by Unknown
“Daddy, may I please…”
He growls in a low voice, “Grab a glove and some lube and work that pretty little hand of yours into my ass, then I want you to bite my nipples until I’m screaming while squeezing my throat with your free hand.”
I love his ability to do that—to top me into inflicting pain and give me explicit instructions on how to provide service for him—actions that could, by outsiders, appear as though he’s submitting to me, when really it’s just the opposite. Profoundly so.
Obediently, I wrap my free hand around his neck while the other slowly opens him up. He groans and strains just slightly against it. This always gets his cock harder than anything else and he starts moving his hand more frantically up and down his shaft, jerking himself off while I work over his ass just so.
It’s only a matter of minutes before he’s fucking the air, bucking against me. I’m careful to follow his every move while twisting my wrist just slightly, pulling out at exactly the right moment, just as he comes with a series of grunts and tremors, shooting all over my thighs. I chuck my glove into the trash can as he reaches up for me, pulling me into his chest and holding me there. He strokes my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead, my temple, breathing into my ear as he whispers, “Such a good girl,” and I almost come. Knowing that I’ve pleased my Daddy so exquisitely sends me into convulsions, teetering right on that edge. I’m dying to have him repeat it just once more, so his words will thrust that orgasm shuddering through my entire body.
“My good, good girl.” And there goes my edge.
My submission begins between my ears, even though it occasionally ends between my thighs. The simplest words of praise given by my Daddy send me soaring. A nicely inserted “Well done” or “Good girl” makes my heart (and cunt) swell with delight. Nothing brings me more pleasure than knowing I’ve done good by Daddy and have made him happy, hard and proud. In that very second is my life’s greatest accomplishment.
I beam back at him as he smiles into me. These are the moments when my submission is the sweetest. The contrast is sharply juxtaposed with the times when he’s forcing deep, guttural screams from my throat, though I cherish both equally.
He has this notion that in our past lives together, I buried my texts within him. Never before in his life has he found access to so many words, so he credits me. He says he had safeguarded them deep inside himself for all this time and they’re now surfacing by way of his lips, his words and in what I recognize so readily. I pull it out of him; he pushes it into me. The push and pull, the erotically esoteric energy that intermingles between us.
He says he keeps coming back to a particular look I give him sometimes. That look where I’m caught between pain and pleasure, reveling in the simultaneous delight of fear and excitement. Looking like a scared little girl who’s about to get exactly what she deserves. I always do.
Later on, he takes me out for dinner and we stop by his office afterward to pick up some files. He does this to me because he knows his work infuriates me—it takes his attention away from me, and the office itself is the epitome of boredom. So I decide to make some fun for myself. I twirl around and plop down on his desk. (He doesn’t like when I do things like that—he says it’s “unprofessional” and I always mess up his perfectly organized papers.) I wrap my lengthy legs around his spinny chair and wheel him in.
Bending forward so that I almost lose my balance, I interweave my fingers behind his neck and whisper in his ear, “Daddy, you know what I wanna do later on?”
“No, babygirl, what’s that?”
“I wanna stick my tongue in your ass.”
Flushing about ten shades of pink and red, he’s my own personal valentine lit up under my words. He stammers over his tongue then attempts to stutter out a few words, but he can’t. Instead he rises abruptly, one of his large hands pushing into my shoulder blades and before I know what’s happening, he’s got me bent over his desk, my skirt pulled up, exposing my lace panties, and he lands a few really good blows.
Daddy spanks me until I’m crying out and pleading with him to stop, making all kinds of promises I can’t keep about how good I’ll behave in the future. When he’s satisfied that he’s pushed me just far enough, he comforts me and wipes my tears away, kissing my forehead, then firmly informs me that I’ve been much too distracting from his work. Next time I’ll have to spend a whole day under his desk, at his feet. And whenever Daddy starts to get too stressed out, he’ll put my succulent mouth to work, sucking him off to relieve the tension. I love these types of threats.
As we head back home that night, Daddy turns to me with a wicked look in his eye and says, “Babygirl, you’d better hope that sweet tongue of yours isn’t too tired, because you’re about to get what you wished for.”
I always do.
PINKY
Kissa Starling
Pinky twirled her long, pale locks around her index finger as she read the last page of Wuthering Heights. Her American history book lay unopened on the grass even though she had a test the next day. Thoughts of Bruce’s face flashed through her mind. His eyes and raised eyebrows signaled anger personified. I guess I should have asked permission, but it is my hair. Besides, it matches my name. How juvenile was that? She might as well stick out her tongue and yell “Nana, nana, boo, boo,” like she did to her father when she was young.
“Exactly the kind of thinking that got you into this mess, isn’t it, babe?” And there he stood. How in the world does he always know what I’m thinking?
“Don’t get me wrong. You’re more than hot with the pale-pink curly locks thing going on, but that isn’t a decision you should have made without me. In case you’ve forgotten, you shouldn’t make any decisions without me.” All six foot four of him towered above her. He pushed a strand of his long black hair behind his ear, a habit that endeared her to him even more.
“If it weren’t for a good cause I would have already tanned your hide good. As it is, your punishment will fit your crime.”
How could he say that? He’d yet to tell her what the punishment was. He knew how she hated not knowing. She held back the sarcastic remark that flowed so readily to the tip of her tongue.
Pinky stood, letting the novel fall to the ground. She didn’t say a word, but let her gaze wander over his black leather biker boots with the silver chains, which were slightly scuffed and a little more than sexy. Oh, how she’d like to see him use those chains on her.
“Ahh, the silent treatment. You know how I feel about that. I’ll get your things. I expect for you to be sitting, back pressed against the sissy bar, by the time I get to the parking lot.”
She hesitated for about ten seconds, knowing it would take at least five minutes to get to the parking lot. Bruce didn’t admonish her; in fact, he tossed her book straight into her pack, slung it over his shoulder and whistled as he strode away. He rounded the corner of the humanities building and a spark hit her brain like a freight train. What the hell am I doing? He’s going to kick my ass!
Her legs and feet hustled at the same time and instead of running, she tripped, skinning her exposed knobby knees. Pinky instantly realized her rookie mistake, tears spilling from beneath her eyelids. The challenge was on! Within seconds, she sprang to her feet and ran faster than she ever had. One minute later, the humanities building lay behind her and she could see Bruce’s back, twenty feet from the parking lot curb. His incessant whistling seemed to slow down with her approach. Burning air filled her throat. Quitting was not an option.
The choking fit came on without warning. His foot rose to step on the cement. Pinky sped up, stepped onto the curb and sailed into the air, not one ounce of oxygen in her body, landing on the seat of the Road King. She gulped in air, hoping to fill her lungs and face Bruce with an Aha, I did it smirk. When she got to the point where she could breathe without wheezing, Pinky looked up. Bruce slammed her bag into her chest just hard enough to knock some of the well-earned air out of her seizing chest cavity.
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nbsp; “I said back pressed against the sissy bar.” She scooted her buttcheek back, knowing not to argue. Dang, how did I forget that part? Once Bruce sat down and kicked the stand up, Pinky wrapped her arms around him, hugging with all her might. Then she massaged his neck and shoulders while he squealed out of parking lot D and away from Dodd University, where he taught history four days a week. How lucky she’d been when she signed up for his American history class last fall. Too bad she’d had to switch to Dr. Howitser so they could date publicly. Bruce brought history to life.
“Sir, did you see me leap into the air like that?” Pinky smiled, blinking her eyelashes, the wind whipping through her hair. Nothing would hurt her with Bruce as her protector. She saw newly bloomed irises, leaves sprouting and freshly mown lawns, but they all faded away as she focused on her master and what his plan might be.
“I did. Too bad you waited until the last minute to decide my orders were worth following.” Bruce sped up, narrowly missing a red light. The rest of their ten-minute ride home passed in silence. He knew how she despised his delayed answers. Game on, indeed.
The brick colonial hovered in front of them. Bruce slammed the kickstand down and removed his helmet. “Clothes off.”
Pinky looked toward the neighbor’s house.
Bruce grabbed her shoulders, locking his piercing gaze on hers. “Don’t make me ask again. You won’t like it.”
She pushed her skirt down and ripped off her blouse. Buttons scattered all over the driveway. One hook maneuver and her pink lace bra lay on top of the black leather Harley seat. Pinky flipped her sandals into the air, then knelt before Bruce, head down. Nothing pleases me more than pleasing you, Sir.
“So you do remember your place. Follow me, pet.”
He’d given no directive to stand so Pinky crawled up the front steps, tiny stones stinging her already scuffed-up knees. She paused, sitting back on her calves, while Bruce unlocked the entrance, smiling and happy to be home. He stepped in and shut the door.
Oh, my god. He’s leaving me out here on the front porch? Most of the neighbors came home around six and it had to be after five thirty already. Thank goodness for these high hedges we planted last year. She looked to the left and right repeatedly.
The doorknob turned. “Thank you, Sir. I…”
A silver dog bowl, one they’d used many times for their Doberman, clattered against the cement of the porch, spinning, then stilling. “Eat it.” Pinky looked to see a mush of brown goo inside. She looked up at her master. Surely he doesn’t want me to eat that. His stern look didn’t change. She shoved her face into the mass of yuck and lapped it up, attempting not to breathe. Ados, their Doberman, ate fast and licked until the bowl gleamed; she knew she’d have to do the same.
Her stomach rolled. I can’t think about it. If I do, I’ll throw up and then what? I brought this on myself. She swallowed without tasting as best she could, slurping the gravy and sitting back on her feet, all in a matter of minutes. Afterward she assumed the position, tongue out and heels digging into her bare, wet pussy.
Bruce reached down and snapped a studded collar around her neck. Pinky thrust her tits out and held her ass high. Her head rose to attention. The leash tugged against her neck; she followed. Ten feet later she crawled through the front door, onto the couch and into her master’s lap. “Ass up, babe.” She jutted her ass against his waiting hand and wiggled while he rubbed. The first smack came as a slight shock that reverberated through her spine. Her pussy swelled.
Pinky nuzzled against Bruce’s arm as he swatted her again, harder this time. His huge hand hit her ass and thighs repeatedly. Yes, please don’t stop. He pinched her once. “Come.” The spasm hit her instantaneously. Like a strung bow, her toes straightened and her head ascended. A tingle fired through her nerves, igniting them into a fiery scream. She didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until she collapsed into a heap of useless, spent goo. After-gasms sporadically exploded between her legs.
“You won’t make any more independent decisions now, will you?” He formed it as a question, but they both knew it wasn’t. Pinky shook her head back and forth.
“I own you, babe. I know what’s best for you.” She leaned forward, lifting her ass and hoping to guide his hand to land on her pussy. Please. Let one of those slaps hit my nub.
“You slut. I’ll decide when your kitty gets to join in on the fun.” His ministrations increased, going faster and faster. Pinky bucked against his leg. “Always centering your attention on the wrong thing.” Her master rubbed his goatee, an evil glint in his eyes.
“Spread your legs and finger yourself. It’s time to train the kitty.”
She spread wide and pushed her finger into the top of her slit, finding her nub slick with come. Slow circles increased to fast flicks. Pinky’s mind whirled with sensations. Round and round, with release so close—imminent. I love it when he lets me do this.
“Hands behind your back.” The devil voice came from her master’s mouth. Reluctantly, she stopped. Her pussy ached and disappointment reigned. Juices trickled down her thighs. Who knew women could have premature ejaculation? Afraid of reprisal, she held back the tears. A scratchy rope circled her hands then bound them together.
“On your knees.” Saliva filled her mouth with expectation. Soon he would offer himself to her. Pinky licked her lips, anticipating his warm, hard flesh down her throat.
“Close your eyes.”
A soft blindfold enclosed her eyes in a dark oblivion.
Her master’s strong hands lowered her down so that the upper half of her body rested against the prickly couch cushion. Pinky’s nostrils filled with a pleasantly musky smell. She inhaled, licking her lips once again. An insistent cock rubbed against her ass, exciting but confusing at the same time.
“Lean forward, pet.” Doing as she’d been told, Pinky rocked closer to the couch, her nose and mouth making contact with a plump, wet, bare pussy. Startled, she began to pull back but at that same moment her pussy filled with hard cock, which she couldn’t help but squirm into. Her position forced her tongue toward the waiting pussy and her nipples against the rough fabric of the couch cushion.
Pinky lapped up the woman’s juices, her mouth filling with the divine nectar. The woman moaned then scooted closer. The myriad of sensations merged together. Never before had she experienced such pleasure. Her pussy was full, her mouth was full of pussy and her nipples were being shoved against the coarse-textured couch. Pinky didn’t know which feeling to concentrate on. She didn’t wish to disappoint either of her lovers.
Her focus settled on her own tits. She aligned her nipples so that they rested upon the cording of the couch cushion. Every time the woman in front of her ground her pussy, it forced her nipples under the cording and every time her master thrust deep into her pussy, her nipples were forced above the cording. The back and forth motion flicked her nipples hard.
One of her lovers stretched her nipple out and attached it to the cushion cording with a clothespin. As soon as it seemed secure the other nipple was attached in the same fashion. Each time Pinky got bounced back and forth, her nipples extended more. Pain seared through her body and pleasure followed right after. She reveled in the ethereal consciousness, giving herself over completely.
Bodies slapped together, one right after the other. The movements quickened. Furious pounding ensued. An explosion of delight expanded to surround every part of her flesh. Come squirted from the pussy she’d sucked and licked. The liquid flowed down her throat as his come filled her own pussy. She’d become a vessel of love; nothing pleased her more. Pinned between two lovers. Every ounce of energy left her body. Behind her, the rope unraveled and cool lotion covered her skin. Some part of her mind acknowledged the light touches that rubbed the lotion on.
Pinky held her breath then came again when the clothespins were removed. The cool lotion pacified some of the burning heat emitting from her previously clamped nipples.
The woman in front of her kissed her forehead,
then removed the blindfold, holding her palm against Pinky’s eyes. “Open them slowly.”
She blinked several times before opening one eye at a time, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say.
Her master took her into his arms, cuddling her naked body close to him. He sat on the couch and pulled an afghan across the front of her. Pinky recognized the soft yarn touching her skin. Andrea sat on the opposite side, shifting close. Together they spoke softly, rubbing her arms and legs. She had no idea what words came out of their mouths, but their tones became the soothing balm she needed. A cocooned feeling of safety and love engulfed her.
“Pinky.” The word drew her back to a reality that was more harsh and not so nice as her other world. Her master talked and with every word her mind became more alert.
“I’m okay.” She attempted to sit up. Andrea spoke to her, pulling her against her marred chest.
Her master winked her way. “You two catch up.” He stood and left the room.
“There, there, little one. You rest. I’m so pleased with you.”
“Andrea?”
“Yes, little one. It’s me.” The older woman stroked her hair as she spoke.
“I dyed my hair for you.” Pinky smiled, knowing Andrea would be pleased with that.
“I see. You don’t know how much that means to me, little one. I hear your master has something planned for that little rebellion.” They laughed together and hugged.
“Whatever the punishment, it was well worth it, Ma’am. Besides, and don’t tell Bruce this, but I usually enjoy my punishments.”
“You’re the first one who’s seen me…since the mastectomy.”
Andrea, usually such a strong and forceful Mistress, seemed so serious and uncertain with her newly scarred form.
Pinky reached up and traced the scars that made up a newly formed chest. Her lips traced each part of skin the knife had touched.
