My Daddy's Naughty Girl: A Novel of Erotic Subjugation

Chapter One-2

But I digress yet again. Where were we...ah yes, I was in the middle of describing our greeting ritual. So after he is done nuzzling and fondling and kissing my armpits as he kneels on the hardwood floor, my breasts are the next target of his tender mercies. He claims they exactly conform to his ideal for that part of the female anatomy--big enough to afford him ample space to fondle or punish, but small enough to be firm and perky, and endlessly responsive to any kind of attention, be it pleasurable or not-so-much. But they are not to be hurt in his homecoming greeting, save perhaps a little nibble or pinch of my n*****s as he’s taking ownership of them. He knows that rough handling there sends jolts of erotic lightning straight to my c**t, and this portion of our daily lovemaking is all about heating me up.

But once he’s done with my breasts, then the time has arrived for toying with my belly. My Master loves it that I am so naturally lean that he can see my abs clench as he tickles me there, once again delighting in his capacity to provoke involuntary reactions from my naked skin. This must be repeated for several minutes until the reflex extinguishes after which the hollows between my hips and p***y are subjected to careful fondling and nuzzling. I know he can smell and see my arousal at that point, since I will be so turned on I’ll be damn near dripping on the floor. But my hungry little cunt is still a long way from having its dire need met at this stage, and the poor thing is only to be tantalized for some time to come, so to say.

By now, it will be time for my backside to come under his wonderful, terrible focus. He remains kneeling while he takes me by the hips and guides to me turn around. I am then ordered to stand very still while his hands and lips repeat their journey southward, this time from the back of my neck all the way to my waist. Since he’s already pioneered my breasts, while he is nuzzling my shoulder blades his hands feel perfectly free to wander around to toy with my n*****s, stoking my fires as he pinches them increasingly fiercely, knowing how much even the hunt of erotic pain throws my arousal cycle into overdrive. By this point, we both know that the slightest touch directly on my c**t will have me coming like a freight train, but that outcome is still far from being enacted.

Then it is time for my ass and legs to feel his joyful focus. For this part of our greeting ritual, he sits on the floor and guides my legs four or five feet apart into a wide straddle. Then he orders: “Over you go, little one, and let’s get a nice long look and feel of the most gorgeous derriere on the planet.” I comply with my characteristic meekness, so antithetical to the fearsome persona I manifest at work, so refreshing in its balancing out of what I do all day. Once I’m home, in his hands, I can just let go and be told what to do, be given whatever experience he deems necessary for me, always so intense, so challenging, and ultimately so ungodly pleasurable you can’t even imagine.

What you probably can imagine is how exposed my ass cheeks, thighs, and everything in between them will be once I bend over and place my palms on the floor. Nothing intimate about me is left in doubt or sub-maximally exposed in this posture. My breasts dangle upside down, easily accessible by his hands as he sits with crossed ankles between my straddled legs. My bottom cleavage is drawn powerfully apart, though not as extremely as some of the more intense bondages he loves to place me in, about which you will hear in great detail later. This offers up all of his favorite places on me, all of those intimate private areas that we all naturally want to hide away beneath layers of clothing. They are all splayed open, totally exposed and vulnerable to whatever kind of stimulus he deems they might benefit from.

Before he asks me the key question by whose answer I am empowered to dictate the course of the rest of my evening, the regions now offered up to him must be explored. His hands...those amazing, powerful, gentle, hands that regularly take me to the limits of tolerable pain and past the edges of unimaginable pleasure, must have their way with the parts of me they have not yet visited. They begin with my feet, gently stroking every square millimeter of my skin, as if to define my physical boundaries, from the floor all the way up my legs. Of course, they take extra time when reaching areas of particular sensitivity, like the tender hollows behind my knees or my inner thighs. And once those fingers reach mid-thigh, they are joined by his mouth, as he nuzzles and kisses and smells my skin, stoking my fires even further.

All begins to come to a head, so to say, as his hands and mouth reach the strategic realm of my body where ass, p***y, hips, and thighs all coincide in two infinitely tender triangles of skin at the base of each buttock. These ultimately eroticized regions are bypassed in this initial survey of my naked body, as my ass must first receive its own careful welcoming to our world of sensory abandon. So his hands and mouth shift to a very painstaking exploration of my bottom cheeks, starting at the waistline where his caresses of my back stopped. He means to coax every nerve ending of my rear end into maximal sensitivity so I might fully feel all of the painful stimuli to come.

We both know he is tantalizing me now, and not just sexually. My clever, patient Daddy is reminding my buttocks that if I elect they may be subjected to a very long and painful conversation with any one of dozens of implements that they have been spanked by in the past few years. He knows a part of me longs for this, has become more than a bit addicted to the fiery condiment of erotic pain as prelude to my greatest s****l pleasure. But he also is well aware of how deeply ambivalent I feel about this little secret that we share, about how I dread the hurt that is the necessary antecedent to this ultimate joy. So once again, I am teased, left to struggle in my ambivalence like a moth caught in a web, more deeply ensnared the more I thrash the helpless limbs of my autonomy.

Finally, the only spot on my body that he will not yet have touched will be the ultimately private and vulnerable structures concealed within my bottom cleavage. His teasing fingers will have grazed the edges of my labia, which he prefers me to keep depilated save for a little triangle of pubic hair above my c**t. He insists my cunt not look like that of a little girl, which would turn him off. After all, he only wants to sexually possess willing victims. He often reminds me of this with a sinister chuckle, especially when I’m in the middle of some intimate torment I have prescribed for myself against my better judgment. Likewise, his tantalizing finger will have wandered down my ass crack from the top, but just a little shy of my nether orifice. Which has been taught to both fear and crave his attention just as all of the other intimate, vulnerable places offered up by my bent and splayed stance.

By this point, I will be so turned on that the liquid evidence of my state will be literally dripping on the hardwood floor. He will delight in teasing me about this, chiding me archly for being such a shameless little slut, which we both know is totally true. And then the question comes, every weeknight just the same: “So, my naughty one, tell Daddy exactly what kind of girl you’ve been today.”

Here is the point where our evening divides. If I respond that I’ve been a good girl, I am signaling that I’m in the mood for a ‘vanilla’ s*x night. He will smile tenderly at my inverted face, and reply: “Well, let’s show you what good girls get as their reward from their loving Daddy.” Then he’ll lean in and engulf my p***y in his mouth and lick me to my first orgasm of the evening. I am usually so turned on by his careful preparation of me that I’ll be writhing and shouting out my orgasm the instant his tongue hits my c**t. His hands will hold my hips so I feel safe relaxing into my pleasurable spasms while they shudder through my body until they subside.

But this won’t end my loving welcome. His fingers will then find my inverted t**s as his mouth continues its skillful exploration of my p***y, the combination rapidly stoking my arousal within minutes. A fierce pinching of my n*****s will milk another even more satisfying climax from me quite quickly, especially if he gets a bit rougher with my c**t as well, suckling and nibbling it. Then a finger will find my G-spot, quickly eliciting a third orgasm from me as my pelvic floor registers its approval of the happenings. And then, if he’s feeling a bit naughty, his tongue will find its way to my nether orifice, with his hands taking over the work of stimulating my p***y, and I’ll be tongue f****d to a fourth pinnacle. This one is usually even more guttural, as playing with my anus seems to reach a different kind of animalistic s****l part of me.

By this point, the edge is off my rather powerful libido. Depending on his own state of arousal, he might decide to take me right there in the foyer. But most often, he likes to wait, claiming that hunger is the best sauce for his enjoyment of me. So more often than not, if I elect to tell him I’ve been a good girl, our first s****l interlude of the evening will end at this point and we will adjourn to the kitchen for our dinner preparation activities.