The Voice Of Him

Author's Note: This is a story in a series of short tales I'm calling 5-Minute Submissions (pun very much intended). The goal is to have a fun and sensual read that you can devour in approximately 5 minutes. I do hope you enjoy.

Her dream ceased with all the delicate ease of a veil being lifted from before her eyes. Sunlight leaked through the edges of the drawn curtains as morning announced the beginning of the day's coming and inevitable procession. Comfort enveloped her, the sheets and comforter almost undisturbed from when she had laid them across her form the night before; a tableau of restfulness and contentment. Yet, she stiffened--it had not been the cessation of the dream or the rays of the sun that had awoken her. The phone on her nightstand had dinged.

Turning to her side, she grasped at the device. As the screen illuminated with the appearance of her face before it, the notification shone true. It was from Him. From Love. From Sir. From Master.

From Daddy.

A thrill of warm excitement washed across her, and her fingers tapped at the screen to open the message. The app revealed a long voice memo, several minutes long, with no accompanying text. She smiled, the bow of her mouth pulled at beautifully as she bit her lip. The delivery denoted next to the voice memo was exactly 7:24. She knew it was no accident that this gift had arrived at that time. He did nothing by accident, and the subtle ode to the anniversary of their relationship in month and day was not lost upon her heart.

She was so anxious to hear his voice, but she knew he'd want the moment to be perfect. Adjusting the volume on her phone, her fingers trembling at the buttons, she rested the device atop her pillow, nestling the speaker near her ear. Pressing play, she closed her eyes.

["Good morning, baby girl."]

His voice was gravel, deep and resonant. The subtle pause between the greeting and her honorific was pregnant enough to make her breath catch in her throat. Her thighs squeezed together, the thin fabric of her panties like a taught feather against her clit.

["Daddy has missed you so much this past week,"] He continued. The genuine care in his voice filled every word. ["You've been the best girl for me though, haven't you?"]

She nodded, pride warming within her chest as heat spread between her legs.

["You've followed my directions so exactly. Every task you've been given, you've proven yourself to be such a good girl--such a good doll for Daddy."]

"Yes Daddy," she breathed, the words barely a whisper.

["I've watched you edge yourself wearing the lingerie sets I selected for each day of my trip. I've relished the pictures of you flashing me while you're at work

so fucking much

,"] his voice growled at the mention. ["Do you know how hard you've made me, baby girl? How much I've ached and throbbed for you? Even in the midst of my business meetings?"]

His voice dropped lower still, a predatory sound. ["I can't wait to be home today to finally use you as my personal set of pretty holes."]

Something between a gasp and a whimper escaped her now. The fire of his hunger for her igniting desire so profound she could feel the wetness slick the delicate skin at her center. She pressed the flesh of her thighs together all the tighter, willing friction to exist where no permission to touch herself had been given.

["You want to cum for me don't you, baby girl?"]

He knew her so profoundly, so intimately. She could hide no secrets from him, and her vulnerability was the summit of her submission. Never before had anyone allowed her to let go so completely, to trust so implicitly, or to fulfill every desire to depths she herself could not fathom. The ache to fill her own pussy and release the furnace Daddy had stoked for days was almost unbearable. It existed like a voice inside her head now--a siren song calling her to crash against the rocks of disobedience and carnal pleasure.

["Not yet, love. Not yet. You're going to tell me all about it when I'm home. You'll use your words for me, baby girl. Daddy knows you so well."]

His voice continued as the message played on, but she allowed herself a frustrated growl, and an exhalation of breath akin to a trapped animal caught between rage and resignation. It was a rare moment of raw--if small--defiance for her.

"I heard that."

Her eyes flew open, her head snapping to the doorway.

Silhouetted there, the form of Him, of Love, of Sir, of Master, stood in the threshold of the bedroom. His suitcase was still in his hand, and a dark smile pulled at his cheeks.

Daddy did nothing by accident.