Page 41 of Part-Time Daddy

“Whoa, it sounds delicious.”

“Then I guess you better get your feet moving if you want to eat it.”

Digging my heels in will only delay all the good things planned for the night. Instead of arguing, I hustle to my room, leaving Daddy stifling an amused huffing noise in my wake.

??????

Daddy whistling to the soft rock playing on the radio as he washes the dishes is soothing. I’m not familiar with the songs on this station, but Daddy seems to like the constant stream of tunes playing since we finished dinner.

Over the delicious and filling meal, Daddy and I covered my schedule in detail. He asked clarifying questions, and we reviewed my last month of work so he could better understand my average work week—if such a word could ever be applied to my job. Armed with a wealth of knowledge, Daddy helped me create a basic, easy-to-follow routine.

It covers simple chores, mealtimes, and set bedtimes. Since he made a bunch of meal prep containers, I have little to do besides warm up a meal at the preferred time. Or as close as I can, depending on my cases.

Once we both agreed on a semblance of normalcy in my daily routine, Daddy and I covered a list of rules. I expected them to be difficult and that I’d want to fight him every step of the way—maybe even flirt my way through negotiating—but it was an unnecessary thought process.

Many of the rules surrounded communication and safety. Letting Daddy know where I am throughout the day, texting or calling before bed and first thing in the morning, promising to obey the laws of the road while driving, and asking Daddy for a ride if I’m ever too tired to get behind the wheel. All standard and infinitely sweet to see he cares so much about protecting me.

Then came the rules for when I’m in my little space. Listening to Daddy, asking permission for anything, and the one that made me squirm so hard in my chair Daddy asked if I had to go potty: no touching my cock or coming without Daddy’s permission.

Ungh.

It was like he reached inside my head and cherry-picked one of my favorite and most desired fantasies about my dream Daddy. I imagined I would feel the most cherished by my Daddy when he was in control of my pleasure.

All the talk about Daddy being in charge set my blood on fire. The rules only served to tip me close to the edge. But Daddy put a stop to anything before I could bat my eyelashes at him. Sending me off to the living room, he set me up with my Dracula playset and told me to stay here until he was finished cleaning up from dinner.

Somewhere between the rule setting and my dick hardening, I fell into my little space. My head became fuzzy and following Daddy’s instructions was as easy as breathing.

The only downside is I’m still hard, and Daddy is taking too long cleaning. Dancing the vampire figurine across the plastic castle steps, I desperately try to ignore the tingling between my legs. If I was alone, it might be easier to distract myself with my toys. But with Daddy in my space, his cologne lingering in the air, I can’t turn my mind away from him.

Dean is sexy as fuck on a normal day, but when he’s in Daddy mode?

Jesus fucking Christ.

Add all of his yumminess to the fact I’ve been on edge all day, teased within an inch of my life, with balls so blue they could fall off… How can I be blamed for being so horny?

Casting a quick peek over my shoulder, I see Daddy with his back turned to me. Standing over the sink, his arms flexing as he washes another pot, placing it on the drying rack after a rinse.

I already knew confidence was a turn-on for me, but I didn’t know it extended to domestic chores.

My cock pulses. Lying on my stomach, the carpet beneath my groin is enough to tempt me. Watching Daddy, I wiggle my hips side to side.

Oh, that feels good.

A tiny bit of pressure, the right amount of friction. And technically, I’m not breaking the rules because my hands are nowhere near my dick.

Loopholes for the win.

Turning forward, I lower my face to the carpet, stifling the quiet groans. I rock my hips up and back, side to side, then roll them, testing which movement feels the best. Spoiler alert: all of them. Each change in direction brings a new sensation, a sensual thrill, taking the edge off but not enough to get me across the line.

So focused on the prickle of pleasure running through my body, I almost miss the sound of a throat clearing behind me.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing, baby bat?” Daddy’s displeased tone forces me to freeze mid-thrust.

Lifting my forehead off the carpet, I glance over my shoulder to find Daddy no longer distracted by dinner clean-up.Whoops.One of his eyebrows is arched in question, a menacing stare aimed my way.

“Um.”

Hetsks. The ticking sound sends a shiver down my spine. It’s ominous and thrilling in the best kind of way

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