"Aw, there's no need for you to be embarrassed in front of your Daddy, babygirl," he murmured, drawing a fingertip down the center of my body as if he was following the path of the dusky pink blush that washed over my skin. When that finger got to the top of my mons, I assumed he would stop. But I was wrong.
Instead, he sank down between my splayed legs so that his eyes were level with my privates. I definitely didn't want to look at him when he was doing that. I was growing so violently—strangely—embarrassed that I thought I might faint from it, although I knew how ridiculous that was. What he was looking at now wasn't anything he hadn't seen a zillion times before. In fact, he'd done exactly this to me not long ago.
But this was different. He was—for all intents and purposes—now my Daddy. And that made it very different to me—more private, more humiliating, more intense—more everything, in every possible way. And all of those undeniable feelings aroused me terribly, congregating and concentrating themselves right beneath his eager gaze.
I made an aborted movement to try to close my legs because of all of those powerful feelings that were surging through me, but he scolded sternly, "You have not been given permission to close your legs, young lady. That is very naughty! Your legs are where I want them to be, and you are not to countermand that in any way." I received ten quick, sharp slaps to my inner thighs for my efforts that had me weeping and crying out pathetically from behind my pacifier.
The swats were hard and stung badly, but they wouldn't normally have had me in tears. But I was more delicate, more susceptible to any type of discipline as a little, apparently. That was something I hadn't realized about myself, something new and a little worrisome.
He leaned forward and kissed the recently scourged area, and then, when he sat back on his heels again, he went quiet. After a while, I got kind of nervous that he hadn't said anything in a while, and I lifted my head.
Mane seemed transfixed by what he was seeing—by me, there.
I wasn't sure what to do, but then, he did something.
I saw his hand reach out towards me, and then I felt a finger push firmly past my outer to my inner lips, almost to the point of entering me, but not really.
"Baby love, you are dripping wet!" The sheer reverence of his husky, whispered tone was downright humbling. I laid my head back, but I could still hear him licking my essence noisily—greedily—off his fingertip. He was unabashedly adoring of the taste of me. One time, when his hand was between my legs, he literally did that cocaine thing, where he used his finger to rub my essence into his gums, as if it were a drug.
The finger returned, dipping into me to bring my own slick up to my clit, and as soon as I felt him touch me there, I nearly arched off the bed. Mane chuckled at the vehemence of my response, and I gave him an indignant "huh" from behind my binky, but said indignity was embarrassingly short lived as he began to swirl just the very tip of his finger around the very tip of me. He had made a most complete study of me and was quite expert at bringing me off—when he wanted to, in many different ways—and he was using all of his skills to do so at the moment.
So I thought.
But the cruel reality was that he got me to the edge in record time, because he was already experienced at recognizing the signs of my impending pleasure—the heavy breathing, the twitching muscles, the subtle arching of my hips towards his touch. And all of those responses were magnified a million-fold in this situation. Before, I had learned to control myself—to a small extent, enough to avoid earning a punishment for coming when he hadn't given me permission to.
But now, I had no power to stop—or even begin to curb in any way—the sensations that were flowing through me.
He must've guessed that I was even more sensitive to him when I was little, because he lifted his finger off my greedy little button practically a split second before the completion of my ecstasy became inevitable.
Clearing his throat, he stood, and I could see that he was anything but unaffected, himself, which made me feel a little better, although not much in the agony of need in which he'd left me.
"I had been wondering if your little was sexual at all, and I think I just got all the answer I need on that subject," he remarked, and I was glad to see that he seemed to be having a hard time forcing his attention away from me.
But he did.
From somewhere near me, he produced a pull up that I recognized as an off the rack brand of adult disposable underwear, but he frowned fiercely at it as he unfolded it. "I couldn't find pink, for some reason. Peach, yes. Purple, yes. But no pink. So, when I bought these, I reasoned that most little girls' second favorite color choice was likely to be purple, not peach. And," he said, leaning down to take my ankle and insert it into the leg hole, "I guessed right in your case, without ever having met you! How's that for serendipity!"
The pull up slid on easily, and he pulled it up to settle it around my waist, checking the leg holes and the general fit to make sure it was okay for me, then—deliberately, I suspected—he cupped the crotch of them against the whole of me and began to rub, but there was just enough padding that all he was doing was teasing me. And he knew it. "I just wanted to have some of these in the kit to round it out. We'll find some you like better online and order them for you. Ones that are more obviously little than these. Does that feel nice and comfy here? Are they cradling your kitty nicely? Soft and warm up against that very tender skin?"
I nodded, the breath puffing out of my nose, but it was very hard not to groan and lift my hips into the way he was fondling me as he made a show of being most concerned about the intimate fit.
There was nothing I could do to prevent the anxious, needy groan that came from behind my pacifier when he removed his hand, but he gave no sign that he'd even heard it.
"Now," he said firmly, "there are rules about being put in a pull up, of course. You may still use the potty." My little side rejoiced at his use of the term "potty", but my big side was alarmed at his terminology—"still use the potty" made me worry that, at some point in the future, it might be deemed off limits. "But you must ask me to do so before you go in there—except if I'm sleeping. I might want to accompany you, so you don't get scared being in there all by yourself. And you must keep the door open when you're tinkling. I don't like the idea of there being closed doors between us."
As I quietly digested all of this, he picked up the pajamas. I hadn't realized that they were one piece, as befitting a child of my mental age. They were very little girlish, white with small, delicate pink and blue flowers all over them and pink ribbing at the collar and cuffs. Even the snaps were pink. "I think it's too hot for the warmer version of these I bought, but it's supposed to get down to forty or so tonight, and I've turned the heat off for the summer. So, I think these'll keep you just right warm."
He had me in them so quickly, it was as if he'd been dressing me like this forever.
When he was done, Mane looked down at me again with an enormous grin on his face. "You are just too cute in those! I'll have to get a lot more—perhaps a size smaller? I bought them big deliberately, because I didn't know, well, you know. I know they're a bit loose, but I don't want them binding you while you're moving around in your sleep."
He did step away then, quickly, grabbing out a pair of the pink slipper sox I usually wore to keep my feet warm. Putting them on me, he stood back and looked at me. "You look good enough to eat."
I wanted to say that I really wished he would, but I figured that he would consider that to be very inappropriate, and it would get me spanked again, so I tried to distract myself with the pacifier. It didn't help—not at all.
"You just lie there quietly for a minute. I want to get things arranged and put back before we go out into the living room again." When he had packed everything away, he put what he called the "baby kit" next to his nightstand. "So I'll have all the stuff I'll need close to me if you should have an accident in the night and need to be changed."
I was taken aback by just how fur
ther little—and terribly embarrassed—the mention of that possibility rendered me. I began to shake my head vigorously back and forth without even thinking about it, but Mane just smiled down at me knowingly.
"Got something to say about that, do you, baby love?" he asked facetiously, plucking the pacifier from my mouth so that I could say it.
"I don' have accidents!" I said emphatically.
His grin did not subside in the least. "Oh, I see. You're much too big a girl for that, hmm?"
I nodded, childishly happy that he apparently understood that that was not going to happen.
He presented the binky to me again, and I accepted it obediently. "Well, we'll see. Something tells me that a little girl who sleeps in—well, close to—footie pajamas, uses a pacifier, and wears a pull up might be prone to having that happening at some point in the future."
"Umm-umm," I reassured him fervently, still shaking my head.
Mane held his hand out to me. "Well, little girl. What say we go watch some TV until bedtime, hmm?"
That got me nodding, instead, all thoughts of accidents fleeing my mind.
He snuggled me down on the couch again, asking, "What do you want to watch?"
I looked at him before removing it, my hand on my pacifier. He nodded, and I took it out. "I wanna watch the new episode of The Handmaid's Tale!"
"Absolutely not," he vetoed firmly. "That's entirely too adult for you. Try again."
"Killing Eve?" I asked hopefully.
He made the game show buzzer sound. "Try again—and this is your last choice before I make it for you, so make it good, pumpkin."
I sighed in frustration. "But I don't know what I can pick from."
He tilted his head in thought. "Fair point. I withdraw the three-choice restriction, for the time being, until we get some more rules—and a little entertainment—in place." He'd sorted through our cable choices already and was working on the streaming ones. "How about Over the Hedge? I don't think we've seen that."
We hadn't. I—and now he—watched all sorts of movies. I certainly didn't care whether it was supposed to be a children's movie or not, and I had gotten him to that point, too. So many good movies were made for kids now but were great for adults, too! We'd already worked our way through pretty much every kids' movie we could together at home—and we went to the theatres to see the new ones as they came out.
He set it up and paused it, then went to the kitchen, taking my sippy cup with him. When he returned, he came bearing it, filled with cold Kool-Aid, along with a bowl—granted, a small one—with a scoop of my favorite Ben and Jerry's concoction. It was a non-diary flavor, because sometimes I could have issues with milk, called Coconut Seven Layer Bar.
When I bought it for myself, I made it into a sundae, with tons of really good hot fudge and whipped cream, and it was truly sublime. Almost as good as sex. With him, even.
Of course, my little had absolutely no understanding of delayed gratification of any kind, so I finished mine before he was halfway through his Salted Caramel Core, and I handed the bowl to him, asking, in a very polite way, I thought—or was that merely hopeful? "More, please?"
He put the empty bowl on his lap without even looking up at me. He was too busy concentrating on enjoying his ice cream slowly, one small spoonful at a time.
Sometimes, I hated him and his tendency to want to take his time and savor things. Those times were never, ever when we were in bed together, but rather always at times like this.
"No, lovely. That's enough for tonight."
"But—" I began, my tone already starting out whiney.
All it took was for him to lift his head and look at me in that particular way he had to get me to close my mouth.
He handed me my pacifier. "Here. This might help you keep your mouth from getting you into trouble, little miss," he warned.
I was amazed to find that I was immediately inches away from a full-blown tantrum, something I hadn't indulged in since at least last Tuesday…well, perhaps a bit further back than that. I was famous for them as a kid, not that they did me any good. My parents ignored them entirely. But they felt really good, as I recalled. Got all of my frustrations out.
Unfortunately, I knew Mane well enough to know that he was not the type to ignore a tantrum, and my bottom was still quite sore. I wasn't at all willing to risk it to see what he would do, so I tamped down my frustration at being told "no.”
And it was added—automatically—to my arousal, making my swollen, teased and neglected clit spasm with the power of my forced submission. The idea that he—as my Daddy—could—and would—enforce limits on me and my behavior raised my desire to an almost euphoric high that, again, I could do nothing about. Sighing as if I was being sorely put upon, I really couldn't do anything but force myself to turn my attention to the movie, which I liked.
So much so that I didn't notice when he cleaned up from our bedtime snack, at least not until he paused it and I glared at him indignantly, which only made him chuckle.
He was leaning back against the arm of the couch, and held up both hands to me. "Come to me."
No choice was given, as usual, so I crawled over to him, and he lifted me against him to lie on my tummy. One arm held me in place, while the other unsnapped something on my bottom, and I could feel a little air on my back and legs as he folded the material away from my rear end.
They had a butt flap! I don't know where he'd found them, but they had an actual butt flap! I thought that was cute as hell—until I felt him rooting around in there.
I don't know why I would have been alarmed by his hand on my behind—it wasn't as if it hadn't been there many, many times before, too. But for some reason, it made me feel acutely shy when he reached up my back enough to tuck it under the top of the almost diaper, moving it down to cup my cheek as I tried to squirm away, even though there was absolutely no hope of actually getting away from him.
But perhaps it more what he was asking, in the ultimate 'Daddy' tone, "Are you wet, baby love?"
I tried to fling myself away quite violently, but his arm—and hand—clamped down on me and I couldn't move.
"Stay still, Tahlia," he scolded lightly. "Let Daddy check. I need to know if you need to be changed or not."
I have never been so mortified in all of my life, I swear. Unfortunately, it—along with absolutely everything else he did to me in this context—seemed to feed into a very sensitive, very intense reaction that was happening not very far from where his hand was. And, as he slipped a finger between my folds, he could feel me creaming all over it because of what he was doing and saying to me.
Even his "Good girl," made me bury my face against his chest in embarrassment. "No kind of wetness but the best kind. That's good."
Then he turned me around so that I was still on my stomach but facing his feet and the TV, and he and I continued to watch the movie.
Well, he did. I caught most of it, but he kept patting my bottom distractingly, and when he did that, I was completely unable to think about anything else.
When it was over, I found myself back in his arms. "Did you like the movie?" He took the pacifier out of my mouth and kept it like a ring on his finger.
"Yes, I did! Can we get a copy of it?"
"I think that might be arranged. We'll have to start a library of little films and TV shows. Would you like that?" Mane brushed his fingers through my hair lazily as we spoke.
"Oh yes!"
"Great—we'll make a list of the ones we want, and I'll keep that list as well as the ones we have—so we don't get dupes—on my phone. But I don't want to spend a whole lot of money on them. Maybe we could make it something we could look for when we hit the flea markets in the summer, hmm, so we can get them cheap."
"Good idea!" I agreed.
"Well, I think this has been a pretty good first day with you being little. What do you think?"
"Uh huh."
"Any feedback you'd like to give me? You can tell me anything, you know. I want to do th
is right."
He was so cute when he was earnest.
"No spankings and lots more ice cream!" I said emphatically.
His eyebrow went up, and he gave me a very doubtful look. "Anything you'd like to add to that that I'm actually likely to change?"
I took a moment to think about it seriously, even though I was definitely still little. "No, I don't think so." I peeped up at him. "You're awful good at this already, you know."
He actually blushed, and I knew he was taking my compliment to heart, which was what I had intended. Daddies needed love and praise, too, and he was doing phenomenally well. "I'm going to work on tweaking some rules after you go to bed tonight, and we'll talk about them tomorrow."
He looked at his watch, and my smile faded. "Speaking of which, it's ten o'clock, and I'm of a mind that, when you're little, you need even more sleep than you do when you're big. So, your little bedtime is going to be a bit earlier than usual."
"How earlier?" I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"Ten o'clock," he declared and proceeded to carry me into his room.
Chapter 5
"But that's a whole hour!" I whined. "I don't need a whole 'nother hour of sleep!" I lowered my voice considerably to say, with no less emphasis, "That's not fair!"
He'd already pulled the covers on my side of the bed back, so all he had to do was tuck me under them, which he did. "It doesn't have to be fair, little girl. It just has to be what your Daddy decides is best for you."
I was in full blown pout, crossing my arms over my chest and humphing up a storm.
"So, if you're angry with me, then I guess you don't want me to soothe you before you go to sleep," he said with obvious reluctance, beginning to move away from me.
That caught my attention like nothing else could. "Soothe me?"
"Yes. All of that moisture that's collecting in your pull up—it should be redistributed before it even gets there, as often as possible, which is something I'll do for you each time I change you, unless you're being punished. But it should most especially be done before you go to sleep. It means your little kitty needs attention, or it's going to keep you up all night, restless and fidgeting, and it might even get you into a lot of trouble. It could make your hands wander to where they're not supposed to be, trying to relieve the ache and soothe yourself." He lowered his tone and his chin as he looked at me. "But little girls—even more so than big girls—are definitely not allowed to touch without permission."
Daddy! Page 5