Page 12 of Daddy!

I was unprepared for him to lift my feet onto the bed, arranging them so that my heels were on the edge, my legs naturally splaying in that position and leaving myself wide open, which brought on a full-body blush as I looked deliberately away from him.

"Aw, there's no need for you to be embarrassed in front of your Daddy, babygirl," he murmured, drawing a fingertip down the center of my body as if he was following the path of the dusky pink blush that washed over my skin. When that finger got to the top of my mons, I assumed he would stop. But I was wrong.

Instead, he sank down between my splayed legs so that his eyes were level with my privates. I definitely didn't want to look at him when he was doing that. I was growing so violently—strangely—embarrassed that I thought I might faint from it, although I knew how ridiculous that was. What he was looking at now wasn't anything he hadn't seen a zillion times before. In fact, he'd done exactly this to me not long ago.

But this was different. He was—for all intents and purposes—now my Daddy. And that made it very different to me—more private, more humiliating, more intense—more everything, in every possible way. And all of those undeniable feelings aroused me terribly, congregating and concentrating themselves right beneath his eager gaze.

I made an aborted movement to try to close my legs because of all of those powerful feelings that were surging through me, but he scolded sternly, "You have not been given permission to close your legs, young lady. That is very naughty! Your legs are where I want them to be, and you are not to countermand that in any way." I received ten quick, sharp slaps to my inner thighs for my efforts that had me weeping and crying out pathetically from behind my pacifier.

The swats were hard and stung badly, but they wouldn't normally have had me in tears. But I was more delicate, more susceptible to any type of discipline as a little, apparently. That was something I hadn't realized about myself, something new and a little worrisome.

He leaned forward and kissed the recently scourged area, and then, when he sat back on his heels again, he went quiet. After a while, I got kind of nervous that he hadn't said anything in a while, and I lifted my head.

Mane seemed transfixed by what he was seeing—by me, there.

I wasn't sure what to do, but then, he did something.

I saw his hand reach out towards me, and then I felt a finger push firmly past my outer to my inner lips, almost to the point of entering me, but not really.

"Baby love, you are dripping wet!" The sheer reverence of his husky, whispered tone was downright humbling. I laid my head back, but I could still hear him licking my essence noisily—greedily—off his fingertip. He was unabashedly adoring of the taste of me. One time, when his hand was between my legs, he literally did that cocaine thing, where he used his finger to rub my essence into his gums, as if it were a drug.

The finger returned, dipping into me to bring my own slick up to my clit, and as soon as I felt him touch me there, I nearly arched off the bed. Mane chuckled at the vehemence of my response, and I gave him an indignant "huh" from behind my binky, but said indignity was embarrassingly short lived as he began to swirl just the very tip of his finger around the very tip of me. He had made a most complete study of me and was quite expert at bringing me off—when he wanted to, in many different ways—and he was using all of his skills to do so at the moment.

So I thought.

But the cruel reality was that he got me to the edge in record time, because he was already experienced at recognizing the signs of my impending pleasure—the heavy breathing, the twitching muscles, the subtle arching of my hips towards his touch. And all of those responses were magnified a million-fold in this situation. Before, I had learned to control myself—to a small extent, enough to avoid earning a punishment for coming when he hadn't given me permission to.

But now, I had no power to stop—or even begin to curb in any way—the sensations that were flowing through me.

He must've guessed that I was even more sensitive to him when I was little, because he lifted his finger off my greedy little button practically a split second before the completion of my ecstasy became inevitable.

Clearing his throat, he stood, and I could see that he was anything but unaffected, himself, which made me feel a little better, although not much in the agony of need in which he'd left me.

"I had been wondering if your little was sexual at all, and I think I just got all the answer I need on that subject," he remarked, and I was glad to see that he seemed to be having a hard time forcing his attention away from me.

But he did.

From somewhere near me, he produced a pull up that I recognized as an off the rack brand of adult disposable underwear, but he frowned fiercely at it as he unfolded it. "I couldn't find pink, for some reason. Peach, yes. Purple, yes. But no pink. So, when I bought these, I reasoned that most little girls' second favorite color choice was likely to be purple, not peach. And," he said, leaning down to take my ankle and insert it into the leg hole, "I guessed right in your case, without ever having met you! How's that for serendipity!"

The pull up slid on easily, and he pulled it up to settle it around my waist, checking the leg holes and the general fit to make sure it was okay for me, then—deliberately, I suspected—he cupped the crotch of them against the whole of me and began to rub, but there was just enough padding that all he was doing was teasing me. And he knew it. "I just wanted to have some of these in the kit to round it out. We'll find some you like better online and order them for you. Ones that are more obviously little than these. Does that feel nice and comfy here? Are they cradling your kitty nicely? Soft and warm up against that very tender skin?"

I nodded, the breath puffing out of my nose, but it was very hard not to groan and lift my hips into the way he was fondling me as he made a show of being most concerned about the intimate fit.

There was nothing I could do to prevent the anxious, needy groan that came from behind my pacifier when he removed his hand, but he gave no sign that he'd even heard it.

"Now," he said firmly, "there are rules about being put in a pull up, of course. You may still use the potty." My little side rejoiced at his use of the term "potty", but my big side was alarmed at his terminology—"still use the potty" made me worry that, at some point in the future, it might be deemed off limits. "But you must ask me to do so before you go in there—except if I'm sleeping. I might want to accompany you, so you don't get scared being in there all by yourself. And you must keep the door open when you're tinkling. I don't like the idea of there being closed doors between us."

As I quietly digested all of this, he picked up the pajamas. I hadn't realized that they were one piece, as befitting a child of my mental age. They were very little girlish, white with small, delicate pink and blue flowers all over them and pink ribbing at the collar and cuffs. Even the snaps were pink. "I think it's too hot for the warmer version of these I bought, but it's supposed to get down to forty or so tonight, and I've turned the heat off for the summer. So, I think these'll keep you just right warm."

He had me in them so quickly, it was as if he'd been dressing me like this forever.

When he was done, Mane looked down at me again with an enormous grin on his face. "You are just too cute in those! I'll have to get a lot more—perhaps a size smaller? I bought them big deliberately, because I didn't know, well, you know. I know they're a bit loose, but I don't want them binding you while you're moving around in your sleep."

He did step away then, quickly, grabbing out a pair of the pink slipper sox I usually wore to keep my feet warm. Putting them on me, he stood back and looked at me. "You look good enough to eat."

I wanted to say that I really wished he would, but I figured that he would consider that to be very inappropriate, and it would get me spanked again, so I tried to distract myself with the pacifier. It didn't help—not at all.

"You just lie there quietly for a minute. I want to get things arranged and put back before we go out into the living room again." When he had packed everything away, he put what he called the "baby kit" next to his nightstand. "So I'll have all the stuff I'll need close to me if you should have an accident in the night and need to be changed."

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