by Renee Rose
“It’s okay,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You can say I love you without it being a solemn vow of eternal commitment. Love is a state of being. You’re feeling it right now and you expressed it.” He kissed her forehead again. “I’m feeling it, too, sweet girl.”
She exhaled and curled into his body. Her heart still ricocheted around in her chest. She ought to be relieved by his understanding. Why, then, had disappointment begun to leak into her bliss like a dark stain of ink?
Chapter Four
“Please, please, please don’t give me an enema today?” Marissa pleaded the next morning, turning her best puppy dog eyes on him, and clasping her hands under her chin in supplication. “My cold sore looks so much better.”
“And that’s the best reason to continue with your treatment,” he said, hiding his amusement.
“No, but Daddy—”
He arched a brow. “Yes?”
Her face flushed beautifully. “My bottom hole hurts today. From last night. Please can we skip a day on the enema? Please?”
She was too adorable to resist. He let his smile show. “All right. If you’re a good girl all day, we’ll skip it. But if you misbehave I will give it to you as punishment, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, beaming.
“Come on, we’re going to a juice bar, and then shopping.”
“For my Little clothes?” she asked, looking eager.
“Yes. Vegas is the perfect place to find every sort of costume under the sun. And I have quite a few I’ve been picturing you in.”
“Is one of them a Catholic school girl?”
His cock thickened as his brain produced an image of her bent over his desk with her panties down. “Certainly. Along with Little Bo Peep, Alice in Wonderland, and footie pajamas with a drop bottom in case I need to spank you before bed.”
“What should I wear to go shopping?”
“Mmm. I can’t really get enough of your short shorts. I’d like to see them with some tube socks and rollerskates and a halter top.”
“And pigtails?”
“Of course.”
She hopped out of the bed, then stopped. “Daddy, may I please take a shower now?”
He smiled. “No. Daddy’s going to give his little girl a bath this morning. I need to inspect your little body.” He swung his legs off the bed and stopped to pick her up, hoisting her to his hip. She made it easy for him, knowing just when to jump and wrapping her legs around his waist to support her weight. He carried her into the bathroom and started the water running. “Hop in, little girl,” he said, patting her bottom.
She stepped in the tub, lowering herself to sit and then lie back. She’d lost the seductiveness she’d shown in their first few encounters. Now it seemed she’d dropped fully into her Little self. She looked up at him with a giddy pleasure, as if nothing pleased her more than splashing in the bath. “Are you coming in, Daddy?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.
“No. Daddy’s going to wash and inspect his baby girl.” He picked up a washcloth and soaked it. He brought it to her neck, dragging it over the slope of her shoulder and down her arm, massaging each finger as he reached her hand. He repeated the action on the other side, then rubbed the terry cloth over her nipples.
She giggled and moved away as if he’d tickled her. “Daddy,” she protested.
He made his face into a frown. “Rissa,” he said in a warning tone. “A spanking on a wet bottom would not be a nice way to start the day, and then I’d have to give you that enema, too.
She immediately went still, her large eyes blinking and obedient. “Okay. Sorry, Daddy.”
“That’s right. When Daddy wants to touch his baby girl, she must give herself without complaint.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, looking shy.
He rolled the pebbled tip of one nipple between his finger and thumb as he rubbed the other with the washcloth. When she jerked, he tightened his grip on her nipple, pinching it and pulling it.
She gasped and leaned forward to follow the movement, her expression alarmed.
He smiled. “That’s a good girl.” He released her nipple and she fell back, panting. He resumed with the washcloth, stroking every inch of her. Then he had her dip her head in so he could shampoo.
She moaned when he massaged her scalp. “I’ve never had my hair washed before. I mean—” she giggled. “Not by a man. I mean not by a man who wasn’t my hair stylist. I’ve always wanted to—ever since I saw Out of Africa.”
“Wasn’t that movie before your time?”
“My mom loves Robert Redford. And she made sure I had a complete cinematic education,” she said. “It’s one thing she did right, I guess.”
He caught the sadness in her voice and he leaned over the tub to see her face. “Your mom must have done a lot right, because you’re a brilliant actress who has made it all the way to the top in just a few short years. Just because your career may have outgrown her management, doesn’t meant you can’t appreciate all she’s done for you.”
Marissa’s eyes filled with tears and she dropped her head, shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to fire her. I mean, I do, but...I can’t.”
“Hey,” he said, putting a finger under her chin. “You’ll know when the time has come and you’ll do it in a way that leaves you both satisfied.”
Marissa searched his face, as if wanting to believe him but not sure if she could.
He kissed her forehead. “You will. Just set your intention that it happen at the right time and in the perfect way and it will.”
She looked doubtful.
He reached between her feet and pulled the plug. “Time for your inspection,” he announced. He helped her out of the tub and dried her off.
“Interlace your fingers and put your hands on top of your head,” he said.
She covered her face with her hands first, making a rueful giggling sound. Then she spread her fingers and peeked shyly through at him. He had adored the coquette, but the emergence of Marissa’s younger persona warmed him. It meant she trusted him. Or at least he hoped it did. This persona was adorable, and while less sexualized, it gave him a sense of masculine power—his protective, care-taking instincts surging to the surface. Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t still play sexual with her, since she was okay with mixing the two.
He raised an eyebrow and she giggled nervously, lifting her hands and placing them on her head as he had requested. Her nipples jutted out with excitement. He trailed a finger along the inside of her arm, from her wrist to her armpit, brushing the sensitive skin.
She squirmed and giggled, twisting to dodge away, but not removing her hands from her head.
He opened a drawer and removed a small glass bottle of peppermint oil. He dripped a few drops on his fingertips and brought them to her nipples, circling them.
Her breath sucked in with a hiss.
He blew on her taut buds, knowing the peppermint gave them that cool-hot feeling and the air moving across them would intensify it.
She shivered and gave a little whimper of desire.
“Turn around, bend over and put your hands on the side of the tub,” he said, his voice rough.
She did as he asked, standing with her thighs pressed together.
“Open your legs.”
She widened her stance.
He stroked her buttocks and down the back of one thigh. Bringing both thumbs to her labia, he parted her outer lips. “Mmm, very pretty, Marissa.”
She bounced on her heels.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, lightly tapping her dewy slit. “You want Daddy to touch you here?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she moaned.
He picked up the bottle of oil and applied some to his fingertips. “All right, baby,” he said and rubbed the oil over her clit.
She gasped and brought her feet together, squeezing his hand with her thighs.
He brought his hand down on one cheek with a resounding slap. “None of that, Rissa-Roo. Daddy has put a specia
l medicine on your naughty parts and you are not allowed to touch them unless Daddy gives you permission.”
“Will Daddy touch them?” she asked plaintively.
He chuckled and patted her bottom. “Not now, little one. Go get dressed.”
She erected herself and whirled around stomping her foot. “No fair,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.
He grinned.
She turned and stomped out with a huff, but when he trailed her out, he found she was getting dressed as instructed, so he left her to it and took a quick shower. When he emerged she had dressed in her short shorts with a t-shirt tied up in the back to bare her midriff and stretch the material taut across her perky breasts.
“Good girl,” he said. “If you keep that up, Daddy might just let you come before the day is through.”
*****
Marissa’s naughty parts didn’t just tingle, the peppermint oil made them throb in a slow, pulsing heat that made her want to dig her fingernails into Joel’s back while he took her fast and hard. But it seemed that wasn’t going to happen right now.
He led her to the elevator and the moment the doors closed in the empty car, he shoved his hand down her shorts, his fingers rubbing her screaming clit. She didn’t care if the doors opened and the entire world found them having sex, she wanted him then and there.
But he seemed bent on torturing her, because as quickly as his hand had dived down her pants, he withdrew it, smirking. The elevator doors opened and he led her out.
“Meanie,” she muttered as he led her to the front of the casino where a limo stood waiting.
He spoke to the limo driver and settled into the seat, then pulled her onto his lap, spreading her legs wide and rubbing his fingers along the seam of her shorts. Close to orgasm, she grasped his hand to make him press harder, but he slapped her inner thigh. “Naughty girl. Do you remember what Daddy said? You are not allowed to orgasm until I give you permission. Do I need to spank your naughty bottom right here in this limo?”
She must be deranged, because she wanted to say yes. The idea of being spanked in the back of a limousine, with the danger of the driver hearing sounded über hot to her. Her need to please him won out, though and she gave him her full obedience.
Joel took her to a mall first, where they hit the lingerie stores and he bought her all kinds of cute panties with bows and ruffles. He made her try on babydoll negligees for him, then pushed his way into the changing stall with her, once more tormenting her throbbing clit with pinching and rubs. Still, he did not allow her to climax.
Next he took her to a sex costume shop, where they found all the outfits and more. Sweet little princess dresses, Catholic school girl outfits, little German barmaid, Alice in Wonderland. They bought white ankle socks trimmed with lace, and knee socks and rollerskates. The actress in her revelled at the chance to play each and every part to perfection for her delicious daddy.
On the flight back home, she modeled the school girl outfit.
“Get over my lap for a lesson with the ruler,” Joel said, waggling his eyebrows.
She glanced toward the cockpit. “This is only a thirty minute flight.”
“Thirty minutes is plenty of time to stripe your pretty little bottom. Now get over here.”
She giggled and draped herself over his knees.
He peeled the white ruffled-bottomed panties down and ran a hand over her skin. “Such a perfect bottom for spanking,” he observed.
She giggled, absurdly pleased with the compliment.
He slapped the ruler down, lightly at first, gradually working up his speed and the force behind it. When he pulled her in tight against him, her arm bent behind her back, she knew it was going to get intense. She didn’t mind—not when he held her that way, controlling her entire body, keeping her locked against his torso so she couldn’t wiggle or get away. Her pussy wept with desire as he lit a new fire on her backside.
He finished just before as the plane landed, pulling her to his lap and holding her close for the landing.
“Good girl,” he murmured in her ear.
She closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth, her bottom burning almost as hot as her heart.
Too bad this couldn’t be real. Too bad it was all just a fantasy, played out between two willing partners.
Chapter Five
“So how did you manage to get yourself hired back?” Becky, the makeup girl asked as she applied cover up to the remaining redness above her lip. “I didn’t think Antonio would bend again for you.”
The muscles under her armpits tightened, making her ribs feel too small. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”
Becky had the grace to look flustered. “Right. Well¸ I’m glad you’re back. People were pretty devastated when it looked like the whole picture was going down because of you.”
Her jaw clenched and her belly, already roiling with nerves, twisted into a hard knot. “Maybe you could just do the make up and leave the commentary at the door,” she muttered.
“What’s going on?”
She and Becky both jerked at the sound of Joel’s deep voice and the mascara wand caught her cheek, leaving a streak of black moisture. Becky stared up at him, her mouth falling open. Neither of them spoke.
He gave Becky a hard look. “What commentary?”
Becky flushed and put the mascara wand back in the container, her hands shaking.
Marissa suddenly pitied her.
“What is your name?”
The make up artist cleared her throat. “Um, Becky,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Becky, what is your job around here?”
She swallowed. “Make up?”
“Right,” he said, levelling her with a look that made Marissa shiver just to witness. She didn’t ever want to be the subject of one of those looks. “So why are you hassling the talent?”
Becky’s face had turned beet red and Marissa was blushing in sympathy for her. “No, I’m not, I mean, I’m sorry,” she threw Marissa a desperate look. “I didn’t mean to hassle her. I-I’m just glad she’s back, that’s all. I’m a fan.”
A fan. Ha. That was a laugh.
Joel continued to regard Becky with a stony look and folded his arms across his chest. “Can you finish up?”
Becky used make-up remover to clean the smudge of mascara, but her fingers trembled too much to reapply it. The girl took a deep breath and blew it out with her lips pursed, like she was doing yoga breathing. Marissa picked up the wand and leaned toward the mirror, putting it on herself. She held her eyes wide so it wouldn’t smudge and turned back to the make up artist. “What else?”
“Um...lips.” Becky fumbled for her lip pencil, darting a glance up at Joel, who still glowered at her.
“Hey, I’ll be right out, okay?” Marissa said, realizing if Joel didn’t leave, her make up would take twice as long.
He nodded once, gave Becky one more look and left the room.
Becky finished the look without meeting her eye. Tension hung between them like heavy clouds. Marissa couldn’t think of anything to diffuse it. She really didn’t want to be treated like crap by her make up artist, but she also didn’t want her shaking in fear or hating her now.
“Okay, you’re good to go,” Becky said.
“Thanks,” she muttered and bolted for the door of her trailer.
Joel literally stood outside it, waiting. Her heart leaped. For some reason, she thought things would be the same as before on the set. She hadn’t expected Joel to let everyone see they had a relationship—whatever that relationship may be. It turned her gooey inside to be acknowledged publicly by him—Joel Sutherland, A-list movie star. But no—it wasn’t just the public acknowledgement that had her swooning. It was the way he continued to dote on her.
After their night in Vegas, she’d begged him not to give her another enema, since her lip had improved. He had prescribed exercise instead and invited her to do Crossfit with him.
“Uh, Crossfit kills m
e. I mean, literally. I throw up from the exertion. Does a dance class count?”
He’d grinned at her. “Sure, you can take a dance class for your exercise.”
To her absolute shock, he had not only taken her to dance class—after they dropped her car off to have the roof mechanism fixed—but he had sat and watched the entire thing. She’d been almost giddy from the attention. Dance had always been her greatest love—she’d been a competitive dancer growing up, but her mom had pushed her into acting, since that’s where the money was to be had.
She showed off for Joel, hitting her triple pirouettes and tilts and nailing the contemporary combination at the end. His presence had fueled an energy in the entire class—every dancer treating it like an audition, doing her best for the famous movie star in the waiting room. Of course, she was famous, too, but she came to dance. The students there knew that and gave her a respectful amount of space.
She remembered Naomi, a girl on her dance team growing up. Naomi’s parents—both her mom and her dad—had sat and watched every single dance class, every rehearsal, every performance. Marissa and the other dancers had hated her for it. She just seemed so much more loved than the rest of them. Marissa’s mother, despite offering every bit of criticism of her performances, never stayed to watch classes or rehearsals. She had always been too busy getting her hair done, dating the next prospective stepfather or shopping with Bev. And she’d considered dance a necessary skill, but nothing worth pursuing seriously.
After the dance class, she’d rushed, like a child, into Joel’s arms and he had picked her up, pulling her legs around his waist.
“Great job, Marissa,” he had exclaimed. In her ear, so no one else could hear, he said, “I could tell you did your very best for Daddy. I’m so proud of my little angel.”
