At Daddy's Feet

---Disclaimer: All characters are over 18, consenting, and not blood related. Daddy and Pumpkin are simply nicknames (in this case signifying dominant/protector and submissive/innocent roles).---

***

Feeling extra affectionate, I knelt on the living room carpet to crawl over to Daddy, grabbing a throw pillow on my way. I had been getting dressed in the other room while he settled in to watch television. He looked amused as I nudged his knee with my head to get him to spread his legs in the big leather recliner. I turned to sit cross-legged on the pillow and wiggled snugly between his calves so I could lean against the chair. Sitting at his feet felt only natural. The honored spot was enough to please me without his attention or touches. He was only 24 but his personality filled the caring dominant role more than age could. Likewise, being 19 did little to stop me from acting innocent and playful with him beyond what regular responsibilities would demand of me.

What he was watching did not interest me much so I enjoyed the feeling of his legs and alternated resting my head on his large thigh and nuzzling into his soft trousers. I suspected his watching me out of the corner of his eye, especially when I moved against his body. I did not mean to, but I knew I started distracting him and could not help leaning my head back to see his reaction, or if he minded.

At my movement he stopped paying any attention to the television to look down at me and give a small chuckle. He shifted his weight forward onto his hips and wound the fingers of his right hand under my chin. Having my head so far back was a bit uncomfortable and I was worried my freshly washed hair would get his pants wet, but his touch paralyzed me. I dared not make a squeak. I wanted the moment to last. After long moments he looked to come out of the magic, then sighed and instead of sitting back brought his other arm from its place to fill my mouth with two fingers from above. I watched past his hand with big eyes as I enjoyed his dominant touch and let him use my mouth. His left hand moved so he could see me better and I began to gently suck and lick the fingers exploring my mouth. Daddy moaned, the television abandoned to entertain itself.

By the time his slobbery fingers slid out again to trace my lips, I needed a big breath and to clear my throat. I could breathe through my nose but salivating over his fingers had my throat pooled full, and I had to lift my head to swallow properly. I tried not to disrupt Daddy, which led to choking and coughing so he took his hand from my neck to help me sit and rubbed my shoulder as I eagerly righted myself. With a quick, "I'm okay," I went back to my submissive pose with my tongue out to invite him back. Daddy gave me a doubtful look and waited to make sure I was okay, which felt way too long, even though he was taking care of me and it was cute to watch him stifle a laugh.

I reached up to stroke his thick brown beard that was just long enough to bury my fingertips. As I did this he filled my mouth again and applied enough pressure so my head rested on the leather chair between his legs. I brought my arm down, relaxing into the position that began to make my neck stiff. We settled into a rhythm of his fingers against my tongue and paused only for me to briefly lift my head and swallow before looking into each other's eyes again. He would brush my bronze bangs from my face with a calming touch each time.

His right hand had been absently stroking his own lower thigh. He leaned forward to smooth it over the shoulder of my seersucker crop top and scoop a handful of my braless 32DDs. I had chosen something with a higher neck to cover my chest full of hickeys from a few days previous, knowing the thin fabric was enough to cover the wine-colored marks against my fair skin. The hand moved between the two of them being gentle, but a firm grip betrayed his desire. Daddy dragged his left hand from my face, trailing drool heavily down my chin. He knows I like being made a mess, but I do not know if it was intentional from that angle.

"Daddy, I feel something against my head," I commented with a smile once my mouth was free. Since he had leaned forward I could feel his erection pressing against his pants and periodically jumping into me as if it had a mind to get moving. He just moaned in response as he filled both his hands with my breasts. I could not see his face anymore. His black band tee composed my view, with his unbuttoned red flannel creating a cozy cubby of warmth as it draped.

I smiled up at his chest and his deep moans I so rarely get to hear, then gave into moaning myself as Daddy's strong hands worked on my chest through my shirt, bunching the fabric and making my skin heat all over. I was sure I was flushed all through my face and chest. (Daddy has the kind of hands that dwarf mine in all ways: size, strength, thickness. My thumb is as big as his pinky! I have small hands but Daddy will not admit his are big. What a silly goose.)

When he pushed on my shoulders I was sure it was time to escalate to something more stimulating for him, or at least more access. I hesitated, confused, as he held me steady with one hand and untied the back of my shirt with the other. I still waited for instruction, but he sat back and let his superior weight pull my small frame. Without being asked, I rolled my shoulders forward. My simple article of clothing was whisked off downwards and tossed over the couch in one motion.

My breasts were quickly under siege again, this time without any barrier. The open air combined with Daddy's warm palms made me the impatient one. I whimpered as a cue to let him know. The way his thumbs caught the deep bruises increased my arousal in a complicated pain/pleasure way as he kneaded more intensely than before.

Daddy slowed and cupped his hands around my chest. He started rolling and pulling my nipples. With an upward pull he used a husky voice to order, "Stand."

I tried my best to do so gracefully. My stiff neck was first to move, followed by a clumsy shift from my bottom to my knees so I could stand. Dutifully I returned my stance to a proper one where I had previously been sitting. My feet backed up to the throw pillow where Daddy would have a clear view of my body. He jerked my hips back with two hands and I almost fell. No wonder I felt so helpless with my subspace intoxication, I realized at this point.

As I was trying to find my balance Daddy's thumbs hooked into my black lace panties and tugged them over my thighs to settle at the tops of my knee-high white cotton socks. The blood-stained pad situated in the middle of my panties looked safe enough not to smear. It did not seem as if we were worried over messes anyhow. Daddy tucked my flared mini skirt into its own waistband and caressed my bottom. He made sure it was secure and gave him enough access. Maybe he touched my butt a little extra to make sure he could.

I realigned myself with legs shoulder width apart. This choice made me feel like a good submissive as Daddy had no need to move me before sweeping his hand from the back of my left knee, across my inner thigh, and directly between the lips at his eye level. He subtly threw his head back and groaned at what he found. His pumpkin was slippery wet and positioned to take his fingers. I tipped my hips back, giving him better access but not wanting to break posture.

Daddy's fingers slid along my lips and made a slight squishing sound. He tried to undo his fly with one hand and keep pressure on me, but that did not work in our desperate states. I stood still and tried not to whimper as he took his penis out behind me where I could not see. Suddenly his hand had met my stomach and I was pulled toward penetration. I felt the tip of his penis against my folds but the angle was not quite right. I placed my heels together and sank all the way down, eliciting a groan but no true satisfaction of Daddy's needs.

He pushed on my spine while simultaneously lifting my hips, expecting me to serve him quickly. I braced my hands on my grey suede ankle boots and bounced my hips at the pace Daddy set for me. He insisted on having me ride him fast. I plunged him deep so I landed hard against his hips. The rough feeling was just what I needed.

I panted and moaned loudly with each stroke while Daddy kept his breathing deep and even, making noise only occasionally. Being bent double meant my hips stretched out for a good grip. Daddy dug his fingers into my flesh and at times he took over, moving me along his shaft while adjusting speed and pressure for me to mimic.

I built to an orgasm so strong my body shook and I let loose a squeal. It was all I could do to stay mounted, but Daddy swatted my rear to get me moving before the tremors had stopped. I tried but my legs were weak. I sat up and braced my hands on my knees, gaining more leverage and also settling deeper on Daddy's penis. He helped support my hips while I made slower thrusts. My aim was to make him finish next, but I came a second time, my legs giving out while Daddy laughed good-naturedly.

Determined to keep going, I gathered my splayed legs and continued. I sped up until Daddy held me firm against him, groaning loudly as he unloaded into me. I let myself go over the edge a third and final time after I was sure I satisfied my man. I held his hips as he held mine. My legs kicked involuntarily and spasms in my stomach had me writhing like I was on fire. His orgasm lasted a long time while we came together. He waited until my spasms were far between and gave me a bear hug. I was surprised to be pulled back onto his chest with my head over his shoulder.

I could feel Daddy relaxing after his orgasm, but I could not hear anything over my own heavy panting. My back was arched to let me fill my chest and to maintain our connection. I had not yet let him slip from inside me. He wrapped his arm across my chest and shoulder to hold me possessively, then turned my head down to look at him. "Tired?"

"Yes, Daddy," I answer between breaths. My voice hardly comes through so I make a point of nodding against his shoulder. This small answer takes effort, and I still have not come down, so I flop my head back and try to breathe deeply. Sometime during this he finds the remote and switches off the television. Coming down from the intensity of subspace takes all the energy from my body. The obedient and euphoric trance ends with exhaustion, hunger, and a dreamy state that has me floating afterward even as I chug water or stumble to naptime.

As my mind returns to earth and my breathing no longer heaves my chest, I remember what a mess I am sitting in. I take a slow sigh and focus on the sensations in my body. "Daddy I'm bleeding on you."

He looks around me and down at our laps. He looks up at me with what I wordlessly understand and he lifts me up. I sigh at the feeling as he audibly pops free. My arousal, both of our cum, and blood has pooled around his penis, but the real problem is the red seeped into his pant leg from where he shifted me afterward. He stands and kisses my cheek on his way out of the room.

Left alone, I bend at the waist to retrieve my panties. The tie-dye mess on my thighs turns me on, and I slide a finger through so I can taste. The mix is complex but my own cum tastes the strongest. I grab my panties again to pull them up, using the sanitary pad to wipe my thighs clean. I feel so very wet- still aroused and now squishy against my panties.

I have a small giggle at the bloodstains left on my thighs. I leave my skirt bunched at the waist, hike my socks, and sit topless on the floor. Daddy comes through the room in his lounge shorts to take his pants to the laundry. He smiles at me sitting in the same spot he left me. I hear him start the wash and reappear. He comes up to pet my hair and scratch my head. I make a small contended noise and lean into his hand. "Is it my turn to get cleaned up?"