More tears fall. I don’t like edging. It makes me squirm when I read it in a book, but in reality, it’s horrifying.
Papi drags both his pointers up my inner thighs, not coming anywhere closer to my pussy and then flicks my nipples with my own wetness. His hands disappear immediately. Cool air hits my wet titties and drives my arousal painfully higher. It doesn’t take much.
He waits for me to catch my breath and then drags a finger through my folds and over my clit. Two seconds tops. That’s all I get.
I groan. “Please, Papi. I don’t like it.”
“You’re not supposed to like it, Baby girl. It’s punishment.” He waits again, longer this time because it takes me forever to ease away from the edge. He reads me well.
The next time he reaches between my legs, he thrusts his finger up into me. He takes it away just as quickly again.
Before I recover, he leans forward and flicks his tongue over one of my nipples.
I writhe. It’s hard to keep my feet spread apart. I’ve never felt this kind of need. It’s all-consuming. I feel like I’ll die if he doesn’t let me come.
After a few minutes, he flicks that same nipple with his tongue again. It’s maddening because the other nipple is begging for attention. If he would just prick my skin—anywhere—I would come. He knows that. He won’t do it.
I don’t know how long he torments me. Time is nothing. At some point, he rises and circles behind me. When he grips my hip to steady me, I blow out a sigh of relief, thinking he will finally remove the root. He doesn’t though. He grabs the green fronds, pulls the root out a few inches, and shoves it back into me, twisting it around until I’m panting against the burn that hurts so good.
I deserve this. It’s horrible, but I deserve it.
He remains behind me for a while, still tormenting me intermittently by flicking my clit or thrusting into my pussy or reaching around to tweak my nipples.
Just when I think I can’t take it another moment, he pulls the root from my aching bottom and stands to release my wrists.
I’m trembling, and I want him to pick me up and cradle me. Instead, he nods toward the house. “Come, Baby girl.”
I follow him, shaking and sad and needing his touch.
He puts the root in the recycling bin and grabs a bottle from the fridge. When he nods toward the hallway, I have hope he will rock me in my nursery while he feeds me. I’m starving and so aroused. I don’t know what’s worse, my need to come or my need to eat.
Papi doesn’t sit on the rocking chair though. He points toward my crib, lifts me by the hips, and lays me on my back. “Spread your legs, Little one.”
I do as I’m told, but I’m about to cry harder. Tears have been falling for a long time, but I’m close to a full meltdown.
Papi touches me as little as possible as he diapers me.
“Burns,” I mutter, whimpering.
“I know it does, Little one.” His voice is kind and gentle. He’s not mad. He’s simply teaching me a lesson. “It will ease over time.”
“You could wash it off?” I suggest, hopefully.
He smiles. “I won’t wash off the yooka when you’re disciplined, Baby girl. The lingering burn will remind you not to misbehave in the future.”
“What about the lingering need to come,” I retort.
“That too,” he says as he restrains my wrist to the side of the crib. After he fastens the second one, I arch my chest and moan. The restraints have shot my arousal back to full bloom. I dig my heels into the mattress. The diaper keeps me from closing my legs. In fact, this isn’t an ordinary diaper. I realize it’s different. It has something firm at the base that’s forcing my legs wider than normal.
Papi holds the bottle to my lips. “You need to eat, Baby girl.”
I’m panting as I part my lips and accept the nipple. I’m thirsty and hungry and overwhelmed with so many feelings.
I squirm the entire time I’m sucking, my arousal not abating mostly because of the constant burn in my rectum. The strange padding of the diaper isn’t helping either because my legs are wider than usual, leaving my pussy feeling open. In this position, my lower lips are parted, and there’s nothing I can do to get relief.
Finally, I finish the bottle.
Papi kisses my forehead. “I’m proud of you, Little one.”