He sighed, looking at my expression, which I guess wasn't very helpful to him. "I'm explaining this badly, but this is a relationship, not a contest. Things happen when they happen, and I want them to unfold as they should, without artificial expectations getting in the way. I want you to really be little—as little as you feel you need to be—because I really want to be your Daddy."
Although I nodded that I understood, I still felt the score was very uneven, tipped drastically in my favor, and I knew I was going to have to do something about that.
I put my palm over him, and he literally jumped at my touch, but he also gently put my hand back under the covers. "No, babygirl. I appreciate the sentiment, and despite the evidence to the contrary, I don't want that right now. This weekend is for you. I'll start teaching you about what Daddy needs from you later. For now, believe me when I say that all I want is to learn what you want, what you need from me, as your Daddy."
He leaned down and kissed my cheek gently, then my lips, but it was a Daddy kiss, not a lover's. "And right now, what I want most is for you to get to sleep. It's way past your bedtime. I'm already being a horrid Daddy to you, not getting you to sleep on time."
"You're being a 'mazing Daddy to me," I vowed, meeting his eyes and meaning every word from the very tips of my toes.
I loved it when he blushed. "Thank you. But now it's quiet time, sweetie. You need your sleep."
Again, as a compliment to him and his caretaking of me, despite any residual worries I might have about what he was getting out of this, I was asleep in seconds.
Unfortunately, I wasn't smart enough to stay asleep.
Chapter 6
"What's this?" he asked, crouching over me and tucking his finger beneath the collar of my pajamas, to bring something on my jammies into better focus, and running his fingers over it. I heard him sniff. "This is…this is chocolate."
I gasped and tried to lurch away from him, but I was already on my back, on my side of the bed, with him standing between my legs, in a position that I had a feeling I was going to be becoming very familiar with and that put me at a disadvantage. Not to mention that he was holding onto the pajamas I was in, so no matter how hard I struggled, I wasn't going anywhere.
Because of the problems that I had sleeping, Mane never woke me deliberately. Any sleep that I could get was good at any time, as far as he was concerned. And, to my great annoyance, his institution of a bedtime for me, early on in our relationship as we were easing ourselves into the Dom/sub thing, and not indulging me in my erratic sleep patterns, had helped noticeably. Immensely. Most nights, since I'd met him and he'd been more dominant with me, in combination with the mind erasing orgasms he bestowed upon me regularly that left me nicely incoherent and unable to worry myself into staying up, I could usually get six or seven hours of solid sleep. Most nights.
But, surprisingly, not last night, despite his incredible efforts on my behalf.
He put me to bed at ten. I was asleep by eleven or so. I have no idea whether he had stayed with me the whole time once I was asleep, although I suspected as much. He would be like that, as a Daddy—caring to the point of almost being overprotective. Could one actually be overprotective of a little? I wasn't sure, but I knew I could really do with even a small amount of that, regardless, and he seemed eager to give it to me.
My eyes sprang wide open about two-thirty, though, which was the usual time I awoke if I was going to. He was out like a light, sprawled as he always was, butt naked, with no covers. He was such a man, sometimes. He slept that way—au natural—whether it was a hundred degrees or twenty-five below.
I tried not to be distracted by the disturbing perfection of his form in the darkness, but I was only partially successful. Then I snapped out of it. He was a light sleeper and could wake up at any moment. At least, he was facing away from me. That worked nicely to my advantage.
Although he hadn't made it a rule—yet—I barely hesitated in doing something I had a pretty good idea was going to get me into trouble, even though my rear end was still fairly uncomfortable. I eased myself out from under the covers, watching him every second, looking for any signs that he was stirring. But he didn't.
When I was out of the bedroom, I headed straight for the ice cream, eating several spoonsful around where he'd scooped mine out for me, hoping he wouldn't notice if he gave me more tomorrow. He was detail oriented, but I didn't think he was quite that anal. I hoped, anyway, for my own sake. Then I sat in the living room for an hour or two, binging Mom on Hulu and having to stifle my laughing, until I actually got sleepy again and went back to bed.
Apparently, I didn't notice that, while I was raiding the ice cream, a good-sized chunk of fudge landed on the front of my new pajamas and melted, forming a spot on the white material that was hard to miss. Busted. Well and truly.
If that had happened while I was eating last night, there was no way he wouldn't have noticed it. Mane was always eagle-eyed in regards to anything about me, although he wasn't creepy about it at all. He just…paid a lot of close attention to me. It had never made me feel uncomfortable, but rather special, instead—looked after and important to him. I could imagine that, as a Daddy, he'd be even more so.
"Baby doll, did you get up after I put you to bed last night?" He was looking at me from under drawn brows, and I knew that was not good.
I was totally unable to make myself look back at him. "I, uh, had to go to the ba…the potty, so I got up once last night."
"Uh huh," he agreed by not really agreeing as he slipped my arms out of the pajamas, pulling them out from beneath me, then flipping my hips up to tug it the rest of the way down my legs and off, leaving me lying there in just my pull up. "You stay still now," he warned, looking down at the spot on the pajamas as he walked away from me with them in his hand.
Mr. Neatnik was definitely going to put some kind of stain fighter stuff on that stain, get as close to removing it as he possibly could under running water, and then he'd probably run the pajamas with a load of his own clothes.
When he came back, he stared down at me, his face set. Still, his words were quiet and reasonable, with no trace of anger or even accusation. "It seems we have somehow acquired a mouse that has a taste for your favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's, because mine is untouched."
We traded places at his behest—he sat down and stood me in front of him, so that I was standing between his legs—naked but for the pull up. A long finger—one of the same ones that had devastated me last night—reached out to make me look at him rather than guiltily down at my pink clad feet. Then he took my hands in his, kissing the backs of each of them, then asking softly, "Might you, perhaps, be acquainted with that sweet toothed mouse, little miss?"
My little wasn't very good at being stressed. Neither was my big, but she had much more experience at it than my little did and was much more expert at dancing around the truth than she was, too. So, even though he wasn't screaming and yelling at me, as far as my little was concerned, he was obviously disappointed in me. And that was more than enough to send me—weeping inconsolably—into his arms, a tumbled confession spilling out of me like he'd been interrogating me for hours.
"'M sorry! Woke up in th' middle of th' night. Couldn't sleep. Jus' had a little ice cream—it was so good an' I wanted more! I'm soooorrrryyyyyy!"
His arms were wonderfully strong around me, and even though I knew I was in trouble, they still managed to make me feel—ultimately—safe, and that was all because of Mane and the way he was handling me.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry," I chanted, my little believing that—in everything, even contrition—more was better.
He framed my face with his hands, wiping tears away futilely, because they were immediately replaced with more. "I know you are, babygirl. I know you are," he crooned, shifting me to his shoulder, where I cried it out as he rubbed and patted my back. "And I'm not mad. You know I don't get mad at you, unless you put yourself in danger, and that's only 'cause I love you so much. A
nd I think the only thing you were in danger of was getting a tummy ache." He touched my belly as he spoke. "With a tummy that's sensitive to dairy sometimes, I only let you have a little non-dairy, you know. Not because I was trying to be mean and deprive you of something you really wanted, but because you still didn't need to overdo it and I didn't want you to get sick on our first weekend together."
It was obvious that he was just trying to make me feel better, but all he was succeeding in doing was making me feel worse—a lot worse.
"All right, honey. It's all right. It's just a bit of ice cream. You were naughty, but you weren't that naughty, at least, not about that" he said, forcibly arranging me so that I was facing him and straddling him while still holding me. Mane pulled the strands of hair that were sticking to my wet cheeks off them, all while murmuring nothings to me to help me calm down, touching me reassuringly as my crying dwindled to infrequent, violently hiccoughing sobs.
"Eyes on me, little love."
I did as he said, biting my lip the entire time.
"So. You had an unauthorized midnight snack attack, hmm?"
I nodded somewhat tentatively. "Huh-huh."
"But that's not really all, either, was it?"
"Whaddya mean?" I cocked my head at him.
"Well," he said, lacing his hands beneath my bottom, "you must've known that I wouldn't be happy that you did that, Tahlia, because you did your best to erase your tracks. You took a very small amount, and you put the spoon and the bowl into the dishwasher, didn't you? If you hadn't spilled on your new jammies, I would probably never have known you'd even gotten up at all."
I nodded again, feeling anxious, my eyes darting around the room.
He captured my chin and put them back where he wanted them. "Am I right about that, little miss?"
I frowned but nodded, because he was right.
"And that's another naughty thing, a much more concerning, naughty thing that you did, baby love. You deliberately tried to hide your naughtiness from me so that you could avoid getting a punishment." He paused, an eyebrow raised. "Didn't you?"
The tears started again then, but he didn't let me off the hook.
"Answer me, young lady."
"Yes," I whispered unhappily. I had never felt so guilty about anything I'd ever done before in my life.
Mane sighed. "Well, my child, if you had just had some ice cream and not tried to hide it from me and I had found the evidence of your misbehavior this morning when I got up, you would have gotten a trip over my lap for being disobedient and having more ice cream when you knew I didn't want you to have."
There was a "but" coming, and I didn't much want to hear it, because I was pretty sure that it was going to be about something mighty uncomfortable happening to mine! And I was absolutely right.
"But."
There it was.
"Since you obviously knew that what you were doing was something I wouldn't want you to do and you went to the bother of doing your best to try to cover it up, then that's a much more serious matter altogether, I'm afraid." A hand came up to cup the back of my head as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. "And for that, I want you to go get your hairbrush for me."
All of a sudden, I was free, but all I did was sit there—stunned and horrified—for a long moment.
The hairbrush was just as bad as the paddle in his hands—and that was when I was big! "No! I-I'm sorry—please!" I begged.
Mane shook his head with what I knew was genuine regret. "No, little girl. I'm afraid I need to teach you a strict lesson about trying to circumvent your Daddy's will. Now, please."
Still, I couldn't seem to make myself get down from his lap as I began to cry again, worrying my lip with my teeth and wringing my hands.
His next words were almost whispered. "I can promise you, my little love, that you do not want me to have to go and get it when I've already asked you to twice."
That was what it took, not that I ran to get it and ran back to him. But I also knew better than to try to delay the inevitable, too, especially since I'd already made him threaten me. Silent tears ran down my cheeks as I went to get the hated implement, bringing it back and handing it to him.
"Thank you."
No "good girl", though, because I wasn't, really, at the moment, and I'd defied him about retrieving that thing for as long as I could without earning a worse punishment. That wasn't very good girl of me, either.
Mane didn't believe in wasting any time once a punishment was decreed, either. I had no sooner given him my own hairbrush than my pull up was down at my ankles, I was taken over his knee and given one helluva spanking. There was no lecture and no pausing. He meant business.
Right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, up and down each side of my backside, and even down into the backs of my thighs. And I had no doubt that they would be feeling the kiss of the hairbrush, shortly, too.
But it was longer than I thought, probably one of the worst hand spankings he'd given me. I was as limp as a ragdoll over his thick thigh long before he stopped, wailing and choking and pleading, but he was immovable.
And then, with no warning at all, he switched implements from one stroke to the other, not tailoring the strength of his swats to the brush's severity in the least. That big wooden head came splatting loudly down onto a cheek that I was willing to bet was already as swollen red and ripe as a cherry tomato. I was already exhausted, but that smack got me screaming and kicking and making desperate attempts to escape as if it was the first. But it was only the first in a long line of them.
And he had too firm a hold on me for me to actually escape. He'd drag me back into place, even if I did. Even if I made it out of the bedroom, I would never make it all the way to the door before he caught me and brought me back to continue where I'd made him leave off. And there was no telling what he'd do then—well, yes there was, from previous experience. He'd start again, at the beginning, and do the whole thing again. It would be horrible, and one kind of punishment like that was more than enough to teach me that lesson, even though I could hardly help but try to get away, and he understood that.
He kept the same rhythm, too, always very conscious of not whacking away obliviously at one cheek and ignoring the other. Mane liked to make sure they were both the same color by the time he finished, not one purple and the other barely pink. And, although he did manage to cover all of my butt and more, he did have that favorite spot, where he knew I would be feeling it every time I sat down for a day or so, at least, so that area probably got the most attention of anywhere.
I was beside myself the entire time, and he showed absolutely no signs of stopping. And when he did, I was so sore that it didn't really even register at first that it was over. I was bawling, my eyes swollen shut with it, face red and cheeks drenched as he put the brush down on the bed and tucked me into his arms.
He didn't try to make me stop crying or wailing. He didn't care that my nose wanted blowing or that there was drool on my lips. He just held me, tighter than tight, using his voice—his whole body—to comfort me as he rocked us back and forth.
"Poor babygirl. Got her bottom paddled good and proper, she did, but that's all done. All over. Nothing more to be said or done about it. Safe in her Daddy's arms. Daddy loves her so much."
Mane repeated the same types of things over and over, in very much the same kind of aftercare he gave me as my Dom—trying to be reassuring and loving and help me find my way back to myself, usually out of subspace, unless there was something else he intended to do to me. But not this time. This time was different. It was…closer to my heart, and, I thought, his, too.
Suddenly, I moved away from him, surprising him into letting me. I sniffled and snuffled, looking up at him and feeling suddenly shy, even though I knew what I wanted to say to him. What I had to say to him, even though he'd just blistered my behind. Because he'd just blistered my behind.
"I'm so sorry, Daddy! I love you!" I cried, flinging myself at him and hugging him with all of my mi
ght. Some might find it a conflict to so completely embrace the person who had just—quite deliberately—caused me such discomfort, but I could truly only see the love that prompted his actions.
He seemed stunned, at first, hesitating in putting his arms around me for a long second, then squeezing me so tight, I was gasping for air and he had to ease off, doing so enough that he could look into my eyes. The ear-to-ear smile he was wearing was more than worth any shyness I'd had to overcome to say it to him.
"Darling girl, you just made your Daddy's day—my weekend—hell, my decade!" Then he tipped my face up and kissed me once, somehow calling forth a potent blend of my big and my little by being excruciatingly tender and unmistakably possessive at the same time. There was much hugging and squeezing and laughter and kisses, and him, asking me to call him that every five seconds and to tell him that I loved him, too, which I was only too glad to do for him.
"You're gonna get sicka hearin' that soon, I bet!" I challenged as he positioned me so that he could get me dressed, kindly folding the pink blanket from the baby kit beneath my ravaged cheeks for extra padding as I lay on it.
"Like hell, sweet pea." Then he frowned down at me.
My heart clenched. "What is it, Daddy?"
He booped my nose, recognizing my concerned tone. "Nothing for little girls to worry about. I was just thinking that I don't have a lot of little type clothes to put you into." Mane rummaged through the two drawers of his bureau that I occupied, coming up with a t-shirt that just said "No!" on it that he had gotten me for Christmas last year as a joke, and then he put me into a new pull up and just put the shorts I had been wearing back on me. He took a step back and surveyed his handiwork. "Cute as a button, as always. And the 'no' shirt works perfectly for you at any age, since you're entirely too fond of that word for someone who is both a submissive and a little," he warned teasingly.
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