The Wrong Type: A Short Story Collection

1. Stepdad

Contains: spanking

She took another look down the hall then tip-toed down the stairs. Sunlight shone through the window next to the door like a beckoning light and she quickened her steps. Her breathing started to ease just as she reached the door but a voice from behind stilled her.

"Where are you going?"

She almost groaned. She'd been so careful...

"Nowhere?" Why did she always have to sound so uncertain?

As much as she disliked him, and as much as he made her life hard, some days she wished she was like him. Hard and commanding with his take-no-shit attitude. Instead she had to be this. The girl who turned with her head lowered like she'd done something wrong, instead of standing up to him and telling him to stop being a big bully and let her hang out with her friends.

"Look up when I'm talking to you, Catie."

She looked up and up and up, past the pressed suit trousers, gleaming white shirt and into a pair of intense green eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

No. No she was not. She didn't even understand why she was being grounded. Because she wore skirts?

"Why can't I wear what I like?"

"Because boys are horny little shits who'll take one look at you and think you're free for the taking."

She was though, wasn't she? Her thoughts must've shown on her face because suddenly his expression changed from mild pique to one of pure anger.

"Go back to your room. I catch you sneaking out again and I'll tan your little ass."

Almost on instinct she winced and covered her behind, then ran past him and up the stairs. She remembered how it felt, that first time he took her over his knee in her room and spanked her with his paddle-like hand over her jammies like some kid.

It was more of a mental anguish and humiliation than a physical one, to be spanked, and she felt that shame overwhelm her now. She knew this was wrong. All of this. Stepdads did not spank their stepdaughters, they did not control what they wore, who they saw and when they went out. They did not kiss on the lips. And anyway, why did he care so much what she wore or who she saw?

Burying her head in her pillow she gave voice to her frustrations and screamed. And why did she like it? Why? It had to do with her daddy issues, and possibly mummy issues too since she hardly concerned herself with her. As far back as she could remember, there had never been anyone who would think it worth it to take a time out of their busy lives to care about what she did.

Especially someone like Liam. His was a high functioning workaholic, he lived and breathed that equity firm... so why did he give her so much attention? What did she do to deserve those raptor eyes trained on her at all times?

A loud knock snapped her out of her mental anguish and she turned her head just as the door flew open, slamming off the wall. Liam stood in the doorway, furious, holding something white in his fist.

"What-"

He didn't let her finish, in two strides he was on her, grabbing her by her upper arm and yanking her off the bed.

"Ow, you're hurting me!"

He shoved a balled up white material in her face. She pulled back, cringing.

"Whose is this?" He asked.

"I don't know. I don't even know what that is. Let me go!"

"Don't play dumb or this will end badly. Whose is this?"