If it had been difficult he cooed at her, soothed her, took her in his lap in the rocking chair and held her and rocked her. Sometimes gave her a bottle if she hadn’t have enough to drink during the day or if she was hungry. Being diapered meant comfort, meant feeling like she could let go, meant that someone was going to look after her.
“Please, Daddy, not yet.”
Mr. Fox’s brows went up. “Not yet? What are we waiting for?”
Her face burned with embarrassment. Had he just wanted to look at her? Was this as far as things would go? Her mouth was open but she was holding her breath, so mortified she couldn’t speak.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m teasing. Just teasing. No, not yet. I have so many things I want to do to you before I wrap you up. And you are definitely not going to need these for any of them,” he said as he hooked his fingers into the sides of her underwear and drew them over her hips and after she’d lifted her butt, down her legs.
“Nor will you need this,” he continued as he helped her sit up and slipped the sleeves of her dress off her arms. “Or this,” he finished as he smoothly unhooked her bra and drew it over her shoulders and dropped it on the floor.
She’d been naked while he’d been clothed many times and yet it never failed to give her a kick, a special sort of squeeze that started in her tummy and moved lower into her belly and higher into her lungs. Mostly she didn’t like being treated like an object. She was a person, dammit. But being an object that Mr. Fox concentrated all his attention and care on? That wasn’t so bad.
He eased her down onto the bed again and laid next to her on his side, stroking her stomach and her ribcage, her neck and shoulders and hair and face and she wanted to tell him to knock it off and get to the good stuff even though she usually loved being petted and stroked like this. He didn’t make her wait long, though, maybe knowing she couldn’t and he didn’t want to punish her again. Not so soon, anyway, when she was still bruised and swollen and sore from her spanking last night and the reminders he’d given her.
First he palmed her breast, cupped and squeezed it before running his fingernails gently over the thin skin which made her shiver, made her nipples harden into tight points that ached. Ached for him to touch them, squeeze, pinch, maybe even bite. But he didn’t. He gripped her breast harder, though, massaged it in circles while increasing the pressure and it sent her to squirming,
“Ah-ah,” he said, slipping fingers into her hair and using the fistful of strands to pin her head to the mattress, and resting his other hand right above where her pubic hair started. “Too much squirming. Be a good girl for Daddy and stay still. We haven’t even started yet and you’re going to get turned over my knee.”
The idea terrified and thrilled her. Yes, she was sore, and it would hurt, but there was a promise she couldn’t quite grasp just out of her reach. But what it whispered in tempting tones was that the sensation she’d been re-creating all day by herself by shifting in chairs and pinching herself when she went to the bathroom? Maybe it could be even better and more intense if Mr. Fox spanked her again. Not to punish but to make her feel good. That could happen, right?
As always, though, she did want to please him so Twyla stayed still the best she could as he lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth, tongued around the hard bud until, god, he sealed his lips around it and sucked.
A bolt of arousal shot through her, back arching off the bed and a downright wild noise coming out of her mouth. It felt so good to have him suckling at her and she couldn’t help how her hips pressed into the air, wanting some form of contact but finding nothing to rub against. She tried to turn her head but his grip held her fast and she was basically pulling her own hair which…should’ve hurt? But it didn’t. No, it didn’t. The suction on her nipple and the pull on her hair made every muscle in her body go taut.
Twyla had come by touching herself of course, but no one else had ever made her orgasm. But Mr. Fox had barely touched her and she was on the edge.
He drew his hand from her belly up to the breast he wasn’t working with his mouth and started to grip and squeeze, teasing her nipple with brushes of his knuckles until she let out a frustrated noise that slid into a moan of pleasure when he pinched her, hard.
Twyla wanted to scream when he let go of her hair because she wanted it all—the pressure, the pull, the suckling—but she choked on her impatient words when he ordered, “Spread your legs, little girl.”
Never had she complied with a demand so quickly.
She was used to being called a slut and a whore no matter how she behaved but she’d never been as wonton with anyone else as she was being with Mr. Fox. She splayed her legs open and groaned with relief when he palmed her cunt. It felt good, so awfully good, and she took advantage to rub her clit against the heel of his hand. She wanted to get off and she would. Especially if…
He slipped a finger into her, made a low growl around her nipple he’d still been working with teeth and lips and tongue before popping off to say, “Christ, little girl. You’re so wet. So hot. So tight. It’s like finger-fucking heaven itself.”
“More, Daddy, please, more.”
He could’ve made her beg—she would’ve said anything because she was becoming senseless in the thick fog of pleasure she was in—but he didn’t. Just slipped a second finger inside of her. No, slipped wasn’t right, more like shoved and it felt divine. The light stretch and the pressure and the feeling of impact between her legs, plus the way her sore ass ground into the bed covers.
“More, more, please, more.”
She wanted everything, she wanted it all, and if he gave it to her, she’d take his cock, gladly. More willingly and with more anticipation than she’d ever fucked anyone before.
There was something filthy and deviant about him stuffing another finger into her pussy when she was spread out naked on the bed, while he was working both her nipples, still wearing his clothes from school. Powder blue button-front shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, navy tie still on and those light grey slacks that showed off his butt. Not that she looked. Okay, yeah, she looked all the time, whenever she could. But right now, she wasn’t looking at anything at all. Right now, her eyes were squeezed shut in ecstasy and she was lost to sensation. It shouldn’t have felt good, how hard he was fucking her pussy with his fingers but it did. Yeah, it did.
“You like that, babygirl? You like your daddy fingerfucking your pussy so hard your tits bounce?”
“Yes, Daddy. Oh, god, yes!”
God did she ever. And she was so close, so, so, close. What was it going to take to push her that last half inch over the edge?
“Then be a good girl and come for Daddy. Show me how much you like being Daddy’s perfect little precious slut.”
And there it was. His dirty words shoved her hard over the edge and she freefell into pleasure so deep she felt like she’d never come up for air. Her whole body shook and her cunt clamped around her daddy’s fingers and she used her hands to press them as far as they’d go and hold them there while she rocked out the last of her climax, shuddering and shouting.
When at last her orgasm had stopped coming in waves and there were only sporadic pulses of pleasure left, she opened her eyes.
Mr. Fox was leaning over her, stroking her hair back from her forehead where some of it had become matted with sweat. He looked at her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Twyla blushed, and that was before she remembered that half his hand was still inside her because she was holding it there and still pressing against it when there was a chance of another squeeze of satisfaction.
“You’re the prettiest damn thing when you come, you know that?”
Her eyes flew wide, because no, she absolutely did not know that and even as he said it, she wasn’t sure it was true. But she’d take it, and like all the other compliments he gave her so freely and easily, keep it close to her heart so she would remember it when she really needed it.