Daddy! Read online

  Spankings had never been recreation for us—well, not often, anyway. They were meant to correct what he considered to be faults in my behavior, and I trusted him absolutely to set those parameters and enforce them.

  This was really no different in that way. I could understand—intellectually, anyway—why he wasn't going easy on me. He'd just told me that I wasn't to be big, and there I was, being big, literally a second later.

  All of this adult philosophizing in my head stopped very quickly, though, because this was quite the first spanking as a little, and it wasn't long before I wasn't anywhere near able to maintain my composure. I very rapidly descended into the same kind of crying, pleading, kicking and squirming that one would expect from a three-year-old whose fanny was being thoroughly tanned by a parental figure who knew what he was about.

  Mane was always very careful to evenly distribute the swats—which was something others didn't bother to pay any attention to. He was also sure to land most of the smacks where he knew they would have the most impact—right on that tender spot where butt became thigh.

  I had allowed myself to become so deeply little that, even when he was no longer punishing me, even when he'd turned me over and was cradling me tenderly, pressing his lips to my wet cheeks and rocking me, I continued to sob as if I was being scourged by a cat o' nine tails.

  "What did I tell you about thinking you're a big girl?" he asked gently, holding me like a baby and drying my tears with his thumb.

  Rebellion against being treated in the manner I had craved as long as I could remember was surprisingly close, but I curbed it and did my best to continue to let my little have the rudder.

  "Don't!" I wept pitifully.

  That made him laugh. "Well, that's succinct, anyway. And right."

  He stood with me in his arms—which always amazed me, since I'm no lightweight—then put me down, still curled up as I had been on his lap, on my side, with a pillow beneath my head and the throw over me, just in case. He even put a box of tissues on the table near me.

  "I want you to stay right here—in fact, if you need to get up, I want you to ask me for permission before you do."

  Still sniffling, I let him know that I understood.

  "And don't go changing the channels or trying to stream anything more adult. You're too little to watch things that I haven't approved for you, and I haven't had a chance to lock out channels I don't want you to watch yet." He patted my bottom and headed back to the kitchen.

  I lay there, some of myself feeling a bit guilty that he was doing all of the work, and watched cartoons. He didn't just leave me to my own devices, either. He checked in with me frequently—asking me things from the kitchen and once coming in just to lay eyes on me, taking the opportunity to retuck the throw around me.

  When Mane returned, it was with a tray of crispy, crunchy oven baked fingers and fries, along with ketchup for the fries and slightly warmed barbeque sauce for the chicken, as well as a small bowl of green beans with butter, salt and pepper.

  As I sat up, tailor fashion, he put the food on the table and brought it closer to the couch, then sat next to me and tucked a napkin into my neckline. Giving that a critical eye, he mumbled, "Add bibs to the list."

  There was a list? I wondered, curious as to what else might be on it. Then it hit me. He was going to put me in a bib! I might have mused on that further, but my stomach was protesting, so I leaned forward to reach for a finger, but he tsked in warning and I sat back immediately at the behest of my still abominably stinging backside, which definitely outweighed my stomach.

  "Let me feed you, baby."

  This time, I leaned away from him, putting the back of my hand to my cheek in a telling sign that I was, indeed, quite little. "But I can feed myself."

  "Of course, you can, silly girl!" he teased. "But you'll just have to indulge me a bit this weekend, pumpkin, 'cause I like taking care of you a lot."

  So, as I watched all of my favorite cartoon vignettes, he offered up bites of my favorite foods—to the both of us—even wiping my mouth for me when I carefully said, "No, thank you," to another bite.

  That earned me a nibbling kiss on the cheek and a compliment. "Those are some very nice manners, babygirl!"

  My blush was very real as I giggled at the praise. I resisted the urge to offer to help him and concentrated, instead, on Marvin's Illudium Q-31 Explosive Space Mod-u-la-tor while he cleaned up, then returned to pull me onto his lap again.

  I pushed against his chest experimentally, peeping up at him to see that his face said he was not very happy with the idea of me resisting him. Once he had me arranged, curled up against him again, he paused the TV, then turned it off altogether and said the words that most women—including my best friend—would kill to hear from their significant others. "I want to talk."

  The adult in me knew that he was right—we needed to talk about this, to define parameters and all of that stuff—but I'd never been the kind of female who enjoyed doing that.

  Unfortunately for me, Mane loved that kind of thing—he'd done it in every step of our relationship, and now he had something else to revel in the details of. Luckily, unless she was very comfortable, my little wasn't much of a talker, so I didn't think he'd get much out of her. But, as usual, it seemed lately, I underestimated Mane, although, truth be told, he did carry the majority of the conversation.

  "But I don't want you to worry about it at all, either. You don't have to do anything—you don't even have to say anything unless I ask you a question, and then you just have to answer me as honestly as possible." I nodded my head where it lay on his chest.

  He cleared his throat, and I caught my breath. He was nervous, too! Mane was always so strong and confident, even in unfamiliar circumstances. I was floored to think that he might not be quite so confident in this situation. It touched my heart even more than everything else he was doing utterly perfectly so far.

  "You see, I've always wanted to, but I've never been any big little girl's Daddy. I'm not quite yours yet, either, but that's what I'm aiming for. And before I make any rules for you—"

  I shook my head.

  "What?" He stopped.

  "Don't like rules."

  "Ah, well, I'm sorry about that, but everyone has rules—even me. Even your big. I made her rules, and I'm going to make yours, too. For this weekend, definitely, and I'm hoping beyond that, too."

  I continued to shake my head, and he ignored the silent protest I had going on.

  As he spoke, he talked about me needing structure and that rules went along with that, and that he thought my bedtime might need some adjustment, but essentially, he reiterated to me what he'd said when he became my Dom—that he didn't want to make me think that I needed to ask him when to breath. He just wanted to create a framework that helped me be healthy and happy and to feel safe.

  "This weekend is going to be about making you feel comfortable enough with me that, eventually, you won't even have to think about whether or not you're little. You just will be, naturally. I would be very happy to have you be little all the time, but I want it to be the amount that you're comfortable with. Everything I do—even for your big—is about creating an environment in which you feel safe—safe to be submissive to me, and now, safe to be little with me."

  I was literally in tears at what he was saying. In fact, I was bawling very much like I was when he was smacking my behind.

  He was immediately and obviously concerned, cupping my cheek with his hand. "What is it, little love? It hurts my heart to see you so upset. Tell Da—tell me what you're thinking, please, angel." His tone was gentle, but firm, and I knew he wasn't going to allow me to get away with not answering his question. He would be patient and kind, but he would also be obeyed, I had no doubt.

  My confession was neither purely big, nor purely little, but straight from the previously unplumbed depths of my heart. "I-I can barely believe that I have you as my Dom. It's hard for me to comprehend that you're willing to do all of what that entai
ls for me. I know it's a lot of work and responsibility." I swallowed hard, continuing to weep as I spoke, starting out in big, at first, then drifting, falling uncontrollably into my real, true little. "An' now you wanna be that for me, too? 'S too much to ask. I'll be too much for you. You'll get mad 'n' fusstrated 'causa all you gotta do for me an'—an'—an' I don' wanna be a bother." I repeated in a wet whisper, "I don' wanna be a burden."

  His heartfelt, emotional, "Oh, honey!" made me sob even harder as his arms contracted around me and he plastered me to him, one big hand cupping the back of my head. Then he pulled a little away, enough to look into my eyes. "You listen to me, my darling girl. You don't ever have to worry about that. Like I told you, I've wanted a little girl just like you for the longest time. There is absolutely nothing about taking care of you that I could ever consider to be a burden. And, even though I can't ever imagine feeling this way, if I should ever be not feeling well or quite up to snuff, I would tell you so. Because I believe in communicating. A lot, as you know."

  There was a long pause, during which he mused out loud and off-topic, "I'm gonna have to find a big, comfortable rocker. I can foresee wanting to rock you to sleep many a night before I put you to bed."

  Then he squeezed me tighter for a moment, before picking up where he'd left off. "I don't know if it was being raised by my mom and having a younger sister whom I often babysat, but I truly enjoy taking care of people. I love everything about you, and I couldn't be happier that we have this in common, too."

  He stiffened slightly, which made me do the same, then he said, "And if you don't believe me—that this is something I've wanted for a very long time, I can prove it to you."

  Mane got up and carried me into his bedroom, laying me down at the end of the bed. "Stay right there, pumpkin. I'll be right back." He took a few strides away from me, then looked back, warning, "Don't move now."

  "I won't."

  "I should think not. I bet your little fanny is still throbbing, isn't it?"

  I pursed my lips.

  "Tahlia? Little girl, I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question."

  I fidgeted under his stare, filled with humiliation. My "Yes, Sir," was barely above a whisper.

  "That's it. I'm sure you don't want make me have to add to how sore your bottom is, now, do you?"

  I gulped hard at the mere thought of being turned over his knee again. "No, Sir."

  "That's my smart girl." He ducked into his closet, keeping the door wide open.

  I had no idea what it was that he was going to show me. I practically lived in his house—especially during the summer, and even most weekends and all vacations throughout the school year. And even though I was staunchly against snooping—at least without cause—around anyone else's place, and that included the man I was sleeping with, I'd had occasion to go into pretty much every area of the house—the basement, the attic, everywhere. And I'd certainly been in the big walk-in closet that he had converted himself from what had been a small fourth bedroom next to the master on the first floor.

  But still, he reappeared seconds later, holding onto a very cute…pink…diaper bag that I had certainly never encountered before.

  My eyes must've gone dramatically round when I saw it. "Calm down, I'm not going to diaper you." Then he put it down next to me on the bed, ending his sentence with, "Yet."

  I moved to sit up, but he stopped me. "No, I want you to lie back down, sweetie." Mane didn't move until I'd complied, lying on the edge of his bed, my legs hanging over and wondering—with not a small amount of trepidation—what was going to happen next.

  Chapter 4

  I didn't have to wait long at all to find out.

  He unzipped the bag—which was a candy pastel pink, with little ballerina slippers and tutus all over it—and produced a blister pack that I watched him open. Then he took what had been in it and presented it to my lips. "Open up, little one."

  I did as I was told, lips and teeth closing around it eagerly as my eyes wanted to close in bliss.

  It was an adult sized pacifier, something along the larger Nuk lines. I couldn't tell which one because I hadn't been able to read the package. But it was big and filled my entire mouth, the guard fitting in perfect proportions to my lips, reminding me of the one that was tucked well away at my own place. And it was pink, my favorite color.

  The fleeting question of when he'd gotten it flitted through my mind, but I let it go unpondered, which was a huge compliment to him. I had a tendency to perseverate about things, to my own detriment. He was already having a great effect on me as a Daddy, and he wasn't even technically mine yet.

  And he didn't just pop it into my mouth and return to the bag, either. He watched me becoming accustomed to feeling it in my mouth, watching me touch it with my tongue and explore it a bit. And then I began to suck strongly on it, and his eyes widened as if I was sucking on him instead.

  I absolutely loved it! It was soft and satisfyingly squishy when I chewed on it, but mostly I loved the presence in my mouth and the ability to suckle any time I wanted. I loved that my mouth was occupied and knew this would render me much less verbal than I usually am, which was only fitting. But even more than that, I think, I loved that he had given it to me.

  Just as my little was coming more and more to the forefront, and I was therefore becoming more and more attuned to him as my potential Daddy, Mane bent down, between my legs, covering all of me with his big body, brushing the hair back from my face as he continued to watch me up close. "You look so darling with your binky in your mouth, Tahlia."

  He smiled down at me indulgently for a long moment, kissed the tip of my nose, then rose up again. "You're not to take that out of your mouth on your own, lovey. Only I can take it out. You may ask for permission by putting your fingers on the ring, if you think you need to, but don't be surprised if I say no."

  I nodded, and he gave me a small smile. "Now, let's see what else I have in here."

  I started to think that this was one of those bottomless bags! He took out an enormous bottle of baby powder, a pretty pink adult sized changing pad, a smallish pink blanket, tube of diaper rash ointment and some Baby Magic lotion, along with a big jar of Vaseline, some wipes, a rectal thermometer and several tab bags. There was also a big handful of other shapes and sizes of pacifiers and a small pink finger vibe. Everything was brand new, still in its packages. I couldn't believe how prepared he was!

  Then he grinned down at me with a slightly sheepish look. "I've been buying stuff for this kit every once in a while—when I allowed myself to fantasize—for as long as I can remember." The slight discomfort left his expression as if it had never been there in the first place, and he met my eyes deliberately. "There's no way I could have gotten off work at four-thirty, gone and gotten all of this stuff, and then come home to change and still pick you up at five. I would bet that you know—as I do—that the kind of binky that's in your mouth right now isn't readily available any other way than on the web."

  My blush was more than enough of an answer for me, apparently, because he grinned broadly—and a bit triumphantly—at me. Then he looked around at the piles of stuff. "I might have gone a bit overboard, but I'll pare down things we end up not using or needing or buy things we do need, as time goes on."

  He leaned down over me again, framing my head carefully with his hands and wearing what I've come to known as his stubborn look as he gave a determined sigh. "I've tried not to call myself your Daddy while we've been discussing things, because I know this is still supposed to be tentative and it's a trial run, really. I know that there are still a lot of things we need to talk about—mainly whether or not we're compatible on this level." He grinned slightly, saying, "But I kinda think the odds are in my favor, and I've decided that I'm not going to continue to shy away from calling myself what I—eventually, when you feel comfortable, of course—want you to call me—Daddy." His eyes met mine. "Don't be afraid to tell me if you think I'm pushing too hard or going too fast for you, tho
ugh, okay? But is that okay with you, peewee?"

  I nodded several times, trying not to seem too eager. The smile he beamed down at me was as much of an incredible reward as his eagerness to be called what he wanted to be for me was.

  "Good. I'm glad we got that very important matter settled." He levered himself up again, hands coming to rest on my rib cage. "Well, you've had a nap and dinner. I think we should get you into your jammies, and then we can watch some TV in the living room."

  He left me again, and I, of course, stayed where I was put. I expected him to reach into one of the top two drawers of his big dresser, which I had long since appropriated for the express purposes of being able to leave some of my own crap here and not have to cart it back and forth between residences. I knew I had several sets of pajamas and a nightgown or two here.

  But he ignored that and instead pulled a box out from under his bed, from which he took a pair of pajamas that I had never seen before. They, too, were brand new—I heard him take them out of the bag.

  Mane put them alongside me on the bed, then reached for the hem of my shirt, keeping up a steady stream of conversation with me, even though I couldn't respond very well. "My little girl doesn't need this anymore," he said, and I leaned up enough that he could pull it off over my head. "There we are." Then he brought my shorts down, tossing them into the hamper near the door and turning back to me, his eyes falling on my thong. "Tsk. And my little girl definitely doesn't need these," he said in a very disapproving tone as he divested me of my underwear. "I don't think you'll be wearing those much in the future. Your Daddy's much more likely to put you into training pants, pull ups, or diapers, depending on how little you're feeling at the time."

  I was unprepared for him to lift my feet onto the bed, arranging them so that my heels were on the edge, my legs naturally splaying in that position and leaving myself wide open, which brought on a full-body blush as I looked deliberately away from him.