So, like many late-twenty-somethings in this economy, I find myself living with a roommate, and there are times when I legitimately loathe the man. We are actually fairly close friends, and we have a lot in common, as well as a lot of shared experience. We live in the same shitty apartment, we worked the same shitty job for years, which is how we met, and since we requested going on opposite shifts to get some time away from one another, our relationship has improved significantly. I don't truly hate the guy, but I don't spend more time than I have to with him. Fortunately, he seems to feel the same way, so we mostly just shoot the shit about wrestling, watch the pay-per-views together, and retreat to our respective rooms to get the fuck away from one another.

He's not such a bad guy in small doses, and there aren't many people who understand my love for the WWE like Paul does. He actually worked the indy circuit for a while, so we can connect on that level at least. He's still a paranoid motherfucker about money, but I pay well in advance, and we no longer split any bills except rent, electricity and internet. I may order out or he may order out, we may both even order out on the same night, but we no longer order out together. I have accepted that he will never do the dishes, he has accepted that I will never allow his drunken, virus-downloading, morbidly obese ass on my expensive office chair so he can destroy my operating system by visiting sketchy porn sites, or allow him to bum off my weed. If he wants to hit from my bowl, he needs to pitch in for the cost. On the flip side, I have accepted that I can only smoke up in my room since his daughter is over pretty much all the time. Her mother fucked off shortly after Kelly turned two. Last I'd heard, she'd gotten picked up for solicitation along with various drug charges. She wasn't up for parole for another seven years yet.

Paul was oddly clever for one so clearly controlled so exclusively by his hindbrain, but he had to take his time chewing each thought over before it was ready to be shared the way he meant it. He never forgot a thing, and he would hold on to thoughts to worry at them for hours, days, or even weeks. A grudge, he usually nursed no less than a week, and every time we argued I could count on Paul to bring up all sorts of old shit, but his ability to focus on a thought and fully break it down was impressive, and he would remember fun conversations too. He had great taste in movies, old blues and jazz and funk, and he could throw together a shockingly tasty meal with just about anything we had lying around the house. When he was sober, he could hold his own on topics close to his heart, and he made some connections that truly impressed me. Every now and then, often days or sometimes weeks after a conversation, he'd say something truly profound. He could also be really funny. Paul usually got two brilliant jokes in a month, I'm talking about laughing hard enough to make my vision narrow, and for most of my brain to simply reboot. He can speak in depth about the wrestling... sorry, sports entertainment industry and probably knows the business side of things better than me, given his personal experience in the industry.

He was also a narcissistic slob who almost never cleaned up after himself, never took care of his shit, broke my shit on the regular, and would throw tantrums like a baby if he didn't get his way. We'd never actually started swinging at one another, but we'd had fights where we were literally screaming in one another's faces. He was an asshole, but I was stuck with him, and we'd learned to live together mostly by avoiding one another as much as possible.

Kelly, his daughter, was a hyperactive, noisy, rebellious, spoiled little brat. I'm an unrepentant pedo, and she had gotten the good-looks genes from her mother, dirty blonde hair, smooth tan skin, and skinny as a rail with a little bubble butt from running everywhere, all the time. The effect was ruined by her personality though. Her father let her generally run wild unless I actively asked him to step in. He'd spank her every time I did, so I tried not to tell on her unless I absolutely had to, but she could be a right cunt at times.

I caught her one time just punching my dog in the face, repeatedly, and not little play punches. Brock, my stoic pit, never retaliated, never so much as knocked the girl down, he just backed as far into the corner as she could while the little girl punched and slapped at his face. I only caught her because I heard the slaps and came to investigate. Her daddy tanned her hide good for that when I told him what happened, so hard I could hear the smacks and the screams through the door, and idly wondered if he'd skinned down her shorts, or maybe even her panties beforehand. The girl and my dog generally gave each other a wide berth for a while.

That happened a little after her eighth birthday (I'd even given her my old collection of eyewitness and other nature books and visual encyclopedias I'd loved when I was her age as a present, and considered taking them back after that bullshit) and for almost three months after that I barely said anything to her unless I absolutely had to. After barely a week, I think she would have gladly taken another ass whooping, harder than the first time, if it meant I would just talk to her again.

I'd always talked with her before, even though she generally annoyed the fuck out of me. I'd watch when she did cartwheels, and somersaults and offered my honest appraisal, praising her if she did well, telling her what needed work, and how to improve if she messed up. I didn't sugarcoat things for her. I talked to her at her level, not like a grown up exactly, but not the stupid way adults tend to talk to kids, as if they don't remember being a kid themselves. she wasn't stupid, and she was ADD as all hell, so she couldn't really relate to her dad all that much, even in the rare instances where he was both around and sober... which wasn't often.

Kelly, who'd inherited smarts from both sides of the family, but had also inherited their demons, had so much she wanted to share with her daddy, but couldn't because in the rare moments when he wasn't slobbering, slovenly drunk, he was usually processing some thought or another, and if he ever did get down to it in time to talk to her about it, she'd long since moved on.

He would regularly leave her with me for hours while he "Went to pick up cigarettes," and would leave at the drop of the hat if thought he might get some pussy. Sometimes he struck out and came back swiftly, but most nights he talked them into letting him stay the night. He was actually a rather charismatic motherfucker when he turned on the charm, and he had a nose for the desperate ones.

He never asked me to babysit, just like he never asked me to buy new dishwasher soap, or aluminium foil, or bathroom tissue, but he always used what I bought out of sheer presumption, and he presumed on my time the same way. I never made an issue of it, because if I asked him to stop, I knew he'd work himself up for an argument in a day or two using whatever the most convenient excuse he could grasp on to, and generally make life miserable for everybody for a few weeks. I was a homebody anyway. I'm a big guy, decent looking, and only a little overweight since I'd started riding my bike everywhere and working out again last year, but I've never enjoyed going out much. I'm not exclusively pedo, but I'm not enough interested in the kinds of women who might be interested in me, with my shitty little paycheck funding my quiet little nerdy life. I might be enough interested in their daughters, but see what I said earlier about shitting where you eat... and sleep. I had resigned myself to living a life by proxy, immersing myself in the squared circle, Netflix binges and translated loli comics. I didn't make a big deal about watching the little shit, it provided enough of an excuse and disguise that I didn't have to go out and pick up the occasional drunk chick in a noisy bar, just for appearances sake. It wasn't the life I'd dreamed of, but it sure beat prison.

We'd first connected over one of the cartoons she'd been watching. When she was in hyper-mode, I'd just retreat to my room to smoke up and play league. I wasn't even very good, but it was the most mindless way I had to pass the time. However, one time, when she'd calmed down a bit, I came out and watched some cartoons with her, mostly because I thought she looked lonely.

I hadn't actually sat and paid attention to cartoons in a while, and they've gotten truly, exceptionally good. The current crop of shows have smart writing, complex themes, and take truly daring risks, and slip in impressively thought-out politically incorrect stances on serious issues in a way that feels just like goofy fun. It's like cartoon network remembered where its balls were, and started giving the kids some truly good programming again.

So she'd taken to telling me whatever thought was in her head, and while I didn't tell her everything she did was awesome like her Father and Mother did, I was usually the only other person in the apartment, so she wasn't exactly spoiled for choice. Paul stayed with her while I was working, but he was almost perpetually drunk at home. While I did regularly smoke up, i was always still together enough to give her a speedy, honest response and good advice, sometimes even coaching.

Kelly was annoying, but not stupid, and she generally knew how to take care of herself. That made my job fairly simple. Her dad had started her on wrestling from infancy, so we watched that together. She was a John Cena mark, but I didn't hold that against her. The guy was good, just boringly predictable. We talked about video gammes, movies, friends (she didn't have many), school, teachers, chores, boys (she was curious, but not boy-crazy, and they were one interest among many), and all the thousand and one questions per day children have as they explore the world around them, expanding their sphere of understanding. The tough questions, I told her first to ask her dad or grandparents before I'd give her my take. The sex questions, I told her to ask her father and left it at that.

That was how things had been before I'd caught her red-handed abusing my dog. I was done with her after that and would walk away or put in my headphones when she started to speak. I was so angry, at her, at her dad, at myself for not doing what I knew I needed to do to get out of this shit job, this shit apartment, and this shit life. I ignored the girl, walking straight past her when she tried to ask me something, or show me a trick she'd learned. I watched wrestling alone in my room, Kelly was no longer welcome.

It's not my proudest moment, but I was sick of parenting Paul's kid for him, sick of cleaning up after all his messes. She was his problem now, I'd washed my hands of her.

Her grades began to plummet almost immediately. I didn't care. Fucking bitch had hurt my dog just for shits and giggles. It was pointless to try and salvage anything Paul had spawned. I just needed to focus on what I needed to do to get out of this situation, this job, this apartment, this life. I was going to the gym at least five nights a week now, more often six or seven, riding my bike there and back after work whenever it wasn't storming. I was going to get back in shape, get my mind right, and get a better job, maybe even go back to school. Something.

At the beginning of the summer, when she got out of school, it became harder to avoid her. She was around pretty much all the time now and her Father had taken to leaving her alone even when I wasn't there to keep an eye on her. Eight years old, and left to fend for herself, no friends in the apartment complex, because she always ended up pushing people away. She lost most of her bounce, and took to just watching netflix, laying around, inside on the couch all day.

I walked in one day, exhausted from a hard workout, and saw her, left alone, watching cartoons on the tablet I'd foolishly let her Father borrow one day. It was the one whose screen he'd cracked, because he's a clumsy drunk who doesn't respect others things. It was the one she'd dropped in the toilet because she is sometimes very much her father's daughter. The picture had rather thick black lines running through it where it was cracked, and her dad had put so much shit on it that it ran at a snail's pace, which meant the sound was usually out of sync and distorted, but it was all she had. Her dad didn't let her on his old laptop because he didn't know how to hide his porn, and so she just made do.

She looked miserable, sitting there alone, none of her usual spastic energy, none of the overwhelming enthusiasm I had thought was annoyingly irrepressible. She normally experienced every moment at the extremes of the spectrum. Everything was either the most awesomest thing in the world, or the absolute worst thing imaginable. There wasn't generally much in between. Seeing her like this, slumped, motionless, eyes steady on the display rather than darting around, seeking more stimulation, it felt unnatural, wrong. Suddenly I felt childish and flat out mean for the way I'd been ignoring her.

I was exhausted, but I still had a good fifteen or twenty minutes before I stopped sweating from the ride back, and there was no real point taking my shower before then. I found out which show she was watching, torrented the entire season, and put the episode on the relatively large screen and decent speakers I had hooked up to my computer, then I called her in my room for the first time in months. At first she hesitated, staring at me as though she wasn't quite sure if she'd actually heard what she thought she'd heard. she scampered over quickly as soon as I repeated myself, but hesitated once more right outside the door. I had to reach down and smack her pert little butt to get her to actually come inside. I got her set up on my bed, started the episode from where I'd had her leave off.

I left to take my shower, and when I got out, she'd started the next episode, just like I'd taught her to do in happier times. I sat down at the desk, but I left the show on the larger of the two screens, and sat to the side so she'd have an unobstructed view from my bed. I browsed the net while she watched her show, and when that episode ended, I put on the next.

We reached the end of the season in almost complete silence. I was still somewhat upset, and she seemed too uncertain of the precarious new situation to risk any questions. when the show was done she asked if we could watch another, doing her utmost to be polite, but not to weedle, the way I'd taught her to ask for something. I told her she could pick anything on Netflix, or that I already had in her download file. She chose, and she put on a kids movie about a Matador who wanted to be a singer or something, and I distantly remembered downloading it at her request right before the incident. I didn't pay attention, focused on my own browsing, but soon I realized she was fast asleep. I picked her up to carry her to her own bed, and she reached around my neck, and snuggled in, not even really conscious, just instinctively trying to get as close to me as possible. when I got her to her room, she started to say something a few times, but stopped each time, stuck between wanting to ask, and not wanting to piss me off. Annoyed, I finally told her to spit it out, and she asked if I'd read her a story.

There weren't any storybooks in the apartment, but read her the text from the eyewitness books I'd given her. They were pretty beat up, and grubby, and I was starting to get a little bit mad when I realized two things. First she had literally never been taught how to take care of her things, except when I got too fed up and had her dad hit her a bit. Second, the only way they would have gotten this messy was if she were looking at them practically every day.

The next day, I went out and got some real children's books.

After laying down some basic ground rules, I gave her a free pass to watch Netflix, or whatever I'd gotten for her on my computer, on the conditions that I find my room better than when I'd left it, that she follow my instructions for using my computer, and that she not tell her dad. I didn't have any dastardly plan when I had her make that promise, I just didn't want the fatass to assume he could use it too, just because I let his daughter on.

I started answering her questions again, giving her some of the attention she was practically starving for, and she spent more time in my room than I did. She behaved herself studiously, and was especially kind to Brock. One day when she was cleaning in there, just like I'd told her to do, she found my stash with my bowl, grinder, lighter, and what was left of the ounce I'd bought the week before. She asked me what it was, and I told her honestly. She asked if she could try it, and I told her about how her brain wasn't fully developed yet and how it wasn't a good idea, not just because her dad wouldn't like it, but also because it could keep her from growing up right.

A couple weeks later, she got in trouble at school for asking about weed. Bless her little heart, she studiously never mentioned me and told everyone about how she'd heard someone calling her mom a junkie, and that had made her curious about drugs. I suspected that the part about kids calling her mom a junkie was true, children can be cruel, especially to kids who didn't fit in.

She'd done me a solid, and I felt some sympathy for her curiosity. I'd grown up only ever being taught to "just say no," which is so much bullshit. So I started answering some of the questions I usually ignored. I made it clear that if anyone found out I'd been teaching her this shit, that I'd get in a lot of trouble, but she deserved to know what had really happened with her mom, rather than just the generic "She's a junkie bitch" answer which was the only thing her dad ever said on the subject. I gave her the real story rather than the whitewashed version adults usually give kids. I explained the various drugs, why people liked them, the difference between a fun hobby, an unhealthy habit and true physical addiction and withdrawal, how heroin, crack, and meth were deadly addictive and best avoided altogether, how weed and alcohol affected the developing mind. She was so curious and asked so many questions on the subject that I found myself answering completely honestly, careful to explain when my own opinions differed from her dad's, or at least what her dad and society in general thought kids ought to know or not know. I even told her enough about sex and prostitution to get me in real trouble if she ever told anyone. She already knew most of it, like I said, her dad didn't know how to hide his porn, and she sometimes overheard him having phone sex with his girlfriend du jour.

She never told a soul, as far as I know. Leastways it's never come back on me, which is all that really matters, in the end.

She could still be a real brat, don't get me wrong. Once she realized that I wasn't planning to kick her out of my room forever for any minor offense, she started testing my boundaries. She got kicked out for being too spastic or forgetting her inside voice, for trying to go on sites she wasn't supposed to (unlike her father, I can actually set up a proper net-nanny), for taking snacks without asking, for distracting me after I'd already told her I needed to work, for whining and fake crying to try and get her way, for lying to me about her homework, for lying about taking a bath, lots of lies about lots of petty shit. I had to kick her out of my room a lot in the first month or so while she tested me. Like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park (actually those were Deinonychus, but I digress), she tested me once on pretty much every issue, but almost never repeated herself, or at least when she did, she tried a smarter way to get around me.

She knew I was serious about something when I refused to read to her at night. Even if I kicked her out of my room, I read to her before bedtime every night unless I was out of town, or she'd seriously fucked up. When she used my credit card to buy shit in her little pay-to-win game app, I cut her off for a full week.

We had a pretty solid understanding of one another by the third month. In fact, she was doing so well that I convinced Paul to pay me twenty bucks for a bike I'd "found at a garage sale." Actually the bike was brand new, I'd taken Kelly to pick it out at a proper bike shop, rather than a toy store, and it ended up being almost three hundred bucks all told, which definitely put a dent in my rainy day fund, but I was trying something, here. I told her the bike was hers now, a proper gift, not a loan, not contingent on good behavior, just plain hers. If she treated it like her dad treated things, it would probably last a month or two, and I would know to never do anything like this again. However, if she wanted, I would teach her to take proper care of it, and if she did, we could go out riding together. I made it clear that I would not take care of it for her, but I would help her learn.

It was one more in a growing pile of secrets we were keeping from her dad. I was a bit worried when school started up again, but it seemed she'd already learned her lesson about trusting secrets to the few "friends" she had at school with the drugs fiasco, and when I came to see her school play with her dad, I noticed that she was getting quite good at knowing what she could say to whom. One of her teachers mistook me for Kelly's father, and started telling me how much better she was doing this semester, how she was more focused, and more sociable, and caught up on the lessons. I let her talk on a bit before I corrected her mistake, and would have liked to hear more, but it was better not to do anything questionable. Still, things seemed to be looking up.

We kept riding together, and reading at night. there was a local, somewhat upscale park, and we rode there, around the extensive, super nice bike path a few times, and back. sometimes we went on road trips, and I showed her some of my favorite places in the city. I took her to get real coffeehouse coffee, a legitimate bagel sandwich from a place run by an old New York Jew, my favorite three pizza places in the city, and a dozen more little hole in the wall restaurants, music shops, and bookstores, and taking Brock to the doggie park.

We watched a lot of wrestling too, and every now and then, I'd give her an RKO out of nowhere onto the ottoman, or she'd lay in ambush and spear me when I came around the corner.

I got an IT gig that pretty much let me do the same thing I was doing before I'd gotten the job with paul, but now I could stay at home in my pajamas while telling people to turn it off and back on again, taking remote control of their system to get rid of all their adware and viruses, and googling what to do about whatever that didn't cover. I didn't have to go in to the office more than once or twice a week at most, and while the pay wasn't exactly great, my expenses were minimal, and I could pretty much get away with playing video games and watching porn all day. I even pulled some quality material from some of my more retarded clients. Completely unprofessional, and I could have been not only fired, but prosecuted if I had ever gotten caught. I never got caught, and I ended up with a nice little encrypted drive full of kiddie porn, some of it quite exclusive and good.

Paul and I rarely saw one another now except in passing, which was just fine with me. when he was home, I was either in my room working, or out and about. He did genuinely thank me for everything I'd done for his daughter, and he even seemed to try and take a more vested interest in her life, probably out of a mixture of obligation, embarrassment, and jealousy, but that didn't last the full semester, and by the time winter break rolled around, he was back to drinking every night and going out at all hours, trying to get laid. He sometimes made irritable noises about Kelly being ungrateful or disrespectful for spending so much time with me, but he never pushed it to a full argument. That honestly surprised me. I'd always figured it would become an issue at some point, but I think he saw how much good I was doing for his little girl, and at the end of the day he did love his daughter, even if he didn't have the first clue how to be a proper parent. He did actually want what was best for her, and he saw that the more time she spent with me, the better she was doing, so he drank more and was around less, but never forced the issue beyond some harmlessly annoying passive-aggressive mutters.

Then I caught Kelly skimming from my stash. I'd been smoking somewhat openly, even when she was in the room, because it had just gotten to be so tiresome and silly sending her away each time, especially when she started puffing on an imaginary joint every time I made her leave, little smartass.

So I'd been letting her stay, even let her breathe in my exhale a couple times like I did sometimes with Brock. She'd nearly retched the first time, not used to the stink or the taste, but soon she barely even seemed to notice when I hit the pipe. It was just part of the routine.

I came in my room one day, and she was hiding in my closet, crying softly. I didn't know what was wrong at first, and she couldn't form her sentences well enough to lie properly. I was about to call the hospital when I noticed my pipe was in a different place than I normally leave it. I'd packed it fresh that morning and only taken a couple hits, but it was almost fully ash now. I only smoke good weed, and she'd apparently just copied what she'd seen me doing, and burned up almost an entire bowl. She probably wasted a lot of it, but with that much good weed, at her size and inexperience, it was plenty to send her on a seriously bad trip.

I got in the closet with her and closed the door behind me, shutting out as much light as possible. I got down on the floor and pulled her over onto my lap. She was clearly terrified, and still trying to form a lie about what happened, but I just shushed her quietly, gently, over and over, and I wrapped my arms around her ribs from behind, pulling her back into my chest, then just sat with her, stroking her hair with one hand while I held her with the other and made gentle noises right in her ear for a good half an hour until she calmed down and fell asleep.

I tucked her in to my bed, and got some work done while she slept. She woke up before I was done, and I told her to stay until I finished, that we had to talk. Immediately she tried to lie some more, and they were even pretty creative, almost plausible lies too, she had gotten much better. Unfortunately for her, I am an experienced bullshitter, and we all know how that saying goes.

I gave her a final warning to wait until I was done with work, and she must have seen how serious I was, because she didn't make another peep until I finished for the day and turned around, leaning forward in my chair, elbows on my knees.

"You know my rules." was all I said at first. She tried to say something immediately, but I just held up a hand, which stopped her before she even got any sound out, and I just repeated myself, letting the statement hang in the air.

after almost a full minute, I continued. "That was a lot of rules you broke, including just about all of the big ones." We'd had this talk months back, when I let her back in the room after what she'd done to Brock. Little rules were to keep her from annoying me, big rules were there to keep everyone safe.

She burst in again, and again I cut her off. She'd stolen from me, put herself and me in real danger, and tried to lie to me even when I'd caught her red-handed. I told her exactly what would have happened if her dad had been the one to find her. It wasn't pretty. I told her how much trouble I could get in for spending this much time alone with a young girl, introducing her to drugs, and God knows what else. I finished up by telling her honestly that I didn't want her ending up like her dad and mom, losers who have no control over their own urges. I told her I loved her, and didn't want her ruining her clever mind before it had the chance to fully develop because she started getting getting high too young.

She was holding it together quite manfully up to this point, but when I told her she could no longer come in my room, that I would be getting a lock for the door, she broke down fully. The disbelief in her eyes, the desperate, genuine pleading made it clear that this was utterly devastating. I reassured her that we would still do everything else, with the bikes, with the reading, with her homework, but that I could no longer trust her around my things. She just cried all the harder. I hugged her close and told her that I did love her, and I was proud of her, but I didn't want to help her grow up like her mom or dad. I wanted her to be happy, awesome adult someday, and I wasn't going to let her do things like this and pretend that everything was ok.

I thought she'd been crying hard already, but when she heard me say that I might let her back in a year from now if she proved she could be good, she absolutely lost her shit. It wasn't a tantrum, it was just uncontrollable, hopeless sobbing. I immediately felt like a heel. I had done the typical adult thing and forgotten just how long a year is when you're that age. still, I'd said it, and with things the way they were, I couldn't go back on my word without losing a great deal of carefully constructed credibility.

For a while I sat, holding her while she sobbed, locked in indecision. It took her a long time to cry herself out, but i still couldn't think of a good way out of this at the moment. I decided to hold firm for a month or so, so she learn her lesson, then find a way she could redeem herself, if she was good. I figured I'd let her back for the next pay-per-view.

Decision made, I kissed her forehead, and carried her to her room to read to her. She was still sniffling softly, and she held on to my shirt while I read. I thought she'd finally fallen asleep, and was walking away when I heard her say, in a disbelieving tone that I don't think she'd even meant me to hear, "This is worse than getting spanked!"

I don't know why I said what I said next, I think this might be the first time I let my predilections win over my self control. "Well..." I said, not letting myself think too hard about the words coming out of my own mouth, "that's an option too."

She immediately sat up, alert, excited, eager even. Too eager, there was still a lesson to be learned here. I stifled her torrent of pleas and reassurances and promises with a single upraised finger. "How many days are there in a year?" I asked, using my teaching voice.

She knew the answer, though it took her a second to shift gears mentally and dig the information up. "365?"

"Exactly. You can come back in the room as soon as you've been grounded for 365 days, but if you want, you can have a spanking instead of a day. A good hard spanking, though, it's going to hurt."

I had to explain a bit further. She was still banned until she finished 365 days or spankings. They were interchangeable, so one spanking equalled one day, and one day equalled one spanking, but they had to total up to 365 before she was allowed back in my room. Once I explained everything, she wanted to get started right away. She got out of bed, and i sat on the edge for a while, and we went over all my big rules again about lying, stealing, and hurting others. Even then, I didn't really feel like too much of a hypocrite. I didn't have some master plan, and I wasn't actively trying to groom the poor girl. I just wanted to keep her from ending up like her parents and me, more wasted potential floating around in the lower class, one step ahead of the law and the tax-man, when not caught outright.

She skinned down her shorts before laying across my knee, so she was just wearing a plain pair of thin cotton panties. I guess that was how her daddy did it, but I've never bothered to ask. I admit, i took my time admiring her tight little tush, round and soft under my hand, but little in the way of fat, what with all the bike riding we'd been doing.

I didn't hold back. Each spanking was supposed to equal a full day's punishment, and I really let her have it. My hand stung from the impact, and she arched up immediately, crying out in pain while her muscles reflexively clenched. I gave her some time to recover, and explained that she would have to ask me if she wanted another. I gave her some bullshit about how I wanted her to think about the cost every time, to remember her lessons, but truth is, some part of me got off on her asking me to hit her.

I'm a pot smoking pedophile who uses his job to snoop through people's computers for kiddie porn, and anything else I might find that interests me, and has taught a little girl to actively lie to just about every authority figure, except me, and you're surprised that my motivations are not purely honorable? Whatever.

She made it to five that first day, and I gave her a hug after, explaining that we'd count the bad trip as a full day, so that meant including today, she'd just knocked out a full week. I had her figure up how many more of those she'd need, and her expression when she realized it was 55 was adorably dismayed, but not distraught. She smiled and laughed through her tears, and I went out to pick her up some of her favorite ice cream. She didn't come with, as bicycle seats are already uncomfortable enough, and five full-strength swats from a large, fit guy like myself leave a lingering sting. I know, because my hand still hurt like a sumbitch.

I never used a belt, or a paddle, I always used only my hand. I made her take at least a couple days off to heal up each time, but we kept track of every swat, and she asked for each and every one. In fact, I was the one who has to cap her at twenty. Even if I weren't concerned about her tush, I was worried for my hand. I never pulled my swings, and she felt every one, but it took its toll.

Brock, who had long since forgiven Kelly, came around to give her doggy kisses, sometimes while I still had her laying across my lap. She cried out when I smacked her, and his tongue would go searching inside her mouth for the source of the strange noise, which would make her giggle through teary eyes and a runny nose. he loved licking our salty skin after we came back from a ride, and usually we made a game of shoving him away, but once, when she thought i was napping on the sofa, I caught her pulling her shorts up between her stinging-red buttcheeks, laying across our big, comfy ottoman, and letting Brock lick away to his heart's content. He kept losing focus, licking somewhere else or just plain wandering off, but she kept bringing him back guiding him back to her ass, over and over again. I wondered how often she did that, and what else she did when she thought no one was watching.

If she bruised up at all, I made her wait a few extra days. It took just under two months, with all the recovery time, but finally it was done. It was too cold to go to Six Flags by then, so I took her to the aquarium exhibit downtown, let her run around, telling me a hundred thousand factoids. I already knew most of them, like I said, I'd loved animals as a kid, but I was impressed by how much she'd already gathered. Besides, I knew just how much you need to show off at that age, to earn the acknowledgement and respect of someone older, wiser. Unfortunately, she was stuck with me, but I did try to play the role to my utmost.

I didn't make her go over the rules one last time before letting her in my room again. I did think about it, but we'd already gone over them every few days, before the spankings. She went a little goofy when she got inside at last, and she almost knocked my guitar over, but I pretended not to have noticed anything, and she got herself back under control quickly enough. No need to ruin the moment.

About a week later, she was being a bit overly hyper while I was working, and half jokingly, I told her to stop if she didn't want another spanking. She calmed down for a bit, but I had to remind her only ten minutes later. The third time, I turned and said "Ten days, or ten swats."

She didn't even hesitate, she just skinned down her britches and took the spanking. Once we were done, she was a perfect angel the rest of the day. A couple days later I had to spank again. I thought about putting a stop to it, I knew I could. All I had to do was change the punishment, be creative. I knew I could, swore I would I swore I would every time I did it before I finally stopped lying to myself. Like clockwork, every 3 days she'd do something "wrong." I didn't even bother asking her to pretend to choose between spankings or some other punishment, didn't bother explaining what I was doing or why, didn't say a word, I'd just grab her, skin down her pants, shorts, or skirt, and wail on her little ass. I hit her hard, and the rest of the time she was perfectly obedient. She was still Kelly, still overexcitable, still ridiculously full of energy, still thoughtless at times, still distractible as fuck, still prone to do ridiculous shit on pure impulse, but now, so long as she was getting regular spankings, when I told her to do something in my serious voice, she fucking did it. No backtalk, no hesitation, she dropped what she was doing, and obeyed. For three days she was perfectly behaved, and then that fourth day, at some point, she'd start doing shit she knew damn well was against the little rules, annoying me with gradually rising intensity. She still obeyed if I used my serious voice, but she'd roll her eyes, or be super sarcastic. As soon as I grabbed her, pulled her over my knee and swatted her hard enough that my hand stung for a good five minutes after, at least.

One day, we were playing around on my bed, and Kelly squirmed beneath me as I tickled her mercilessly. As usual, Brock got in on the action, delivering vicious licks over and over on Kelly's face and neck. Suddenly, she started licking him back, probably on a whim, laughing and trying to find a way past his tongue so she could get her licks in. When she succeeded, she got dog hair in her mouth which made her spit and giggle, and when she failed, their tongues would touch, and she'd lean back and giggle, then try. It was a veritable symphony of giggles.

A little later in the game she "had" me in a Regal Stretch, and jokingly, I stuck out my tongue as though to lick her face to scare her out of the hold. Instead she just stuck out her own tongue and started licking my face before I could properly react. we dueled, trying to lick one another's faces, but our tongues found each other more than was strictly necessary. As this new licking game went on there was less giggling and talking, and more heavy breathing.

I was super blitzed at the time, which makes the present moment far more intense while thought about past and future is dimmer, quieter, and more difficult, and its easy to get lost in sensation, taste, touch, smell, sound, sight, they're all so much more intense, immediate, and vivid. It's my favorite way to experience food, sex, music, movies, massages, and roller coasters, among many, many other things.

So my tongue wormed its way into her mouth acting on autopilot while I was distracted. I realized what had happened almost immediately. I knew I could pull back now, we'd laugh about it, and we'd move on. I didn't pull back, and instead actually wrapped my tongue around hers, sliding back and forth. The only thing that kept it from being a kiss was that my lips were not involved. Hers were, actively. She was sucking on my tongue, pulling it in as hard as she could.

All while she was still maintaining the hold.

I managed to stop things there that night, but the licking game became a regular thing, and it progressed quite quickly. No rules were made, but generally, anything not covered by clothes just became fair game for licks. Usually it was a quick lick in passing, sometimes a long, thorough lapping session, usually working alongside Brock to get the victim thoroughly slimed. We were usually pretending to try to get away but that was usually just for show, and some of the licking sessions lasted full minutes at a time, which is an eternity in roughhousing terms.

She went after my armpits one time after she caught me taking my shirt off after a workout. She pounced, and after a few minutes of chops, submission holds, and clotheslines, I got her in a headlock with her face right in my armpit. Unphased, she just gave me a good lick, and I let her go, laughing. She didn't pull away, however, and just kept licking away, broad, flat-tongued laps, right over and across the hair. It felt incredibly odd, but not unpleasant. After a couple minutes of this, I pushed her off, but she just switched to the other side and kept going for another solid minute, her whole body glued to my side.

But that was just the start of it. Any uncovered skin had always been fair game, but we hadn't really explored that too much. Now it was almost a competition as to who could find the weirdest place to lick. Conversely, if you were the lickee, it was almost a competition to see if you could take the licking or if you squirmed away.

Ears were a favorite, and when she wasn't trying to shove her tongue inside my ear canal, it felt amazing. If you've never had someone lick and nibble your ears, I can only feel sad for you, you're really missing out. Kelly was a fiend for toes, and feet in general, and she'd actually pull my shoes off to get at them, setting an interesting precedent, I might add, but I digress). I always had to squirm away when she went for my belly button, it was just too sensitive, but she'd sit lay perfectly motionless while I licked hers for minutes at a time.

I had also been letting her take more second-hand hits. Sometimes up to three times a week, despite all my pretty words on brain development. We'd started locking lips to transfer the smoke. While we traded breaths, our tongues would sometimes meet, and sometimes even gently explore one another... But this wasn't kissing! We were just saving as much smoke as possible.

One time, we were both buzzing hard, watching the Future Islands performance in Paris, lost in the waves of music and colors washing over us, watching when my shorts rode up, she got between my legs and licked the inside of my thighs, staring me in the eyes at the same time. I was high and lost in the moment, and she went straight from licking my thighs to crawling to lay across them. She had a summer dress on, light green soft cotton, and tiny spaghetti straps were strung too loose. I'd been getting nipple flashes all night, but I'd been too chickenshit to abuse the fact for the licking game. I could almost feel my mouth on her nipples in my imagination, and my hardon pushed my shorts up against her belly. I wear both boxers and boxer-briefs, but I rarely ever wear boxers when I wore loose athletic shorts. Boxer-briefs are just so much more practical for a workout. This was the first time I'd ever spanked her with that loose of clothing on, and the hardest erection I'd ever gotten when she'd been over my lap. when my hypersensitive dick touched her belly, separated only through three layers of light, thin cloth, it surged, pushing up against her, pressing slightly into her stomach.

She couldn't help but feel it against her, she even rubbed against it slowly, rocking her body, shifting her weight from side to side. I'm normally not quick to cum, but I nearly fired off a load right there. I rode the edge for a while, but always held back because I knew it would make a wet spot on her dress.

I'd never spanked her without reason before. She wasn't asking this time, hadn't done anything to deserve it. I let her just lay there for a bit, rocking back and forth against my cock. Finally I grabbed a fistfull of her hair, and pushed her head down so she was draped over my legs with her butt high in the air, far above the normal spanking position. At the same time I grabbed the hem of her dress, and pulled it up. She was wearing an old, worn, too-small pair of panties that were riding up into her cheeks from below, and were still short enough to give her major plumber's butt. Twenty swats, hard as I could give, no pause between, and I caught the bottom of her pussy with some of them. She squirmed and huffed out sniffling breaths, but she kept her ass pointed high rather than struggling to flatten out, presenting herself to me.

When the twenty swats were done, I rubbed her little tush for a bit, pretending like I was trying to comfort her while mostly just trying to cop a feel of her luscious little ass.

Suddenly, completely on a whim, I gave her ass a light slap again, playfully. She jumped a bit, and giggled. I cut off her giggle with a full force spanking, making sure I got most of her lower pussy as well. She actually screamed from that, but after the reflex clench, she relaxed and pushed her ass up higher, forcing her panties to stretch further. Then I rubbed again, making sure my palm and fingers rubbed everywhere I'd just hit, pussy included.

I called Brock over, and with all the licking games we'd been playing recently, just pointing at Kelly's ass was enough have him giving her little tush a full tongue bath. I still had a firm hold of her head, via her hair, and I pulled her up until she was straddling me, her legs spread wide to kneel in the chair outside my legs, her tush sticking out, fully exposed to Brock's relentless tongue with only an old, thin, too-small pair of panties for protection.

I licked her face while Brock gave her ass a thorough working-over. I hadn't let go of her hair, and was manhandling her around, but she didn't fight me at all, just let me lick her eyelids, forehead, cheeks, chin, throat, nose, each nostril, jawline, and finally, her lips.

They opened for me immediately, and her tongue came out, pushing desperately past mine, into my mouth. I kissed the girl properly, and she did her best to follow. We made out while Brock licked away. The more he licked, the more he seemed to focus his efforts between her legs, lapping at her thighs, and the thin layer of fabric covering her pussy. Kelly was letting out little squeals and gasps against my lips, and she even bit me, quite gently, a few times.

I put her mouth to my shoulder, and told her to bite hard.

It wasn't my command voice, the one I used to let her know I was deadly serious. Even high and horny, I knew there was a trust that came with that voice, and I would never use it if it wasn't truly warranted. This was in the same vocal family, but with undertones of selfishness, even cruelty. It was a mocking voice, with the same presumption as a master speaking to a slave.

It was met with immediate, enthusiastic obedience, and I knew she was mine for the taking.

My brain suddenly got through my lust-fueled inferno of impulse, and I realized what I'd done, was doing. I let go of her hair and she collapsed, limp in my lap. Her burning hot pussy was pressed directly on the underside of my boner, which had worked itself up to lay flat against my belly. Immediately Brock tried to get back at his prize, and I could feel his tongue trying to worm in where we were pressed together.

She wound her arms under my armpits and around my back, pulling herself to me, as though she were trying to get inside my skin, and her face went straight to the nape of my neck, so I felt her panting breaths against my neck as she began moving her hips in uncoordinated, thoughtless animal need.

The heat of her, the softness of her skin on mine, the dampness of her breath against my throat, the movement of her muscles under her skin, the brush of her hair against my hands as I rubbed idly at her back and neck. She was such a delicate thing, and I knew I could break her with ease. I convinced myself that I was just going to sit here for a while and cool off, just let us both calm down a bit, and then we'd move on, pretend I hadn't almost raped her. Spankings would be reserved for actual offenses.

I'd broken my own rules, but I could fix it.

I felt Brock tugging on Kelly's panties, and I reached down to pull them away from the big idiot.

I knew full well that any pit absolutely loves playing tug-o-war, the same way labs and goldens love playing fetch, and shelties like herding. Brock felt me tugging, and went nuts, pulling on the old, thin cotton with all his formidable strength, bracing his paws in the carpet, pulling with his entire body, and shaking his head in the vicious jerks. The cotton didn't stand a chance. It tore away, leaving only a pitiful, limp loop of cloth around one of her legs, trailing strips of what had been the other loop in tattered streamers down her leg.

My dick was now one layer of cloth closer to her pussy, and instinctively, I pushed her hips down on it, grinding her against me by main force.

I wrapped my fingers around her newly exposed cheeks, and pulled them cruelly apart, uncaring of her stinging skin, fresh from a vicious spanking. She whimpered and cried out against my neck, but only held on tighter, and even began kissing my throat.

Brock was too busy playing with his half of what had been Kelly's panties to notice at first, but when I called him, he trotted over and immediately started licking her exposed asshole and pussy.

Kelly was crying out again, and they quite evidently were not pained cries, or at least not wholly. She arched her back to give Brock better access, all on her own, and she pulled herself up for more kisses. There was no game at this point, only sensation and need. Our tongues slid against one another, past each other, across gums and lips and teeth.

I slid my hand down her body and between her legs, directly touching her pussy for the first time ever. I pinched her clit,through the hood, but still cruelly, and she screamed, full on screamed as though I were killing her.

"Shut the fuck up!" I growled, And it was in my command voice. We couldn't be doing that with thin walls and neighbors on nearly all sides.

She immediately choked herself off, staining mightily to hold it down to a strained whimper as I rolled her clit between my fingers, and Brock did his best to get his tongue up inside her asshole. I didn't let up, if anything, I pinched harder.

I pushed her back and slapped her across the face, not terribly hard, but not a play slap either. Before she could recover, I twisted my fingers through her hair again, and clenched my fist, giving me full control of her head again. I pulled her back to look me in the eye, and hers were wide, teary, but not sad or angry, just surprised, processing.

ocessing.

"Do you want me to do that again?" I asked the question straight, neither commanding, nor imperious. Just as though I were asking her if she wanted another french-fry.

She thought for a moment, eyes down and to the side, looking inward, then she looked back at me and nodded.

I slapped her harder the second time. Not hard enough to bruise, but full contact, knocking her head aside with the force. She was breathing hard and fast, almost hyperventilating, and when she locked eyes with me again, I pulled my other hand up from between her legs and slapped her other cheek, just as hard. Brock took advantage of the absence of my hand to lick further down between her legs, his tongue reached all the way up past her pussy to slap against her mons, and drag all the way back each time. She began to tremble, and I put both hands around her neck, and choked her, carefully. I'd learned how to do it properly in a cover-relationship I'd had a few years back, and I cut off her blood to her brain without the painful and unnecessary pressure on her trachea. Her eyes went wide staring into mine, but only for a second, then she lost focus, and they rolled up as she started blacking out.

I let up the pressure, and she began shuddering and convulsing. As she did, I pushed her down to all fours, pulled her head down to my crotch, stood up for a moment to push my shorts and boxers down enough to my ankles and kicked them off, then sat down again, and pulled her face to my crotch, rubbing it all across my painfully hard dick. I didn't tell her to open her mouth, but she did, sticking her tongue out flat so I could pull it all along my shaft and balls.

Brock had adjusted with every change in position, fully intent on his task of licking that little loli taint, the same way he licked me when I came home with bleeding scratches on my leg. When Kelly yelped and jumped, I knew he must've nipped her, trying to get at the source of the intriguing smell and taste.

I told her to open wide, and I shoved my cock in her mouth, slowly, but insistently pushing it to the back of her mouth towards her throat. She choked over and over, and each time I'd let her up, let her catch her breath and wipe away her tears and spit and snot, all while Brock kept licking away at her ass and pussy. She'd gather herself, then when she was ready, she'd look me in the eyes and nod, and I'd push her back down, coaching her on how to take it deep, to keep swallowing, relaxing her throat. If she touched me with her teeth, I'd pull her off and slap her. I only had to do that twice, though. She got to where she could take half, and I stayed there for a bit, just fucking her little face.

I didn't warn her when I was about to come, just held her face down on my dick as I spurted down her throat. She choked and spluttered, but I didn't let her up. When I'd taken my pleasure, I pulled her off, called off Brock, gave her a moment to catch her breath and gather herself, then told her to clean up the mess she'd made. She started reaching for my roll of paper towels, but I stopped her, telling her to lick it up.

Dutifully, she searched out every bit of snot, semen, and spit on my crotch, on the chair, and on the carpet, and licked it clean.

Then we got dressed and went out for pizza.

Everything went back to normal for the next couple days, but she was noticeably subdued. She didn't start any roughhousing or licking games, though on the other hand, she was significantly more cuddly, wanting to sit in my lap with my arms around her whenever we watched Netflix together.

On the third day, she crawled across my lap again.

"You haven't broken any rules." I said, a statement rather than a question, she'd been perfectly behaved.

She just nodded, and pushed her pants and panties down to her knees. And looked up at me, her eyes perfectly trusting, perfectly willing, perfectly obedient...

Perfect.

I raised my hand, and hit her as hard as I could.