Page 176 of Morally Gray Daddies

As I read the formal words, unease settled in my chest. I found no mention of when I would see him next; the absence gnawed at me, amplifying the flutter of worry in my stomach. I bit my lip, trying to suppress the sudden, rising tide of anxiety that had infected me.

Had I been I too much of a bad girl? Had I crossed some invisible line? The memories from last night replayed vividly in my mind — the forced pleasure intermingled with pain blurring into an intoxicating haze. My Daddy’s body dominating mine, his grunts of satisfaction echoing in my ears while he filled me, with his cock but also, I had felt, with his power. Had it been too much, though? What if something I’d done had displeased him?

I couldn't shake off the creeping doubt as I recalled every detail — how I'd begged for more as he thrust into me, how each movement of his cock had seemed to send jolts of desire through my entire being. Yet to my dismay those same memories ignited a flame between my thighs — an ache that felt both shameful and irresistible.

Slowly, I sat up in bed, wincing at the soreness in my bottom and between my legs. The physical reminders of last night's activities sent another wave of conflicting emotions through me. Part of me craved more — more of Lord Adrian's touch, more of his domination. But another part recoiled at how easily I had submitted, how eagerly I had embraced the role of his bad girl.

I glanced at the clock and realized with a start that it was nearly noon. I had slept far later than usual, my body clearly needing the rest after last night's exertions. With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up gingerly.

As I made my way to the bathroom, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. My eyes widened at the sight — my hair was a tangled mess, my skin marked with faint bruises where Lord Adrian had gripped me tightly. But what drew my attention most was the expression on my face — a mixture of satisfaction and shame that I hardly recognized.

I tore my gaze away from the mirror, my cheeks burning. As I stepped into the shower, I tried to focus on mundane tasks - washing my hair, scrubbing my body clean. But every touch seemed to ignite sparks under my skin, reminding me of Lord Adrian's hands on me the night before.

The warm water sluiced over my body, and I found my hands lingering as I washed. My fingers brushed over the tender spots on my hips where my Daddy had gripped me so tightly, and I shivered at the memory. Lower, between my thighs, I was acutely aware of how sensitive I still felt — sore, yes, but also…

No. I yanked my hand away as if burned. I wasn't allowed to touch myself there. Lord Adrian had made that rule very clear. Only he was permitted to give me pleasure. If I disobeyed, if I touched myself without permission, my rules said, I felt certain my Daddy would punish me severely.

The thought of punishment sent an unexpected jolt through me, though. Images flashed through my mind — some of the past, some of a future in which I had touched the place he had called my cunny last night.

His bad girl’s little cunny. A shiver of need traveled all over my body at the thought of the shameful word. My Daddy’s cunny. Smooth and bare for him.

I saw the stern expression my Daddy's face would wear as he bent me over his knee… I heard the crack of his belt against my bare bottom… I felt his large hand squeezing my tender flesh as he admonished me for being a naughty girl…

I whimpered softly, pressing my thighs together. This was torture. The more I tried not to think about it, the more my body seemed to crave his touch. I hurriedly finished my shower.

As I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror once again. This time, I couldn't look away. My skin was flushed pink from the hot water, my hair hanging in damp tendrils around my face. But it was the look in my eyes that held me captivated — a mixture of longing and defiance that I hardly recognized.

Almost without conscious thought, my hand drifted to the edge of the towel. I let it fall away, exposing my naked body to my own gaze. My fingers trailed over my collarbone, down between my breasts. I shivered at my own touch, imagining it was Lord Adrian’s hand on me instead.

No, I thought weakly. I'm not allowed. But even as the protest formed in my mind, my hand continued its journey downward. I traced the curve of my hip, remembering how my Daddy had gripped me there so tightly the night before.

My breath caught in my throat as my fingers brushed against the smooth, bare skin between my thighs. I was already wet, I realized with a mixture of shame and excitement, and by no means just from the shower. The mere memory of Lord Adrian's touch, the thought of breaking his rules, had aroused me beyond reason.

I knew I should stop. I knew the consequences would be severe if Lord Adrian found out. But as I stared at myself in the mirror, I made a decision that brought even more heat into my face at the same time it made me clench around my naughty, probing fingers. If I was going to break the rules and earn a punishment anyway, I would make it last as long as I could: I would show my Daddy what his bad girl would do when he left her alone in the big bed where he had fucked her bottom so hard.

I bit my lip as I examined the bad girl in the reflection, my hand hovering between my thighs. A remaining rational sliver of my mind screamed at me to stop, to be a good girl and obey Daddy's rules. Much more of me — a darker, needier part — urged me on.

Slowly, I let my fingers brush against the sensitive flesh that covered the even more sensitive flesh… the complicated, folded hood that concealed my tingling clit. A soft gasp escaped my lips at the contact. Yes… I had gotten so wet already, just as I had thought about my Daddy’s hands on me, my Daddy’s huge, hard cock in me. My body responded eagerly even to this light touch.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I whispered to my reflection as I began to stroke myself more firmly. "Your bad girl just can't help herself. But…," I swallowed hard as I felt my breathing speed up. “But it’s your fault, Daddy…. You fucked your bad girl so hard, and then you left her alone.”

I leaned back against the bathroom counter, spreading my legs wider as I explored my own needy body. My fingers circled my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I imagined my Daddy was touching me in that forbidden way, his strong, firm hands on my body, his voice in my ear telling me what a naughty girl I was.

That's it, little Emily, I could almost hear him growl. Show Daddy how badly you need to be punished.

A whimper escaped me as I slipped two fingers inside myself. I was so tight, still sore from the night before, but the discomfort only added to my arousal. I pumped my fingers in and out of my slick sheath, my other hand coming up to squeeze my breast roughly.

"Daddy," I moaned softly, my hips rocking against my hand. "Please, Daddy…"

My fingers probed deeper, my mind flooded with vivid memories of the night before. I couldn't stop thinking about how Lord Adrian had inserted the jeweled plug, stretching my virgin bottom for the first time. The initial shock, the burning discomfort, the fullness… it all came rushing back.

"Oh, Daddy," I whimpered, working frantically between my legs.

I recalled how he had promised — no, threatened — to claim my bottom. How he had made good on that promise, removing the plug and replacing it with his thick, hard cock. My breath hitched as I remembered the searing pain of that first penetration. It had hurt so much, stretched me so wide. And yet…

My fingers, slick with my arousal, drifted back to brush against my tender, slightly swollen anus. I gasped at the contact, a mixture of discomfort and forbidden pleasure coursing through me. Gingerly, I circled the sensitive ring of muscle, biting my lip at the ache it produced.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed softly. "Daddy… please…."

---