me, his hand resting on the burning skin of my ass.

“You lied, Bailey. You know the punishment for lying is this, right?”

I nodded. “Yes, daddy.”

His hand moved in a circle over my ass now, and I thought he was done with the punishment. But then I froze. I wasn’t allowed to ask him to stop. Tears sprung up again, and I looked back to his face.

“I’m sorry… I forgot…” I sniffled. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right. It won’t.” His hand came down once more and I burst into tears. “I’m your daddy, Bailey, and I know what’s best for you. I take care of you, don’t I?”

I nodded, sniffling again. “Yes, daddy.”

Beyond the pain, as always, was relief. The tears washed away the adult stress of my day, leaving me clean and free, allowing me space to be the Bailey I wanted to be.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I promise to be a good girl.” I wiggled in his lap, just a little, testing him. Beneath me his thighs tensed, his hips rolling up slightly. It was okay; things would be okay now.

His hand moved lower down, fingers slipping into the cleft of my ass. I wiggled harder, but his fingers stopped. This was what Ian needed: control. Too much independence from me, and he felt lost. I struggled to lie still.

“Good girl.” His voice was a low murmur, and his fingers moved again, sliding further, teasing the edge of my slit. I drew a breath, biting my lip, as one finger slid into me, slowly moving back and forth. God, I wanted to arch my back, rock my hips, push back against him.

But I stayed still, eyes squeezed tightly shut, muscles tensed. Ian was always telling me to be patient, that I couldn’t always have everything the moment I wanted it. And now I wanted Ian, badly. But I’d have to be patient. He was in control and I needed to follow his lead.

“That’s my good girl, just like that.” His fingers moved faster, his hips rising beneath me, breathing short and fast. Just a little longer, and I’d have what I wanted, and what I knew he wanted as well.

But if my mind knew I had to wait, my body had a different idea. I was trying to hold still, but my muscles were trembling, and the harder I tried not to move, the harder it got. And the harder it got, the more excited I became. I was quivering inside, my pussy clenching around Ian’s fingers. I knew he felt this, and hoped he didn’t count this as me moving, because there was no way I could control that.

I was so close to coming, and I tried to hold back. But Ian knew how to finger me, how to drive me crazy. That’s what he was doing to me now, and even without looking at him, I knew he had that half-smile on his face—almost a sneer, but not quite. He enjoyed this, loved the control.

I was just there, right at the edge, my body shaking uncontrollably, and then Ian pulled his hand away from me. I couldn’t help myself; I cried out, pounding my hand on the floor, my body thrumming with arousal, but unable to come.

“You thought you were off the hook, didn’t you, Bailey?” His voice told me he wasn’t quite smiling. “You’ve been a very bad girl tonight. I think I might just send you to bed.”

I didn’t think he’d do that, but I wasn’t sure. Ian was full of surprises, most of them wonderful. But sometimes he exerted control in perverse ways. Sending me to bed alone was one of them. I wanted to protest, but I held my tongue.

“But I think that would be cruel. Besides…” He stood up and I slid to the floor, landing on my hands and knees. I looked up at Ian, towering over me. From here his erection pushed out the front of his pants, and I practically came looking at him. He moved behind me and I waited, panting, knowing what was coming next. I heard his zipper, and the harsh sound of his breathing behind me.

Time stood still as I waited. I pictured him standing behind me, looking down at my ass, his cock rising up from the apex of his thighs, waiting for whatever he needed to make it perfect for both of us.

There was a thud as he dropped to his knees behind me, his hands grabbing my hips, and then he was there, his cock sliding into me. I came almost instantly, crying out, back arched, mouth open. It went on and on, my body contorting, shaking, the world going black for a minute.

Everything after that was quick, brutal, and everything I wanted—everything I needed. Ian thrust hard and fast, pushing me forward and I struggled not to pitch face first onto the carpet. I pushed back up, bucking against Ian, my body on overdrive, the orgasm I’d had never really ending, peaking over and over.

Ian’s fingers dug into me and I heard him make the noises I knew meant he was close, really close. I wanted to feel him come, to hear that growling noise he made. And I wanted what came after sex.

He was bottoming out now, his balls slapping my ass. I braced myself, focused now on him, holding steady as he pummeled into me. Then I heard it, that low sound that started deep in his chest, kept building, his thrusts faster.

The growl reached a peak as he buried himself in me, and I felt every pulse as he came, every spurt of hot come filling me. Amazingly I came again, weakly, my body shaking against Ian’s hips as he continued pumping into me.

We both collapsed at the same time, Ian falling beside me, pulling me against him, arms around me. It was dusk outside and we lay in the dark, breathing hard, hot and slick with our lovemaking.

Much later, we decided to go to bed. My ass stung from the spanking, but I bore the pain like a badge of pride. I’d connected with Ian just the way I’d wanted to, needed to. I’d purged the crappy ass day I’d had, and I was pretty sure Ian had done the same thing. It’s what worked for us, pretty much every time.

We decided to sleep in the master bedroom that night, not my room down the hall. It was my cue that I could be the adult Bailey, and we could talk about our day, about our lives, about us, as adults.

“Do you want some wine or something? I’m going to get a drink.” Ian stood in the bedroom doorway, gray cotton sweats hanging off his narrow hips. I loved him best at the end of the day, like this, relaxed and happy.

“Um… just a bear, please.”

He smiled and disappeared. It was a kind of a joke between us. After we were first married, I’d bought a set of ‘50s children’s drinking glasses with animals on them. I fell in love with the bear glass, and because the glass was small—a child’s glass—I’d started asking for it when I wanted just a little something to drink.

I lay back against the pillows, absently clicking through the TV. There really was nothing to watch, but I didn’t want to be alone, and until Ian came back, I could pretend there people here with me.

Ian came back, handing me my glass. I clicked off the TV, tossing the remote onto the bedside table. I saw he had Scotch, and I was pretty sure that wasn’t his first glass. Sadness washed through me. When Ian had a bad day, I felt it keenly, in my bones.

“You want to talk about it?” I took a sip of wine, the crispness bright on my tongue. “Or should I go first?”

“You first.” He took a long swallow of his drink, then turned on his side, resting his head on one hand, the drink cradled in the other against his stomach. I always worried he’d spill it, but that hadn’t happened yet.

“Marcus had one of his ‘talks’ with me today.” Marcus is my manager, but he’s also a control freak, an egomaniac, and a really nasty man.

“Did his talk involve you sitting and him standing?” Ian took a sip of his drink, the ice clinking in the glass.

“Yeah, it did. If I’d have known I’d have worn a turtleneck.” Marcus had a habit of hovering over me during his little pep talks, or while I was working, and looking down my blouse. I wasn’t given to wearing really revealing stuff, but he always made me feel exposed and extremely uncomfortable.

“What was the talk about?”

“Same old crap. I need to raise my productivity, but not sacrifice quality. I need to be responsive to my clients, but not spend too much time chit-chatting with them. And I need to be on time more.”

“Is that all?” Ian laughed, finishing his drink. He rolled over, set his glass on the bedside table, and rolled back to me. He set his hand on my thigh, just above my knee, fingers gently caressing my skin. I loved his touch, no matter how he touched me. I felt connected and grounded, and loved.

“He’s probably got a really tiny penis.”

I snorted wine as I laughed. Ian could always make me laugh.

“So, what happened in your day?”

Ian was a lawyer in a pretty prestigious firm downtown and was on the fast track to make partner. The pressure was immense, and it made Marcus and being late seem trivial by comparison.

“Same as most days, Delaney is riding my ass. Not billing enough hours, not being… what did Marcus tell you? Not being responsive to my clients. Delaney wants me to give him a minute-by-minute breakdown of what I’m doing, without cutting into billable hours.” Delaney was Ian’s boss, a managing partner, and supposed mentor. He sounded more like a tyrant to me.

My job as a graphic designer was fast-paced, but I didn’t have to assign every minute of every working hour to a client. For that I was profoundly grateful.

“You could ask to move into Delaney’s office. He’s got enough room in that suite of his.”

Ian nodded, a faint smile on his face. “His secretary’s office is bigger than mine.”

“You can’t move into her office.” I finished my wine, putting the glass aside. I slid down next to Ian, tracing a finger across his chest. “I don’t want to think of you sitting in the same space with Cassie. She’s too cute.”

“You sound jealous.” He looked down at me, his eyes heavy-lidded, one eyebrow cocked in that sexy way I loved. “You’re my girl, Bailey. You know that.”

“And you’re my guy. I love you, Ian.”

He leaned down, kissing me softly. In this space, this room, I was Bailey, Ian’s wife, and we were equal partners.

“I love you too, Bailey. Very much.”

His next kiss was less gentle, more assertive, his lips moving over mine, parting them with his tongue. I responded, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His chest rested against my breasts, the heat and hardness of him weighty, solid, comforting. He was my rock, my anchor.

He moved a hand down to my waist, fingers working beneath the edge of my t-shirt, slowly exploring my waist, up my body, flirting with the underside of one breast. I arched my back slightly, pushing against his hand. I felt his smile against my mouth and he moved his hand just enough to cup my breast. He squeezed gently, his thumb flicking across my nipple. I gasped against his mouth.

I loved having him touch my breasts, play with my nipples. Ian was happy to oblige and he broke the kiss, giving me a hazy, sexy smile.

He slipped down in the bed, tugging the edge of my t-shirt up my stomach. I wrapped my fingers through his thick hair, waiting for his touch.

He kissed my stomach, his tongue flicking around the edge of my belly button. I giggled, squirming beneath his touch. He raised his head, looking up at me.

“North or south?”

Another inside joke. I laughed. “You’re the navigator, you pick the direction. I’m happy wherever you go.”

Ian winked, then lowered his head, his lips brushing against my stomach, moving lower. A frisson of excitement shot through me, and I shifted restlessly, moving my legs apart in anticipation.

He slid his fingers beneath the edge of my panties, and I lifted my hips just enough for him to slide them down over my hips. Then he pulled them over my legs, down my calves, and off over my feet.

Slowly he moved down to the foot of the bed, lifting one leg, cradling my calf in one hand. He gracefully ducked beneath my leg, coming up between my feet, smiling up at me. This was his method, slow and languid, taking his time. He’d told me so many times he loved every inch of me, loved how I tasted, how I felt, both beneath his hands and beneath his lips.

He kissed the arch of my foot, his lips and tongue caressing my skin. Sometimes his touches tickled, and I spent minutes giggling beneath his hands. But tonight, after what we’d experienced earlier, I wasn’t giggly. I was calm, open, and getting very aroused.

Every kiss, every touch left a trail of fire on my skin. Ian moved from my foot to my ankle, his hand rising to beneath my knee. His fingers caressed me, his lips moving over my skin.

In the same slow motion Ian had used, I pulled up my t-shirt, running my hands over my stomach, then higher, cupping my breasts.

Ian watched me, moving further up my leg, past my knee, to the inside of my thigh. I arched my back, squeezing my breasts, caressing myself, pinching my hardening nipples.

Arousal exploded low in my stomach and I exhaled sharply, my legs twitching apart. Ian lifted his head from his path, gaze focused on my hands, on what I was doing to myself. I arched further, rolling my nipples between my fingers, meeting Ian’s eyes. He liked to watch me touch myself, play with myself, and it was one of our favorite adult pleasures.

Ian stretched out between my legs, pushing them further part. I let him, willingly, aching for his touch. He teased a finger over my swollen folds, moving it over me, touching me everywhere except where I wanted. But he knew my limits, knew how much teasing I could take before I started begging. Tonight I didn’t want to beg, and Ian sensed that.

He slipped a finger into me, and I rolled my hips to meet his first thrusts. Before long he had two fingers pushed into me, sliding them slowly in and out. His thumb brushed against my clit, and I gave a soft cry, hips rising to meet him.

Then his hand went away and I was left waiting, eyes closed, still fondling my breasts. I felt his breath before I felt his kiss, his tongue following the same path his fingers had taken. He licked and sucked, kissed and tasted me, fanning the fire he’d lit. Before long I was moaning, arching and shifting beneath his hands, his mouth.

Ian had always had a miraculous ability to read my movements, to understand my inarticulate noises, and to follow my desires without me having to explain. I wanted him inside me, I wanted his hard cock, filling me the way nothing else could.

He lifted his head, meeting my eyes, and wordlessly climbed up over me. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his sweatpants and now he lay between my legs, his hard cock pushing against my inner thigh. He shifted again, and then he was where I wanted him.

I reached for him and he lowered himself onto me. Arms around his neck, I pulled him down to me, kissing him greedily. I felt his smile; I’d told him I liked how I tasted, and he’d said he did too. We shared the kiss, shared that intimate and erotic taste, somehow more heady than any wine.

But my body demanded more, and Ian’s did as well. He pushed my legs with his hard thighs and I rolled my hips up, drawing my legs up his hips, locking my ankles at the small of his back.

He pushed forward, his cock sliding into me, slowly, achingly slowly, fitting perfectly. I exhaled, hips rising to meet his first delicious thrust.

But we’d gone past slow and Ian began the familiar dance between us, pulling back, thrusting hard, repeat, thrusts getting harder, deeper. My gasps and soft exhalations grew louder, harder, moans and cries intertwining.

Ian moaned deeply, adding music to this dance between us. Hearing him excited me more, sending me higher, and Ian responded to that, his breathing becoming faster, a light sheen of sweat on his chest and back.

I was ready, my body on the edge, Ian right there with me. He lifted his head, eyes locked with mine as his thrusts reached a fever pitch. I held his face between my hands, watching him as he watched me.

His final thrusts were short and sharp, each driving home that he was reaching his climax. And when he came, I did too, joining him with cries and caresses, hips meeting his, him grinding down on me, me forcing myself up against him.

Ian’s orgasm filled me with a heat like no other, and then I was filled with my own special release, my body taking on a life of its own, the heat inside me transmuted into something else, something dark and primal, animalistic and overwhelming.

I threw my arms wide, fingers grabbing the sheets, arching up hard in one last crescendo of orgasmic release. Then I went limp, my body falling away from Ian, falling away from consciousness.

Ian was lying on his side beside me, his hand on my stomach when I came back to the world. “Hey there. Welcome back.” He leaned over and kissed me. “You were gone again.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I wish I could go with you.” He pulled the blankets over us, trying in vain to untangle them. We wrestled with them for a minute, then finally got them straight. Ian turned out the light and I snuggled into his warmth. We were quiet and I was on the edge of sleep when Ian’s deep voice brought me back to the surface.

“Thank you, Bailey.”

“For what?”

“For being who you are, now… and before. For marrying me.” He hugged me, patting my ass. “For everything.”

I reached up and kissed him. “I love you, Ian. And thank you for being you.”

Ian was asleep in a few minutes, but I lay in the dark, wondering about this man I married, a man who loved me for being me, for being someone who was a part-time little, an adult woman who played at being a teenager. A man who could deal with all of my eccentricities, and still love me.

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