Content Note: As with all my erotica, particularly involving DD/lg characters, please note that the use of “girl” and “Daddy” are expressive, not literal. All characters are of age and all power exchange dynamics are pre-negotiated. All punishment is consensual.
“I had a dream about being punished.”
Her eyes drop and she fidgets with the cuff of her sweater, nudging closer to me, stealing/sharing my pillow.
“Oh? Do tell.” My interest is immediately piqued. This is not a girl who enjoys punishments, in fact she will do almost anything to avoid them. I can see the shame in the pink of her cheeks as she begins to tell me about the dream. Even her dreamself seems mortified at being punished.
“There was no ‘story’, I don’t know what you were punishing me for,” she pauses to gauge my response and my smile encourages her to continue. She cuddles closer and begins again.
“You had me sit in a hard-backed chair – like a kitchen chair – and you pulled up another chair to sit in front of me, close enough that our knees touched …”
She pauses, concentrating on the details, the cuff of her sweater twists between her fingers until I lay my hand over hers and she notices the fidgeting. She takes my hand instead.
“You made me stick out my tongue and you held it between your thumb and fingers. Tight. It didn’t really hurt because nothing hurts in a dream but, if it was real life it would have hurt a bit or been very uncomfortable.”
“Was that the punishment? I just held your tongue? Maybe you said something you shouldn’t have and Daddy was reminding you.”
Her eyes get big as I imply that it’s a decent and reasonable punishment. I enjoy watching her squirm even though neither of us can even remember when or why I last needed to punish her.
“You were holding my tongue very tightly and you made me apologize.”
“While I held your tongue? So your apology was all garbled?”
“Yes! It was so hard to say and I couldn’t speak clearly. And Daddy, it made me drool. There was so much drool. It was all over my chin and your hand and it made me so embarrassed and I felt so small and controlled.”
“But you love feeling small and controlled,” My hand strokes her hip and thigh and our foreheads are nearly touching. She’s so cute as she tells me the story, I am struggling not to interrupt by pinning her under me and kissing her until we’ve both forgotten what we were talking about. I let her go on, enjoying her telling of the punishment dream.
“I do, Daddy, I do, but the drooling made me so cringey and humiliated.”
“I reckon that was part of the punishment, Princess. Daddy knows how to push your buttons. What did you have to say to apologize?”
“I don’t remember, but I had to say it over and over and over and you just kept holding my tongue. You also said, ‘Look at me.’ in a stern way, you know – that voice you use, the Daddy voice – and I couldn’t look away. You eventually let me stop apologizing but you kept holding my tongue and making me look up at you and I was so helpless …”
Her voice drifts off, her eyes are a bit glassy and she’s lost in a thousand yard stare, wandering through her memory and imagination. I continue to caress her thigh and touch her face occasionally as she works through her thoughts about the dream, her fingers idly stroking the hair on my forearm. She’s getting lost in the telling of the dream and she’s softening into a doll-like state; pliant and delicate.
“Did it feel good to be so helpless, held by your little pink tongue?”
The words ‘little pink tongue’ have the effect I was hoping for, and her eyes widen and she looks back at me, nodding. I ask her to tell me more, delighted by her confessions.
“When I was punished enough you said I was a good girl and you wiped the drool on your hand down my face really slowly. It felt so gross but also it felt the same as when you come on me or you bruise me. It felt like wiping the drool on me and making me messy with my own mess was you showing me that you can do anything you want and you are totally in control.”
“Accurate.” I say, and she giggles.
“Yes, Daddy, but this was so clear and powerful because then you said – in that same stern daddy voice – ‘go clean yourself up’, and the shame of it Daddy …”
She slips back into the thousand yard stare and I can see her concentrating to put words together. She’s plunged herself into subspace with the re-telling of the dream and it’s quite something to watch her articulate herself without real shame, even when what she’s telling me could be so humiliating to share. The trust and vulnerability in her face is intoxicating.
“Then what happened, sweetheart?”
“That was it, Daddy. There were cuddles and then the dream sort of changed and that’s all I remember.”
“Thank you for telling me about it. How do you feel?”
“I don’t ever want to misbehave, Daddy but I kind of … I kind of want that punishment. It was so exciting and intense and I felt so … yours.”
“You felt like ‘mine’ because you are, Princess. You don’t have to be bad for Daddy to hold your little pink tongue and make you make a mess for me. I have a feeling the wetter your mouth gets the wetter your cunt gets. Am I wrong?”
“No Daddy, you are not wrong.”
“Let’s see how right I am …”
Every Damn Day In June is exactly what it sounds like: it’s a writing prompt run by the most excellent and effervescent, Hyacinth Jones and all it requires is that you write every damn day in June. Link up your posts on Hy’s site and join in!