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 4

"Well," he said as he stepped into the warehouse, leaning against the nearest table. "Since you're clearly not looking for a boyfriend--" He'd apparently registered my earlier reaction to the word. "--What, exactly, are you looking for?"

It had been fun to noncommittally flirt with him when there was a door between us but this was flying too close to the sun. I didn't talk about my kinks with anyone outside of the scene--and certainly not with clients.

"I'd rather not talk about it," I said quietly, glancing back at the door.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, and something about his tone--how genuine and unoffended he was--made me want, well, the opposite of that.

"No."

He nodded slowly, watching me. "How about you give me three more guesses and if I strike out, I'll never ask again."

I'd pressed my legs together. God, that was tempting--and for some reason, his determination to figure me out was turning me on. "Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, sir," I'd said, smiling shyly, and he'd returned my smile, looking positively smitten.

"A sub, then."

My heart began to pound. "Sort of."

He tilted his head again. "A particular kind of sub."

I swallowed, afraid to answer--but my silence, as usual, gave me away.

"Well I just so happen to be a particular kind of dom."

I dropped my gaze to the floor, his words bolting through me.

"Do you have any guesses about what I am, little girl?"

My eyes snapped back to his at the sound of what was, at the time, my preferred pet name. Before Daddy renamed me during a particularly filthy evening on my thirtieth birthday--involving one of my handmade corsets, a tiara, a birthday spanking, and a night of edging that left me desperate and dripping for days.

He chuckled, pressing up off the table, pulling his card back out from his wallet. "Let's try this again. I want you to take my card, and I want you to call me if you ever want to play. Can you do that?"

I bit my lip, guessing this meant he believed my kink of choice to be compatible with his--though he hadn't technically confirmed what his was. But I still wasn't convinced. I'd dated a number of men throughout my twenties who fancied themselves doms but really just liked to choke me while we fucked and call me mean names. Even if my instincts were telling me he could be the Daddy of my dreams, it was hard to know when you met someone by chance.

"You think I'm full of shit," he guessed when I didn't immediately respond but that wasn't it. Not exactly. I just didn't want the ball of finding out to be in my court. I wanted him to show me who he was before I gave too much of myself away.

"What's going on in there?" he'd whispered then, pulling me from my thoughts, and my cheeks went red.

I cleared my throat, pulling free the pen that was tucked into my bun. Then I reached for his hand. "I don't call first."

He narrowed his eyes. "But you give your number to strangers? Those preservation instincts, little girl, are in desperate need of sharpening."

A smile tugged at my lips. "If you're looking for a little girl with preservation instincts, you're not going to find her here."

He returned my smile with an evil one of his own. "If you mark my skin, little girl, the next time we meet, I'll be returning the favor."

I really wished he'd stop saying things like that. It was starting to sound like he knew what he was doing, after all. "I hope so," I'd said coyly, tempting fate, and he seemed to take this as a challenge, jaw clenching as he held his hand out to me.

I scrawled my digits across his wide palm, running my thumb across the length of it when I'd finished, imagining what it would feel like against my ass.

When I finally released him, he pulled his phone from his pocket, walking slowly to the door.

"Expect my call, little Lacey. The issue of your lack of faith in me will be the first thing I intend to address."

With that panty-soaking threat, he shut the door behind him, and I spun around, absolutely giddy with adrenaline over what had just happened. I'd just sat back down at my workstation when my phone rang. The caller was unknown, and I grinned.

"Pick a word," he said calmly the moment I answered.

"Carousel," I'd said without hesitation, hoping the smile wasn't too obvious in my voice, and then the call ended, and there was another knock on the door.

I scampered toward it, opening it slowly.

"Over that table," he'd said unceremoniously and I'd wasted no time, pussy absolutely weeping as I shoved fabric scraps off the nearest surface and bent gingerly over it.

My heart pounded as he lifted my skirt to expose my cheeky-pantied bottom. Playing with strangers was an incomparable high to playing with a real partner. And with stakes as high as this one--he was a client, after all--I was consumed by a delicious thrill I knew I should be shying away from, not running toward. And yet there I was. Trusting this virtual stranger with my body and my secrets and my career.

"Why are you bent over this table, little girl?"

"Because I...I thought you were full of shit."

A warning spank made me yelp. "Is that the kind of language little girls use?"

"No, Daddy," I said instinctively, immediately mortified to have done so--as if my preferred dynamic wasn't obvious by now.

He leaned down to kiss one of my cheeks, smiling against my warmed skin. Then he stood up and spanked me again, eliciting a whimpered moan.

"I'm going to spank you until you cry, or until you use your safe word--whichever comes first. Do you understand me, little girl?"

"Yes, Daddy," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut as I sensed his hand raising. And then he spanked me--hard--again and again. And when I released my first stifled sob around spank ten--I tended to cry quickly, often more from emotional overwhelm than pain--Daddy pulled the pen from my hair and began carving something into my stinging bottom. I whimpered, turned on beyond belief, and then he stuck the pen back in my hair.

"If you want to play again, the next call

will

come from you, little girl. And we'll pick up where we left off, because something tells me you haven't learned your lesson."

With that, he left as quickly as he came, leaving me bent over and breathless and painfully aroused. When I finally stood back up, checking my ass in the nearest mirror, I'd confirmed my suspicions. It was his number he'd scrawled across my red, stinging cheek--and the sight of it was one of the most erotic things I'd ever seen. So much so that I'd snapped a picture with my phone and masturbated to it for hours that night. Every night, in fact, for two weeks--until I confessed my dirty deeds to him when I finally called the night before his big event.

As Daddy stands behind me now, he runs his hand across the welt that's surely rising on my skin, and a delicious chill curls through my body. We've been through so much together over the last three years. It's been the most intense relationship of my life--my first experience as a virtually 24/7 little, the first Daddy I haven't ended things with by the end of year one. The first Daddy who still gives me butterflies every time I wake up in the morning, every time he picks me up from work, every time he bends me over.

"Your whole body is blushing, princess," he says then and I'm sure I only blush harder. "Are you imagining this strip of wire sending another sharp little sting through your backside?"

"Mmh." I squirm at his words. "I was just thinking about you, Daddy."

I feel him still behind me, my statement clearly catching him off guard. Then he leans down, resting his head on the table to face me.

"What about me, princess?"

I feel my blush get hotter. "That I love you. So much it hurts."

He smiles softly. "Good thing you like it when it hurts."

I grin, nodding. He pushes my hair from my face as the movement makes it fall. "I love you more, princess. And even though this has been the sweetest thirty second interlude of my life, it's not going to get you out of facing this hanger, young lady."

I press my legs together. "Yes, Daddy."

With that, he stands back up, running the wire once more across my ass like a bow across a violin.

"Are you ready, princess?"

With a stuttered breath, I nod. "Yes, Daddy--!" I cry out as he hits me again, arching back, pussy spasming around her plug--holding on for dear life.

Daddy waits until I've calmed down. Then I hear the whiz of the wire through the air again and this time, a desperate cry breaks through my scream.

He spanks me again and again, and I fall into unrelenting, body-racking sobs--further overwhelmed as my pussy sucks violently on her plug, sending a torturous heat through my belly.

My bottom often goes numb under Daddy's hand, and even his belt, but the wire cuts through me with a sharp, screaming sting, every time. "I-is-it-break-ing--"

"No, baby," Daddy promises, running a hand over my scalding skin. "Just some early bruising, no broken skin."

This calms me slightly, but not for long as the hanger hits me again.

"Two more," Daddy says and I nod into my shaking hands.

"Words, princess."

"Yes, D-daddy!"

He waits until the sobs rocking my body have settled before speaking his next words. "Why am I spanking you with this hanger, princess?"

"B-because I didn't put my plug back."

"And you thought you'd get away with it," he adds with a hand spank that shoots through me, feeling almost like a reward on the heels of the harsh hanger. He tuts, running a hand between my slick thighs. "You're fucking dripping, little girl."

He reaches forward to collect some of the wetness leaking around my plug then, rubbing at my clitty with his finger and I cry out.

"Daddy--" I say, humping back on him. "Please--"

"Don't worry, little one, I won't let you come."

I huff in desperation, those words the exact opposite of what I want to hear, and he chuckles.

"Are you ready for your next spank with the hanger, princess? We're going to need to document this bottom when your bruises come in. You look fucking beautiful."

I groan at the thought of the little Polaroid scrapbook Daddy keeps in the safe in our closet. The one he brings out every once in a while and makes me look at while I sit in his lap, letting him play with me until I come on his hand. The first picture and inspiration for the entire book is, of course, the image of his phone number on my ass.

Daddy raises the hanger in the air. "Do you like the sound of that, little girl? Letting Daddy play with his princess while she admires her bottom striped red, black, and blue?"

I moan, clenching my legs together, and he cracks down on my ass, sending a fresh round of sobs bubbling up my throat.

"Last spank little girl," he says softly then. "And tonight, when we get home, you'll take your final fifty strokes without complaint. Deal?"

"Wii-ith what, Daddy?"

"That's a surprise, little one. You love surprises, don't you?"

"Y-yes, Daddy."

"Bottom up," he says then. "Spread your cheeks."

Horror courses through me. "Daddy, no--"

"Yes, little girl. We need to warm her up so she has something to think about in-lieu of that plug going back in."

I should be thrilled he doesn't plan on replugging me with that torturous thing, but experience tells me this means he has something far worse lined up.

"Daddy, I'll take the plug--"

"Nice try, little girl. Come on, Just one swat, right on that sensitive little rose. Are you ready?"

I sniffle but nod--pulling my cheeks apart with trembling hands--and then, without warning, he does it.

I buck back with my loudest scream yet as the wire cracks across my sensitive hole. My cries are quickly muffled into his chest as he pulls the plug from my cunt and scoops me off the table, sitting us both back in the chair he'd held me in before. My elaborate skirt spills over his legs as he holds my trembling body, thumbing at the tears running down my face.

"Look at us," he whispers after a while. Once my breathing has returned to normal and my sobs have quieted.

I lift my swollen eyes to the mirror in front of us. We look like we're of another time--Daddy in his suit, me in my yellow ball gown, hair long and crimped from my braids, face swollen and makeup free now that my thin layer of mascara has been sobbed away.

He glances at his watch then, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I have a 1:30, princess."

I pout but understand, hissing as I gently climb off his lap. He runs out to his car and returns with some anti-swelling cream. Then, after helping me out of the dress, he massages it all over my welted bottom.

"I'll see you at six," he promises when he's finished. "And I'll have Grier send over a spider roll."

I give him a shaky smile. Daddy knows I fucking love spider rolls, and has his assistant, Grier, order me one for delivery about once a week.

"Six," he whispers again as he backs toward the door.

"Six," I whisper back, but the moment his intoxicating presence is gone, darkness settles over me.

The giant warehouse feels even emptier than before. My bottom feels even more punished than before. And I feel even more alone than before.

My eyes flutter closed as I blink away the fresh tears brimming in them. It's going to be a long rest of the day.

***

The next five hours, as expected, are awful. My lunch order never arrives, I get stabbed by the sewing machine twice, Victoria sends me a passive aggressive email about working too much overtime, and my butt hurts like a bitch.

Everytime I sit down, I want to cry. I'm not used to being left alone so soon after a punishment--especially such a harsh one. I feel emotional and vulnerable and like I didn't have time to decompress with Daddy's arms around me like I normally do. I feel...used.

Abused.

I'm counting down the minutes until Daddy will be back to pick me up. I even go out to the curb to wait for him fifteen minutes early. But when six rolls around and Daddy's big white pickup truck is nowhere in sight, I feel even more abandoned.

With tears in my eyes, I trudge to the bus stop, not wanting to spend another minute than necessary in this depressing place. I decide he can give me a call when he finally feels like prioritizing the supposed love of his life--but he never does call. My phone doesn't ring a single time during the entire thirty minute bus ride or ten minute walk to the house.

I've just reached our driveway when Mrs. Lansbury, our nextdoor neighbor, comes running up the sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear.

"Lacey, Lacey! Are you alright?"

"Of course," I say, suddenly panicked that maybe something happened to Daddy--and then I hear her say his name into the phone.

"She's here, Ben. She's okay."

I go rigid. He called our nosey fucking neighbor to check on me instead of calling me himself?

I pull out my own phone to tell him exactly how I feel about that and then I stop in my tracks. There, right on my home screen, are ten missed calls. A dozen messages. I curse, realizing now that my phone has been on silent since I left the warehouse.

I hurry into the house, my sour mood replaced by panic. Daddy will be furious. Beyond furious. He won't hurt me--one of our rules is that we never play when one of us is genuinely angry. But Daddy is just as scary--no,

scarier

--when he's truly angry. And it just isn't fair. All I wanted was a little fucking love after a terrible day!

With tears in my eyes I storm up the stairs, desperate to feel like we're already past the fight I know is coming and skipping to the part when he's holding me tight, telling me everything's okay. I pull out his old Stanford sweatshirt from the hamper and his worn black sweatpants--both comically large on me, but I don't care as I roll the sleeves and legs up five times each. Then I crawl under the covers in our bed, pulling them all the way over my head, hugging myself and breathing in his scent and pretending it's really him.

I hear the rumble of Daddy's engine twenty minutes later. The groan of the garage opening. The slam of the door into the house. I hear him stomping around the first floor for a while. Five minutes. Maybe ten. Then his heavy footsteps begin their ascent up the stairs, heading right for our room.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 5