Page 32 of Merry Christmas From Daddy to Little One

I hear him grab something from the platter of treats he prepared. He bends over me, whispering in my ear, “Would you like to admit how much you love being called my good girl?”

“Under duress? It won’t mean anything,” I snarl.

He chuckles. “You’ll make a wonderful attorney, Sweets. But that was a stupid answer.”

I feel something pressing at my wet entrance, and he cuts me off when I start to moan.

“This is going to hurt.”

I freeze. “W-what?”

“Just enough to teach you a lesson. It’ll be bearable.”

“What is it?” I fight his hand on my hip while he pushes inside some more, but there’s not much I can do with my wrists tied in a pretty fucking Christmas bow.

It doesn’t feel big, just enough for me to feel it. Just enough to pleasure me.

He pulls it out, making me whimper from the lack of friction.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

When I don’t, his hand at my hip comes to my jaw, and he presses my cheeks until my mouth opens. It always shocks me how non-violent his gestures are. He doesn’t need to put strength in his acts, he just controls me with a bit of pressure and dirty words.

My eyes widen when I watch his other hand approach my mouth.

A candy cane in it.

And that’s when I feel it.

The tingling sensation, nearing a burn.

“Fuck!” I shriek in his grip. “You’re a dick!”

“Language. There’s barely any peppermint in these things. It’s mainly sugar, it won’t burn badly.”

And I know he’s right. I can feel it just enough tolearn my lesson.

His fingers press slightly harder on my cheeks. “Say ‘ah’ for Daddy.”

He pushes the candy past my parted lips. It’s not the peppermint I taste first. It’s myself.

“Can you taste how delicious you are, baby? How drenched you are for me?”

He pulls the candy in and out of my mouth, until the hints of my pleasure are completely gone from my mouth.

“Answer me, Little one.”

“Yes…” I moan around the candy cane.

He pulls it out only to fuck my pussy with it again. “Oh, God,” I hiss at the slight burn. “Chris…” It’s annoyingly disappearing to be replaced by pleasure.

I helplessly pull at my binds, hating myself for enjoying his brand of punishment.

“So what do you prefer? To be a good girl or a bad girl for me?”

“G-good,” I pant.

“Say it, then. Beg me to be my good girl.”

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