It had been an exhausting day by the time Samuel got home. Working a 9 to 5 was exhausting, even more so when he had to do overtime, but he also had to take care of his kid when he got home too-- his wife often worked nights and left around the time that he got home, but today, in particular, she had left already, leaving him with the responsibility of taking care of his daughter, Margaret.

He didn't bother calling for her; he cast his gaze up the stairs, hearing the silence beyond, and presumed she was listening to music or drawing, like she did most days. He didn't think anything of it and briefly moved to the kitchen, taking off his jacket and placing his backpack filled with his office supplies, amongst other things, onto a chair sitting against the table up against the wall. He moved towards the freezer and squatted down in his formal trousers and button-up shirt, loosening his tie as he scanned for what they would have for dinner. He opted for frozen pizza and stood, rolling his shoulders to relax his body a little as he moved to the oven and cranked the dial to start it pre-heating. He'd have to wait a little bit, which was just fine by him; he needed to change anyway.

With a tired groan, he moved from the kitchen back into the hallway and kicked off his shoes before ascending the stairs, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he ran a hand over the sides of his fluffy grey-furred neck, loosening the pressed-down fur. His shaggy wolf mane was dishevelled from an evening rush to get the paperwork in on time, but a quick brush back of his hands smoothed it over. When he reached the top landing, he once again twisted his ear and listened, frowning when he barely heard much of a noise at all-- usually, if Margaret was listening to music, he'd at least pick up one some of it by this point, unless she had it in her earbuds, which was...uncommon at home, unless she was in a mood. Curiosity got the better of him and he quietly padded down the hall, approaching her room, which was girlishly branded with a little piece of paper of her own making.

"Margaret? You asleep or something?" He asked her as he approached the door, realising it was ajar. Beyond, he heard what sounded like movement, but when there was no reply he slowly pushed the door open, peeking in through the crack. What he saw shook him to his core, both with anger and shock.

In front of him, his young, 10-year-old daughter lay spread-eagled on the bed, her clothes tossed all over the floor. The reason she hadn't heard him became clear from her closed eyes and the brief glimpse of white in her ears; she had on her earbuds, but whatever she was listening to, he couldn't be certain. His gaze trailed down further and though he'd already realised it, there was a horror that struck him when he saw her dainty, young hands cupped on and around her crotch, rubbing and tracing along the folds of her delicate little underage pussy. One hand swirled around the folds of her cunt, spreading the lips and trailing digits against the sensitive flesh of her entrance, whilst the other slipped up to rub in circles against the tiny nub at the top of her little pussy, hidden away within the plump flesh.

"Margaret?!" Her father exclaimed, louder than before, and she most certainly heard him that time; she jolted upright, eyes wide with a mixture of fright and surprise, and when her gaze fell upon her dad she immediately snapped her legs shut and scrambled to try and grab the covers to hide herself.

"What were you doing?" It was obvious to him, but he wanted to hear her say it, to know if she understood what she was actually doing. She didn't respond, opening her mouth and stuttering before she clamped it shut and whined. Her ears folded down against her head and she averted her gaze, shame filling her shy frame. He didn't even have the words to say what he wanted to say-- instead, all he could do was turn and leave the room. He heard his daughter calling after him, but it was like he was standing in a narrow corridor; he could only think of one thing. He moved into his bedroom and wrenched over the bottom drawer of his side table next to the bed, reaching inside to pull out a wooden paddle. He usually used this with his wife, but tonight...he had other plans, and not sexy ones.

He returned to her room to find her trying her best to scrabble and collect her clothes, in an effort to perhaps make up for being caught in what she might consider the most embarrassing situation of her young life. She froze on the spot when she spotted her father and her gaze snapped from the wooden paddle to his face and back again, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and fear.

"D-Daddy, I'm sorry, I--" She began, but trailed off when he approached her, moving towards the edge of the bed.

"Come here." He growled. He didn't know why he needed to punish her for masturbating. A good dad would have just given her the talk. That's what her mom would have done, anyway...but something was driving him that he couldn't explain, and at that moment it had the wheel. He watched as she hung her head in shame and dejectedness, stepping across the room towards him in the nude, and with a hand he semi-roughly pulled her closer and over his knees, her stomach laying flat against the tip of his legs. Her hands instinctively clung to what she could grab of his lower legs, and for a moment he placed the paddle down, using his bare hand-- he raised it high, hovering for only a couple of moments, before he swiftly brought it down.

Margaret yelped as his hand struck her ass, causing her young cheeks to jiggle and wobble with the force of it. On a scale of 1 to 10, he'd maybe given her a 5; he hadn't hit her hard, and most definitely wouldn't use his full strength against his own daughter, but it was enough to send a message. One slap, however, was not enough; he raised it high and brought it down again moments later, causing his daughter to stiffen up and tremble on his leg, her knees bending. He struck her again and she whimpered, this time in both a mixture of protest and pain; hitting the same spot over and over was bound to hurt more as time went on.

He had no words to explain his punishment, nor did he intend to vocalise his thoughts on the matter. Instead, he continued to wordlessly spank her over and over, watching and listening as her squirms began more desperate and her whines more pronounced. The flesh beneath her grey fur began to tint red from the spanking, and with every other strike his direction shifted slightly, moving lower down or further up. He was certain, at least one or two times, that the side of his hand touched with her pussy, for when he withdrew his hand there was a dampness to his fur.

Inevitably, he reached for the paddle. It was a flat wooden tool that more or less looked like a narrow cutting board, with a shiny polish on its surface. He held it with a firm grip and hesitated for only a moment, unsure if he was doing the right thing, before he brought it down towards her behind. It struck her with precision and filled the room with a resounding slap, followed by a squeal from her muzzle.

"Daddy, please, that hurts!" She practically begged for mercy, and there was something inside him that flinched at her response, but it was drowned out by his need to punish her. He spanked her again, ears twisting to the sounds of her pleas intermingled with the sharp, resounding strikes of wood against her sore behind. Part of him relished her complaints, but the other part was more focused on simply punishing her for an act he didn't even truly think was wrong. Each strike brought another squeal, another desperate plea, and a squirming that forced him to put an arm over her to keep her still. Beneath her, he could feel himself stirring, his loins tingling...was he actually enjoying this?

When the realisation hit him, he withdrew from her. The paddle, after a handful of strikes, was pulled away and he placed it on the bed as his arm relaxed from atop her. She seized the opportunity to wriggle out of his grip, and he didn't make any attempts to pull her back. She clambered up onto her bed, wincing as she moved, and immediately hid herself under the covers and away from him. He slowly rose to turn and face her, picking up the paddle from the bed. He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut, unable to find the words.

"...Don't do that again." Was all he could think to say. She meekly nodded over at him and hid her face under her blankets, more or less avoiding him...he didn't blame her. He stepped back across the room towards the door and hesitated, before stepping back out into the hall.

He strode with a manly, purpose gait down towards their bedroom, tossing the paddle across the room onto the bed before stepping into the en-suite adjoining bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him with a paw. He turned to face the mirror and leant forward, pressing his hands against the cool counter. His heart was pounding, his loins ached...something was brewing.

He reached down, wrenching the button of his trousers free so that he could reach inside and pull out his thick, turgid cock. He was so achingly hard that just the mere touch alone sent pleasurable sensations and an intense feeling of relief, that spread all throughout his body and relaxed every muscle. With that, however, came a desperate need to stroke, and as soon as he bunched his foreskin up against the tip and peeled his back, his body and muscles became hard as a rock. He stiffened and rapidly picked up speed, jackhammering his hand against his cock, bouncing his fingers up and down with the sheer force of his sudden, spontaneous masturbation.

His breath picked up quickly, and his mind swam with thoughts of the night. Lustful desire brought his thoughts to scantily clad women, his wife, bouncing breasts...but the pleasure waned in light of them. His mind instead twisted to the thought of his daughter, to that soft virgin cunt, to the way she spread her legs. He imagined her expression lidded and expectant, wanting him, yearning for him.

A grunt escaped him, and he looked down to see a sudden and eager spurt of cum shoot across the counter, splattering across the sink and going far enough to reach the tap. He wildly bucked forwards and stroked himself, riding out the pleasure of his sudden orgasm, squeezing and pushing every last drop of seed out of him as it splattered and shot in arcs over the bathroom counter, oozing down into the sink in messy globules, staining the metal faucet of the hot and cold taps. His muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed, and with it came a sense of dread and shame, followed by a familiar longing.

Unbeknownst to him, Margaret lay in her bed, her chest and breath just as heavy. Her fingers delved and plunged into her underage cunt, tiny fingers exploring what they could as they arched upwards to put pressure on the aching bud of her tiny clit. She angled her hand, rolling the heat of her palm against that entrance as she shuddered and quaked, covering her mouth with her hand as her toes curled against the bed. Her body rocked with a second orgasm, having had one barely a handful of minutes ago when her father slapped her with the paddle. She didn't know why, but she liked it-- loved it, even. She wanted more. She wanted her father to punish her. Her desperate, horny brain thought about him atop her, plunging in and out, holding her down with his hands...the idea of it made her dizzy.

One day soon, both of them would become vividly aware of their attraction for each other...and neither of their lives would ever be the same.