Letters to Daddy, part 2

Letters to Daddy, part 2

There’s a helplessness in the way I hunger for you. An unquashable, unrelenting emptiness. And this patience feels like profound deprivation. Mind, body and spirit ache. My consciousness starved, begging to be nourished, knowing no manna compares to the sustenance that your care of me would provide.

I break away from desperate musings and lustful yearning, stream-of-consciousness type pleading with my mental version of you, redirecting my mind back to visualising the scene that saturates my dreams, and bedsheets.

It’s our fifth date, and we’ve discussed each and every kink, fantasy and aspect of our temperaments to oblivion. Each fear I have, each curiousity , and every shameful confession. I have no secrets around you, I can’t have secrets around you. Your spell on me leaves no room for pretense.

I still hear your resolution, every word imprinted on the darkest recesses of my wretched mind.

“I need to teach you, sweetheart. You keep talking about what you want, requirements shifting slightly every time. You know why they shift? Because you don’t really know. But I can work with that. I’m a good teacher. And you….”, you paused, your hand gently moving a strand of hair from my face…”you will be a shining student. Teacher’s pet.” My sex burned at the last word- clit throbbing, panties slick. I wanted to scream to hear it again.

You handed me a parcel-
brown paper, string. No doubt some of your favourite things?

Pleated skirt, short but still seemly. Checkered, of course. Frilly white blouse, a high neck for modesty, a tight fit for pleasure. Knee high socks and Mary Janes. Cliche? Sure. Titillating? Indisputable.

I change without a mirror and the bashfulness of not being able to check how I look near tips me over the edge. Confidence, ego, and emotional unavailability fall by the wayside when you’re near me. I melt into formlessness; eager to fit whatever mould pleases you. Vulnerable, needy,

I knew without instruction what to do next. Back straight. Skirt carefully manoeuvred to maintain decorum, hiding a cunt that’s weeping with anticipation, legs in lotus. Hands on knees, eyes cast upwards, waiting to be taught.

I feel the cool wood of the wooden ruler in your hand, the smell invoking a nostalgic time, a time of curiosities and ambitions far more cerebral than primal. The wood lifts my chin and you smile at me, a dimpled, irresistible grin- your signature expression of “Gotcha”.

I’m frozen, immobile. I don’t even twitch for fear of this stopping, for fear of finding out that this is nought but a dream. I am wide-eyed, chest heaving with gulping breaths.

“Here’s what happens from now darling. On each of these lessons, I will tell you exactly what we are going to do. You may ask questions, when I offer you opportunity to do so. Else you will sit graciously, and take your lessons with poise and gratitude. Are we clear?”

I nod.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what, pet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Sir is good for now.”… the ruler trails down my torso, down my thighs. The wood touches my skin, lifting my skirt as it rides up. Poise, I remind myself harshly. Don’t move… don’t move…

The ruler finds its’ target, and the sharp corners tease my now pulsing pussy. I gasp, but try my hardest not to move my eyes from yours.

You laugh, a chuckle that’s cruel and loving at once. The ruler is at my lips now, and I’m forced to taste myself. Goosebumps cover me, and you lean over, kissing my forehead protectively.

“I knew you’d be good. Sweetheart, Stand up for me.”

I do as I’m told, carefully standing. You ask me to walk over to the bag you’ve put on the floor.

“Open it”. I do as I’m told, a task impossible to complete without bending over and I’m aware how exposed I am to you. I can’t help but wonder which part of me you’re looking at as I do so.

I pull out the only contents of the bag: a soft red rope, substantial length. I turn to look at you, curiousity intensifying, cunt utterly frenzied.

Standing up, I hold the rope in my hand. You snatch it from me, its’ quick removal leaving a slight burn across my palm.

“Off now, pet”.

I slowly unbutton the stiff, smothering blouse, folding it neatly as I take it off my body, too nervous to be my usually messy self. The skirt follows, and as I lean down to unbuckle my shoes, your voice commands me. “The socks can stay”. I nod agreeably.

“Back to your spot, little doll”.

I sit back in my position, trying my hardest to not let shyness mess with my obedience. Your eyes survey me hungrily, fixating between my legs far longer than is comfortable. This exposure fills me with vulnerable panic, a level comparable only to that of the overbearing attraction I feel.

You unwind the rope and press it to my cheek, a tactile preview of what’s to come. In expert manner, it starts to wind around me, knowing hands manoeuvring limbs, hips, neck. My mind starts to leave me, and it isn’t long before you’ve reached your goal.

I breathe, grounding myself back into the presence. What do I feel? The rough carpet against my tits, the soft but pinching rope around my wrists and ankles, the slight strain in my lower back.

I look up to you, and you survey your craftsmanship.

“Red is my favourite colour on your skin”, you say, and in my distraction I overlook the lipstick in your hand.

A matching hue to my shackles, the buttery pigment is traced against my skin. Cheeks first, and in concentration I try to guess what your penmanship is marking

Clever, reads one cheek.
Pet, reads the other.

With little effort, I’m lifted up, on my bed, head over the edge. One hand lifts my chin while your other unzips your pants. I lick my lips, before your thick, tanned cock parts them, a slow thrust into the depths of my mouth. The lipstick reappears on my skin, though this time I can’t possibly concentrate on what it might etch; my mind dutifully focussed on tasting every inch of your cock. My back now filled as a canvas, you pull your cock away from my hungry face as you turn my body around.

I feel you straddle my legs before a single thrust rips my pussy apart, I scream and you laugh sweetly.

“I’m sorry baby, that was a little abrupt”. The lipstick glides against my ass now, before being discarded as your cock presses into me harder, faster.

With a final thrust you exit me, your hands pulling my ass cheeks apart before your cum fills the gap. I shudder at the deviance of it all, the unorthodox finish, before I hear the familiar “Click” of a camera.

“You’re a piece of art, princess. I can’t wait to show you these”.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/j95rf8/letters_to_daddy_part_2