Sweet Girl

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, ginger play, enema play, nipple play, pussy spanking, belting, and orgasm denial (plus lots of love along the way).

PART 1

"Sweet girl," Daddy says, stroking wisps of my long blonde hair from my forehead as I wriggle on his lap. I'm completely naked--the way daddy likes me during confession time. "Do you have anything you'd like to tell me?"

I squirm some more as he gently strokes his fingers over my shaved mound, dipping low, careful not to touch my little button. The place he only touches when I'm a good girl and have nothing to confess. But I've been a bad girl for a long time. So long that my button hasn't received a special touch in weeks.

That is, until last night--after Daddy had teased me mercilessly--stroking my sopping kitten, tickling his fingers everywhere but where I most wanted to be touched. He'd whispered dirty things against my ear while he did it, telling me how disappointed he was that I was still such a naughty girl--reminding me that all I had to do was be a good girl for one day, and then he could play with his little girl the way he wanted.

Unfortunately, after he'd fallen asleep, the ache between my legs was so intense that I couldn't think about anything but relieving it.

I snuck my fingers into my panties, stroking my button once, twice. If I did it a third time I was sure I'd come--so I stopped, holding my breath to stop the pulsing sensation that almost spiraled out of my control.

It had been a close call. Possibly my closest yet. Luckily, I was well trained by Daddy about how to come down from the edge.

As the pulsing of my near-orgasm had subsided and the aching in my button returned with vengeance, the guilt set in. Then the shame. The most sacred rule in our arrangement is that I am never allowed to pet my kitten without Daddy's permission.

I'd turned to look at his sleeping face after I committed my crime, so handsome with his shadowy jawline and long lashes that fluttered as he slept and his mussed, chesnut hair.

There was no doubt I could get away with it. I could keep my naughty touch between me and my kitten, and I could spend the next day being the best girl I'd ever been, and I could tell Daddy I had no confession when he bared my bottom and pulled me onto his lap for my nightly session with him.

But that would be far more naughty--a complete breach of our agreement. I might as well use our safe word and return to the vanilla lifestyle we maintained for the first five years of our relationship.

No, as I laid last night with my guilt and shame, I came to terms with the fact--as I have so many times before--that I wanted Daddy to know the truth. I wanted him to punish me. Because the feeling that I am completely in his control is more intoxicating than even the most body racking orgasm.

So that's why, as I sit wriggling on Daddy's lap tonight, I don't immediately jump on the chance to tell him I don't have a single confession for him.

"Sweet girl," he tisks, moving his hand behind me, slowly circling my star. The feeling of his finger in that dirty place always brings a fresh sense of shame, but it's Daddy's star to do as he pleases--and the truth is that his touch there makes my button throb like they're connected.

"Do I need to remind you what happens to sweet girls when they hold their confessions back from Daddy?"

I whimper, knowing all too well. I nuzzle my cheek into the crook of his stubbly neck, hoping that if I'm cuddly enough he'll take pity on me. "They have to have their confessions flushed out."

Daddy nods against me, pulling his finger back to spit on it. Then he returns it, pressing lightly against my star. "And how does Daddy flush them out?"

I rock slightly back on his finger. Even in my pathetic state, sitting bare and needy on his lap, I can always stoop lower. My star proves this point by spasming around his finger like it's desperate for his touch. Daddy uses his free hand to reprimand me with a stinging slap to my inner thigh, warning me to sit still--reminding me that he asked me a question.

I still, inhaling a needy breath. "With hot, soapy water."

"And where does the water go, sweet girl?" he asks, poking further into my star.

I moan, fighting the urge to ride his finger. I feel like the filthiest girl alive when Daddy plays with my ass like this. "In my naughty bottom."

"That's right," he hums, slapping at my cheek with his free hand. "In this naughty bottom." His finger slips in completely then and wetness floods between my legs.

He tuts, no doubt feeling his entire pant leg go damp. "What a shameful response. Sweet girls don't get excited thinking about having their naughtiness flushed out of their bottoms. Do you not want to be my sweet girl anymore, my love? Are you trying to tell me you want to be my dirty girl tonight?"

"No." I shake my head fervently. Dirty girls are diapered after their bottom receives its medicine and have to sit in Daddy's lap while they mess themselves. It's a threat daddy has made countless times but, luckily, hasn't yet made good on. "Please, Daddy. I'm your sweet girl."

"Then do the right thing," he says, pulling his finger from my star and flicking it. I gasp, instinctively squirming away from him, earning me another sharp slap on my inner thigh. "Next time you recoil from Daddy's finger I'll spank your kitten. Is that what you want? Is your kitten so desperate for attention she'll take anything--even a beating?"

"N-no daddy, please don't hurt my kitten."

"Then confess," he says, clearly losing patience, peppering my sopping slit with warning taps. "Whatever it is, it can't be worse than last week."

I wince. Last week's big infraction was that I forgot to tell him I was going to happy hour with some colleagues after work. It earned me a thick punishment plug carved of ginger and a pussy spanking--plus some bottom spankings along the way for squirming. Touching my kitten without Daddy's permission is much, much worse.

Still, no matter how he might punish me, I know telling him is the only way to rid myself of the shame pulsing through me, making me feel especially sensitive to his ministrations.

"Okay. But promise not to be too mad, Daddy--"

I cry out as he slaps my kitten, making my button throb in confusion, lost somewhere between pleasure and pain.

"Now," he snaps. "Last warning before you're bent over my knee for the soapiest bottom cleansing of your life--"

"I touched my kitten!" I shout. "Last night you pushed me so far and I was hurting so bad and you were asleep so I just touched her a couple times, but you'll be so proud of me, Daddy--I didn't come. I used your training and breathed my way through it. I was such a good girl for you," I say, nuzzling against him, hoping this little spin will lessen whatever is to come.

Daddy is frozen beneath me. This is a bad sign. I'm afraid to look at him but eventually face my fears, pulling back from his neck to peer up.

He's staring at the wall ahead. Then, his eyes slide down to mine. "It appears I was mistaken," he says calmly. Too calmly. "It can be worse than last week."

"But you never make mistakes," I say, biting my lip, desperate to draw a smile from that frown.

He doesn't take the bait, looking terribly disappointed, now--withdrawing his hands from both my star and kitten. "This is very serious, sweet girl. What is our number one rule?"

"That I'm not allowed to touch my kitten," I say quietly, eyes dropping to my lap.

"Up here," he snaps. "Where do my sweet girl's eyes belong when Daddy is having an important conversation with her?"

I look back up at him. "So I'm still your sweet girl?" I ask hopefully, and his face darkens.

"Good point, my love. Unfortunately, at this moment, I can't say you are. Get off of Daddy's lap, he needs to think about how to deal with this."

My stomach sinks. Daddy has never kicked me off his lap so coldly--he's never made me wait while he considered the most appropriate punishment, either. "Daddy--"

"Not another peep from you. Lay face down on the bed and wait for me. No squirming around like a needy little worm and, since you apparently need a reminder, no petting your kitten. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Daddy," I say, covering my butt with my hands as I flop face down onto the bed, afraid he's going to go for a swat. In another unusual move, he doesn't--making me feel even more ashamed. Worried that I've done irreparable damage this time. Worried he'll never see me the same again.

It's agony waiting on the bed with the cool air tickling my bare bottom, chilling my kitten juices as they drip from my slit. I seem to be further drenched with each passing second. Minute. Hour? I'm not sure how long I've been laying here. Daddy doesn't let me keep a clock in my little girl room specifically for this purpose. The room also has no window, so I can't guess the time by the sky. It's a tiny space--the walk-in closet of our master bedroom. Just enough room for a twin bed with pink plaid sheets and an adult toy box. There are no dolls or coloring books in here--those extra elements of the lifestyle don't do it for us.

When I finally hear Daddy's heavy steps on the carpet just beyond the door I go rigid, laying as still as possible, nose pressed into the comforter of my bed, kitten still sopping, making a mess. Daddy won't be pleased but if I try to hide my arousal in any way--wiping at it, for example--he'll be even more mad because little girls don't hide their arousal from their daddies. Daddy needs to know what turns her on so he can decide whether she should be rewarded or punished for it.

When Daddy steps into the room, he's wearing only his gray sweatpants. This is another bad sign. Wetness marks the gray material easily, making it very obvious when I've made a mess on him. He also knows I think he looks sexy as hell in these pants--meaning he has something serious in store for me, and is thinking about the little things that might inspire me to push my limits.

Daddy sits beside me on the bed and rests his hand over my bottom--left hand palming my entire left cheek. The size difference between us always makes it feel so easy, so natural to slip into our roles.

"Naughty girl," he addresses me, 'sweet girl' a thing of the past. "Your confession tonight is very serious. What you did wasn't just bad behavior--it was a breach of trust. It went against one of the most fundamental rules of this arrangement. I'm tempted to call this entire thing off after this incident and insist we go back to being Mark and Sadie for a few months to reset--that's how disappointed and disrespected I feel right now."

"No, Daddy," I whimper, sniffling into the comforter, still doing my best not to move as his thumb sneaks down to graze my star. "I don't want to lose you."

"Are you sure about that, little girl? Why else would you have tried to take Daddy's power from him? Do you not want me to be your Daddy any more? Do you just want me to be your vanilla suburban husband who lets his wife do whatever she wants to her grown up pussy?"

I shake my head violently. "No, Daddy, I don't want that. I don't want a grown up pussy. I want a cute little kitten that you can pet and give your milk to and take care of."

"And?" he coaxes, nudging his thumb harder down onto my star.

I release a shaky breath, pushing up into him. "And punish."

"And grown up pussies don't get punished, do they? Only little needy little kittens get punished, because they have big girl feelings but haven't yet learned how to control them."

I nod, squirming. All this talk of needy kittens has my button pulsing painfully, desperate for some acknowledgment.

Daddy smacks my bottom hard, wordlessly telling me to pin myself back down on the bed. "This act," he begins again. "Disrespected the very fabric of our relationship--every fiber of it. So, little girl, I've decided the only appropriate punishment is one that teaches a lesson to your every fiber."

I blow out a shuttered breath, not sure what to make of his words. "What does that mean, Daddy?"

"It means, little one, that if you want to be my sweet girl again, I have to punish you here." He presses once more down on my dirty star. "And here." He slides his finger down my sloppy kitten slit. "And here." He gently flips me over, stroking across one of my sensitive nipples. This means he plans to punish all of my special spots. Well, almost all of them.

There's one swollen and painfully pulsing place he hasn't pointed to yet, and I'm wondering why not when he produces a tube of his special ginger cream--the cream he's only ever used to punish my star--and I go rigid.

He runs a reassuring hand over my soft, flat tummy. "Be still and relax, little girl. It won't feel very nice but it won't do any damage."

"Daddy," I say, fearful, fisting the sheets at my side and as he cups my face. "It'll hurt too bad. I don't want it to hurt--"

"Well, little girl, why didn't you think of that before you hurt your Daddy?"

I bite my lip, tears brimming in my eyes, already imagining the pain. The whole reason I broke the rules in the first place was that my poor little button has been in desperate need of release for weeks now--not torture.

Daddy sees the concern on my face, petting my hair as he talks me through it. "Do you need to use our special word, little girl? One word, and I'll call this whole thing off. I'll cuddle you on the couch and we'll watch your favorite romcom and I'll even let you come like a grown up on my tongue. Is that what you want? To be a grown up again with control of her big girl pussy?"

"No, Daddy," I start, one tear trickling down my cheek. "But--"

"But nothing," he says, all sympathy gone, flicking a dollop of cream from the tube.

I stare at his finger in horror as he lowers it to my button.

"Last chance, little girl. Do you want to use your special word and let me eat my wife's pussy out on the couch? Or do you want me to remind my little girl's naughty button who she belongs to?"

God, I hate when he gives me ultimatums like this. One option is always pure bliss, the other torture. But for some reason, I can never choose the easy route. Even now, knowing he's about to set fire to my already suffering clitty, the choice isn't as easy as it should be. I feel like I've come too far in this scene. I'm too horny, too curious about the rest of my punishments--too curious how far he'll be able to push me. And it is curiosity, after all, that killed the cat.

"Yes, Daddy," I say softly, resigned and embarrassed to admit that, apparently, sweet relief of my neglected clitty is not the top of my priority list, afterall. And I suppose, at the end of the day, that's the point of the punishments Daddy gives me nearly every night: to block out all the noise so I can better understand myself and my priorities. "Please punish my naughty button."

He nods, finger never having stopped its descent, like he knew this would be my answer all along. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet," he says as he pulls my button's hood back with one hand, smearing the cream directly on my swollen nub with the other.

A fresh round of tears and embarrassment bubbles up inside me as I reckon with the fact that his first touch of my button in weeks is intended to bring it pain--at my own request. Then I slowly release a whine-turned-howl as the ginger begins to sear my sensitive skin.

The cream is what he calls my Good Girl Cream. It's a concoction he made himself--I don't know exactly what's in it but, before now, he's only ever used it for discrete public correction sessions--like if I'm being bratty at the grocery store or distracted on our morning walk. He simply pulls me to an empty aisle, or behind a tree, and smears a dollop on my star. Then he holds me against him while the pain rips through me, eliciting messy sobs that soak his shirts--looking to passerbys as if he's merely comforting a crying girl. They have no idea that he's actually whispering admonishments to a naughty girl who's on her way to being good again.

It's painful enough on my star, but on my button, the pain roars down my legs and up my belly, like the devil himself is crawling across my every nerve ending.

Daddy watches me carefully as I take the pain while lying as still as possible, like a good girl. Daddy never restrains me during my punishments. It's my job to learn how to control my limbs and restrain myself. When I don't, it only adds to my punishment.

"Does it hurt, little girl?" he asks, running a large hand gently over my lower tummy.

I want to curl into him and sob but put on my brave face instead, using the breathing technique he taught me. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good, little girl. That means it's working. I will reapply your Good Girl Cream before your every punishment tonight. It may feel bad, but that's because it's dragging all the naughty out of your little button, just like it burns all the naughty out of your bottom when you make me use it while we're running errands. After you take all your punishments and I apply your final dose, you'll be my good, sweet girl again. Do you understand?"

I nod, teary and helpless.

"And remember," he whispers, stroking my hair from my forehead. "An orgasm and a romcom are just a special word away, if it becomes too much."

I nod.

"Use your words, little girl."

"I'll remember," I say, voice raspy, and he seems satisfied.

"Now," he says, scooping me into his arms, horror flooding me at the sound of his next words. "We'll start with your bottom cleansing..."

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2