Posted by: littlegirlyone | August 23, 2010

Our Morning One Morning, part three

Here is the third part of the story Daddy and I wrote together. Here’s where you can read parts one and two.

I was barely aware of walking from the house to the car, and from the car to the store. My head was still a bit swimmy. The morning had been all over the place: sweet, scary, sexy. I had to admit that last part was too true. Even though I had hurt and felt sad, when I thought of him punishing me like that, it was hard for me to breathe.

I loved our inequality, there was no doubt about that. I appreciated the way Daddy understood my craving for it; how I didn’t have to explain it to him.

And I liked that he knew how to break me just enough. I wanted all of my punishments to hurt, and leave bruises on me for weeks afterward. Of course, in the middle of a punishment, the pain was painful. But, that was how we both wanted it: real misery followed by real care. I was grateful that he gave me both.

And I loved the sweetness he showered on me afterward. I loved the way he’d hold me against him when I stood and wobbled. The way he’d kiss away my tears, stroke my hair, and tell me he loved me, and that I was his good girl. In those moments, I felt truly known and held, seen and heard for everything that I am. And it made me want to hurt again and again with him, just to feel his softness emerge and wrap me up.

The way Daddy understood this about me took my breath away. He knew how I felt before I did. He could see when to stop, when I was on the verge of too much. He could find spot where we balanced right there, almost going over, but never completely. That was some kind of magic. It made me giddy to think about.

I was so giddy, in fact, that I forgot I had a shopping list to take care of. I came back to myself, wandering the aisles of the grocery store, leaning against an empty cart. I stuck my hand in my pocket, and pulled out Daddy’s list. I was glad to see his clear handwriting. I didn’t want to think about what might happen to me if I couldn’t read something on his list, and came home without it. I was already so sore, I couldn’t take another beating. Or fucking, for that matter.

The list was easy: dinner stuff, I guessed. Nothing I couldn’t handle. But I retraced the aisles slowly, making sure to find each item, and place it in the cart. My pussy felt raw and warm and uncomfortably wet. Daddy’s come was sliding out of me, squishing around inside my panties, leaking onto my inner thighs. When I moved right, I could smell it in the huff of air that moved between my thighs. Come-y, which to me always smelled like foliage. And my scent, which Daddy called snickerdoodle and pussy. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was definitively a sex smell. And it made me feel like a whore.

I wondered if anyone walking by could tell. Could they smell it on me? Was there some giveaway? Did I look like a girl that got spanked me all the time, both when I was bad and deserved it, and whenever Daddy felt like it? Could someone see that I was a girl that had given up her right to say no?

And, I wondered who else in the grocery store was kinky. Was that woman picking out produce with a butt plug in her ass? Was that man going home to crawl on all fours and bark for attention? I couldn’t tell. But perhaps I just couldn’t see something that others could.

I placed the last item in the cart, and double checked the list. I had everything. I was sure.

I tossed the list in the trash on the way out, crumpling it into a ball. I second-guessed that decision twice on the way home. That was just the kind of inattention that could get me beaten again. I wasn’t allowed to forget my place, not even for a second. I hadn’t been told to throw anything away. I cursed to myself.

I drove back to the store. I would be his good girl. Even if it meant digging through a trash can. I was lucky that I’d come back when I did. A young clerk was there, poised to empty it as I pulled up. I ran toward him, a little frantically.

“Oh, oh oh. Excuse me? Wait!” I finally had to yell to get him to look up.

He was startled.

“I’m sorry, I just threw my shopping list away a minute ago, and then I realized…” I trailed off. I couldn’t exactly tell him I was worried my Daddy would spank or fuck me some more if I came home without it.

Lucky for me, the clerk just opened the bag. I leaned forward, looking for the little ball of crumpled looseleaf paper. There couldn’t be too many of those, could there? I was relieved when I saw it, and bent to pull it out. My skirt was really too short. I realized as I bent forward that the grocery boy was going to have a view. I felt cool air on my warm pink ass, and hoped he wasn’t seeing bruises.

I fished the paper out, smoothed my skirt and walked back to the car.

I called out when I got home, letting Daddy know I was back. Then I walked the groceries to the kitchen and started to unpack everything onto the counters so I could put everything away. I barely heard his steps on the kitchen floor, and before I registered he was right there, his hands were on me. He grabbed at my ass and my upper arms, my tits and my belly, tugging on my soft fleshy bits with his big, insistent hands. I nuzzled and pressed into him.

Some days, especially when I was busy or distracted, I had to remind myself to hold still.  I wasn’t allowed to brush his hands away, or stop him from touching me. Not ever. I wasn’t allowed to say no. That was a hard rule. Having my body to myself was a habit.  Being manhandled any time sounded sexy, but there were plenty of moments that it didn’t feel sexy. It felt invasive and like a reminder of my place: dolly, little girl, squeeze toy.

Today, though, it wasn’t hard to let him touch me just how he liked. I was happy to have him near me, to breathe in the smell of his skin and feel like his thing. I didn’t care if the frozen groceries melted all over the counter. It would be his fault if they did, I thought mischievously to myself.

His hands ran up the backs of my thighs, and pulled the little skirt back up over my ass. He sighed close to my ear.

“I can smell your cunt from here, you know that?”

I blushed.

“Can you?” he asked.

“No, Daddy. But I could earlier.” My voice was tiny, breathy.

“Where? At the store? In the car?”

“Both.”

“Mmmm. That’s lovely, piglet. Did it make you feel like Daddy’s little freshly-fucked whore?”

I nodded.

His hands slid between my thighs.

“You’re dripping our come.”

I sighed. My breath was coming faster. He could just do that to me with words. It was rad.

“Let’s see how you did,” he whispered, while patting me on the ass and pulling my skirt back down. I straightened up, and fished the list out of my pocket.

“What happened to the shopping list, piglet?”


Responses

  1. mmmm…piglet musk

  2. nice

  3. I’m smiling, waiting with anticipation for the next instalment 🙂

  4. I don’t normally go for these style of stories, but this series is inviting, explaining the feelings and drawing me into its wonder.

  5. you write so nicely, looking forward to more 🙂


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