Page 16 of Daddy!

"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.

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