I watched Daddy walk to the door of the hotel suite, and I watched him open the door, and then I watched him step into the hallway. He was gone. The door closed behind him.

I stood there, in my dress. In my heels and wig. I felt a shiver run through me, and I thought about Daddy, and what had just happened. I went to long mirror on the bedroom door, and I looked at myself.

I felt more feminine than ever. Perhaps feminized is a better term. Either way, there was a flushed look about my face, and my lipstick was smeared, and my eye shadow was smudged from my tears. I remembered Daddy's cock in my mouth, and I could still taste the remnant slightly bitter saltiness of the semen I had swallowed. A shivering spasm twitched my body, and I took a slow breath through my nose, and still could smell his strong male scent mixed with my own exerted perspiration. I licked my lips and I could taste him yet again.

I moved closer to the mirror, and looked at my face, my eyes, my lips. I touched the side of my face, my mouth, thinking about how different I felt now than I did two hours ago, and also how it felt when I was on my knees in front of Daddy, sucking his cock, when he was getting close to his climax and his hips jerked and strained, when he grunted and moaned, his hands holding my head, my momentarily fleeting gag reflexes, his hard penis throbbing and then ejaculating spurts of his semen into my warm, wet mouth. It was a feeling simultaneously humiliating somehow, and at the same time erotic and exciting. I felt my sissy cock stirring in my panties. Staring at the mirror I pursed my lips, seeing that most of my red lipstick was gone. I went into the bathroom, turning on the light, found my lipstick on the sink counter and touched up my lips, then dabbed around my eyes with a dampened tissue. Then I left the bathroom and went back out to the full-length mirror. I liked looking at my fully dressed-up self. In my heels, wig, my short swishy dress, my freshened red lipstick. I felt pretty again.

Yes I still was thinking about what happened, the whole of it, and all the little parts of it. And I still hadn't cum, myself, and although I was feeling somewhat spent after being punished and used by Daddy, still I felt the erotic pressure of not climaxing for over 15 days. Reaching up under my dress, I felt myself through my panties and a high little moan came out of me from somewhere down deep.

I turned around. I looked over my own shoulder, at the mirror, and lifted the back of my dress to look at my white satin panties. I thought about Daddy spanking me, and I held my dress up out of the way with my elbows, and pushed my pretty little lace-trimmed bikini-style panties down to see...

The tender skin of my bottom was pink everywhere, with blotches of red. I thought of Daddy making it red, taking my panties down, just like they are now, holding my dress up and spanking me hard with his other hand, making me cry...

I reached down, down across the front of my dress, and pushed my panties down a little more, and took my hard little sissy cock in my hand, and gave it a stroke, and I couldn't stop myself, I wanted to stop, I didn't want to mess up my dress, but it just happened, right then, as I thought about Daddy.

I thought about what he said, that last thing he said. And I moaned and cried out, thinking about... "And maybe next time, after your spanking..." No, that wasn't quite it...

I started to spurt, and moaning, I came. Remembering what he whispered, "Next time maybe Daddy will bend you over after your spanking, Honey."

My cum shot up out of my sissy cock, spurting all over the front of my blue dress. One thick spurt of my own cum flew all the way up and hit me in the face, just under my chin. When you've waited two weeks, there's a lot. I moaned and twitched and my hips locked and thrust as the orgasm pulsed through my whole body.

My sissy cock was still twitching and oozing in my hand when there was a quick, quiet knock on the door.

Quickly, I reached down and pulled my panties up and smoothed my dress down, just as Daddy walked back in.

"Hey, honey, I must have forgot my car keys," he said, and he strolled in, crossing the entry and heading toward the little cocktail table where he'd first sat, hours ago, inspecting me. I looked over, and saw his ring of keys sitting there next to a glass of water.

He reached the table, grabbed his keys, and thrust them into his pocket. I realized I had to speak.

"Yes Daddy," I said. The words came out strained, weak. Daddy looked at me, and I tried to stand straight, but when I felt his eyes on me, reflexively I shrank a little, a tiny twitching cringe. I was hoping he would just gather up his keys and go, but I felt his eyes tightening onto me.

He stood very still for a moment, and I took a quick, shallow breath, and swallowed, trying to stay calm inside myself.

"What are you up to, honey?" he said. I looked away. I should have breathed and moved, I should have answered him, I should have tried to act natural, but I didn't want Daddy to see the front of my dress...

I should have thought to lock the door.

He was deciding whether to just leave, or further inspect, I knew it. Then, he chuckled. A dry, mirthless chuckle, like the sound of nutshells rustling in the bottom of a kicked waste bin...

"Get over here," he said.

I took a long, slow breath, and with deliberate, slow steps, I went to him, where he stood near the little high table.

"What have you been doing, sweetie?" he said. I felt my knees weaken. I looked down and I knew I looked so guilty.

He pointed at the front of my dress, where the damp splotches made clear how guilty I actually was. He touched a spot, and looked into my eyes, frowning.

"Hike up your dress, honey," he said softly.

I lifted my hems, showing Daddy my panties.

He touched the front of my dress again, several of the wet spots on the blue bodice, then his fingers trailed down over my hands, holding up my dress, to touch the front of my damp panties, and a big wet sticky splotch of cum on my belly between my navel and my panty waistband. When he touched me there I twitched, and felt my face flush, yet again.

"I didn't cum here, did I, honey?" he said. I shook my head. "Or here?" and again he touched the cum spot on my blue dress.

"No, Daddy," I said.

The grim expression on Daddy's face confirmed that I was in a lot of trouble. Without changing that expression, he quickly raised his hand, and I cowered, thinking I was getting another slap, but he changed gears, again, and gently touched my hair, then pointed a finger at my face.

Looking me right in the eye, he touched the corner of my mouth, and I remembered that I'd just refreshed my lipstick. "All my cum went in here, honey," he said in his taunting, low voice. "Didn't it?"

I felt the corners of my mouth trembling, drawing down, as emotion gathered inside me, pulling me toward that space of tears and sobs.

"Yes, Daddy, but—" He moved his hand, and gave a little shake of his head, and gestured me to stop. I stopped. He reversed his fingers, cupping them, and ran the backs of his fingernails across my cheek. "What's this?" he said, and I felt a finger touch the side of my chin, where I'd felt that one long spurt of my own cum land just 2 or 3 minutes ago, and I remembered that, remembered thinking of Daddy as I climaxed, so intensely.

"My naughty little girl," he said. "Were you thinking of me?" his finger scooped, drew back, and I refocused my eyes to observe a sticky dab of my cum on the tip of Daddy's finger. He brought it to my mouth. He looked into my eyes again, without changing his face.

I licked my lips, and parted them slightly, my eyes on Daddy. He slid his finger between my lips, and I licked and sucked my cum off the tip of his finger. His finger slid back out of my mouth, he wiped it on the front of my dress, then reached up and cupped my chin, my whole face, in his palm, and tightened his thumb and fingers against my cheeks.

I squirmed, I moaned a little, in a whimpering of despair.

"Playing with yourself without Daddy's permission."

Firmly holding my face, his palm supporting my jaw, Daddy lifted, exerting his masculine strength so that I was brought up on my toes, and I tried to answer, but all my voice produced was a pathetic whimper of tremulous emotion.

He let me go. I started to cry.

Daddy watched me. His flat expression didn't change as he watched my emotions rise again, as he watched me fall apart. I looked at him, feeling his dominance, and I felt again how much he had me, how I was his, how this was exactly how he wanted me. His flat expression transformed slightly, the corners of his mouth almost curled up a little. "My little faggot sissy can't behave herself even for five minutes," he said.

I cried, and then I sobbed. Daddy reached his hands down to his waist, and began to unbuckle his belt.

"You're such a needy little cunty sissy, aren't you?" he said as he went about his grim task, preparing to whip me. "And a very very bad girl."

I shuddered and sobbed into my hands. Because I knew he was right.

"Go to the sofa, get on your knees, and lift the back of your dress, now," he said. He freed the tongue end of his belt from the first loop of his slacks, then pulled the buckle end to swiftly and completely unthread the belt.

Whimpering, wiping my face, I murmured "Yes Daddy," then I went to the sofa, quickly, and knelt on the middle cushion.

I heard the belt buckle making a tinkling sound. I peeked over my shoulder, and shuddered as I glimpsed him doubling the leather into his big right hand as he came closer to me. His lips grazed my right ear, and I felt him press the leather against the backs of my knees, and slide it slowly up the backs of my thighs. I collapsed a little, whimpering again. I shuddered when I felt the cold leather reach my bottom.

"I told you to lift your dress," he whispered. "For your whipping." I reached back, with shaking hands, and pulled up the back of my dress, feeling my hem sliding on my bare thighs. The belt slid down again and up more slowly, to where the bottom elastics of my panties circled my upper thighs. He stopped there, softly rubbing, and I felt the leather edges of Daddy's belt on the tender skin of the backs of my thighs, and then, between them where I was even more sensitive.

His lips brushed my ear again. "Remember this position, my naughty girl," he whispered. I was tense. I could feel what was coming.

But it didn't. It wasn't coming. Behind me, he readjusted a little, and I felt his other hand, the one without the belt, slide up between my thighs, to the bottom panel of my panties, and he felt me there, roughly, quickly, until he got a whimpering moan out of me, then he gave me a little push, reminding me of his weight and masculine strength one more time, and I collapsed gasping, against the back of the sofa. And then I could feel that he was stepping away from me, I heard his belt buckle tinkling like tiny bells again...

"I don't have time to punish you now," he said, and I straightened my legs a little and turned my body to a sitting-curled position, on the sofa, smoothing my dress and tucking my nyloned legs and high-heel sandals, and watched him rethread his belt. "We'll talk more about it in a few days when I contact you, understand?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"But remember. Remember well. That's how I want you. On your knees, on the sofa, holding your dress up, ready. Next time. You will be punished."

And then, once again, he went to the door, opened it, and was gone. I waited half a minute or so, wiped my eyes, climbed off the sofa, went to the door, listened briefly, heard nothing, and this time, I quietly turned the deadbolt, locking the door.

* * *

Weeks went by. In my job and career, I don't travel a lot, but when I do, it's usually to the larger cities, or near them, where conferences and other events are held regularly.

And I continued to think about what Daddy had said, but at the same time, I was starting to have some second thoughts about what I had been...doing. Wearing a dress for a dominant male, being feminine for him, having kinky sex. I was drawn to it, but it also seemed...well, unseemly and unwise, and now that I'd had the experience, and basically had gotten away with it without catching anything, or suffering any serious damage, mental or physical, I was beginning to think about purging away my feminine self and getting back to more of a normal, wholesome existence. And it also seemed like the relationship with Daddy...my activities with him were reaching a level I wasn't sure I wanted to reach, with him wanting to bend me over after my spanking. On the one hand, it was an idea I was so very curious about, but also it seemed like a step that could go wrong, could really hurt, and that might be better as a fantasy than as a reality.

And yet, while I was considering these ideas of retreat, of letting "Lana" fade away and recede into my secret erotic history, I still had my private little femme sissy email account, and I hadn't thrown all my pretty and girly clothing away—yet.

I continued to check Lana's email every few days, and a month or so after that last Lana trip, I opened her inbox, and Daddy was inquiring;

Hi Honey,

I hope you're behaving yourself, being a good girl. I doubt it, but we shall assume the best of you, and then we'll deal with the reality...

Coming to town anytime soon? We still have some...unfinished business when you do.

Daddy

I got a little thrill when I read it, when I thought about putting Lana in her little dress again, but then I managed to ignore the urges. I thought about deleting the account so I'd really be able to put this behind me with no lingering reminders, but I didn't quite get around to it at the time.

I knew that eventually I would be returning to that large Midwestern city for another conference or some business meetings, and that fact made little butterflies fly through my abdomen whenever I thought about it, but I had been careful and especially discreet with my real identity. Daddy only knew my email address, my secret one, and our only phone conversation had been to set up our last rendezvous, when I called his cell from my hotel room phone just before that last visit. I knew that if I could manage to get all that sissy stuff out of my system, and shut down and close off all the little reminders that might tempt me, even Daddy would eventually move on and lose interest when he was getting no replies, no signs that Lana was still a possibility to be his naughty plaything when 'she' visited.

And yes, another two months later, I got a second email from him. I didn't, at this point, think of him as Daddy any more, and I had thrown away my little femme sissy kit, with my dress, heels, panties, nylons, wig, lipstick and eye shadow. Now and then I missed it, missed that feeling, but at the same time, I was working hard and being good and mostly enjoying my sane, normal existence. But my 'admirer' hadn't given up yet:

Honey,

Daddy is very, very disappointed in you.

You don't even have the common courtesy to reply to a simple little message? At the least, you could acknowledge my email, and let me know you're okay.

A daddy might just want to know how you are. And that you're still receiving my messages.

On the other hand, Daddy is losing patience, and you do realize that the consequences for this inconsiderate behavior will be swift and severe, when the reckoning comes.

Will you be attending the MB2SBx Conference here in October?

I'll be expecting some answers, young lady.

Love Daddy

And, I can't pretend that I didn't have feelings of temptation, bits of dread and excitement at the way he, the way Ray (This was the name he'd given in early emails, well before he became Daddy), the way Daddy still, at least in his mind, had me firmly in my previous place, naughty Lana feeling Daddy's wrath and susceptible to his pleasure. For a moment I pictured myself in my swishy little dress again, Lana confronted by her Daddy, apologizing, squirming, scolded, inspected, and disciplined to tears for being so inconsiderate...

But then, I closed the message, and found the delete button. Then I deleted the whole hotmail account.

I put it all behind me. I didn't have the pretty clothes; I no longer had the sissy email account. I tried to think of other stuff. I dated a female, and another. And then, I went to the MB2SBx conference in the fall.

It was a four-day event, a Monday through Thursday in early October.

I was a little bit wary. I knew that Ray worked in the same industry that I did. After all, it was a professional event that brought us together for our intense little meeting before. But it's a big city, and I felt confident that even if I saw him on the show floor, or at one of the sessions or receptions...well, if that happened, I would be able to just tell him that, well, that little "Lana" was no more. I had purged my sissy wardrobe, deleted my hotmail account, and I was glad about it.

I arrived on Sunday afternoon, and after checking in, I had gone out to eat with some colleagues, and then ended up back at the hotel early in the evening. I spent an hour or so preparing some materials for a presentation panel I was involved with on Monday, then I relaxed for awhile. I was in the same nice hotel I'd stayed at that last time. A little after nine o'clock, I was feeling like I needed to do something other than just sit and eat and drink, it was going to be a long week if I didn't get some exercise along the way. I thought about going down to the treadmill, and then I remembered the indoor pool.

I had been a club swimmer in high school and freshman year in college. It wasn't something that defined me anymore, but I still liked to get short workouts swimming when I could. I always carried a swimsuit tucked into one of the side pockets of my luggage, so I grabbed that and put it in my pocket, and headed down to the ground floor.

I stowed my clothes in a locker, I didn't worry about locking it, on a Sunday night there wasn't much traffic at the hotel. Whenever I was in this city, I preferred this hotel, which was on the edge of town, in the direction of the airport, yet still within a 15-minute taxi ride to the conference venues. It was a little less busy than the downtown hotels, and I'd always preferred that slower pace and the less chaotic atmosphere that the suburban lodgings provided. I slipped into my light-blue swim brief and headed for the door that led to the short corridor that the men's and women's locker rooms used to access both the pool, and the fitness center.

A young couple with 3 kids was at the pool, which seemed odd at that late hour, but it turned out they were winding up their day at the pool, and the youngsters were tired, so I sat in one of the deck chairs and checked my phone for a few minutes until they'd left, then I had the pool to myself. While I was busy swimming my laps, I noticed somebody else come in to the pool area, and leave again. Might have been another male guest, or possibly security. I kept swimming so I didn't look closely.

When I got out of the pool, the wall clock said 9:40, and with the pool officially closing at 10:00, and the weekend itself winding down, I reasoned that I would have the general area to myself as I dried, dressed, and went up to my room for the night.

Drying myself as I walked, I headed to the locker room. In the hall, I walked past the glass door leading to the small exercise room. There was still some activity in there after all, I didn't pay a lot of attention but noticed at least one man and one woman still using the machinery. I entered the locker room, and headed past the sinks to the changing area where I'd left my clothes in one of the lockers.
I had dried off the pool water, and had just decided that I would use the showers here quickly rather than put my clothes on again just to have to take everything off again to shower upstairs, when I heard the door open, and somebody was coming in.

With my pool towel draped around my neck, I hesitated, because I'd been just about to take my swimsuit off.

He came around the corner of the short bank of lockers. I was standing about half way in, about to walk across to where the showers were.

He stopped. I saw him. It was the man who had been in the exercise facility. He had on gray shorts, a dark blue t-shirt. He too had a white hotel towel, and he was using it to wipe the sweat off of his face and neck.

It was him.

"Well, well," he said. "Look who's here."

"Oh," I said.

He grinned, but his amusement was like Arizona. It was a 'dry' amusement.

"Yeah. Oh..." he looked at me, and I felt something in his look, something that penetrated me. I was in trouble, and I had to keep my strength up, try to keep hold of some sort of control, stay aware and keep my head level. But he had an advantage, I could feel it. He always would.

I took a deep breath, and tried to stand still, tried to stand like a man would stand, but my hands and arms, which had for some reason lifted when he appeared, seemed like an extra pair, or somebody else's. They started to shake a little, so I put them down by my sides. Still they wouldn't be calm, they twitched and shook from my nervousness, so I curled them behind my back, and then grasped my two hands together to keep them from trembling. Why did my mannerisms have to always revert to the feminine whenever I was under stress?

"So that's all?" he said, and chuckled. "That's all you have to say?" He was observing my awkwardness with my hands. He held my eyes with his, while at the same time slowly moving his left hand from where it hung at his side, to his crotch, where he nonchalantly touched, then readjusted his package in his gym trunks—all the while smiling and looking me in the eye.

I was trying to keep my focus on his eyes. I knew he was casually touching himself even though I wasn't watching his hand. I could still see what he was doing peripherally. But it went on, several seconds went by, and I felt the moment stretching out, him grinning, letting his fingertips linger and touch his...his equipment through his shorts, not obscenely, but subtly, and I was reminded, I remembered what we had been up to together during our last meeting, and I couldn't stand it anymore.

I blinked. He won the staring contest. After I blinked I looked down at his hand, his shorts, and immediately I felt my own weakness, my shame. So did he.

He lifted his right foot and propped it up on the locker bench, so now he was eight or nine feet away, but with one knee up, now presenting his open crotch to me, and he adjusted his genitals again, and I tried to look away, but then I found my eyes wander and lock on him, again. On his male preening.

"Yes," he said. "Have a good look, honey. You miss me, don't you?" His fingertips slid across the front of his gray shorts, and he briefly cupped himself with his hand, and I saw the little torso motion he made, to let his shaft readjust in there. "Yeah. You do, I can tell." I could feel my face flush, and my knees drew together to cope with the butterflies that were fluttering down there in and around my own swimsuit.

He touched himself and his hips made a small, slow thrust. "You know, I think he misses you too! Oh yes, honey."

He paused. "Take a good look now, hon," he said, and he stopped touching himself, but he was sort of concentrating while he looked down. He was looking at the bulge under the fabric, we both watched as the cloth twitched, then the bulge grew and began to move in his loose nylon shorts, changing before our eyes from a mound to a tent, and then its movement overcame the resistance of the nylon quickly, slid sideways, and then, inside his shorts, untouched, his penis uncurled and straightened up, fully erect.

He laughed at his own cleverness. "But don't worry honey; we're staying at the same hotel this time, so you'll have plenty of time to...get reacquainted..." He touched himself through the nylon again.

I backed up a step. I took a deep breath. I shook my head, but I couldn't find my voice, not while he was touching himself like that. Oddly, my hands uncoupled from behind my back, and with a little shivering shudder, I slid them down the sides of my legs, and then found myself quickly adjusting my own lump in my swim briefs. What was I doing?

But it helped me get a hold of myself, so to speak. We were in the pool and fitness center changing room. This was a public space. What could really happen? That idea gave me some of my confidence back, for the time being.

Maybe Ray was seeing the wheels turning in my head. He looked around, he gave a little smile.

Then his expression flattened. He dropped his eyes, looking briefly down at his own crotch. It was a gesture. A summoning.

"I think he really misses you, hon. Why don't you come over and, say a proper hello?" With his right hand balanced up on his bent right knee, he casually uncurled a single finger, the index finger, so that now it pointed at his crotch, and at his erection throbbing under his shorts.

I shook my head. "No" I said. I took a breath. "I'm not..." I paused. His eyebrows went up, and his index finger wriggled a little. I felt my lower lip trembling. "I'm not dressing; I'm not like that anymore. I'm not doing that now." I pulled my lower lip between my teeth to stop its tremors.

I watched as Ray inhaled a deep breath, let it out. He slowly lifted his bent leg up off the locker bench, straightened it, and placed it on the locker room floor, standing normally now, and he leaned his left shoulder against the lockers, relaxed.

"I told you to come over here, honey," he said softly, his voice even, unemotional, serious.

"Don't call me that, please don't," I said.

And then, he was coming toward me. "Oh honey," he said. And he kept coming. I had nowhere to go, I had the wall behind me, and those rows of lockers on either side, and there was the bench in the middle. "Are you telling me, ME, Daddy, what to do?"

Before I could back away from him, he'd grasped me, his strong hands gripping each of my upper arms.

"Look at me hon," he said. I looked at him.

"Yes," he said. "You haven't changed." When he said that, I felt my shoulders start to tremble in his hands. He turned me sideways to him.

"No," I said. He ignored me. I made a whimpering noise, and I felt his right hand slide down my bare back, while his left hand was still firmly gripping my left arm. He tightened his grip as he spoke, until my arm started to hurt, and my involuntary whimpering came again. I struggled, but his strong grip kept me from wriggling free.

"I saw you in the pool earlier honey," he said. "Is this pretty little Speedo of yours still wet?" I felt his big hand slide down from my lower back to the back of my pale blue swimsuit.

He palmed me. He groped my bottom through my wet swim briefs. I startled, and felt my hips twist. I gasped and twitched. I said no again.

His hand smacked me, hard, on my bottom. I jumped. It really stung, his hard hand through the damp nylon.

"You've been a very, very naughty girl,"

"Nooo," I moaned. "We can't...you can't do that...here!" I managed to blurt.

"Sure we can, honey," he said. He was palming my bottom through my damp swimsuit, and then the tips of his fingers snuck down lower, first between my thighs and then up into the crack between my buttocks. My knees and hips reacted to his goosing fingers with little involuntary squirms and thrusts, and I felt so ashamed that I couldn't control my reactions. I felt my sphincter twitch, contacting as another little moaning whine came from low down in my throat. He spoke softly; "I can smack your little sissy ass..." and he stopped speaking and swung his hand again. Once, twice, three times, he spanked me, hard, again, with his bare hand, before continuing his sentence—"...whenever I want to, whenever you need it..." He smacked my ass one more time, even harder, for emphasis. "Whenever I decide you deserve it, and wherever I decide you need it."

His left hand moved then, and slid up my front, maintaining contact with my belly, then up over my chest, then lifting my chin and turning my face toward his. "Do you understand?" he said.

"But, but," I stammered. "Somebody could come in here, this is..." But he interrupted me, finishing my thought.

"Public?" he waved his hand, a gesture dismissing my worries. He chuckled. I felt his hand move to the waistband of my swimsuit, pulling and toying with it, and then his fingers slid under it, and his hand was on my bare bottom. "Your sissy ass is getting warm already, honey," he said.

"Don't, please," I said. "I'm not a sissy anymore."

He seemed to ignore me, for the moment. My words were ignored, at any rate. "You're afraid somebody will come in and see you getting your ass spanked?" he said as he felt my bare ass with his big, masculine hand.

My breathing started to speed up, I was starting to feel my emotions spin out of control. And the way Ray was looking at me, laughing at me, and smacking my ass and touching me, there in that public place, was just so overwhelming. I reached back and tried to push his arm away, I looked over my shoulder, I started to hyperventilate.

"Oh you think somebody might come help? Somebody like...the woman on the treadmill across the hall?" he said. He used his left hand to trap my hand, and he pushed my wrist up my back until my shoulder started to hurt and I cried out. He held my arm right there, and I felt him pull his other hand out of my swimsuit, and then he spanked me hard, and again, and again, "You think maybe she'll hear you getting spanked, crying like a naughty little girl, and maybe she'll come in here to see what's going on?" Holding me steady with my arm pinned, he smacked my ass again, and then stopped. He let go my arm and slid his left hand down to the front of my swimsuit. He touched me lightly, playfully, through the front of my swim brief as he continued talking.

"Is that what you want, honey?" he said in his meanest teasing whisper. "Well, guess what Lana honey. Even if she hears us, no sane woman is coming into the men's locker room, and anyway, the lady on the treadmill left before I did. And there's nobody else can hear your ass getting..." he spanked me, "...spanked because the main door into the hall right there locks at 10 PM, which was—" He looked at his watch. "—five minutes ago. We can get out when we're...when we're done here..." he chuckled, "But nobody can get into this area after 10 PM because now it's a one-way door."

I moaned, my knees were trembling and I was squirming as he touched and felt me.

He cupped his hand to the front of my swim brief, and squeezed, and lifted, and my hips twisted and I strained forward and upward onto my toes. "What's this?" he said. "Oh honey...you're fighting it, but see how hard your little peepee is?" I moaned. He spanked me. He groped me, and he pinched the head of my penis through my swimsuit. "What a little sissy slut you are."

As his fingers pressed against my cock, my testicles, he got a thoughtful look on his face, like he was trying to remember something.

"Wait, wait, honey. You just said something didn't you? Yes you did, and I wasn't paying attention." He was stroking the front of my bathing suit, feeling me, pawing, squeezing, touching as he watched my body react. Again, I would squirm without wanting to, moaning or whimpering, and he chuckled whenever I did.

"Did you say you're not a sissy anymore?" he said.

"I'm not," I said. "I don't do it anymore. I won't." I said it, but I knew I sounded strained, and weak, and I was afraid of him, and I knew he could feel my fear.

He let go of me. He took his left hand off of the front my swim brief, his right hand off my bottom. For a moment, everything was quiet, and still. I heard the air fans running for the building's circulation system, other little building noises, odd scrapings and thumps from the activity of people a floor—maybe even two floors—up, muffled by the quiet that surrounded us. I still felt nervous, and I wasn't sure what he was thinking. He was standing very still, as if maybe he was waiting for something. I wasn't looking at him.

I turned my head a little, and looked at Ray's face. That's what he was waiting for; he was waiting for me to look. His expression showed his skeptical amusement, in his eyes, and in the slight bitter curl of his masculine smile.

When I looked at him, at his face, I felt his power, his dominance, it just washed over me again, and it pushed and pulled my emotions all over again. I felt my whole mouth trembling, and especially my lower lip, and the way he looked at me, I couldn't help it, I was so extremely ashamed and I felt so sorry for myself like I was about to start to cry.

When I looked at him, he saw all that, and he started to laugh.

I felt myself shrinking, even cringing, ashamed of his laugh, because he was laughing at me, laughing at what I had said. And what he saw. My knees felt weak, and my face was suddenly burning hot with shame and recognition of his strength, and my own weakness.

He stopped laughing and looked at me. I was wobbling a little. He put his hands on me again, but on my hip and my shoulder, to steady me.

"Sit down, honey," he said, and guided me down. And I sat on the bench. He moved a few steps, and stood behind me, behind the bench, and stroked my head. His fingers lightly touched my ear, the side of my face. I could smell him. He leaned in a little, and I felt the protruding front of his gym trunks graze the back of my head. He was very close.

He stepped with one leg over the bench. Now he was straddling it, next to me. I sat and stared straight ahead, but I knew he was there. Right there. He didn't say anything. With the side of my vision I could see his abdomen and chest moving as he breathed. I could smell his musk, his sweat from his workout in the fitness room. His hand slid back from where it had been touching my cheek and my chin, and I knew he was touching the front of his shorts again, now right next to me. I was sitting on the bench, and he was straddling the bench, and he was touching his cock through his trunks.

I turned my head and looked, and I could see that he was still erect inside his nylon shorts. His left hand was pushing the cloth, outlining his bulging rod. I looked at it, and I tried to breathe. I looked at his hand, at the vertical bulge in his shorts, then I slowly looked up, at his waist, his shirt, his chest, and I raised my eyes and looked up at his face. He was looking down at me as he touched himself, and without changing his expression. Then when his eyes locked to mine, his glance commanded me.

He slid his right hand behind my head, and gently pulled me to him. I nuzzled him, like he wanted. My lips and nose, my whole face sliding against his erection in his shorts. I lifted my hands to his hips. I held him. I smelled him. And I sniffed.

"That's my good girl," he said. And he pushed his shorts down, and he pushed his briefs down, and his cock sprang out, and he took it in his left hand, and I watched him give it several soft strokes between his fingers and thumb. I watched him stroke his cock, I looked up at him, and he stopped stroking it and just held it out, throbbing and waving slightly, pointing it at my face. I licked my lips, opened my mouth. He inched forward with his feet, took his hand off his cock, and did a little push with his hips. He slid his right hand behind my head again, and he slid his cock into my mouth.

My lips parted as the tip of his cock pushed between them. I kept my lips tight and slid my mouth down his shaft, and cupped my fingers under his big ball sack.

"Very good, honey," he said, stroking my hair. "I'm glad we got that straightened out, aren't you?"

I didn't say anything, but I looked up at him while I continued to suck his cock, sliding my tight lips back up over the knob, taking my mouth off him and licking his pee slit, then popping the head back in and tightening my lips, sliding them back and forth, up and down over the ridges around the crown of his circumcised glans.

"Just because you aren't wearing your dress doesn't mean you're not Daddy's little sissy cocksucker, isn't that right honey?" he said, and moaned as I sucked him.

He pulled his cock out of my mouth and stroked it in front of my face. "Isn't that right, honey?" he said again. I opened my mouth, to take his cock again, but he held it away from me.

"Speak up honey," he said. He let go of his cock, and slapped me once across the face with his right hand.

I whimpered, and moaned. "Daddy, please don't..." I whined. He pulled his hand back to smack me again.

"Yes Daddy," I said quickly. "I'm still...I'm still Daddy's sissy cocksucker," I said, quietly.

"Good girl," he said. He looked at his hand, like he was thinking about slapping me again anyway. But he didn't. "Now get up," he said. "We've got some things to do, and then we both need a good night's sleep for tomorrow's conference. And we'll be busy in the evenings too, I think."

He pushed his underpants and shorts down, stepped out of them, and picked them off the floor and opened a nearby locker, tossed the bundle in. He took his shirt off and tossed that in, too. Daddy was completely naked, and I realized that this was the first time I'd seen him nude.

He nodded at me, looking at my swim brief, gesturing me to take it off.

"Go into the showers, honey. I'll be there in a minute. We'll wash your ass, and I want to show you something."

"Yes, Daddy," I said.

When I pushed my Speedo down, my three inches popped out, and then pointed right up, hard. I went into the shower area and waited. And my mind, and my emotions too, were full of questions, feelings, all tripping over each other.