WET FOR DADDY: Daddy One Shots

Stepdaddy's Little Brat Part 1

I never thought my stepdad would actually spank me like the spoiled little brat I was—until the night he finally snapped and bent me over his knee.

My phone screen glowed in the dim light of my bedroom, the ring light casting a soft pink halo over my barely-there outfit. I was live on my influencer account, @KayleeKitten18, twirling in front of the full-length mirror in nothing but a tiny white crop top that said “Daddy’s Problem” in sparkly letters and a pair of black lace panties that rode up my ass cheeks like they were paying rent. My long blonde hair was in messy pigtails, and I was pouting straight into the camera, hips swaying to the trending audio.

“Like, what’s the point of rules if they’re just gonna ruin all the fun?” I whined to my 87k followers, voice all sugar and sass. “My stepdad thinks he can ground me for posting one little bikini pic. As if. Watch me break every rule he makes tonight.”

The comments exploded—fire emojis, heart eyes, and a flood of “brat tamer needed” and “daddy issues loading.” Tips poured in. I giggled, bending over just enough to flash the curve of my ass, knowing exactly how many of them were touching themselves to little 18-year-old me.

But I wasn’t doing it for them.

I was doing it for him.

General Kane—my mom’s husband of three years, the decorated Marine who ran our house like it was boot camp. Forty-nine, broad-shouldered, silver at the temples, with a jaw that could cut glass and a stare that made generals sweat. He’d been deployed half the time since Mom married him, but now that he was home for good, he’d decided to “fix” me. No more late nights. No more “inappropriate” content. No more talking back.

Too bad I lived to make him lose that iron control.

The live ended with me blowing a kiss and promising a “special surprise” tomorrow. I tossed my phone on the bed, heart racing with that delicious mix of adrenaline and fear. I knew he’d see the notification. He always did. The man monitored my accounts like it was national security.

I didn’t even bother changing. I strutted downstairs in the same outfit, bare feet padding across the marble floor, the cool air kissing my exposed skin. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the TV in the den. I could smell his cologne before I saw him—woodsy, expensive, the kind that made my thighs press together even when I was pissed at him.

He was in his usual spot: leather recliner, whiskey in hand, wearing gray sweatpants and a black USMC T-shirt that stretched across his massive chest. His dark eyes flicked up from the news the second I stepped into the room.

“Kaylee.” His voice was low, calm, the kind of tone that used to make soldiers stand at attention. “What the hell are you wearing?”

I twirled once, letting the crop top ride up to show the undersides of my perky t**s. “What? It’s comfy. And it’s not like anyone’s here but you, Daddy.”

The word slipped out on purpose—sweet, mocking, the same way I’d been calling him for months just to watch his jaw tick. He wasn’t my real dad. He was the strict, hot-as-sin stepdad who’d shown up in my life when I was fifteen and spent every day since trying to turn me into a “respectable young lady.”

His gaze dragged over me slowly, from my pigtails down to my painted toes and back up. Something dark flashed in his eyes before he shut it down. “You went live again. After I told you to take the account private until you learn some goddamn boundaries.”

I hopped up onto the arm of the couch across from him, legs swinging, panties flashing. “Boundaries are boring, General. My followers love me exactly like this. I made three grand tonight just from being me. You should be proud.”

He set the whiskey down with a deliberate clink. “Proud of my eighteen-year-old stepdaughter shaking her ass for strangers? Proud of you calling yourself ‘Daddy’s Problem’ on a public platform where any creep with a screen can jerk off to you?”

Heat flushed my cheeks—not embarrassment, but that sharp thrill I got whenever I pushed him. I leaned forward, letting my top dip low. “Maybe I like knowing they’re watching. Maybe I like knowing you’re watching too.”

The air between us thickened. He stood up slowly, all six-foot-four of disciplined muscle, and crossed the room until he towered over me. Up close, he smelled even better, and I could see the pulse ticking in his neck.

“You think this is a game, little girl?” His voice dropped, rougher now. “You think you can keep poking the bear and I’ll just keep letting it slide?”

I tilted my head, biting my lip. “What are you gonna do about it? Ground me again? Take my phone? Lecture me about how a proper young lady behaves?”

His hand shot out faster than I expected, fingers wrapping around my wrist and yanking me off the couch arm. I stumbled forward, crashing into his chest with a little gasp. He was solid—warm, hard, radiating heat through his shirt.

“I’ve tried talking,” he growled, breath brushing my ear. “I’ve tried grounding. I’ve tried every damn parenting book your mother left behind before she jetted off to Europe for another month. None of it works with you.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I could feel the hard ridge of him through his sweatpants, pressing against my stomach. He was hard. For me. The realization sent a bolt of pure want straight between my legs.

“So what now, Daddy?” I whispered, voice bratty and breathless all at once. “You gonna put me over your knee like the spoiled brat I am?”

His grip tightened on my wrist, almost painful. For a second I thought he’d push me away, tell me to go to my room, pretend this tension didn’t exist.

Instead, his other hand came up, cupped my chin, and forced my face up to meet his storm-dark eyes.

“You want to act like a brat?” he said, voice dangerously quiet. “Then you’re going to get treated like one. Right now. Bare ass. Over my knee. And you’re going to count every single spank until you remember who’s in charge in this house.”

My p***y clenched so hard I nearly whimpered. This was it—the line we’d been dancing around for months. I could safe-word out. I could laugh it off and run upstairs.

But I didn’t want to.

I wanted to see just how far General Kane would go when his little stepdaughter finally pushed him past the breaking point.

I looked him dead in the eyes, smiled that sweet, wicked smile I used on camera, and said the words that sealed my fate.

“Yes, Daddy. I’ve been such a bad girl.”