Careful What You Wish For

Be careful what you wish for. The devil doesn’t simply arrive with cloven hooves and sharpened horns.
He appears as everything you’ve ever wanted.

Content Warning: DD/lg kink, discipline, control, subspace, forced orgasm, reference to punishment spanking. This is a work of fiction in which the characters are consenting adults in a power exchange dynamic. Use of the nickname/honorific “Daddy” does not imply a father/daughter dynamic, nor ageplay. “Daddy” and “Princess” are terms of endearment used to highlight the power structure, nothing more. 

He is reading, sitting up in bed, focused and relaxed, a fingertip periodically touching the tip of his tongue before he turns a page. I am watching him from the next pillow, drinking him in as I lay quietly. This is our rhythm, our ritual. Each night I doze as he reads and when he is tired enough for sleep he will click out the light and wrap around me tightly. If he is not ready for sleep, he will roll over me and fill my body with himself. My flesh will supplicate, wordlessly, the wet between my legs confirming that his choice is the right one. 

I watch him in the lamp light; the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his concentration, and I’m filled with need. A reckless desperate hunger moves through me, the warmth of desire flushing my cheeks and chest. My touch is idle at first, fingertips skimming across my stomach under the blankets, barely even a conscious thought. My nipples grow pert and sharp against the sheet when my fingers meet the damp thatch of my lips, thighs still tight together. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t stop.

“Princess? What are you doing?”

“Being naughty, Daddy. “

“What are you doing?”

I ignore the question for a second time, but I manage a husky whisper. “So naughty …”

He goes back to his book with steely resolve; stoic, always the straight-man. Spurred on by his silence, I continue to pet myself without permission, bucking one of his only truly hard and fast rules. His non-response is a deafening response and I immediately feel petulant, sulking as I rub at my swollen cunt. I’m willing him to turn his head and praise me, or chastise me, so long as he sees me. I make a noise and he turns. This time his voice is crisper, a tone that makes my skin shiver. 

“Are you touching yourself, Princess?”

“Yes, Daddy …” He turns the page of his book and speaks again without looking up. 

“As long as you don’t come.” 

My fingertip draws a thread of slick wetness away from my body. Unmoved, he continues to read. Indignantly wanting his attention, I whimper and huff, until I’m sure that he’s not going to acknowledge my bad behaviour.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, my angel?”

“What if I was bad?”

“Then you’d be punished. You know that.” He sets down his book and looks at me plainly, his eyes sliding over my nakedness to my squelching cunt. I can’t quite look at him, unsure exactly what I’m trying to accomplish with my misbehaviour. One thing I do know is that I don’t want his eyes to leave me. I can’t help myself though, so I press him with another question.

“How would you punish me?” My voice shakes. His voice is steady, unrushed yet without hesitation.

“I’d spank you. Soundly. Until you were red and raw. Look at me. If you want to come you may ask. But be careful what you wish for.”

My eyes meet his patient gaze. My voice has crawled deep down my throat and out of reach, so I nod slowly. He smiles.

“Look at you,” he says as he touches my face, cupping my cheek with his palm. “Such a floaty girl. Those pretty eyes get so, so glassy.” He pets my head and I’ve all but forgotten that I’m rubbing at myself. His hand rests over mine, firmly. He presses and begins to move the pads of my fingers through the folds of my vulva, splitting them so our fingers careen along the sides of my clitoral hood, tugging it smoothly in both directions.

“Ask me, Princess. Daddy wants to give you what you need but you have to ask.” His face is in my neck now, and his body presses me into the bed. He repeats himself, this time more fervently. His request is a hot hiss at my ear, his teeth catching my tender lobe as if his bite was punctuation. I have relaxed my arm, my hand dipping into my wetness and scrubbing at my clit, under his hand. I can feel his eyes on me and the pressure of his hand on mine makes me bite at the tip of my tongue. I watch as he pushes our hands into the sweet damp under the covers, my hips rolling, soft ‘mmm-hmmms’ coming from his throat as he watches my bewildered ecstasy. My pulse throbs in my cunt and orgasm looms, rosy and warm, just out of reach.

“I’m so close, you got me so close so fast, Daddy.” I try to retract my hand, suddenly aware that I could come with little notice if he continues to stroke me, but his grip on my hand is sure and I can’t escape his targeted friction.

“I thought you wanted to come, Princess. You’re such a needy kitten you couldn’t even ask, but now you’re at the edge of reason and suddenly trying to stop what has already bee set into motion? That’s not how this works, Peaches.”

The condescension in his voice cuts through me and my legs fall open as he relentlessly rubs, driving me closer to the breaking point. I can feel him in every cell, and I’m aware that I’m making squeaking, mewling sounds at his touch, but I also hear them like a memory in a dream. My eyes are welling with tears of concentration and frustration, but even as I begin to run out of strength to resist my body’s urge to glut itself on his touch through my own hand, he presses on. His breath is hot on my shoulder and he growls as I gasp and squirm. 

“I told you to be careful what you wish for. You’re so close, I can smell the need dripping out of you. But do you have permission, Princess?” Again, his condescending tone undoes me and I yelp and shake my head no, tears streaming. He kisses me gently.

“That’s right. But you’re going to come anyway, because you wanted to be bad. This is what coming without permission feels like …” 

His hand comes away from my quivering slice and he slaps my clit quickly over and over until I’m howling with pleasure, bent backed and stiff in the clutches of la petite mort. He tweaks my fattened clit as his other hand crushes my breast and wrenches on my nipple. I’m delirious with pleasure and so deeply buried in his trance that the pain blurs and swirls with the happy hormones drenching my brain. I am limp and out of my body, a mindless doll, and I shake with exertion and over stimulation. His hands are in my hair and on my thighs now, we kiss and I feel him tether himself to me and reel me back down to earth. His dark eyes have shed their shadows and I smile when his voice makes my eyes flutter open.

“There she is … my very, very good girl.”