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“But I don’t have anything for you!” I wailed.
It was Valentine’s Day, but we had long since decided that we’d not give into all of that commercialism and hype, and that we wouldn’t even exchange gifts to celebrate it.
But mostly because we were so happy together that, for us, truly, every day was Valentine’s Day.
But Daddy often surprised me with things – small things mostly – a coloring book or a stuffie he’d thought I’d particularly like – although he often thoughtfully managed to treat both my little and my big – and this time was no different.
When I awoke, he was already up – had gone running, showered, put a robe on, then made breakfast for us – a somewhat less healthy one than he usually allowed.
He’d heard me stretching and stirring and came in with a beautiful white wicker tray that he put on the bed, then proceeded to kiss me deeply, despite my morning breath.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my very, very good girl,” he murmured against my mouth, and I knew he was remembering what I had done for him last night and blushed profusely because now I was remembering, too.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy,” I whispered back, still - even after all this time with him, all of the terribly intimate things we’d said and done with each other – just the slightest bit shy with him, which he found charming, thankfully.
I expected he’d join me on the bed, but he didn’t, at first.
Instead, he went to his side of our closet – the one I hid in occasionally when things got too much for me – and brought out a gift bag with a beautiful, lacy pink heart on the front.
Which was the point at which I’d whined at him about not having anything for him and promptly dissolved into tears.
“Nonsense, babygirl,” he said firmly, “You have been so very good while I’ve been busy with rehearsals, even though you’ve been spending much more time alone than usual, and than I like you to. You deserve a treat. And beyond that,” he intoned, tipping my chin up with one finger, causing our eyes to meet, “every single day, you are my most precious gift. Now, let me dry your tears and then you can open your presents and I’ll feed you breakfast.” I kept my face lifted to his, eyes closed, the occasional tear still leaking out from them as he dried my face with the utmost tenderness, bestowing feather light kisses here and there occasionally, as if he was kissing my boo boos all better.
Although I was still sniffling a little when he stopped, he had cajoled me into not having a full-blown meltdown – which only he was ever able to do – because, Lord knew, I was wholeheartedly in favor of indulging my little side and opening prezzies, despite my lingering guilt.
My little had her priorities, after all . . .
He gathered me into the safe cocoon that was his body, placing me on the bed between his legs, my back to his chest, strong arms wrapping comfortingly around me as he put the bag down in front of me, chuckling softly as I immediately plunged a greedy hand into it, eyes tightly shut because I wanted to be surprised by whatever it was.
The first gift was a small pair of pink butterfly earrings that I put on immediately, and Daddy oohed and ahhed approvingly, of course.
Then there was the video game I’d been wanting, but had never asked for.
I had learned to be careful of what I mentioned wanting in front of him – even in jest – because, although he was quite firm and strict with me overall, he could also be quite indulgent, and he had, on occasion, bought me things that I deemed were entirely too extravagant, and had told him so.
He had frowned fiercely at that, and I had had to learn – the very hard way – that I did not make those kinds of decisions. Daddy did. And that, if he had thought we couldn’t afford whatever it was – the newest Iphone – with the largest memory – with all the accoutrement I’d been drooling over, in one case - then I wouldn’t have gotten it.
And I know I shouldn’t have even thought about it from there – Daddy having spoken on the subject – but I did kind of censor myself around him a bit so that that kind of thing didn’t happen again, because – even though our finances had long since been combined - I didn’t think I’d ever feel free to buy him things like that, and I didn’t like things being on such an uneven keel in that way.
He was not my Sugar Daddy, he was my Daddy.
“How did you know?” I asked in amazement, turning in his hold to look back at him, wondering if he was psychic.
He just gave me a satisfied smile and said, “A Daddy knows these things about his little girl.”
The last thing at the bottom of the bag was a small box of my favorite chocolates, which was a big treat because I wasn’t usually allowed to eat such things. Of course, I promptly popped one into my mouth, then, bravely, unselfishly, gave Daddy the box so he could have some, too, even though – with Daddy’s legendary sweet tooth – I knew I was in grave danger of getting it back empty.
He demurred, though. “I don’t think chocolate and caramel are really breakfast foods, lovely.”
“They are as far as I’m concerned!” I stated unequivocally, mowing my way through two or three more pieces before he did what I knew he was eventually going to do and took the box away from me, giving me a mildly stern look and saying, “Real food first.”
I pouted, but not much, because the breakfast he’d made looked so yummy and I loved it when he fed me. But before he did, he fluffed my pillows and put them in place so that when he moved me to sit next to him, I could lean comfortably back against my own pillows. He clicked the TV on, playing the Rugrats episode I’d fallen asleep to – after having been made thoroughly and completely exhausted by his very intimate efforts - in his arms last night. Then, putting a Tinkerbell napkin in my lap, he arranged himself next to me on the bed with the tray to one side and proceeded to hand feed me tidbits of scrambled egg, cinnamon raisin toast, hash browns, o.j. from a shared glass - that he drank most of - as well as a slice of bacon, and milk from a pink princess sippy cup that he made sure I drank all of, along with taking my morning gummy multivitamin.
When breakfast was over, he took the tray into the kitchen while I darted to the bathroom for my morning ablutions, then hopped back into bed when I was done.
He came back a few minutes later and joined me in bed, saying, “I thought we might go out today – maybe take that boat ride on the Thames I’ve been promising you? I made reservations for later on today, but we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
I’d been wanting to do that, but I couldn’t get over the fact that he had gone to such lengths for me, but I didn’t have anything for him in return. It made me sad, and I couldn’t keep from worrying about it.
Daddy always noticed things like that about me immediately, and caught my chin with his fingers. “What is it, honey? What’s making you sad? Don’t you like your presents?”
“Oh, yes, I do – of course I do!” I rushed to assure him. “I just feel bad because I don’t have anything for you . . .” I pouted.
Daddy was usually quite gentle with me. His efforts at helping me eat better – okay, making me eat better – and be more active in general – were paying off and I had lost some weight. Not that he cared whether or not I did – he had long since convinced me of that – mostly. He simply wanted me to feel better and be healthier overall.
And I did – not that I would ever admit that to him.
But I was now leaning towards being much smaller than he was, which – with the muscles he was building up for this demanding new part - put me at even more of a disadvantage than I had been before around him. There was never any doubt in my mind that he was stronger than I was, but now that had been increased considerably, which was something I think he reveled in, to a certain extent.
I was thin enough now that he could literally throw me around – he was always very careful of me, of course – but it was always thrilling to me when he did so.
And some times, he had less patience with me beating myself up than others.
This was apparently one of those times, because those guilt-ridden words were no sooner out of my mouth than he reached out – lightening quick – to grab my hips and bodily move me onto my back, head tucked into the upper corner of his side of the bed, man-handling me into a position that was diagonal across the bed, so that he would have as much room as was possible with which to do to me whatever he wanted.
“As I said earlier, little miss, you are my gift. Everything about you. Every little bit of you – some bits more than others,” he rasped, kissing me deeply then moving determinedly down the front of me, quickly and efficiently unbuttoning my pajama top and spreading it open to reveal my breasts, which he luxuriated in thoroughly, chuckling deeply at how I groaned and writhed at his avid attentions.
Then, just as quickly, he shinnied himself the rest of the way down me, inserting himself between pajama covered legs that had long since fallen open in anticipation of him being there.
He acted as if he was desperate for me, as if being denied access to me in any way was physically painful to him. But then, as if he realized where he was, looking up at me from between my legs and growling low in the back of his throat, he then pressed his entire face against my slit, breathing me in deeply, greedily, and blowing his hot breath back onto me..
Then, as he nibbled at me through two layers of cloth, he asked, head still buried against me, “Tell me, my little love, what do good little girls get?”
I knew the answer, of course, but it made me twist in embarrassment just to think of it, much less to have to say it to him, although I knew he wouldn’t relent until I obeyed him – and there was no telling just how much patience he would have with me stalling in doing so.
One hand flew to my mouth, as if in shame, the other clenching the comforter in my fist rhythmically; in time with the way he rocked his whole face against my privates, groaning as loudly and frequently if he was seconds from an orgasm himself.
“No, Daddy,” I whispered, shaking my head slowly, not wanting to say it out loud, knowing that his seemingly innocent question had caused my entire body to flush red and hot.
He sat up suddenly and began to pull my pajama pants down hurriedly, impatiently, as if he couldn’t wait to get at what was beneath, not giving me the chance to object in any way – not that I was trying to - before they were casually thrown over his shoulder to land on the floor.
Then he simply sat there - between legs that I was obliged by his imposing presence between them to keep open - and stared me, at the spot where his face had just been, at the Elsa undies he had bought me himself that I knew were already telltale wet, his gaze unbearably, blatantly hungry.
“Christ, Peanut, you’re so beautiful like this.” His voice almost broke as the praise flowed from his mouth.
When he spoke again, eyes never leaving me, his voice was so low I barely recognized it as his. “And how to good little girls behave when Daddy takes their pajamas and panties down?”
After a short pause, his gaze flickered to mine, full of stern warning.
“Th-they lie st-still,” I murmured, my attention – and my imagination - captured by what I saw in his eyes.
He must’ve seen something in mine that inspired him to surprise me then, by reaching up and grabbing – from one of the cubbies in our headboard – the very first stuffie he’d ever given me – a very pretty and girly, soft, sherbet pink and orange rabbit.
“Hold onto Lilah, honey,” he said in his more usual, soothing tone, but reverting back to his more growly one with his next sentence. “You’re going to need her.”
I grabbed onto that rabbit as if she was going to save my life – and I knew it might not come quite to that, but she might help me to hold onto my sanity, depending on what he intended to do to me.
What he did was continue to stare down at my most private self, but then his fingers began to wander, prying the crotch of my panties aside in places as he drawled, “These are some very cute panties you’re wearing, darlin’, but they’re also very wet here – “ his knuckles pressing against the cotton right above my opening, asking the deeply, deliberately embarrassing question, “Did you have an accident, babygirl?”
Very little he could have said would have made me become any redder – would have made me feel more absolutely mortified – and he was well aware of that fact when he said it. “No – no, I didn’t!” I rushed to assure him, although I knew in my heart that he wouldn’t have been angry if I had.
“Are you sure?” he asked, those stark blue eyes moving slowly up my body to collide with mine. “You’re very, very wet. Not just your panties.”
I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from his hand as I watched just one of those long fingers slip beneath the material to stroke along the seam of my folds, slowly, from top to bottom – knowing it was getting very wet in the process.
“What could that be, hmmmm, little one, if not an accident?” he asked, sounding innocent when I knew he was anything but.
“No – no, Daddy! I haven’t had an accident!” I cried, truly mortified at the thought.
“Well, then, this is definitely going to require closer examination, isn’t it, my sweet love?”
He sank down in front of me, stretching himself out on the bed, having placed me this way so that the only thing that would hang over the edge of the bed were his feet.
But I was entirely unprepared for what he did next, leaning forward, his big hands on the backs of my thighs, pressing them back as far as they would go, then keeping them there with a muscular arm across both of them at once, holding me down and terribly exposed to him at the same time.
“You still haven’t answered my question, babygirl,” he rumbled. “What do good little girls – especially the ones who do what you did for your Daddy last night, and who obeys her Daddy and the rules he makes for her, and lies still and quiet, as she should, when Daddy takes her pants and panties down . . . What does she get, according to Daddy himself?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer before he pressed his face there again, only there was almost nothing between my heated flesh and his any longer, especially once he used his nose to push the crotch of my panties aside, his free hand coming up to hold them that way as he used the very tip of his tongue to do what his fingers just had – ride the curves of my folds all the way down then up again.
Slowly.
But eagerly.
“Daddy – I – “ I wanted to stall for more time, but I had a feeling he wasn’t going to wait any longer for my answer, so I forced myself to say it, however faltering it came out. “They – they – “ my voice became less than a whisper, “They get Daddy’s mouth on kitty.”
With that, his hand ripped my panties off me as he held his face less than an inch above me, growling, “That’s exactly what they get,” before he literally sank his face into me, lips wetly kissing other wet lips, nose poking and prodding until he shook his head against me, using it to force me to open up for him naturally.
I clenched Lilah even more tightly than I had been, knowing there was no way for me to stop him from doing any of it – his weight kept me still, his strength holding my legs back, thus leaving me completely open to him as he marauded his way through every single bit of that tender territory, top to bottom, completely devouring me – and sounding as if he was being given the blow job of a lifetime the entire time he was doing it, only eventually settling down to capture my clit in his open mouth, suckling, licking and teasing until he had me at the very edge, then lifting his head to look up at me with a huge, obscenely satisfied grin on his face.
A face that was wet with droplets of myself that had gotten caught in the stubble surrounding his mouth and chin – and well beyond that. It was as if he was quite happily drowning himself in me.
“My dearest little one, you give me so many gifts – some you’re aware of, some you’re not – that I feel unworthy sometimes of all of them. But the sweet taste of kitty – how you love and trust me enough to be laid out, helpless before me, taken in any way I so choose is one of the greatest gifts you’ll ever give me.” I watched, mesmerized, as his tongue came out to greedily lick off those droplets it could reach. “You taste like ambrosia and manna – like you. Like the Heaven you are to me.” He bent down to give me a long, wet, sloppy kiss that had me trying to arch my hips against him, but that hard arm across my lower tummy wouldn’t allow it. “But I think kitty tastes like she’s hungry –“ he said, slurping at me as if I was a particularly decadent dessert, “ - she needs something.” His tone dropped again as he lowered his mouth to me once again. “I wonder what that could be . . . “
The man was the definition of relentless.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t laid me out last night just as eagerly. The only time I had episodes of the sleep problems that had haunted me all my life was when he was gone, because if he was within arm’s length of me, he was going to wear me out before allowing me to fall into a totally exhausted – utterly sated – sleep within the wonderful confines of his arms.
“You know Daddy can do anything he wants to you, sweetness, and what I want is for you to cum, babygirl,” he mumbled against me. “I want to hear you howl with it.”
And he got his wish.
He took his time, coyly leaving off when he thought I was close, bringing me almost – but not quite - there then backing off for less sensitive territory, talking to me all the time – telling me what a good girl I was, how much he adored me, how much he wanted me, how much he loved me and loved seeing me like this. But then, that was obvious by how I could see him moving his hips, his robe long since having given up the fight of trying to cover that gorgeous length of his as he rubbed it against the mattress while he ravaged me.
Until, at the very last – when I was mindlessly rolling my own hips as much as I could, trying to offer myself up to his mouth, wordlessly begging him for release – when he sank those long fingers into me – three abreast, so as to make me gasp and keen, not quite in pain but not taking them easily, either, driving them into me to till they wouldn’t go any further, then pumping them – hard – all the way in then all the way out of me as his mouth had his way with my clit.
I couldn’t control myself – I writhed, I mewled – I definitely howled, and that was during the build up to a violent, culminating spasm that nearly blacked me out as I screamed his name – the only one I was allowed to use – almost violently, a potent combination of curse and prayer – especially when the devastating, total body clenches didn’t seem to diminish in the least as they usually did, but rather stayed at that fever pitch for much longer than they ever have, and I was held captive throughout it all, thrown mercilessly from one peak to another, unable to stop him, unable even to control my reactions or my own body.
I was thoroughly and completely his, as I was and am and always will be.
When he finally relented a little, and granted that I might need a break from such all encompassing pleasure, Daddy let my legs down, encouraging me to stretch them out as best I could, but he remained where he was, and left his mouth there, over my clit, to suckle at me lazily, raising his head occasionally to ask if I was all right.
At first, I honestly couldn’t answer him. I tried, but nothing came out, so I had to settle for nodding – after I’d remembered how to nod, still drowning in ecstasy, my body thrumming and pulsating with it, especially with him still right . . . there.
“Oh, babylove,” he breathed against me. “That was amazing. You are fucking amazing. I will never tire of seeing you like that, seeing you completely overtaken . . .” His mouth returned to me, like my clit was an all day sucker he couldn’t resist, not allowing me to jerk away from him although I was incredibly sensitive in the aftermath, and he knew it. “You’re so self-contained – even your little is, most of the time. I know you’re a strong, capable and independent woman – that’s what makes this kind of relationship so intimate, so profound – and it makes your total surrender to me – like you just did – a thing of pure, raw beauty.”
I was just barely beginning to maybe – perhaps – recoup some of my mental faculties when I felt those lips and that tongue moving on me with more purpose than they had been.
And I knew that I might have been thoroughly satisfied.
But he wasn’t.
And no amount of begging or pleading – and I did plenty, believe me – would dissuade him.
“No, honey, I think you need more. A lot more.”
And so that was exactly what I got – more screaming, howling, keening orgasms than I could count, that left me unable to think or move again by the time he lifted his head, wearing more of me as well as that terribly self-satisfied grin, even when I knew he wasn’t.
At least, not in the same way as he’d satisfied me.
“I don’t think we’re going to make the river boat ride.”
“The huh wah?” I muttered incoherently.
His smile just got bigger. “Exactly.”
After a few quiet moments of him stroking me gently, he mused, “Some time, as soon as I can manage it, though, we’re going to have a whole weekend, out in the country, in some isolated cottage by the sea, and we’re not going to leave it, from the day we enter until the day we come home. And I’m going to spend the entire time right here, little girl,” he bent down and licked me slowly, “bringing you off again and again and again – making you scream every time and startling only the seagulls with it.”
I couldn’t help but shiver at his words, my breathing just barely beginning to settle down.
Then I felt him reach for something – and I still had Lilah clutched in a death grip to my side - but no alarm bells went off.
When they most definitely should have.
That was, until I heard a loud click and the distinctive buzzing sound of that big Hitachi vibrator being turned on, then switched from slow to fast as it was brought nearer and nearer to me while he moved just a bit away to accommodate it, that satisfied grin turning into a truly evil one as he pressed it directly over my clit –
And made me scream his name until I could do so no longer.