Daddys Doll Ch 01

He pushed the covers back to the end of the bed and motioned me forward with the curl of his masterful fingertip. He has made me sing and quiver with just that fingertip before... but this time he told me to pose, coaxing me to bend over on all fours and reach back to grab my ass. There is no saying 'no' to the bass rumble of his voice when it creeps over my skin like that. He proceeded to take some pictures, the flash light flooding all around me, and I distinctly remember thinking, "I'm so glad that camera can't see the color of my cheeks." The tiny green plaid skirt was bunched up around my waist and my 7" shiny black heels were spread far apart, I was completely exposed.

He was stretching my lips apart with his fingers, the cool air of the AC unit tickling my then pulsing clit. Something about his love and his dominance induces the strangest noises and I'm sure I was purr/whimpering with every slight touch. Never have I met a man so skillful with a woman's body. My mind was swimming at being so vulnerably bent over and photographed, the warm, slow assurance of his hands and fingers keeping my trust strong and unease at bay. Then he flicked one finger over my swollen, twitching clit.

My hips bucked and I cried out. It might have been "Oh, Daddy!" or "Oh, FUCK!" or "Fuck me Daddy!" Something along those lines as my vocabulary usually boils down to the same ten words, rearranged and growled out through a clenched jaw or screamed at the top of my lungs. But nope, he didn't fuck me. He didn't quench the shudder he just created, no. He simply flicked once at my clit, took a picture and left my pussy clenching in the air for a moment. I couldn't stop moaning with each breath, reeling from the sforzando of pleasure.

I lifted my head and opened my eyes, my hands having long since fallen back to my sides as he was spreading my flesh for his artistic desires. Then all at once my back arched, my muscles tightened and I tossed my head back, sending a spray of long raven and ruby locks across my pale skin. There was an, "Oh my god!" and I think I heard the Temp's gentle motor humming before I felt it pressed to my already slickened slit. My thighs began to quiver as he ran the vibrating tip across my twitching clit and pressed down against it with tiny circlets. I was frozen, my knees planted in the cum/sweat/blood/whiskey soaked mattress, my elbows now holding my torso up for maximum whimpering volume.

His voice was so deep I couldn't really hear his words, but rather felt them permeating my flesh like each sound wave spoke individually to me. He said, "Cum for me, babygirl..." and slid the vibrator (affectionately known as Daddy's Temp.,) gently inside. Gently. But only once. As soon as he pulled it almost completely free of the dripping wet lips, he pounded the full length of it back in, the top of his fist almost punching against me. I screamed and writhed beneath him as his command and his careful orchestrations of my body left glistening wet trails down the insides of my trembling thighs, coated his fingers and dripped down all over the Temp.

He pulled the toy free as I crumbled over onto my arms, panting, whining, with my pussy tensing and releasing in the aftershock of such a fast and hard orgasm. The room was spinning and dark, but some part of him was still touching me and I could hear his groans and "Mmmmm"s. Before I could realize he was licking my cum from the Temp, his thumbs were pressing into the backs of my thighs, long fingers grabbing handfuls of tender flesh, and he buried his face against my abused cunt. I flew forward with the force of his hunger, then was yanked back as he growled deep into me, his lips, teeth and tongue driving me quickly insane. My nails dug into the sheets pulling fistfuls of linen between each palm as my body bucked, twitched and flailed against him.

Though I've become so accustomed to his dominance and commands, I simply can not cum without his spoken permission... I remembered him telling me I was allowed to cum as often as possible without him allowing, only when he was indulging in His pussy. So I did. I came over and over and over again until he was lapping so roughly at my clit, I climaxed hard enough to feel the imprint of his face when I grinded back against him. He pulled away and smacked my ass hard enough to leave his handprint blood red on my creamy pale skin, and I crumbled once again. I spasmed, sprawled and cooed in a pile of Happy, looking just as stained and crumpled as the sheets at the end of the bed. I heard him stalking away, heavy footfalls from the bed to the bathroom as he licked his chops and moaned a few more, "Mmmm, delicious,"'s.

I silently thanked whoever was listening for bringing this jack of all trades and master of all trades to my life, until he called to join him in the shower. He walked out of the bathroom naked and smiling down at me, his hand outstretched for support (he knows what he does to my knees.) I slipped my fingers into his and slowly moved off the bed like a marionette who's strings were being restretched and allowed to fully extend. I moved with him like his puppet, and that just may be the most accurate description of how he makes me feel: like his cherished pet, his puppet, his marionette, his ragdoll, his prey.

And I have never been so fucked or so fucking happy.