I gulped, wide eyed, at that. "Yes, Sir."
"So." He caught my eye. "Are you going to pout and not get any sleep tonight and be cranky and fussy tomorrow, which'll probably earn you a lot more spankings throughout the day, or are you going to be a good girl about your new bedtime and Daddy will soothe you to sleep?"
That was no choice at all, again. "Soothe, please," I asked eagerly, even though I was somewhat apprehensive, but only because I had never been little with him when I came.
"Hands above your head, then, so they're well out of trouble."
Whimpering slightly, I nonetheless did as he told me to—for once, without complaining, even.
"That's my girl. Why don't you take a hold of a brass rung in each hand, so you'll have something to hold onto. I don't want you to interfere with what I'm going to do to you." His hand began to undo the series of snaps that ran down the front of my PJs, and the further it descended, the more unbearably excited I became. It manifested in me in the fact that I couldn't seem to keep my body from arching up, drumming my heels, and just generally being fidgety.
"Someone has a bad case of the wiggles, I can see," he teased, unsnapping the last ones, then laying the front of my pajamas open, exposing the pull up beneath them. "There. Put the soles of your feet together. That'll open your legs nice and wide for me. Daddy's going to check you again, just to make sure you don't need to be changed before you go to sleep." He looked at me in all seriousness as his hand slipped under the top of what was—essentially—a diaper.
I could barely breathe as I watched it inch its way down slowly. There was something unbelievably exciting about seeing his hand disappear into my pull up.
"Do you think you'll be able to stay dry all night, baby love?"
It was hard to remember that he expected me to answer him intelligibly. "Yes, Sir."
"Hmm. We'll have to see, won't we?" I'll check you again, tomorrow morning, when I dress you for the day."
I really loved that he was just assuming that he'd do all of the things I'd always wanted a Daddy to do for me. But that hand was going to be the death of me!
I swear, by the time he managed to curve his fingers over all of me at once, my heart had nearly stopped entirely. And my mind was only filled with the thought that this was real! It was him, and I was little, and that I couldn't quite believe that this was really—actually—happening between us!
"Okay, baby girl?" he asked, and I could hear the considerable concern in his voice.
"Y-yes, S-sir."
"You're sure? You're panting fit to pass out, your moans sound like you're more than a bit scared, and you're trembling like I've got your cane in my hand instead of your kitty."
I was completely unaware of all of those things. My consciousness had quickly faded, narrowing to nothing more than an awareness of and amazement at where his fingers were. "It…I'm…just…" I gave up, shaking my head. I obviously couldn't string two words together at this stage.
"I know you get sick of hearing this, angel, but take a deep breath with me. It really will help calm you down. C'mon. Do it with me. In, as deep as you can, in, in, in in. Hold it, then out, and out and out and out." I obeyed him, although my breathing was nowhere near as steady as his was. "One more."
Again, I followed his lead as he smiled reassuringly down at me.
"Bit better?"
"Yes, Sir." Honestly, I couldn't tell.
"Liar," he teased with a grin. Then he became more serious. "I know you didn't have an accident, which is being a very good girl—although I wouldn't be in the least mad at you if you had, you know."
"No?" I asked, gazing up at him, wide eyed.
"Of course not! Little girls sometimes have accidents. That's perfectly fine and understandable. I will never be angry with you for that, sweetie. Never."
"Oh."
"Can you feel that and know it in your heart? That's one worry you can wipe right out of your mind. Okay?"
I nodded, still not quite believing him, but I very much wanted to, so I counted it. "Okay."
"Good. But I do still have to see how wet you are the other way. A Daddy needs to keep track of such things. It helps me know how you're really feeling, especially about things you might feel a bit shy about telling me. Keeping a very close eye on his little girl's kitty is part of being a good Daddy."
And with that, his big middle finger pressed itself between my lips, sliding boldly right over a clit that was already right on the edge—pretty much back to where he'd left me when he'd put me in the pull ups and pajamas, without having really touched me since then. What we were doing was just that powerful to me. Especially considering that, at the exact same time as he began to explore my privates, he pressed the pacifier back into my mouth as a constant reminder of just who and what I was in this equation.
He didn't stop there, though, but continued further downward. "Oh, my God. You're drenched! I think you're wetter now than you've ever been with me before. Jesus!"
A second finger now joined the first as they dipped themselves into me and were brought to where they would do me the most good.
Just laying his fingers over me was very nearly all I needed. I gripped and pulled on the bars of his brass headboard while raising my hips, trying to get them to move on me, but they remained infuriatingly still, and so did he. In fact, he lifted them, keeping them in place, hovering just above me, never allowing me to actually make contact with them, despite how hard I was trying to.
And suddenly, I recognized that he was teaching me a lesson. A stark, somewhat harsh one, I might have argued at that point in particular, but one I'm sure he felt needed to be taught. I was not the one in control. I had even less control now than I had as his sub, and he was going to use it in the way that he felt was best for me. He was not going to allow me to affect my own sexual pleasure in any way.
He didn't have to say it explicitly, but I knew I was intuiting his intention correctly as he waited me out. It wasn't until I'd stopped undulating my hips, grasping rhythmically with my hands trying to move myself up and down beneath his fingers, until I'd relaxed myself as close to entirely as I was ever likely to get when I was like this, and lay still, awaiting whatever it was that he chose to do to me. Until I'd submitted my little girl self to him completely. And even then, he waited a bit longer, and I knew that was my punishment as my clit throbbed and swelled and ached for want of his touch.
Seconds shy of begging shamelessly, they descended again, rubbing in frustratingly slow, gentle swirls over me as he began to speak, that low, authoritative tone seeping into my ears and my mind and causing my entire lower body to clench and contract. "There, my sweet little girl. Daddy knows how all of these strange, big feelings can get you all flustered, but he also knows just what to do about it, whether you want him to or not."
I actually whimpered—loudly—at that from behind the binky.
"Every night, before you go to bed, Daddy will do this to you—again and again—until he thinks he's worked all of those needs and desires out for you, so that you can get a good night's sleep. And, when he puts you down for a nap—which you'll take at least one of each day—he'll do the same thing."
The only thing my adult mind rebelled at was the idea of having to nap, as did my little brain, but much less so. I was too caught up in what he was doing and saying to me, because every bit of it was the very embodiment of my dreams, and I was trying to allow myself to be wholly little—to let go and trust in him to take care of me—for the first time, ever.
My heart was pounding in my chest like a sledgehammer. I was riding that edge between apprehensive and relaxed, utterly tuned in to every little thing about him. About us. About my Daddy and how he acted when I was with him like this. Every fleeting expression, every change in tone, every tender, paternal kiss of my temple while he was simultaneously driving me crazy with his fingers—I absorbed all of it, consciously and unconsciously.
He knew exactly what to do and what to say to me, how to be for me.
And it was indescribably amazing.
"When you're little, though, you're not allowed to suppress your reactions to Daddy touching you like this. Not at all, Tahlia. If I think you're doing that, I will seriously tan your behind. Your big isn't allowed to come without my permission. But you are always allowed to come. I want you to embrace the sensations that are building inside of you." His free hand tenderly brushed the hair off my forehead. "I know they can be kind of overwhelming for a little girl like you, but I promise you that they're nothing to be afraid of. That's exactly how Daddy wants you to feel—all achy and wet and swollen, needing to burst so badly you can't think of anything else."
I could feel his eyes on me, everywhere at once, but mostly on where his hand was beneath my pull up and my face. He wouldn't miss anything about my reactions and was cataloguing them for future reference, learning what made my little moan, or catch her breath, or what she didn't react to at all.
"Daddy will control whether or not you do, though. And, if you should, by accident, burst on my hand or in my mouth, then that's nothing for you to be concerned with. That's entirely Daddy's fault for not reading you well enough to prevent it, if that was what he wanted." He leaned down to whisper directly into my ear, "You are always to welcome the good feelings Daddy brings to you, because there will most definitely be some bad feelings, too. Trips over Daddy's lap, screaming and crying while the paddle or your hairbrush falls on your sore cheeks for the third time that day, or the fifth, or the tenth."
I was just about there, but I couldn't tell him. He knew, though. He hadn't increased his rhythm at all—it remained slow and steady, which was why I had lasted so long.
"That's it, little one. There's nothing you can do but surrender to it. Daddy wants it for you, so it will happen to you. You have no choice—"
There was no way he could have missed the signs that led up to me getting there. My constant moaning became more frantic despite the binky, my body tensing—taut as a bowstring beneath his teasing, torturous fingers—panting as if I'd run a marathon while still sucking rhythmically on the binky when I could. I didn't know if it was prohibited or not, but when the time came, I screamed. I had no more control over it than I did him. I screamed long and hard and couldn't stop, even when I thought I ought to. I screamed and hollered and, at the very end, I growled long and low, the breath bellowing out of me as wave after wave of excruciating pleasure continued to roll violently through my body.
And he continued to stroke me throughout it all, never letting up. I knew he had watched me closely the entire time that I was so naked and exposed to him, and it made me blush—not that he could see that through the sex flush, I imagined, but I felt it within me. He was deliberately bringing about the type of embarrassment that only always heightened my pleasure. I wasn't at all sure I could live through another.
My pacifier—which had added tremendously to what I had experienced—had fallen out of my mouth during one hellacious cry, which allowed me to say, "No, please. I-I can't."
But he just chuckled evilly and continued to manipulate the most sensitive scrap of flesh anywhere on my body. "I would bet you can, young lady. And I'm thinking you're going to have to—"
He was right. It was a quicker, quieter one, the kind that sneaks up on you and all of a sudden—bam—you're there, right at, then—a millisecond later—falling over into the carnal abyss. It was no less intense, just intense in a different way, my body seizing up and writhing as I convulsed helplessly beneath that relentless finger of his.
It drifted away from its usual spot for a second, coming up drier than he liked, but he had already thought about that, producing a small pump bottle of lube.
Panting, I whispered, "Y-you…don't…have…to…"
Another purely evil grin. "Ah, yes, but I do, Tahlia. Because I'm your Daddy, and I want to."
I found the binky pressed against my lips again, and I dared not refuse it, and it made what happened next that much easier and harder at the same time.
I produced a lot of slickness myself, which he preferred to use, but I couldn't deny that the manufactured stuff—especially when I'd already come—worked really well, worked almost against me, in this instance. It allowed his finger to glide more readily over me. It was downright lethal.
This one took a little longer, but he was more than patient enough to see it through to the end—to its inevitable conclusion. I was screaming again this time, bucking and heaving and convulsing, muscles locked tight as he maintained ruthless control of me.
And as soon as that one began to die down, Mane pressed the pacifier back into me and began again. But I thought I had reached my limit, and before I could think better of it, both hands came down to cover his, the material of my faux diaper forming a barrier between us.
He stopped, and so did I, frozen by what I'd done and what I knew the inevitable consequence was going to be of that action. Without batting an eyelash, I found myself flipped expertly over onto my stomach, pajamas and pull up pushed down enough to expose a bottom that I was quite sure was still red from the last time, leaving enough of them caught beneath me to effectively trap my arms at my sides.
The smacks began falling immediately. "Naughty, naughty girl," he scolded in a severe tone that was starkly different from the one he had used with me seconds ago, although he never raised his voice. I almost wished he had. His words were that much worse to hear when delivered in his calm, steady manner. "You were told to keep your hands above you, grasping the headboard. You were not given permission—nor did you even bother to ask—to bring them down. I'm surprised at you, Tahlia. You know better than to do that, don't you?"
Screaming now for an entirely different reason, however muffled, I nodded my head at his question, not knowing whether he wanted me to or not. My position—with my cheek on my pillow—kept the binky in longer than it might have remained, reinforcing the reason why I found myself here, wearing a diaper, essentially, and childish, one piece pajamas, while having my bottom smacked by my Daddy for being disobedient.
Although it was as awful, as all of the spankings he gave me were, it was short and hard and to the point, every smack deliberately designed to make the most impact in the shortest amount of time. And boy, did they ever!
But before I had even begun to come to grips with it, I found myself lying on my now even sorer rump as he rearranged things around me, setting everything to rights. But instead of ordering me to grab onto the rung again, he gathered my wrists in to his free hand and stretched them well above my head, making me feel like a naughty child who had to be restrained by her Daddy.
"There. Apparently, you need some help remembering to keep your little hands where they belong." He sounded stern but not angry.
And just like that, his lube slickened fingers were right back where they had started out. A long, muscular leg hooked itself over the closest one of mine, forcing me to splay myself that much further apart for him. He didn't really get any better access to me by doing that. He was just reinforcing the point he'd been making since he'd picked me up this afternoon.
He was my Daddy, and he could—and would—do as he pleased with me. What I wanted might—or might not—be taken into consideration. But in the end, he was in charge, not me.
Mane brought me to three more orgasms as I lay there on a very hot, stinging behind, replacing the pacifier every time it fell out of my mouth as I climaxed. Those last three were quiet on his part. He concentrated all of his attention on bringing me off.
When he removed his hand, he laid it on my tummy while I tried to recover some semblance of myself and my dignity, but it just wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let it happen. Littles didn't worry about their dignity.
He redressed me quite tenderly, humming softly while he did it, then pulling the covers up over me again and snuggling down next to me. Mane knew I enjoyed being held as I fell asleep—I'd turn away from him when I was ready to sleep the rest of the night, but getting there, I liked to feel his arms aroun
d me. He put I Heart radio on his phone, turned to a loop of standup performances that would provide the background voices that I needed to help me sleep.
I was drowsy and relaxed into an incoherent puddle of goo, and I could have nodded off very easily. But my eyes had been closed for a while, and I knew I had been being terribly selfish, just lapping up and drowning in all of this attention as I sucked away on my pacifier. But I forced myself to open my eyes and look up at him, finding him staring down at me intently.
He didn't look unhappy, he just looked a little…off, and I became frightened instantly—as I was wont to do as a little—at the idea that it might be as a result of anything I'd said or done.
It was a testament to how I felt about him that I didn't just dissolve into horrified tears at the very idea, and I actually felt safe enough—even when we were new like this—to actually ask him about it.
"Did I do something wrong?" The urge to call him "Daddy" was there, but I resisted. I'm not really sure why, at this point—considering that he was certainly acting as the perfect one for me—but I did.
Mane recovered immediately, hugging me tightly. "No, you most certainly did not. But, in the interests of being completely honest with you—as you know I expect you to be with me—I was surprised that I didn't hear you scream any of those times what I heard you scream last time—the one that got us here."
My cheeks were again—still—yet, with him this weekend—fire engine red. "I'm sorry."
He put his finger over my lips. "No, honey, please don't apologize to me. You don't owe me any kind of explanation, and I didn't tell you to make you feel sorry or obligated to call me that, either. You asked, and I told you, and that's it. I want you to be completely yourself with me. I've wanted to hear you call me Daddy for a while now—probably since I met you. I was so pleased—and delightfully surprised—to hear you scream it when I frankly hadn't expected I ever would, and I'm just being overeager. I've said I love you first, and I do. But you called me Daddy first, however inadvertently—and that's at least as good as that, as far as I'm concerned."
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