Daddy Issues

by Evangeline Anderson

  “Andi,” he said in a low voice. “Con­sider what we said…that we do not wish to do any­thing that would hurt us—our re­la­tion­ship—out­side of this place.”

  “It won’t hurt us,” I prom­ised breath­lessly. “Re­mem­ber the prom­ise we made—that noth­ing we do will change any­thing.”

  “I can­not help it,” he growled quietly. “Touch­ing you like this will change things. I can­not pet your soft little pussy without want­ing to do it again, even when we leave. I am already fight­ing such thoughts every day, even be­fore we came here.”

  “You…you do? You are, I mean?” I asked him breath­lessly.

  I’d had no idea be­fore the In­sti­tute that Salt had any sexual feel­ings to­wards me. I mean, I knew he felt ex­tremely pro­tect­ive of me, which was nice. And I had felt his body re­act when I sat on his lap—but I had told my­self it was only that—just a phys­ical re­ac­tion. But here he was ad­mit­ting he’d fan­tas­ized about me—prob­ably on more than one oc­ca­sion. For some reason the idea made me feel even more hot and swollen between my legs. He wants you, whispered a little voice in my head. Your Papa wants you…

  “Of course I am want­ing to touch you,” Salt mur­mured, echo­ing my for­bid­den thoughts. “I am a man and you are beau­ti­ful wo­man. My beau­ti­ful wo­man to pro­tect and cher­ish and care for…how can I not also wish to bring you pleas­ure?”

  “Salt…” I whispered, not know­ing what to say.

  “Which is why I will wash you very care­fully with cloth between us,” he said firmly. Then he stroked my hair and mur­mured in my ear, “Come, mishka, spread your legs for Papa.”

  His use of our role play­ing names sent a new wash of de­sire through me. I pushed away the con­fus­ing feel­ings and doubts that had sur­faced in my mind and leaned back against his broad shoulder again.

  “Yes, Papa,” I mur­mured, spread­ing my legs un­der the wa­ter.

  By now most of the peach scen­ted bubbles had dis­sip­ated and I could see what he was do­ing as his big hand came down to wash me. I bit my lip to stifle a moan as he star­ted on the in­side of my right knee and made a long, strok­ing mo­tion with the wash­cloth that ended at my in­ner thigh. Then he re­peated the mo­tion with the left leg and thigh…and went back to the right again.

  I nearly cursed with frus­tra­tion. Damn it—even though he was com­ing really, really close to my open pussy, he wasn’t touch­ing me there at all. I couldn’t stand this much longer! I wanted his hands on me now, even though part of me knew it was a bad idea. Knew that Salt was right and do­ing some­thing so in­tim­ate would def­in­itely change the dy­namic of our re­la­tion­ship.

  Just as I thought I would die of sexual frus­tra­tion, Salt stopped wash­ing me.

  “Now, mishka,” he said softly. “I think is time to shave you—yes?” Abandon­ing the wash­cloth at last, he trailed his fin­ger­tips lightly through the small thatch of light brown curls that grew on the apex of my mound.

  I couldn’t help moan­ing this time. To fi­nally feel him touch me there—even a little, made me crazy.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I…I think so.”

  “Very good then. Stand up. I think it will be easier to do this if you sit on the edge of the tub.”

  Salt helped me out of the warm bath and dried me thor­oughly with an­other big, pink towel. Then he fol­ded it and placed it along the broad edge of the marble tub, in­dic­at­ing that I should sit there.

  I sat as he dir­ec­ted, though the terry­c­loth felt rough against my still tender bot­tom. Salt hummed softly as he went about set­ting up the shav­ing paraphernalia we’d got­ten in the bas­ket.

  I watched him and felt some­thing shift in­side me. In the tub I had felt sen­sual and warm…ready to do any­thing. Yet now, sit­ting there na­ked and wait­ing to let my part­ner per­form an ex­tremely in­tim­ate ser­vice for me, I could feel some of my nervous­ness re­turn­ing.

  He’s go­ing to shave me. I’m ac­tu­ally go­ing to spread my legs and let my part­ner shave me there.

  It seemed un­be­liev­able and strange to think of al­low­ing this—of let­ting Salt do this to me. Shouldn’t we work up to this some­how? Maybe I should have him shave my legs first. But I’d had them waxed re­cently—I like to keep smooth be­cause of all the swim­ming I do—so that was out.

  Then there was the little fact that we were quite pos­sibly be­ing watched. I really didn’t like the idea of Berkley star­ing at me on a video mon­itor some­where, watch­ing avidly as Salt touched me in all my most in­tim­ate and private places. It made me feel weird and wrong and even more nervous than be­fore.

  By the time Salt was all ready to go with the peach shav­ing foam and the pink razor, I was sit­ting like a pret­zel with my arms crossed pro­tect­ively over my bare breasts and my legs wound tightly to­gether.

  My part­ner seemed to sense my re­newed anxi­ety—(how could he not—my body lan­guage all but shouted it)—be­cause he knelt on the floor be­side me and put one big hand on my knee.

  “Mishka,” he mur­mured, duck­ing his head so he could look into my eyes. “What is wrong? What has changed?”

  “I don’t know, Salt. I just…this feels weird.” I shif­ted rest­lessly on the damp, pink towel, cross­ing my legs even tighter. God, my ass was still sting­ing from the spank­ing he’d given me. I wished I had some­thing softer to sit on!

  “Why should it be ‘weird’ to let me take care of you?” he mur­mured, strok­ing my knee.

  His big warm hand on my thigh made me shiver. I wanted his touch—there was no deny­ing it. But it felt wrong to let him do this—felt dan­ger­ous.

  “It’s just, I’m a grown wo­man, I should do this kind of thing for my­self, Salt. And you’re my part­ner. You were right be­fore—things are go­ing too far. We shouldn’t—”

  “You are not grown.” He stroked my cheek gently. “Right now you are Little. My little mishka. Can you not feel it?”

  “I…” I bit my lip. “I guess so. I did be­fore—in the bath.”

  “And I am not your part­ner,” he con­tin­ued. “I am your Papa—your pro­tector. Your safety in any storm. I will not hurt you, mishka. I will not desert you.” He looked into my eyes and said in a low, em­phatic voice, “You…are…mine.”

  I felt my heart swell at his words and at that mo­ment, all I wanted was to be his, com­pletely and ut­terly. I knew it was wrong—knew it was un­real­istic. I had spent years telling my­self I couldn’t trust any man not to leave or hurt me—years con­vinced that I could only rely on me. And yet here and now, I felt some of that res­ist­ance crum­bling as Salt claimed me aloud for the first time.

  “Salt,” I whispered. “Papa…”

  “Mishka…”

  He pulled me close for a mo­ment, hug­ging me to his broad chest, press­ing my cheek down on his shoulder. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, breathed in the scent of his ocean scen­ted af­ter­shave, feel­ing the crisp Egyp­tian cot­ton of his shirt and his warm skin un­der­neath it. He felt so solid and I was so safe when he en­fol­ded me like that. For a long time we sat like that un­til my heart rate slowed and the ten­sion that had been coil­ing in­side me like a nest of snakes fi­nally dis­sip­ated.

  When he re­leased me, I was ready to let him in.

  “Open for me, mishka,” he mur­mured, strok­ing my thighs.

  Without a word of protest, I spread my legs, bar­ing my pussy for him.

  “Very good. Such a good girl,” Salt mur­mured. He sprayed a dol­lop of the peach scen­ted shav­ing foam on his fin­gers and dabbed it gently over my mound. Then he picked up the pink razor. “Lean back a little,” he told me. “Let Papa reach you.”

  “Yes, Papa,” I mur­mured. I was mes­mer­ized by the sight of his big hand hold­ing that dainty pink razor. I had seen Salt shave his own face once or twice—I’d picked him up for work sev­eral times and had come in dur
­ing his morn­ing routine—but I had no idea how he would ap­proach shav­ing me.

  The an­swer ap­peared to be very care­fully and very slowly. He took small, gentle strokes with the pink razor, be­ing ex­tremely del­ic­ate around the lips of my sex. Luck­ily, I usu­ally keep that area pretty well trimmed any­way so it didn’t take much for Salt to shave me com­pletely clean.

  When he fin­ished, he stroked a very warm, wet wash­cloth over my newly shaven sex to wipe away the last traces of the foam.

  “Stand,” he said, mo­tion­ing at me. “Let me make sure I have done good job.”

  I might have ar­gued or re­fused if my part­ner had asked me to stand so he could get a bet­ter look at my pussy in any other con­text. But I was still in that strange, half-eu­phoric state of mind where I felt like he owned me—and fur­ther­more felt that I wanted to be owned and pro­tec­ted and cher­ished by him. So I stood without com­ment and even spread my legs for him to give him a bet­ter view.

  “Hmmm…” Salt was still on his knees in front of me. He put his big hands on my thighs, his thumbs press­ing lightly against my outer pussy lips and leaned for­ward to ex­am­ine his handi­work thor­oughly. I felt an erotic shiver run through me as his warm breath blew against my freshly shaved flesh.

  “Is it all right?” I asked, look­ing at him un­cer­tainly. I’d had no idea how much more sens­it­ive and tender I would feel. It didn’t seem like los­ing my little patch of curls could make such a dif­fer­ence and yet, I’d never felt so na­ked in my life.

  “Beau­ti­ful,” he mur­mured, look­ing up at me. “You are beau­ti­ful, mishka. Like a ripe, juicy peach.”

  “Well, I guess that’s not sur­pris­ing con­sid­er­ing every bath product in this bath­room is peach flavored,” I said, try­ing to laugh. But the laugh caught in my throat when Salt spread me open with his thumbs, bar­ing the slick, in­ner folds of my cunt.

  “I am not talk­ing about the fla­vor of the bubbles,” he mur­mured. “Just look at your­self, mishka—see how ripe and juicy you are. How wet.”

  I bit my lip as I looked down and saw that he was right. I felt like I’d been in a near-con­stant state of arousal for hours now. From the minute Salt had taken me across his knee and spanked me, I had been turned on. Tak­ing Mandy up on her erotic dare and suck­ing my part­ner’s cock had also some­how ad­ded fuel to that fire and then the long, sen­sual bubble bath where he tugged and teased my sens­it­ive nipples had made my arousal even more acute.

  Al­low­ing him to shave me in such an in­tim­ate way and then kneel be­fore me and ex­am­ine his handi­work was like the cherry on top of the cake. My pussy was swollen with need—my juices wet­ting my in­ner thighs. My clit was prom­in­ently dis­played, stand­ing out like a little pink pearl that wanted des­per­ately to be stroked and loved.

  “I…I can’t help it,” I whispered, feel­ing my cheeks get warm when I saw how open and wet my pussy was for my part­ner…my Papa. “I don’t…don’t know…”

  Salt shut me up with a kiss. Not a kiss on my mouth, though. He pulled me to­wards him and pressed his lips to my open pussy. I moaned softly as I felt the heat of his mouth on my trem­bling sex. His tongue pressed against me—not lick­ing but still mak­ing con­tact—tast­ing. I could feel its wet heat against my throb­bing clit and for a mo­ment all I wanted was more. God it felt so in­cred­ible, so good—too good.

  With a little gasp, I jumped back, put­ting some dis­tance between us.

  “For­give me.” Salt licked his lips, which were shiny with my juices. “I could not res­ist. I have wanted to do this for years.”

  “Years?” I bit my lip and pressed my thighs to­gether.

  “Yes.” He nod­ded and rose to tower over me but his eyes never left mine. Their pale blue depths were half-lid­ded with raw lust. “Years, mishka,” he mur­mured, his deep voice hoarse with lust. “That is how long your Papa has wanted to taste your sweet pussy.”

  A flood of emo­tions ex­ploded in­side me. Lust…fear…de­sire… un­cer­tainty…they flowed through me so quickly I could barely breathe. But I knew that if we con­tin­ued down this path we were on, things would never be the same.

  “Salt,” I whispered, us­ing his real name in­stead of the play-role per­sona.

  He seemed to un­der­stand.

  “For­give me,” he said again and this time there was real re­gret in his eyes.

  “It…it’s all right.” My pussy still tingling from his kiss, I turned to get an­other pink towel to wrap my­self in.

  “Wait…” Salt put a hand on my shoulder.

  “What is it?” I turned my head to see him study­ing my back­side with a wor­ried frown on his face.

  “You are still tender and red where I spanked you,” he mur­mured. He reached for some­thing on the counter and held it out for me to see. “I found the cool­ing oint­ment you were talk­ing about earlier. Will you al­low me to put it on you?”

  “Oh, I…” I bit my lip, not cer­tain of any­thing. Though we were sort of get­ting back to nor­mal, I was still more than halfway into the Little-space where I just wanted to be loved and taken care of and pleas­ured. Let­ting Salt rub sooth­ing gel all over my sting­ing ass ac­tu­ally soun­ded really nice.

  “Yes,” I whispered, at last, nod­ding. “Yes, that would be…would be good.”

  “Good.” Salt nod­ded. “Then go lay face down on the bed and wait for me. I will be there shortly…mishka.”

  Oh God, were we back to that again? Does it mat­ter if you are? whispered a soft little voice in my head. After all, isn’t that ex­actly where you want to be—safe in your Papa’s hands?

  I couldn’t an­swer the ques­tion. All I could do was go into the bed­room and drape my­self na­ked over the king-sized bed, just as Salt had com­manded.

  He let me stay there for a few minutes, my fear and an­ti­cip­a­tion build­ing, my mind buzz­ing with ques­tions and doubts. When he fi­nally came in, my body was tight as a wire, every muscle clenched as I waited for what was about to hap­pen.

  “So, here you are.” Salt settled on the bed be­side me and put one big hand between my shoulder blades.

  I gasped and jumped, my body ty­ing it­self in knots again as I tried to deny what we were do­ing. Salt, as al­ways, was at­tuned to my moods.

  “Mishka, my darling,” he rumbled, strok­ing my back gently. “What is it? Why is it that the minute I leave you alone you start to doubt?”

  “What—you mean doubt that this is a good idea?” I asked, giv­ing a shaky laugh.

  “No—you doubt that I want you, I think. Doubt that I will be gentle and care­ful with you. That I will pro­tect your heart as well as your sweet body.” Salt soun­ded thought­ful. “But do not worry, my little mishka. I will al­ways be here. And for now, I just want to heal you. Can you trust me to do that?”

  “I…I think so,” I whispered.

  “Good. Then un­tangle your legs—I can­not reach you in this way. Not to do you any good.”

  With a shiv­er­ing sigh, I un­crossed and opened my legs, wait­ing for his touch. When it came, I gave a little gasp as the cool­ing oint­ment made con­tact with my hot flesh.

  “Gently,” Salt mur­mured, strok­ing it over my heated ass cheeks. “So gently, my little miska.”

  At his gentle, sooth­ing touch and his deep voice flow­ing over me, I could feel my­self float­ing into that head­space again where I just wanted to trust. Where the shrill little voice of doubt and un­cer­tainty was easy to ig­nore and all I wanted was my Papa’s hands on my body.

  “Papa,” I whispered, spread­ing my thighs a little more. “Please, it still hurts…lower down.”

  “Here?” He rubbed more of the gel along the un­der­curves of my ass, strok­ing dan­ger­ously close to my in­ner thighs.

  “Even lower—more in­side,” I said softly and spread my legs even wider for him. I could feel my pussy lips spread­ing open, my littl
e clit throb­bing with need as I dis­played my­self for him. I couldn’t stop think­ing of how much I wanted his touch.

  “Oh, mishka,” he mur­mured. “We should not.”

  “But I’m hurt­ing,” I whispered and it wasn’t a lie or an ex­ag­ger­a­tion. Just now my pussy felt so wet and hot and achy I thought I would die if he didn’t touch me, at least a little.

  “Was the shav­ing too rough for you?” Salt soun­ded con­cerned. “You are hurt­ing where I used the razor on you, per­haps?”

  “Yes, ex­actly.” I nod­ded and looked back at him. “Please…could you put some gel on me there? Where you shaved me…Papa?”

  Salt gave a low groan and I knew he was still re­luct­ant to do this—to touch me so in­tim­ately even though he had kissed me there a little while ago. But that had been just a single kiss—now I was ask­ing him to stroke my open pussy, to caress my aching core and give me pleas­ure. We both knew it wouldn’t end with him just put­ting gel on the out­side of my mound. I wanted more—had to have more.

  “Please,” I whispered again. “Please, Papa—it hurts so much. Please make me feel bet­ter.”

  “Yes, my little mishka. I can deny you noth­ing,” he mur­mured at last. “But turn over first—if you really want this, turn over so I can see you.”

  “All right.” I turned over, feel­ing a little shy but my un­cer­tainty turned to pleas­ure when I saw the hun­ger in his eyes.

  “So beau­ti­ful,” he mur­mured, run­ning one big hand down my na­ked body. “So beau­ti­ful and open and sweet.”

  At those soft words in his deep, rum­bling voice, I felt my­self open­ing like a flower. He liked what he saw—I was wanted—loved. And I wanted to show him that I loved him back. I re­laxed un­der his touch and let my thighs drift even wider apart, bar­ing my newly shaved pussy for him.

  “Mishka,” he mur­mured. Then I felt his big hand reach between my thighs. I moaned and par­ted my legs even wider, giv­ing him easier ac­cess. I couldn’t re­mem­ber ever want­ing any­thing as much as I wanted my part­ner’s touch at that mo­ment. I knew it was wrong, knew it would prob­ably change our re­la­tion­ship forever but I couldn’t help my­self—I was hungry to have his hands on me and it was a hun­ger I had been deny­ing far too long. I needed him.