Princess

Author's note: This is a fictional DDlg series involving consenting partners in their thirties. CWs for the entire series include spanking, humiliation, anal play, enema play, wire hanger punishment and, most importantly, lots and lots of love.

PART 3

I bury my head in my hands. "Daddy, I'm sorry! It just hurt so bad--"

He places a hand on my squirming bottom to silence me. "You don't yet know the

meaning

of hurt, princess."

"Daddy! Please, just listen! I've been all alone and it hurt so bad and I usually I get a little break when I go to the bathroom but I didn't even have to because of all the enemas and--"

The belt slams down on the table beside me, startling me into silence.

"You didn't even have to go?" he snaps. "Are you telling me you lied to me, on top of everything else?"

My stomach sinks. "No, Daddy! I was going to try--"

"Princess!" he shouts, silencing me for good this time, and I don't think I can take the anticipation of what's to come a moment longer. My bottom and legs and pussy are all quaking in unified terror. "I don't know how long you've been doing this--"

"This was the first time, Daddy!"

"--But I'm going to have to assume it's been every time, since my trust in you is completely rattled."

I shake my head, squirming, kicking my feet in frustration.

"I'm beginning to understand why your training has been going so slow, little girl, and I can assure you that the gentle gloves will be coming off from this day forward. For now on, you will take your plugs every morning without so much as a fucking peep. And considering your training began two months ago, you will take sixty spanks. One for every day you might have pulled that plug out when you thought I'd never catch you."

"Daddy," I sob. "I can't take sixty with the belt--"

"Not with the belt, princess," he says, walking over to one of the clothing racks, pulling free a wire hanger.

My body goes rigid. "Daddy, no--"

"Do you remember what this feels like, princess?"

"Yes, Daddy! Please, no!"

"Is that your formal request to add it to the hard limits list?"

"Daddy, please,

Carousel. Carousel.

"

At the sound of my safe word Daddy's face completely falls. He drops the hanger to the floor and holds his arms to me. I hop off the table and pick up my skirts, running to him, burying my face in his chest the moment I reach him. He sits in the nearest chair, pulling me into his lap.

"I can't," I sob. "I can't--"

"It's okay, I hear you. We won't. Baby." He pulls back to look at me. "We won't."

Everything in our scenes is Daddy versus princess but here, on the other side of our safe word, it's we. Because this is a dynamic--a lifestyle--we created together. And if it's not working for one of us, it's not working for either.

Daddy's only rule when our safe word is used is that we talk about it--which he clearly wants me to do now as he strokes my face, wiping at my tears with his thumb. "What scares you so much about the hanger, princess?"

I breathe in a rattly breath. "It...broke...skin..." I manage and he nods, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'm so sorry about that, princess. I went too hard that time, didn't I?"

I nod and he squeezes me tight.

"Alright, hangers are a hard no." He reaches for the implement on the floor and hands it to me. "Let's make it official."

I smile softly at him, wiping at my eyes. Daddy loves his rituals. The first two times I added the cane to the limits list--I go back and forth on that one--he had me snap them in half and throw them in the fireplace. This time, mangling the defenseless wire with my hands will have to do.

But as I hold it, it really does feel like that...

defenseless

. I give it a test swat on my hand, barely feeling a thing.

"Princess," he warns, looking between me and the hanger I keep swatting in my open palm. "Daddy is feeling confused."

I wince up at him. "Me too."

Daddy studies me. "I think you're afraid, but curious. Would you agree?"

I swallow, nodding.

"Would you like to experiment? I can keep it light."

I bite my lip. "But then I might not feel it, Daddy."

He nods, very serious now. "We do need to make sure our naughty princess learns her lesson."

I nod back just as seriously and he smirks.

"How about I go hard--careful not to break skin--but only ten spanks. And your remaining fifty strokes will be administered with an implement of my choosing tonight when we get home."

I swallow. This sounds reasonable. "Okay, Daddy," I whisper.

"Okay, princess," he whispers back, prying my trembling hands from the hanger. "Bend back over the table."

I chew my lip as I stare up at him, and Daddy's nostrils flare.

He leans his head lovingly forward, the words he whispers against my ear anything but. "If you make me bend you back over that table, little girl, you'll be tied down to it and I'll leave you there for the rest of your shift to think about your actions. Is that what you want?"

I suck in a sharp breath at the idea of it, squirming, suddenly feeling warmth beneath my legs.

"Are you making a mess in your client's dress, little girl?"

I whimper. "Daddy--"

"If you don't want to soil this pretty dress, you know what you need to do."

With a resigned sigh I finally climb off his lap, walking slowly to the table, feeling the first trickle of wetness go running down my leg.

I bend shakily over it, whimpering as Daddy lifts my skirt back up, tutting as he follows the trail of my pussy's tear with his finger.

"Naughty girl, you should be ashamed of yourself. Do you know what they'd do with a girl like you in the olden days?"

I sniffle, shaking my head, jerking as he slaps me with a startling spank on my pussy.

Then he leans over me, whispering against my ear. "They'd tie you naked in the town square and whip you." His finger slips into my cunt as he says it and I moan, rocking back on him.

"Does that turn you on, little girl? The thought of having an audience for the things you let Daddy do to you?"

I shake my head violently. Knowing Daddy, if I even hint that I'm interested, he'll make it happen--but my pussy gives me away, positively spasming at the thought.

"Maybe the nice couple we met at the club a few weeks ago," he says then, and I cry out, shaking my head harder. "I got their numbers, you know."

I hear Daddy's wheels turning and I finally find my voice. "Daddy, please, no!"

"We'll talk about it," he says with another startling spank to my pussy. Then, softer: "Where's your pretty plug, princess?"

"The b-bathroom, Daddy."

"Is it clean?"

"Y-yes, Daddy."

He's gone in an instant, leaving me half naked and trembling in the quiet warehouse.

When his footsteps return, walking briskly in my direction, my bottom clenches, preparing for the worst. But as Daddy steps between my legs, he presses the cool metal against my sopping slit, instead.

I gasp at the shocking cold, sending a shiver through me as Daddy pushes it all the way in. I'm so wet I'm afraid it will slip right back out and Daddy knows this.

"If your pussy drops her toy, we start over. Do you understand me?"

I nod. "Yes, Da-AHH!" I shriek, feeling the first startling crack of the wire against my bottom, taken completely off guard. When Daddy says he's going to spank me hard, he means it. I apparently didn't know the meaning of hard before I met him--learning quickly after I was reduced to a hysterical mess on more than one occasion in the first few weeks we played together.

The memory of those early days makes me feel suddenly emotional. I met him right here in this warehouse--and he had me bent over a table just like this one that very evening.

Daddy's advertising company was promoting a new Regency-era TV show and had commissioned us to design some gowns for a red carpet event. When he and his team had come to our workshop--including the show's lead costume designers--they had asked Victoria a number of questions about the construction of the garments. But they were questions Victoria couldn't answer because she hadn't actually designed any of the pieces.

I'd been instantly terrified and intrigued by the handsome man who seemed to be leading the group. He spent the entire first half-hour rolling his eyes and glancing at his watch and releasing long, irritated sighs with every question Victoria deflected or straight up ignored. He hadn't said much, but I could tell he was important as I watched him from where I lurked behind the clothing racks.

As he grew increasingly frustrated with Victoria's complete disconnection to the pieces, he finally snapped--threatening to pull the deal and demand the return of their deposit. It was then that I bit the bullet and stepped in.

Everyone seemed surprised when I appeared--no one had even known there was another person in the building because Victoria had told me to make myself scarce. But Daddy had looked at me with expectancy, like he'd been waiting for me to show my face.

"Why hello, there," he'd said carefully, like he was talking to a tiny creature in a petting zoo. That's certainly how I felt as I looked up at him, doing my best to seem brave as dozens of strangers' eyes watched me. "I'm guessing you're the actual talent behind this operation?"

I glanced at Victoria, who looked like she wanted to kill me.

"Don't look at her," Daddy had said, but it wasn't mean. It was...matter of fact. Encouraging, even. "I'm talking to you."

I returned my eyes to his and took a deep breath. Then I answered his team's questions--every single one of them.

Victoria eventually earned her way back into their good graces with an offer to give them a tour of our street-facing showroom. But as the group left, the intimidating stranger stayed behind, surprising me with a series of detailed questions of his own--about the bodices and accompanying corsets, specifically. After twenty minutes of his interrogations, I decided he was showing off.

"You know a suspicious amount about bodices," I'd finally acknowledged.

He'd shot me a sly smile. "Do I?"

For some reason, his response bolted right through me. It was like he wanted me to wonder about him--wanted me to ask more--but I could barely make eye contact with him, let alone conversation.

When the hour-long meeting ended and they all left, I felt sad to see him go. My sadness turned to bitter irritation as Victoria spent the rest of the day giving me the silent treatment. Then she left wordlessly at two pm, further irritating me, considering she always required me to stay til six--even when business was slow.

I continued to think about the scary, sexy corset expert as I worked alone for the rest of my shift, hating the feeling of being drawn to men I met in the wild. I knew from experience that pursuing men like him only led to hurt and confusion and shame--the real kind. The kind I wrestled with for years before I finally started meeting experienced daddies online.

I was nearly thirty on the day I met Daddy, though. I didn't have time to mess around with men who didn't share my kink. I was looking for commitment. Compatibility. Shame-free fun--a lifetime of it.

And then a soft knock on the back warehouse door startled me from my thoughts and I knew--just knew--it was him.

Despite the internal war I'd just been waging, I couldn't tame my curiosity as I tiptoed to the door, peering through the peephole.

My subby-senses were right. He was back. And I knew, without a doubt, he'd come for me.

I should have been afraid, but I wasn't as I cracked the door open and smiled up at him.

Daddy had the same thought as he glanced over my shoulder into the darkened warehouse. "Please don't tell me you're alone in there."

"Um...I'm not alone in there?"

He smirked. "Is that a lie?"

I bit my lip and he narrowed his eyes.

"You don't have very good self preservation instincts, do you, Lacey?"

The fact that he remembered my name made me far more pleased than it should have.

I shrugged in response to his question, knowing that if he had any idea just how deep my lack of preservation instincts ran, he'd probably sprint for the hills.

"Listen, I..." He looked nervous then. The one and only time he ever did for the entirety of our relationship. "I've been thinking about you all afternoon," he finally said and I blinked, staring up at him. He handed me his card. "In case you've been thinking about me, too. If not, no sweat. I'll never bring it up again."

I bit my lip, shifting. "I've been thinking about you," I admitted, but didn't move to take his card.

He studied me. "But..." he began, correctly guessing that something was holding me back. "You have a boyfriend?"

I'd scrunched my nose, always having hated that word. It sounded so...juvenile. "No," I finally said and he continued to study me.

"You think I'm a deranged stalker and you're going to call the cops after you tell me to get lost?"

I giggled. "No."

He tilted his head, like this reaction told him something about me. "You're not attracted to me," he said then, perfectly matter of fact, like it was the only logical explanation.

I shifted, shaking my head. "No," I whispered, and his eyes lit up--even as the rest of his demeanor darkened.

"I see," he said slowly. "I think I have it then."

I waited patiently, wondering how wrong he'd be this time.

"You have some particular...interests...and you only play with partners who share them."

My eyes had widened, truly stunned he guessed it, and he looked quite proud of himself, crossing his arms as he leaned further into the doorway.

"I knew we'd find something else in common," he said simply, pushing past me into the warehouse.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4