Her daddy always says she’s the greediest at playdates.
She says she’s just the best hostess ever.
little girl
It’s going to take a lot more to get me to hold still for much longer, Daddy.
You know I’m a little magpie, Daddy.
I can’t help myself.
Hello, vices.
Don’t be fooled, Daddy.
You know I’m tough stuff.
Every night during my visit to Penthouse’s, he set me a bedtime.
Somehow, I always managed to maneuver my way out of it.
One of the mornings I was there, Penthouse had to go somewhere a few hours before one of my meetings. We had messed around in bed a bit and he took some rope and tied one of my ankles loosely to the bed-frame.
“Now, edge yourself and text Daddy all about it and you can let yourself out,” he said, kissing my forehead before grabbing his backpack.
I pouted as I heard the door click shut and reached down between my legs.
My first meeting was Friday morning and it went exceptionally well.
I was tired, nonetheless, after having stayed up with Penthouse the night before. So, when I got back to his place, he ushered me into his bedroom.
“You’re taking a nap,” he said.
As a child, I was terrible at nap time. My teacher in preschool had to give me another activity to do after I would stay up and try to get the children around me to stay up with me. So, unless I am falling all over myself tired, I don’t take naps even now.
I pouted. “I can’t just nap."
He made sure to watch me get into bed and went to the door. "Close your eyes, I’ll join you in a little bit.”
I curled up in his bed and sighed. Outside, I could hear him talking to a few of his roommates. Blushing, I turned onto my stomach and closed my eyes.
If the last post didn’t give a vague inkling already, my time with Penthouse gave me the opportunity to explore the Daddy-little dynamic to a degree that I have not in the past. I’ve been into the idea of it for a little while now, but societal condemnation of it had sort of kept me shoving it into the periphery.
While I can objectively say that it’s not about my father, nor do I think of him during this sort of stuff, it still made me uncomfortable. You know, because statutory rape and incest happen. They’re not something to be taken lightly.
So, I approached it with a lot of caution.
Therefore, a bunch of the posts to come are going to feature this dynamic. So, I thought I’d post a disclaimer. Or something. I don’t know.
For all the enjoyment I derived from it, I’m still a little hesitant to associate myself with the whole Daddy-little concept.
So bear with me here. This is as much an exercise in acceptance for me as it is an exercise for your right arm.
Snicker.
In case anybody needed to know what makes me blush:
Daddy feeds me grapefruit. He eats it a few times a week, “It’s good for you baby.” I hate grapefruit. Unless it’s covered in white sugar. But that’s not how Daddy eats it.
He sits down beside me and peels it effortlessly with his big strong hands. He eats the pieces quickly and without fuss. But for me he does it differently. He takes the most plump section and carefully peels away the skin and the rind and the white stringy parts that make me say ick, leaving just the juicy raw insides. Exposed. It’s always that ruby colour, like the inside of my cunt. It’s always dripping and falling apart. He hands it to me, my fingers accept it gingerly.
I make a sour face when I chew, I shiver a little, but I don’t complain. I know it’s for my own good. He doesn’t pay much attention to my reaction anyway.
“Good girl,” he says when he sees I’ve swallowed.