Chapter 3.

Layla's POV.

The alarm blared at exactly 6:00 a.m., dragging me out of a restless, dream-filled sleep.

I groaned and slapped at my phone, my body protesting every movement. My ass still throbbed from last night’s spanking, a constant, heated reminder of Marcus’s hands on me. My skin felt tight and sensitive, and when I shifted onto my side, a fresh wave of soreness made me hiss.

Memories flooded back instantly: the sharp cracks of his palm, the humiliating way I'd counted and thanked him, the slick shame between my thighs, and worst of all, the dark praise in his voice when I'd finally broken and admitted I needed his control.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away. This was insane. Marcus is my stepfather. I can't actually be turned on by this. Yet my nipples were already pebbled beneath my tank top, and my pussy gave a traitorous little clench at the memory of his thick fingers sliding through my wetness.

Fuck!

I had barely slept. Every time I drifted off, I imagined his voice warning me not to touch myself. The denial had left me aching and frustrated, my body humming with unresolved need.

I forced myself out of bed. The cool morning air kissing my bare legs as I stood, reminding me that I'm still in the tiny sleep shorts and thin tank. I glanced at the clock. 6:03. No time for a shower if I wanted to make breakfast like he’d ordered.

My stomach twisted with nerves and something darker — anticipation.

I padded downstairs barefoot, the house still dim and quiet. The smell of fresh coffee already filled the kitchen. Marcus was there, leaning against the counter in gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that hugged his broad chest and powerful arms. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, and he looked wide awake, completely in control.

His eyes tracked me the moment I entered, sweeping slowly from my messy auburn hair down to my bare legs and back up again. I felt exposed, like he could see right through the thin fabric to the handprints still marking my ass.

“Morning, Sir,” I said softly, the title slipping out before I could stop it. My cheeks burned.

Marcus’s mouth curved in a faint, approving smile. “Good girl. You’re on time. I half expected you to test me this morning.”

He set his coffee mug down and crooked a finger at me. “Come here. Inspection time.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I walked over slowly, stopping a foot away from him. Up close, he seemed even larger, taller, broader, radiating that quiet dominance that made my knees feel weak.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructed calmly.

I obeyed, clasping my wrists at the small of my back. The position pushed my chest forward, making my hard nipples even more obvious through the thin tank top.

Marcus stepped closer, towering over me. He didn’t touch me at first, he just looked, letting the silence stretch until I was squirming inside.

“Legs apart,” he said next.

I widened my stance, my cheeks flaming. The cool air brushed against the damp heat between my thighs. I hadn’t put on panties last night, and now I regretted it deeply.

Marcus’s large hand came up, cupping my chin and tilting my face up so I had to meet his steel-gray eyes. “Did you touch yourself after I sent you to bed, Layla?”

My breath caught. “No, Sir.”

He studied me for a long moment, searching for any lie. Apparently satisfied, he nodded once. “Good. But I need to be sure.”

His other hand slid down my body without warning, his palm gliding over my tank top, brushing the underside of my breast, then lower, slipping under the waistband of my shorts. Two thick fingers dipped between my legs, stroking along my slick folds.

I gasped, rising onto my toes. A soft, needy sound escaped me before I could bite it back.

“So wet already,” Marcus murmured, his voice low and rough. He circled my swollen clit once, twice, then pushed one finger just inside my entrance, feeling how tight and soaked I was. “This pussy has been aching all night, hasn’t it? Thinking about your stepfather’s hand spanking you raw.”

I whimpered, my hips twitching forward involuntarily. The single finger felt huge, stretching me just enough to tease. “Please… Sir…”

He withdrew his hand abruptly, leaving me empty and throbbing. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and licked them clean again, his eyes never leaving mine. The casual lewdness made me dizzy.

“Breakfast,” he said simply, as if he hadn’t just fingered me in the middle of the kitchen. “Eggs, toast, and fruit. You have twenty minutes. Then you’ll eat with me while we go over the full rules for the day.”

My legs felt like jelly as I moved to the fridge. Cooking while my body screamed for release was torture. Every time I bent or reached, the sore skin of my ass pulled tight, sending sparks of remembered pain and pleasure through me. Marcus sat at the table, watching me work with that intense, unreadable stare.

When I finally set the plates down, he nodded approvingly. “Sit.”

I lowered myself carefully onto the wooden chair, wincing as my tender ass made contact. Marcus noticed and smirked.

“Still sore?” he asked, cutting into his eggs.

“Yes, Sir,” I admitted quietly.

“Good. It’ll remind you to behave today.” He took a sip of coffee, then continued in that calm, commanding tone. “Full rules while your mother is gone: You will address me as Sir in this house. No exceptions. Curfew remains eleven on weeknights. Your phone location stays shared with me at all times. No boys, not even friends in this house without my prior approval. Chores every morning and evening. And every single day, you will present for morning inspection exactly like this, showered or not, dressed however I decide later, but always ready for me to check that you’re following orders.”

My fork trembled in my hand. “And if I… break a rule?”

Marcus’s eyes darkened. “Then the correction will be harsher than last night. Last night was gentle, Layla. A warning. Next time, you won’t be wearing shorts, and I won’t stop at spanking.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and electric. My pussy clenched hard at his words, fresh wetness coating my thighs. I pressed my legs together under the table, mortified.

We finished breakfast in charged silence. Marcus watched me closely, noting every shift, every flush of my cheeks.

When I stood to clear the plates, he stopped me with a single word. “Wait.”

He rose and came around the table, standing behind me. His hands settled on my hips, pulling my back against his chest. I could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my sore ass through his sweatpants. He was massive.

“One more thing before you go get ready for class,” he murmured against my ear, one hand sliding up to cup my breast through the tank top, his thumb brushing my nipple. “You’re not allowed to come without my permission. Not today, not until I decide you’ve earned it.”

I moaned softly, leaning back into him despite myself. “But Sir… I’m so…”

“I know,” he said, pinching my nipple lightly and making me gasp. “That’s the point. You’ll go to your classes wet and aching, thinking about how my hand felt on your ass and how my fingers felt inside you. And when you get home tonight, you’ll tell me exactly how it felt, every dirty detail.”

He released me abruptly and stepped back. “Now go shower and get dressed. Something modest for campus. I’ll drive you today so I can make sure you’re not tempted to break rules.”

I fled upstairs on shaky legs, my mind reeling.

The shower was pure torment. Hot water cascaded over my sore ass, making the handprints sting deliciously. I soaped my body carefully, avoiding my aching clit as much as possible, but every brush of my fingers made me whimper with need. Marcus’s warning echoed in my head — no coming without permission.

By the time I was dressed in a simple knee-length sundress, modest enough to pass his inspection, I hoped, my panties were already damp again.

When I came back downstairs, Marcus was waiting by the door, car keys in his hand. His gaze raked over me approvingly.

“Lift the hem,” he ordered.

I hesitated only a second before obeying, raising my dress to mid-thigh so he could see my plain cotton panties.

He nodded once. “Better. But tonight, we’ll discuss better choices for what you wear under your clothes.”

God, what is this?

I heaved a sigh as we made our way to the car, trying hard to keep myself in check.

The drive to campus was quiet but thick with tension. Marcus’s hand rested on my thigh the entire way, high enough that his fingers brushed the edge of my dress. Every stoplight, he would squeeze gently, reminding me who was in control.

When we pulled up to the drop-off zone, he turned to me, his eyes intense.

“Be good today, Layla. Remember I’m watching. And when you get home, your real lessons begin.”

I nodded instantly, my throat tight. “Yes, Sir.”

As I stepped out of the car, the cool air hit my soaked panties, making me acutely aware of my denied arousal. Students milled around me, laughing and chatting about normal college things, completely unaware that my stepfather had just fingered me in the kitchen and forbidden me from coming.

I walked toward my first lecture hall on trembling legs, my sore ass and throbbing clit a constant reminder of the new rules.

God, how do I survive this?