Page 43 of Daddy Knows Best

My phone showed 7:47. Thirteen minutes until he was due. Thirteen minutes until the scene would begin.

The consent sheet drew me back to the bed. My handwriting looked shaky but determined, each agreement carefully copied from our Tuesday negotiation. Yes to blindfolding. Yes to light impact play with the cane. Yes to the vibrator he'd show me later. No to punishment language—this wasn't about correction. Yes to pleasure, to surrender, to being his good girl because I chose it.

At the bottom, my signature waited for its partner. Emily M. Carter, dated today, promising to ask for what I needed. Touse my words. To trust that wanting didn't make me greedy—it made me human.

My body hummed with readiness—nipples tight against thin cotton, pussy already slick with possibility, skin hypersensitive to every shift of air. But underneath the arousal lived something better: peace.

Thetimecame,andthe door swung open to reveal Nate in clothes I'd never seen him wear—ink-black chinos that fit perfectly, forest-green crew neck that turned his eyes into storms.

"Hi, little bee." His voice carried that particular rasp that meant he'd been thinking about this as much as I had.

"Hi, Daddy."

He stepped inside, and I barely got the door closed before his free hand found my waist. The kiss started soft—a greeting, a check-in, a "hello, I missed you since lunch." But when I made a small sound against his mouth, his control slipped. He pressed me back against the door, tongue sweeping in to taste and claim.

My hands fisted in his sweater, pulling him closer, the cane still gripped in one fist adding awkward angles to our embrace. When his teeth caught my bottom lip, tugging gently, my knees forgot their job.

"Careful," he murmured, steadying me with hands that spanned my ribs. "We have procedures to follow."

"Procedures." I tried to sound disapproving, but it came out breathy. "Very sexy."

"Everything's sexy when you're involved." His thumb stroked the bare skin between cami and hip. "Been thinking about you in those socks all day."

"Just the socks?"

"The socks. The cane in your hand." His forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged. "My perfec girl."

The praise settled warm in my belly, mixing with the ache he'd started. But he was already pulling back, retrieving his duffel with movements that spoke of regained control.

"Bed," he said simply. "Time to make things official."

I led him through my apartment, aware of how the cami rode up with each step. His presence filled the small space, making everything feel charged and important. Sir Reginald's protesting yowl from the living room earned a chuckle.

"Banished?" Nate asked.

"With treats and toys. He'll survive." I set the cane carefully on its tissue paper. "Though he might guilt-trip me for days."

"Worth it," he said, then stopped short at the bedroom threshold. "Emily. This is beautiful."

I saw it through his eyes—the amber glow softening everything, the sunflower standing guard, the bed made with hospital corners because some habits from therapy stuck. The consent sheet waited on navy cotton, my signature already dry.

"Wanted it perfect," I admitted.

"It is. You are." He set the duffel by the nightstand, then surprised me by taking both my hands. "Before we start—how are you? Really?"

The question grounded me, pulling me back from the edge of pure want. "Nervous. Excited. Proud of the money thing—did you see my folder?"

"I saw. Seventy-three dollars saved." His thumbs stroked my knuckles. "That's over six hundred in a year if you keep this pace."

"Math during foreplay. Very hot."

"You’d be surprised what I find hot." He squeezed my hands, then released them. "Ready to review?"

We settled on the bed, the consent sheet between us like a map to buried treasure. I picked it up with hands that barely trembled, clearing my throat.

"I, Emily Carter, consent to the following activities on this date." My voice started thin but grew stronger. "Blindfolding for sensory enhancement. Light impact play with rattan cane, focused on buttocks and thighs. No punishment language or disciplinary framing."

"Witnessed," Nate said formally. "Continue."

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