Paige's Mischief

Paige was Daddy's slut. He kept her at his apartment while he worked, and she sometimes was allowed to leave to attend to the three submissives who worshiped her. Paige was allowed to walk freely around the apartment until nap time at four o'clock when she would remain in her puppy bed to await Daddy's return from work. Upon his return, he rehearsed his daily arrival ritual which Paige was thankful for and looked forward to.

Paige's puppy bed was right by the front window. Daddy instructed her to lay down for a nap every day. Without time to rest, Paige would become exhausted and turn into a disobedient bitch. Despite being sometimes cold and distant, Daddy was very thoughtful and gifted his favorite slut a beautiful custom puppy bed from a place that makes gifts for affluent pet owners. It was a snooty boutique that people like Daddy, from the Upper East Side, visited to spoil their pets in lavish, frivolous accessories. The puppy bed was plush and fluffy, stuffed with goose down feathers designed to cradle her supple curves. It was made to provide the comfort a princess deserves while also instilling humility--for being on the floor like a dog. The interior where she lay was forest green velvet, her favorite color. The exterior was an eggplant purple silk, which was her other favorite color. Paige was always restless and excitable when she knew Daddy was coming home. It was torture to try to shut her eyes and take a nap knowing he'd be home in two hours. What did he have planned today? Sometimes he had nothing planned, except to ignore his slut. He sometimes ignored her in an attempt to lower her tolerance to attention. Paige effortlessly had her way with men and enjoyed using them as play things and personal fuck puppets. There would be no such behavior with Daddy. She craved a REAL man, one immune to her mind games and cunning tactics. One who wouldn't eagerly subject himself to her twisted practices. Daddy was that. She idolized his resilience to his weaknesses. All aspects of Daddy's life were under his control and will. Paige aspired to be more like him. He was her teacher, and she was learning to curb her reckless spontaneity.

Today was a trying day for Paige, as her manuscript was repeatedly rejected from several publishers and her hitachi had fried itself after a marathon masturbation session earlier that day. Sub S, Tight Slut, and Slut Jenny were all occupied with previous engagements. Paige had no one to take her frustrations out on but herself, even though she should be napping. Daddy would be upset with Paige, but he was understanding that she needed outlets for her stress, just like everyone else. Daddy had gifted her with a hot pink punching bag kept in his exercise quarters. She was instructed to use it to relieve her aggressive tension. Paige, however, suffered from a spell of paralyzing misery today and desperately needed instant relief that the punching bag was not capable of offering. She had already given herself 30 orgasms, which was the first step, according to Daddy. "Masturbation-- Keep your holes tight and wet for Daddy, always. It will help you when you're in one of your moods, too." After furiously reaching dozens of orgasms, Paige felt she needed some chemical assistance to quell her anxiousness. The thought of Daddy soon walking through the door helped put her at ease but she could not easily handle her failure or the feeling of rejection that she was plagued with today.

Daddy had a well stocked liquor cabinet kept under invisible lock and key. He marked and weighed every bottle—every belonging in his home was meticulously kept under his control. He only bought top shelf or obscure rare liquors; only the best for a man with impeccable taste like Daddy. Paige contemplated raiding the wine rack but knew how Daddy cherished his painstakingly compiled collection. It only made sense to go for the less expensive but highly potent stash, kept under the kitchen sink—gifts from Daddy's various acquaintances. There she found a half empty bottle of vodka; it would have been half full, but she was feeling horribly pessimistic today.

Blue Velvet was playing on repeat on Daddy's massive flat screen TV in the living room. Paige took massive gulps of vodka straight from the bottle, chasing with milk. She watched as Isabella Rossellini was abused and victimized, and Paige drunkly lived vicariously through her, wishing Daddy was home to give her a good throw around. She drifted off to sleep on his leather couch; the burden of failure had disappeared with the vodka.

The sound of Daddy's keys penetrating the lock on the door of his apartment sounded as his slut startled to her feet. She frantically searched for her collar that Daddy expected her to wear always. What could she have done with it? Paige didn't drink often and was quick to get sloppy-sloshed. There was absolutely no hiding her condition at this point; the entire space of his massive apartment reeked of cheap vodka, probably spilled and splashed everywhere by Daddy's bimbo. The only thing left to do was stumble as fast as she could to her puppy bed and fake asleep. Her insides churned with visceral fear, and a sharp pain pinched her aching heart knowing Daddy would not only be furious, but deeply disappointed in her immaturity and carelessness. He didn't deserve for her to behave this way and she knew her mischief was unwarranted despite her bad day. As Daddy's footsteps drew closer to her spot on the floor, she noted the taste of metallic saltiness as her top teeth lacerated her bottom lip—a bad nervous habit she had. Daddy cast a dark shadow surrounding her but did not speak a word. Paige knew that severe punishment would ensue.

Daddy grasped a handful of Paige's hair and dragged her, puppy bed included, along the wood floor as he marched them to his master bathroom. He paused to retrieve a hollow bottle of vodka that was abandoned on the floor. Paige shuddered imagining his outrage and resentment for her behavior. She was still wearing her uniform—a black g string—as he walked swiftly, his hand still entangled in her blonde hair, pulling her along excruciatingly. The alcohol did have a numbing effect, but tears flooded her eye sockets as she desperately wished his apartment were smaller so the walk to the bathroom would be shorter. She remained silent. The force of his masculine gate and his ominous silence made her nipples stand erect. Her cunt slobbered profusely, soaking her entire crack and upper thighs.

Once they reached the bathroom, he released her hair and Paige dropped to the floor on her face. Daddy snapped his fingers and pointed to the shower, without saying a word. Paige knew what to do. Daddy liked to relieve himself on his slut's face and body when he got home from work. He drank coffee all day and always had a full bladder when he got home. Paige adored the warm cascade of her Daddy's piss, splashing and dripping all over her. She sat on her knees searching Daddy's face for any emotion, but there was none for her. His eyes ignored hers as he pulled out his cock, which was semi hard from needing to pee. He let go as his stream of champagne drenched his slut. She closed her eyes and relished being sprayed with his liquid. It was deliciously hot from being inside of his body. "Thank you, Daddy," she whispered to him. He paused for a moment then lowered his dark eyes to hers. He gripped her chin with his steady hand, then delivered a whiplash inducing swat directly to her face. A sizzling buzz of pins and needles washed over her entire body—the same feeling a patient at the hospital gets when injected with morphine. That's the feeling of pleasure Paige derived from being smacked by her Daddy. He turned the knob on the shower, releasing ice cold New York water onto his whore. "You are to sit in this freezing shower until I retrieve you," he knelt to wrap his thick fingers around her neck. He squeezed ferociously while a look of pure rage lit up in his eyes. "You are a glutton for punishment, aren't you? I guess Daddy hasn't been hard enough on you!" he said condescendingly. Daddy had been very rough with Paige in the past. Tonight would be brutal.

After sulking and sobering up in the frigid shower, Daddy let her sleep off the vodka on the floor next to his bed. Paige thought it very generous of him and expected much worse. Little did she know, he planned to wake her later that night.

The moon casted a strip of light large enough to illuminate the pale shivering skin of her naked, porcelain back. He studied the peaks and valleys of her vertebrae trailing down to two perfect dimples above her healthy, supple behind. Her ass looked like two pieces of pound cake—thick and dense. His mouth watered to give it a bite fierce enough to draw blood. Tonight he felt sadistic and the bulge in his pants grew at thoughts of inflicting sweet torture on his little girl. Her misdeeds showed him that she was asking for it. He knew what she needed.