For Kitten From Daddy

Hey, you.

Fuck. That sounded too casual, didn't it?

I wrote Dear Kitten and crossed it out. That seemed too formal.

Hey, Kitten is better, I think. It has the nicest little ring to it. Just like you.

Well then.

Hey, Kitten.

It's late and I can't sleep. Surprise, surprise, right? My mind is running laps with anxiety tremors running beside it. I'm trying to come down, trying to breathe, to burn off some of this energy.

It's been a minute since I wrote a letter. It was an old technique I used when I would come down off too many meds. Then my therapist encouraged me to journal before bed as a form of therapy.

Now I'm sitting at the kitchen table, writing down this mess in my head, hoping this will straighten it out, maybe even a little.

Or at least make me sleepy.

It feels silly, to be honest. I wish I didn't have to do this. I want more than anything to fall asleep next to you every night - but this is what I do sometimes, just who I am. You know that and you love that. I know because you tell me. You always say, "That's why I love you, Daddy. Not despite it but because of it."

I'm glad you love me despite my flaws - like not being able to fall asleep beside you.

"Just lay down and try to go to sleep," you'll say.

I hear it in my head now.

And I try.

I can be a good boy, too, you know. But you always fall asleep before I do. Always.

So here I am. Trying to get back to you, back into your arms. Back into your world. Trying to capture something on the page to knock me out, to send me to sleep. Some poor handwritten substitute for the warmth of your legs, the scent of your thighs.

I listen to you breathe for a bit before getting up. I can tell when your breathing slows down just enough. You twitch once when you finally give over to sleep. Usually, it doesn't take long. And I can only imagine what you dream about. Your dreams are wild. Sometimes you tell them to me; sometimes you keep it like a secret.

"Last night I had a dream you bought me a red truck. A big one," you told me once. "Maybe next time a Mustang?"

That's all you said. The rest of it, all those dirty secrets that come with those cars, those are safe with you. They may come out, or they may not.

I can wait. I can wait as long as you can, don't you know? You can only dream when you're asleep.

I won't play it if you won't / and I won't say it if / you won't say it first...

We used to sing that to one another underneath the high ceilings of your first apartment.

Let's...go to bed.

And we would. Then we'd wake up and kiss and crawl all over each other once more.

But we were very good at first, weren't we? You were so kind and I was so timid. Maybe we didn't even know where we wanted to end up. Maybe we spent our entire lives arriving at this exact spot.

Do you remember you cried when I explained what "vanilla" meant? You shook; a violent motion. I held your head close to my chest and whispered, "Shhh, it's ok. This is the Past leaving your body. Let it go."

And you did. But you held on tighter. And when finally you looked up, you said, "Was that us? Were we those people?"

Then you burst into tears again.

"Yes," I said. "But not anymore. We were those people. Not anymore."

You laughed and I wiped away your tears with a kitchen napkin because we were so poor that was all we had - toilet paper and tissues were out of the question. We were hungry often, but we always ate each other. We always fed off our energy.

That's why nothing moves in the house when you're asleep.

When you awaken, when you arrive, rooms light up. You know it, too. Watching you take flight is ecstasy. It's so easy; so fluid. You flirt and work a room, bending everyone to your will. They lap it up while you keep pouring it out.

"It's my superpower," you said.

A joke wrapped in the truth.

You can whip a room into a frenzy and lead everyone off a cliff to their exquisite deaths. People form circles around you just to hang on to every word you say at gatherings.

Then, you're gone. You're gone and we're home and I'm pinned to the ground and you're riding me until I'm sure I'll break.

When you understood, finally, you can't break me, that's when you felt free enough to come for the first time.

And when you come, you come everywhere.

You splash wet pussy trails up my chest, on my face, in my beard, soaking my cock. You get so wet knowing that everyone wants you. Because everyone wants to know if you really talk that filthy all the time. (You do.) And everyone wants to know if you'll, 'come to their party next weekend.' (You won't.) Everyone just wants to watch your lips move. You're a pass-around party drug people keep swallowing.

And you are a swallower.

And I love it.

I love when you show off for everyone. I love it more when you show off for me. With those pretty sets of lips and that filthy mouth; everyone's fantasy at parties.

That's just the warm-up, though.

That mouth? The one that everyone is so enamored with? It's even dirtier than anyone knows. And your lips? Your kisses are just like honey. You leave lipstick on Daddy's cock - and I'm the only one who gets to see it. You caress and clean Daddy's cock so sweetly. You take such good care of it with those gorgeous, plump lips of yours, Kitten. You know how to work orgasms out of my body with those lips. Orgasms hid deep within me.

Pull them out with your filthy mouth, Kitten. Please? Daddy loves to watch you work.

You sucked me off and swallowed my cum the first night we met.

Remember? Of course, you do. You did it on purpose.

"I guess I'm just maybe a slut?" you said.

You are that much of a slut. You told me you like to be surprised and you like to get what you want. And you wanted my dick in your mouth that night.

"Please, let me see how good it fits in my mouth?"

How was I supposed to tell you no?

"I love sucking cock," you said. "It puts me in control."

When you're in control, you are fearless. But you needed Daddy to teach you about patience. Patience and the different layers of control, the ways to control more than just orgasms.

We needed to spar at first, didn't we, Kitten? You needed to feel the crush of Daddy's velvet glove in cast iron.

For a while, you only came out at night.

You said you felt scared and lost and you didn't know what you wanted and you weren't sure how to ask for it anyway. You just wanted something new, something "dark and different" - -your exact words.

"But I want to be your equal. I want to be partners," you said. "I don't want you to always be in control."

Oh, Kitten. We would never be anything less. Those are Daddy's first rules: consent and partnership.

"Show me then, Daddy," you said. "Show me what you have hidden."

I did.

I showed you all the lovely, blue secrets your Daddy keeps buried. All the lovely, twisted "dark and different" things only I know how to use: each one made for an exact purpose.

You said you were ready, but you still needed to learn patience.

You grew wild, at first: unleashed. You became aggressive and abrasive, much more daring and demanding. I know those games, though, Kitten. Those early phases. Did you really think your Daddy wouldn't notice? That he didn't know what you were playing at? You were aching for attention. I watched as your skin crawled with fever and sex, the lust in your brain driving you mad.

"You need to trust the process, dear. Allow for some patience," I said. "And you need to learn to trust your Daddy. I know you want it all right now, but, trust me, little kitten, the journey is what we're after."

But you were unrelenting.

"Please, Daddy, please," you begged. "I want you to show me how to be the best slut ever. Please, Daddy."

You told me you couldn't wait anymore and you dropped to your knees to beg, to plead.

"I'll do anything, Daddy, anything," you said.

You unzipped my jeans. But I pushed your hands away and held them tight in my hands, crossed at the knees. I squeezed your wrists and felt your pulse quicken.

"No, little kitten," I said. "You need to learn patience, first."

Then I bound your hands with rope because a good Daddy always has rope on him.

As I bound you, I remembered an old lesson my mentor taught me:

"Bind them loose and tight so they can know the ease of escape and still struggle to achieve it."

On your knees, I bound you at the wrists, double twisted, with soft nylon rope.

Nylon because it's deceptive, like me: the more you pull and twist the tighter it gets.

And Kitten, you needed to be tied down. Tight.

You begged some more.

"Please, please, please, Daddy. I'm a needy slut and I need you to show me how to be your Little Girl. Daddy, please!"

I bound your ankles, picked you up, flipped you over, and set you down on the couch, knees up.

"Daddy," you said. "Please, Daddy. Haven't I been good?"

"You have been good, little kitten. It's not a question of 'good,' only slowing down. So, Daddy is going to help you learn the value of patience and how good it feels when you wait. You're going to wait to come, little kitten."

You cut your eyes at me and threw a pout.

This was either going to go very well or very badly.

I returned and came back to find your eyes dilated from struggling. You thought that was all there was to it! Oh no. You took one look at the objects in my hands and knew.

"Are you about to put..."

But you didn't finish because I ripped off a long piece of gaffe tape, tore it in two, and slapped both pieces across your mouth like an 'X.'

What a pretty girl you are.

That kept you quiet for a second but made you mad, too.

You did tell me you wanted to see all of Daddy's toys, right?

But that's you, though, Kitten. Always so eager to get to the good part. To eat dessert first.

You have to eat your dinner first. Even if I have to make you.

I flipped you over and yanked your yoga pants down.

(That first night we met I noticed then that you never wear underwear. Did you think I wasn't paying attention while you were sucking my cock?)

You started yelling over your taped mouth. I pulled your chin up and told you that I didn't want to stuff your mouth with your panties, but I would. That seemed to quiet you down, a bit, though I knew you'd probably start to squeal again before long.

I propped your ass in the air on the couch. Your wet cunt sat open and exposed, legs and wrists bound and your mouth taped shut.

Kitten, I had to admire you. You are an exquisite piece of artwork. Every moment of our lives, you are an exquisite piece of art. Never forget that.

But that night, I had to ruin your exquisiteness.

I'm not sorry I did it, either. You needed me to.

I lubed up the anal plug. The small one because your Daddy is a reasonable Daddy and he knows the value of patience, too.

Soft patience. Soft control.

"Listen to me, little kitten," I said. "If you squirm and fight, it's not going to go well for you. If you relax and let go, I promise you will enjoy it. Take a deep breath into your belly."

You relaxed. Slowly.

I felt your knees and your muscles unclench enough for me to put my thumb on your asshole and rub it gently, loosening you up. I wanted you to feel what it was like to have your ass toyed with - exploited, even. I wasn't about to wait until you were loose enough.

The silver anal plug touched your hole and you jerked.

"I know it's cold, little kitten," I said. "Just relax. Don't fight it."

You fought it. But you also learned Daddy doesn't give up.

Your little tight asshole couldn't stay clenched forever and soon I pushed past your outer and the inner ring, my fingers inside your delicate skin, deeper still.

"Deep breath," I said.

I pushed. Not gently.

It was quick. You gasped and let out something like a whimper, a yip. Like a bark, even. Your mouth hung wide, jaw slack.

I twisted the plug slowly to let the large side brush up against the walls in your delicate ass. It felt good, didn't it? There's nothing quite like the rush of an anal plug when it goes in for the very first time, is there, Kitten?

Your pupils got wide, your mouth went speechless, and you were blown from the face of the Earth. I kissed you sweetly on the forehead.

"See you soon," I said. "Don't move." (You love my dumb jokes, I know.)

How long did I leave you there, bound and gagged? Our versions differ. You say at least four hours, I say it was only two, max.

But you can be right. You can win that battle; Daddy won that night.

You stayed on your knees most of that night - we can both agree on that.

You were a drooling slut, panting and licking like a dog. Daddy awarded you your first collar that night, Kitten. You earned it with another blowjob, another bellyful of come. That's when I knew exactly who you wanted to be.

At least I thought so, but you still had one more surprise didn't you? Always so full of surprises.

"Crawl to me," I said. "Come get your new collar, little kitten."

Do you remember what you did? What you said? It came from deep within you, the purest form of satisfaction and fulfillment. Neither one of us will ever forget it.

You kept your head down - lipstick smeared across your cheeks, forehead sweaty, eye makeup running and dried on - then you looked up at me and said: "Make me, Daddy."

You licked your lips like a wolf, your big brown eyes proud, your tail wagging.

You had me right where you wanted me in your spiderweb. You knew it, too. You were so proud of yourself. This whole time.

Partnership. Consent, Kitten.

I still remember that grin: ear to ear. Like the Cheshire Cat from "Alice In Wonderland." Devilish, disappearing, and speaking only in riddles. That's when I knew exactly who you were.

Was there blood in your mouth when you said it, Kitten?

"Make me, Daddy."

That familiar copper taste. Aluminum, metal - that's what fear tastes like. Fear tastes like blood. Did your mouth water like mine? I won't lie, Kitten. You stunned me, shocked to my core. I tasted blood in the water.

But I couldn't let you stun me, could I? I made you crawl to me like the bratty little sub you wanted to be.

"You want Daddy to make you crawl and get your collar?"

Game on, Kitten.

Now, when you say it ,  you say it one thousand different ways. You say it with conviction, with determination. Never the same way twice. Is it a question or a statement? Say it differently, say it so you own it like you own that confidence, your body, and your sex.

I love when you show me that confidence. Show it to me again.

Please, Kitten. Please.

Show me what a dumb needy slut you are, the one who puts her tits out and bends over and wiggles and begs. Show me that side.

Now show me the other side; show me that you're not some needy, greedy slut. Show me your brains, your prowess. Your exquisite sense of control.

You're not desperate - you know exactly what you own and what it's worth. And you're the only one willing to go through the forest alone, past all those comforting thoughts, through ghosts and lights, to walk directly into pain and pleasure.

Follow me, a little deeper this time, Kitten. You're not alone in the forest any longer.

Follow me because I want you to come, but I want so much more than that.

Say it for me: "Make me, Daddy."

Your eyes find me when you say it. Unashamed with a sharp glimpse of shadows in your eyes. Smoke curls around your irises and your body melts. You bite your lip before you can even form the words.

I know, I know. I've got you. Don't be afraid, don't be ashamed.

Ask for what you want, and ask for it with a mouthful of confidence and neediness.

"Show me please, Daddy. Show me what I don't know."

"Teach me. Teach your good girl how to be a slut, Daddy."

"Use me, Daddy. Use me like a good little fucktoy. That makes me so happy."

"Own me, Daddy. I'm yours; you know it."

"Make me, Daddy. I don't want it. But I don't know what I want."

That's a powerful drug you've got there, Kitten. But you were done tasting vanilla now. You wanted something fun and heavy, soft and crushing.

How did you describe all your vanilla relationships to me?

"They were...nice."

Well, you've had enough of nice, haven't you?

Nice is what everyone else expects from you. They want your nice smile, your nice nails, your nice life.

Everyone is so fucking greedy for all of your nice things. They can have them, right, Kitten? Nice things are for them. We can do nice and gentle, too, just as well as anyone else.

But nice doesn't get your mouth filled up with Daddy's cum, does it?

Nice won't get your pussy eaten out on my office desk with the doors open.

Nice won't leave you tied to a bed, your clit pulsing and aching for something to touch it.

Nice won't let me eat your asshole from the inside out before and after dinner and twice more on Sunday.

Nice doesn't put you to sleep until you're crying in my arms, exhausted and satisfied.

Fuck. Nice.

We're done with nice. I don't want nice.

I want you crawling on all fours, collared, begging me to fuck any hole I can find.

I want you turned over on your back, head hanging off the bed, trying your best not to gag on Daddy's cock.

I want you lifting up your dress at lunch to show off your freshly shaved pussy with the word, "Daddy's" written across it in red lipstick.

I want you asleep beside me, dreaming of more unsavory things we can do.

I want it hard, Kitten. Don't you dare back down on me, ok? I'll take all of it and ask for more. Give it all to me. All of it. And I'll do the same. Don't ever stop when I say so.

And tomorrow over breakfast, I'll remind you that you told me to, "feed on your cunt" only a few hours ago. That you tied my belt around your neck and ask me to choke you until you came or cried. That you put your legs up over your head and beg me to tonguefuck all your holes, top to bottom.

That with your collar pressed tight around your neck, drooling, you looked at me and asked, "Is this ok, Daddy? Can I be a little slut and your good girl? Can I be both?"

Yes, Kitten. Of course, you can. You can be Daddy's bad slut and his good girl. You get to be both.

Hey, look at that. I'm exhausted now.

Good night, Kitten. Sleep well. I'll be there soon.