Page 13 of Daddy!

I was taken aback by just how further little—and terribly embarrassed—the mention of that possibility rendered me. I began to shake my head vigorously back and forth without even thinking about it, but Mane just smiled down at me knowingly.

"Got something to say about that, do you, baby love?" he asked facetiously, plucking the pacifier from my mouth so that I could say it.

"I don' have accidents!" I said emphatically.

His grin did not subside in the least. "Oh, I see. You're much too big a girl for that, hmm?"

I nodded, childishly happy that he apparently understood that that was not going to happen.

He presented the binky to me again, and I accepted it obediently. "Well, we'll see. Something tells me that a little girl who sleeps in—well, close to—footie pajamas, uses a pacifier, and wears a pull up might be prone to having that happening at some point in the future."

"Umm-umm," I reassured him fervently, still shaking my head.

Mane held his hand out to me. "Well, little girl. What say we go watch some TV until bedtime, hmm?"

That got me nodding, instead, all thoughts of accidents fleeing my mind.

He snuggled me down on the couch again, asking, "What do you want to watch?"

I looked at him before removing it, my hand on my pacifier. He nodded, and I took it out. "I wanna watch the new episode of The Handmaid's Tale!"

"Absolutely not," he vetoed firmly. "That's entirely too adult for you. Try again."

"Killing Eve?" I asked hopefully.

He made the game show buzzer sound. "Try again—and this is your last choice before I make it for you, so make it good, pumpkin."

I sighed in frustration. "But I don't know what I can pick from."

He tilted his head in thought. "Fair point. I withdraw the three-choice restriction, for the time being, until we get some more rules—and a little entertainment—in place." He'd sorted through our cable choices already and was working on the streaming ones. "How about Over the Hedge? I don't think we've seen that."

We hadn't. I—and now he—watched all sorts of movies. I certainly didn't care whether it was supposed to be a children's movie or not, and I had gotten him to that point, too. So many good movies were made for kids now but were great for adults, too! We'd already worked our way through pretty much every kids' movie we could together at home—and we went to the theatres to see the new ones as they came out.

He set it up and paused it, then went to the kitchen, taking my sippy cup with him. When he returned, he came bearing it, filled with cold Kool-Aid, along with a bowl—granted, a small one—with a scoop of my favorite Ben and Jerry's concoction. It was a non-diary flavor, because sometimes I could have issues with milk, called Coconut Seven Layer Bar.

When I bought it for myself, I made it into a sundae, with tons of really good hot fudge and whipped cream, and it was truly sublime. Almost as good as sex. With him, even.

Of course, my little had absolutely no understanding of delayed gratification of any kind, so I finished mine before he was halfway through his Salted Caramel Core, and I handed the bowl to him, asking, in a very polite way, I thought—or was that merely hopeful? "More, please?"

He put the empty bowl on his lap without even looking up at me. He was too busy concentrating on enjoying his ice cream slowly, one small spoonful at a time.

Sometimes, I hated him and his tendency to want to take his time and savor things. Those times were never, ever when we were in bed together, but rather always at times like this.

"No, lovely. That's enough for tonight."

"But—" I began, my tone already starting out whiney.

All it took was for him to lift his head and look at me in that particular way he had to get me to close my mouth.

He handed me my pacifier. "Here. This might help you keep your mouth from getting you into trouble, little miss," he warned.

I was amazed to find that I was immediately inches away from a full-blown tantrum, something I hadn't indulged in since at least last Tuesday…well, perhaps a bit further back than that. I was famous for them as a kid, not that they did me any good. My parents ignored them entirely. But they felt really good, as I recalled. Got all of my frustrations out.

Unfortunately, I knew Mane well enough to know that he was not the type to ignore a tantrum, and my bottom was still quite sore. I wasn't at all willing to risk it to see what he would do, so I tamped down my frustration at being told "no.”

And it was added—automatically—to my arousal, making my swollen, teased and neglected clit spasm with the power of my forced submission. The idea that he—as my Daddy—could—and would—enforce limits on me and my behavior raised my desire to an almost euphoric high that, again, I could do nothing about. Sighing as if I was being sorely put upon, I really couldn't do anything but force myself to turn my attention to the movie, which I liked.

So much so that I didn't notice when he cleaned up from our bedtime snack, at least not until he paused it and I glared at him indignantly, which only made him chuckle.

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