Page 15 of Daddy!

He'd already pulled the covers on my side of the bed back, so all he had to do was tuck me under them, which he did. "It doesn't have to be fair, little girl. It just has to be what your Daddy decides is best for you."

I was in full blown pout, crossing my arms over my chest and humphing up a storm.

"So, if you're angry with me, then I guess you don't want me to soothe you before you go to sleep," he said with obvious reluctance, beginning to move away from me.

That caught my attention like nothing else could. "Soothe me?"

"Yes. All of that moisture that's collecting in your pull up—it should be redistributed before it even gets there, as often as possible, which is something I'll do for you each time I change you, unless you're being punished. But it should most especially be done before you go to sleep. It means your little kitty needs attention, or it's going to keep you up all night, restless and fidgeting, and it might even get you into a lot of trouble. It could make your hands wander to where they're not supposed to be, trying to relieve the ache and soothe yourself." He lowered his tone and his chin as he looked at me. "But little girls—even more so than big girls—are definitely not allowed to touch without permission."

I gulped, wide eyed, at that. "Yes, Sir."

"So." He caught my eye. "Are you going to pout and not get any sleep tonight and be cranky and fussy tomorrow, which'll probably earn you a lot more spankings throughout the day, or are you going to be a good girl about your new bedtime and Daddy will soothe you to sleep?"

That was no choice at all, again. "Soothe, please," I asked eagerly, even though I was somewhat apprehensive, but only because I had never been little with him when I came.

"Hands above your head, then, so they're well out of trouble."

Whimpering slightly, I nonetheless did as he told me to—for once, without complaining, even.

"That's my girl. Why don't you take a hold of a brass rung in each hand, so you'll have something to hold onto. I don't want you to interfere with what I'm going to do to you." His hand began to undo the series of snaps that ran down the front of my PJs, and the further it descended, the more unbearably excited I became. It manifested in me in the fact that I couldn't seem to keep my body from arching up, drumming my heels, and just generally being fidgety.

"Someone has a bad case of the wiggles, I can see," he teased, unsnapping the last ones, then laying the front of my pajamas open, exposing the pull up beneath them. "There. Put the soles of your feet together. That'll open your legs nice and wide for me. Daddy's going to check you again, just to make sure you don't need to be changed before you go to sleep." He looked at me in all seriousness as his hand slipped under the top of what was—essentially—a diaper.

I could barely breathe as I watched it inch its way down slowly. There was something unbelievably exciting about seeing his hand disappear into my pull up.

"Do you think you'll be able to stay dry all night, baby love?"

It was hard to remember that he expected me to answer him intelligibly. "Yes, Sir."

"Hmm. We'll have to see, won't we?" I'll check you again, tomorrow morning, when I dress you for the day."

I really loved that he was just assuming that he'd do all of the things I'd always wanted a Daddy to do for me. But that hand was going to be the death of me!

I swear, by the time he managed to curve his fingers over all of me at once, my heart had nearly stopped entirely. And my mind was only filled with the thought that this was real! It was him, and I was little, and that I couldn't quite believe that this was really—actually—happening between us!

"Okay, baby girl?" he asked, and I could hear the considerable concern in his voice.

"Y-yes, S-sir."

"You're sure? You're panting fit to pass out, your moans sound like you're more than a bit scared, and you're trembling like I've got your cane in my hand instead of your kitty."

I was completely unaware of all of those things. My consciousness had quickly faded, narrowing to nothing more than an awareness of and amazement at where his fingers were. "It…I'm…just…" I gave up, shaking my head. I obviously couldn't string two words together at this stage.

"I know you get sick of hearing this, angel, but take a deep breath with me. It really will help calm you down. C'mon. Do it with me. In, as deep as you can, in, in, in in. Hold it, then out, and out and out and out." I obeyed him, although my breathing was nowhere near as steady as his was. "One more."

Again, I followed his lead as he smiled reassuringly down at me.

"Bit better?"

"Yes, Sir." Honestly, I couldn't tell.

"Liar," he teased with a grin. Then he became more serious. "I know you didn't have an accident, which is being a very good girl—although I wouldn't be in the least mad at you if you had, you know."

"No?" I asked, gazing up at him, wide eyed.

"Of course not! Little girls sometimes have accidents. That's perfectly fine and understandable. I will never be angry with you for that, sweetie. Never."

"Oh."

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