Read Girl's for Free Online

and a pretty blonde baby with a bottle and a diaper that would then need changing.
    Selecting the book of Mother Goose rhymes, Meg went to the windows. From one, she saw the front of the house, her car still parked where she had left it, a small tool shed tucked between two old maple trees well off to her right. From the other, she glimpsed the wide meadow clearing and partway into the back yard, where a small pond was currently being utilized by two mallard ducks. A step-stone walk trailed from the front porch, past the flowerbeds below her, and wrapped back around the opposite end of the cabin. And on the very corner between her two windows, grew an ancient oak tree, its massive, sprawling branches reaching up and around the house. One branch came so close that, if she crawled onto the windowsill and leaned out only a little, she could probably have climbed onto it. It had been a long time since she'd last climbed a tree. Meg was almost tempted to try.
    Basking in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, she sat on the windowsill and opened her book. Despite all her protests to the opposite, she was just stifling a sleepy yawn when she heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.
    Daddy.
    Meg panicked. She dropped the Mother Goose book and scampered first to the closet to shut the door, then to the dresser to slam closed the drawers. As the footsteps reached the top of the stairs and started towards her door, she flung the toys back into the toy chest.
    He was almost right outside her door.
    The panic intensified. Abandoning the giraffe and Mother Goose where they'd been dropped, Meg scampered back to the crib. The rail bars were only an inch or two apart and too close for her to step between. She hopped, trying to get at least her tummy over the top so she could slide headfirst onto the mattress, but didn't jump high enough and dropped back to the floor. It was too late for a second attempt. Daddy had already reached her door, and he wasted no time in opening it.
    Meg spun around, cringing into the side rail and thrusting back both hands to cover her bottom when he picked up the hairbrush from the dresser. He took one step toward her and Meg burst into tears.
    "No spankin', Daddy, please!" she wailed as he took hold of her arm. But she didn't fight him, allowing herself to be lead back to the chair where he had so gently brushed her hair not fifteen minutes ago. When he sat down, she only cried harder. "I'll be good!"
    "Unfortunately, baby girl, your interpretation of being good and mine don't seem to be matching very well."
    With very little effort, he bent her over one knee, scissoring both her legs between his very strong thighs. He unbuttoned the corners of the drop-flap and, instead of just covering her bottom, Meg grabbed a hold of the cloth to keep it from being taken down.
    "Move your hands."
    She shook her head, crying.
    He moved her hands for her, pinning them effortlessly at the small of her back. And then he took down the drop-seat, baring not only the pale swells of her bottom but the top four inches of her thighs as well.
    "No!" She began to struggle wildly. "Daddy, don't spank! Wait! Please, Daddy! I-I can't do this! David, wait! Please wait!" She sobbed with relief when he stopped, his warm hand coming to rest on the back on one thigh. "Please, please don't spank me with that thing!"
    Very calmly, he said, "We talked about this, Meg. We've talked about this for months. Do you remember, sweetheart, when I asked how you thought an attentive daddy should spank his little girl? You said over the knee because it was so intimate. I asked you with what, and you said his hand, his belt, and a wooden hairbrush. Do you remember why?"
    Meg nodded, still crying but trying hard to pull herself back under control.
    "Because those were the icons of loving, domestic discipline. I know you've never been spanked with either the belt or the brush, and I know you're a little frightened right now, but, beyond a sound