Daddys Home Night Two

Daddy's Home: Day Two

We spend the next morning lounging in bed for hours, we make breakfast together, and later relax on the couch together just having a lovely, lazy day.

Daddy has me follow the same pattern, where I have to keep myself wet and he checks me periodically. I'm wearing a light blue teddy and a silk teal robe to give Daddy easy access to my pussy. I have, admittedly, accumulated a few spankings but not many.

It's not until late in the afternoon that Daddy encourages me to get dressed because we have an errand to run. We need to go to the grocery store in order to pick up some ingredients for dinner, he says.

I'm happy to follow my man anywhere so I go upstairs and change into a pair of jeans and a crop top, slide into my checkered vans and slip my arms into a green corduroy jacket before returning downstairs. I follow him out to the car and slide into the passenger seat.

Daddy drives us to Walmart. He snags us a basket on our way in the door and guides me over to the toys first. As we walk up and down the aisles, his hand in mind, he turns to me and asks, "Does my baby need a toy tonight?"

Daddy bought me a stuffie on our first date. He doesn't realize it, I'm sure, but I sleep with it every night that he's gone. It's a little stuffed giraffe. I haven't named it or anything, but I love it.

I ponder on his question for a moment. I don't really want to be a grown adult who collects stuffies, I'm happy with the one I have, but I do like to color.

"I think I want a coloring book instead, Daddy" I say.

"A coloring book it is," he replies. "Why don't you go pick out a coloring book while I grab a few things and I'll come find you?"

Daddy bends to kiss me as I nod. Just a quick peck.

I turn on my heel to head out of the toy aisle to aim for the book section and I find myself propelled forward with a swat on my behind. I look back over my shoulder at Daddy and see him smirking at me. I smile sweetly at him before striding away.

I peruse the coloring books for adults for a few minutes. I finally select one that depicts a variety of mythical creatures and a tin full of double ended colored pencils and hug them both to my chest. I stand there, at the head of the aisle, looking back towards the direction I last saw Daddy. And there he is, striding up the main aisle, headed right for me. Impeccable timing.

"Did you find a good coloring book, baby? Did you get some crayons or something?"

I hold up my bounty in confirmation. He holds out the basket for me to add my items to his. There's a set of colorful children's plateware and cutlery and a big purple bow in his basket. I immediately blush as I am fully aware of how this will be going. A bubble of excitement churnes in my belly and my breathing becomes shallow.

"We have dino nuggets at home but what does my baby also think of hotdogs and mac and cheese?"

"Mac and cheese is great," I grin at him.

He has me pick out a fruit and vegetable and he picks out strawberry shortcake hostess cakes as a fun little dessert.

When we get home, he hands me the big purple bow and tells me to go make myself pretty for him while he makes dinner. I almost bound up the stairs to my vanity where I promptly curl my hair and then clip the bow into it, sweeping half of it up on one side. I change back into my cute little blue and pink teddy and take a few hits off my cannabis vape to calm my nerves before returning downstairs.

Daddy has music playing in the kitchen and I can hear him puttering around in there. I enter the room shyly. I can see that Daddy's laid out my new coloring book and pencils on the table with a light purple children's cup filled with a mysteriously cloudy liquid.

"You certainly look cute," Daddy says, catching sight of me. "Why don't you sit down and color while I finish making dinner?"

So I do. I sit at the table and open up the coloring book, flipping through the pages until I find a good one, and then open my tin of pencils and start coloring a picture depicting fairy mushroom houses attached to a large tree trunk. After a few minutes, I notice that Daddy has turned the music off and is walking towards the table with his phone in tow. He places the phone in front of me and it's playing an episode of The Smurfs. Now I'm coloring and watching cartoons?! I'm a spoiled girl.

Daddy encourages me to try the drink in front of me. It's some sort of alcoholic cocktail. Whatever it is, it's yummy.

I don't know if it's the alcohol or the few hits of weed I took earlier, but I like this headspace. I like feeling spoiled and cared for and taken care of. I like not having to worry about big things. I find myself swinging my feet under the table and laughing at the cartoon. I don't know how long I sit there and color and watch The Smurfs but it's long enough that I forget that Daddy's even watching me or in the room at all.

I'm a bit startled then when he tells me it's time to put my toys away and he places my plate in front of me. True to his word, there are dino nuggets and bbq sauce for dipping, raspberries, corn, a bowl of mac & cheese with spicy sausages and a hostess cake, each taking up each section of my child's plate. He hands me a matching plastic spoon and fork.

I look over at his plate. He's using a big plate and a metal fork to eat his food.

"No, cute little plate for you?" I ask sweetly.

"No. I'm big. Only little girls use cute little plates, baby."

I don't have anything to say to that. I eat my food quietly but contentedly. Daddy still has The Smurfs playing on his phone for me and I watch it throughout the remainder of our meal together.

This is the part of DD/lg that I like. I don't get off on the idea of being a childlike sexual object for a man but on the consideration of care and attention I receive and the regression of emotions that I'm allowed in this space. I love having a Daddy that takes care of me like this, without judgement.

When dinner's over, I help Daddy clean up a little bit. As I'm just about to start loading the dishwasher, Daddy grabs me in his arms, spinning me to look at him. He just holds me like that and we gently sway back and forth. I look up into his eyes and I see so much love there and so much dark promise.

"Are you ready to be big for me, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy," I sigh into him.

"Let's go upstairs then."

*********************************************************************************

Daddy has just finished securing the red leather cuffs on my wrists to either end of the spreader bar, set to a distance of about 12 inches apart, as he bends further at the waist to look into my eyes.

"I'm going to take a shower. I want you to go back downstairs and make me a whole pitcher of moscow mules. Bring it up, and a glass for me. I expect to see you sitting on this cushion, with my drink ready and waiting for me when I walk back in here."

He leans in and kisses my forehead before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. I'm not sure how he thinks I'll be able to do what he's asked me to do but I hurry downstairs to try and accomplish the impossible anyway.

I dig through a few cupboards before I find the pitcher I'm looking for. I manage to unscrew the lid to the vodka bottle one-handed and pour a third of it in. I try, and fail, to open the ginger beer cans but the spreader bar makes it literally impossible to stabilize a can with one hand and reach the tab with the other, even with a butter knife. I try for a few minutes and have no success.

I can just reach the screw cap of the pin on the spreader bar that holds the bar together, that old hypermobility coming in handy. It's a risky move but I think I can unscrew it and separate the two halves of the spreader bar and free my hands. I manage to unscrew the cap and pull out the pin and quickly start opening ginger beer cans and pouring them into the pitcher as soon as my hands are free. I grab a glass for Daddy's drink.

Fuck. Now I have to get the pin back in and the screw cap back on! How much time has it already been? Daddy's sure to get out of the shower soon and if he gets out and I'm not waiting for him, I'll be in trouble. Even bigger trouble if he finds me no longer restrained. My heart is racing.

I fumble with the pin, contorting my body this way and that to try and find the right angle for it to slide home. All of the breath I've been holding leaves my body in a woosh as the pin finds the right hole. I'm screwing the cap back on in a rush. I grab the pitcher and the glass and hurry back upstairs.

I leave the glass and pitcher on the bench at the foot of our bed and scramble onto the cushion Daddy indicated earlier, in front of the window. I'm so afraid that Daddy will figure out that I've been up to something. I close my eyes and will my breathing to even out.

The door to the bathroom swings open and my eyes pop open at the sound to track Daddy's movements. He smells divine, all clean and masculine, as he stalks into the room. He notices the pitcher and the glass.

"What a good girl!" he declares and I blush shyly.

I watch him as he pours himself a drink and takes a few sips before setting the glass down and squatting down in front of me.

"Let's add your ankles, baby," he says gently, moving the cuffs at my wrists to be attached to in the inner rings of the spreader bar and then, after helping me up onto my knees, attaching the cuffs on my ankles to the outer rings of the spreader bar. My hands rest on the floor between my spread knees, my arms pressing my breasts up and together.

Daddy's behind me then, tying up my hair and attaching it to the o-rings installed on either side of the window-well behind me, ensuring that I can't hang my head. Then he's securing my leather and fur collar around my throat, giving my throat a loving squeeze when he's finished.

He kneels in front of me with a tattoo pen in his hand. He starts writing on first my right tit and then my left. I don't look down. I don't have a lot of range of motion anyway. I just watch his face while he writes on me, waiting to try and decipher it until he's finished. A smug, satisfied smile crosses his lips as he leans back to examine his work.

I crane my head to see what he's written. The burn in my scalp as my hair is pulled is rather delicious. On my right breast are the words "Daddy's Disgusting Slut" and on my left are the words "Please hurt me, Daddy." My pussy clenches at the sight and my breath stutters. A growing sense of pride is taking over all of the space in my chest. I love having Daddy's handwriting on me. I love the obvious mark of ownership. I sigh contentedly and throw my head back towards the ceiling to just revel in the feeling.

I can hear Daddy moving about the room. When I return my gaze to his, he's sitting in a chair in front of me with a drink in one hand and the black leather flogger in the other. He takes a sip of his drink and, again, returns it to the bench behind him.

"Daddy's gonna hurt you, baby. Because he loves you and because disgusting sluts need this. You need this."

"Yes, Daddy!" I sob as I feel the first sting of the flogger as it makes contact with my left breast, a lick of fire, and then my right. He swings the flogger expertly to alternately pepper my breasts in quick succession. He pauses long enough to reach for the vibrator on the floor at his feet, to turn it on and to hand it to me. My hands are close enough together that I am able to grip the vibrator in both hands and grind down into it as he resumes his ministrations on my breasts.

My skin feels like it's burning from the inside out and I let out a pained cry when he flicks the tails of the flogger sharply against my right nipple, the one he knows is more sensitive and hurts more. I try to curl in on myself to protect my sore and achy tits but the way he's tied my hair, I can't. I sob in frustration and try to twist away but, again, I can't go far. There's nothing I can do but hold my breath and take it.

"Oh, no, baby. Don't act like you don't absolutely love this," Daddy growls. "Your pussy is dripping all over that cushion between your legs. You're fucking soaked."

I only sob in answer as I grind down harder into the vibrator between my drenched thighs and he cracks the flogger against my left breast as an orgasm barrels through me and I shatter apart. He watches me. I love it when he watches me.

We continue like that, Daddy sometimes alternating his instruments of use in my torture - the flogger, the crop, the leather paddle, until I am a sobbing mess.

"My knees hurt so bad, Daddy! I can't hold this position any longer!" I cry.

He's there, instantly, to help me rise up on my knees and he makes quick work of detaching my hands from the spreader bar. I slowly sit back, supporting myself on first my hands, and then lowering to my elbows, as I stretch my legs out in front of me, ankles still attached to either end of the spreader bar. Both of my legs have fallen asleep and the tingles and pricks racing up and down my legs are painful enough I have to breathe through them.

"You don't think this means you're done, do you?" Daddy asks.

I look up at him in trepidation. The crop is back in his hand and he's now trailing it up my inner thigh. Fuck. He knows I hate impact on my thighs the most. I'm helplessly spread before him, my most sensitive bits unprotected, because I couldn't close my legs to him if I tried.

"Please, Daddy! Not my thighs!" I beg but it falls on deaf ears.

"I'm sorry, baby. You need this. You make me do this to you," he replies.

Each sharp swat to my inner thigh has me keening and squirming before him. The pain is so intense, the safeword is right there, on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. I can take it. I can take whatever he dishes out.

My thighs are a bright red, the puddle underneath me blooming, and I gush and gush and come for him over and over as he tortures my body and it's the most euphoric bliss I feel when the blows come to an end. I'm panting, chest heaving, when he's finished. My brain is mushy, my thoughts are slow.

"I think you need to wear a pretty gag for me so I can fuck that pretty mouth" I hear Daddy growl and before I know it, he's stooping to my level to fasten the gag into my mouth and secure it behind my head. This gag hooks into each of my cheeks and spreads my mouth open wide. Immediately, drool starts to leak from my lips and dribble down onto my breasts. Nothing makes me feel more like a disgusting slut than an open mouth gag. Nothing says stupid bimbo like the inability to speak. It does something to me, puts me into a headspace that I love.

He's helping me back up onto my knees so he can fuck my face. My hair is still tied to the o-rings on the wall keeping me in place but he pauses to hook each of my wrists to an o-ring too so I have no use of my hands as well. Then he's scooping up my hair into his hands, gripping it tight and tipping my head back. He spits into my open mouth before adjusting the position of my head, lining it up with his cock and slamming himself home into the back of my throat.

My eyes roll to the back of my head and I try to take him even deeper into me. He's fucking my face in earnest then. The sloppy noise of it is filling the room and making my pussy throb with need. His groans of pleasure speak to my soul and I am filled with so much gratitude that I can be on my knees for him, serving him in this way, that tears start to leak from my eyes and run down my cheeks. Daddy thumbs them away.

"Such a disgusting girl," he coos at me.

He fucks my face until I'm almost delirious. I don't know anything about anything except how good it feels to be humiliated, degraded and used by this man. My torso is coated in drool, my sweaty hair sticks to my face where it's fallen out of the ropes he used to secure it. He pulls out of my mouth with a pop.

"We still haven't spanked your ass, Babygirl," he reminds me. "I'm not finished yet."

I only manage a weak nod, the gag still preventing me from speaking.

I want to hang my head but I can't. Daddy helps me to stand on shaky legs. Wordlessly, he first unties my hair and then unfastens my wrists before turning me around and refastening my wrists to the o-rings. I'm now facing away from him, my ass presented to him.

I let out a soft whimper as I feel Daddy's hand caress my ass cheeks, pausing to squeeze my right ass cheek hard, before continuing to softly graze my skin with the pads of his fingers.

"We haven't used the wooden paddle yet, have we?" he asks tauntingly and my knees almost buckle at that.

I don't answer him with anything more than a sob. He reaches in front of me and grabs the wooden paddle from the window-well bench.

"I'm going to make this hurt, baby. A lot." he breathes in my ear, shivers racking my body in response. He steps back and begins.

Each swat has me jumping around in the restraints to try and twist away from him and relieve the stinging in my ass cheeks. It does nothing but earn me a sharp reprimand and a sharp command to hold still.

Every swat is harder and more brutal than the last. I'm crying in earnest now, sobbing at the intense pain of it. But I don't break. I don't use my safeword.

It's Daddy that taps out first.

"Are you done, baby?"

I nod. I'm done. I didn't have to beg for it or ask for it but I'm done.

Daddy helps me unhook myself from the wall. He gingerly takes the gag out of my mouth and unhooks my ankles from the spreader bar before guiding me to sit in one of the armchairs in our bedroom. I sink into it exhausted, not even caring about how much my ass hurts, and he sits in the one across from me.

He looks worried. We don't do impact often. This is a treat for me and I'm aware of it. My Daddy is the best kind of Daddy there is. Kind and playful and supportive, a soft Dom, outside of the bedroom but he becomes hard and angry Daddy for me in the bedroom. Sometimes those lines blur because he's not a true masochist. His worry and concern and care for me has bled through this experience and he's worried about my body and my emotional state. I can see it.

It scared him that I didn't use my safeword. He's probably worried about how far he'd have to push to hear me say it.

"You okay, Babygirl?" he asks. "How do you feel?"

"I'm wonderful, Daddy. I feel wonderful. Honest."

He doesn't look convinced. I know it takes a lot out of him to hurt me the way I need sometimes. Which just makes it all the more exquisite when he does.

"Thank you, Daddy. I loved every second of that."

"Crazy girl," he chuckles in response.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?" I ask. It's still early.

"I do," he says, " but let's make you even more beautiful before we go downstairs."

He motions for me to stand, which I do. He also stands, grabbing a length of black rope, and minutes later I'm being ushered downstairs with my tits tied up, turning slightly purple, with cuffs still on my wrists and ankles and the collar around my neck. I pass a mirror on our way out of the room and catch a glimpse of myself. I turn in the mirror to see the purple bruises that have bloomed on my ass cheeks and I smile. What a beautiful mess he's made of me.