Page 36 of Sugar Daddies

I make a mental note to ask him the secret to his shower routine because he smells so freaking good. Daddy does too, but I already know that he just smells like a man in the most natural way.

There’s nothing I can do about it, but maybe Mr. Stephan has a secret that he’ll let me in on so I can smell just as good as him.

“Are you always this abusive to my little princess?” Mr. Stephan asks, redirecting the topic before Daddy pops my skull with another crack.

It doesn’t hurt; it’s a warning for me to know my place and what tone I’m using. More specifically, what side I’m taking. I’m on neither and on both at the same time. I have no reason to pick since they are both my favorite.

My Daddies.

I like the ring to it; Daddy’s possessiveness is rubbing off on me. Everyone has this protectiveness in them that helps them fight off intruding factors that want to take what’s theirs. I’m not immune to it. I think Daddy has made it worse for me.

“Only when she misbehaves,” Daddy tells him.

I sniffle, refusing to look at Daddy as I cling onto Mr. Stephan. It’s his punishment for being a bully to me; it’s not even ten yet, and he’s already begun his bullying.

Thank goodness he’s not spreading my legs and using my sore pussy again. I will cry if he pushes his thick cock between my aching folds. They’re still wet and viscous around that area. It’s a mystery as to how I can contain so much cum inside my tiny pussy.

The human body is weird and amazing. It goes to show that women can push a full baby out, and that is nothing compared to having two massive cocks shoved deep inside my walls. Thinking about it makes my slit throb in pain, and it’s not the pleasurable kind.

I’m too tired and too tender to think about having them use my body in such a short amount of break. I need at least a week to recuperate. I take forever to heel so my butt will support redness and bruises for a while.

I think they will like seeing their effort not wasted.

“I’m not misbehaving,” I start, gasping when another sharp crack on my skull makes me yelp.

“And when she talks back.”

Mr. Stephan soothes the back of my head with his caresses after Daddy’s voice tapers off. I exhale a shuddering breath and lift my head to nuzzle further into the crook of his neck. The fragrance of his shampoo swells in my lungs.

I’m convinced that he’s taken a shower and came back to bed, and that leaves Daddy. He should be clean too because the knee between my legs is clothed and he was completely naked when we had our salacious night affair.

Daddy’s hygiene can be seen as obsessive; he showers in the morning and at night, he is never seen dirty from any angle, and the image people perceive is of a man who values the truth more than anything.

Symbolically speaking.

He’s clean on a personal level and in his morals. He likes to be clean, but he will do everything in his power to have me leaking and drooling whenever he is in the mood to be the big, bad man to his little girl.

Daddy’s hand around the back of my neck clenches, branding the mark of his ubiquitous intensity and reminding the dependency I have on him.

“Don’t think that Stephan will stop me from putting you in your place, little girl,” Daddy hisses. His body heat makes my head dizzy.

I moan slowly, a hand creeping over my belly and over the swell of my pelvic bone.

Chill coils in the tip of my spine, sending a current of electric thrill to my toes as Daddy’s hand firmly presses down on my clit. The engorged nub pulses as my body jerks at the sweltering cravings; a gush of cum dribbles out of my abused hole as my walls quiver and smear on the pair of pants between my legs.

“Mm, Daddy, no. Sticky.”

Daddy flicks the nub with callousness, “You’re tight, again.”

He hums in my hair, murmuring his praises into my skull as it contradicts the harshness he inflicts on my body. Mr. Stephan kisses my forehead delicately, chuckling at my misery as he makes no move to stop Daddy from drawing a small orgasm from me.

There is no escaping gravity as I sink into the bed. The mattress forms the shape of my side and absorbs my mess that seeps into the expensive material. The soiling of the mattress is far from the concerns that I have. I’m more focused on the finger scraping against the small hole and the spread of my spasming folds.

I shakily mewl, a thirst for more and more as the small orgasm leaves pleasing aftershocks that thrive on my helplessness.

Mr. Stephan moves, and I scramble to get a hold of him. His chuckle above my head is deep with his velvety voice. He kisses my forehead again as a sign of comfort to my thumping heart. It doesn’t help much as my insecurities are honing in on me.

Slow and steady steps of the monstrous elephant come back to haunt me.

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