Confessional

"Tell me what you thought about."

"I thought about you."

"I know you did, baby. Tell me."

"We were in the shower... you were behind me. I could feel your cock pressed against me."

"Was I hard?"

"Semi... I could feel it getting stiffer, but you were somewhat distracted, so it was still mostly soft. I was pushing back against it a little, half heartedly trying to get you turned on."

"But you aren't in control, little one."

"I know that, Daddy. But it was my fantasy."

He chuckles. "Go on."

"You put your hand between my legs, kissing my ear. You were being so sweet to me. You were rubbing my clit while your other arm went around my waist."

"You must have been a good girl that day."

"I had been. And I leaned back and straightened a little and your fingers stopped. I knew what you would like, Daddy."

"Oh, yes?"

"I leaned my head back into the crook of your neck and began to piss over your hand, letting it run down my legs and mix with the shower water."

"I would like that, baby."

"And when I was done, you brought the hand to my mouth, making me lick your hand clean. And of course, I did, so you told me I was a good girl and kissed my ear. And by that time you were rock hard, I could feel it."

"I was, now, was I?"

"You were, and your hand went back to my pussy and began to rub again. I began to rock into your hand and I bent forward a little, your hand working my clit hard. I arched and ached, letting you rub me until I knew I was dripping. You told me to bend a little more, to put my hands on the wall and I did, feeling the wet tile as the water ran over me."

I saw you shift in your chair.

"I felt you grab my hips and push your cock inside of me. You started fucking me, really hard, immediately, just because you know how much it hurts at first, and how much I like the hurt. I was whimpering and bracing as my pussy was stretching around you, feeling you pound me."

"How hard was I pounding you, baby?"

"It was really rough, just to make sure I was extra sensitive. And then you stopped, and I just was gasping, trying not to fight too hard. I was pulsing and tensing my pussy around your cock, just waiting. And then you started to fuck me hard and slow, just the way I like it."

"And how did it feel?"

"Amazing, I was pushing back against you, desperate as you began to fuck me. It was perfect, feeling your hard, pulsing cock working my tight little cunt. And just when I started really loving it, just as I was feeling like I was not just enjoying it, but building to cum. I knew you could feel that and you slowed, pulling almost all the way out. And then I felt you grab my hair, slamming your cock in as you pulled my head back, my face directly in the water."

"How mean."

"I was choking, barely breathing, coughing as the water went into my nose and throat and lungs. I knew you were making me tighten as hard as I could, and when you pulled out again, you pushed my head down. I was gasping. And then you did it again, this time a little longer, knowing I couldn't get any air. I hated how much I loved that you didn't even care about the choking, that you weren't getting off on it, that it was a means to an end."

"I'm a son of a bitch, baby."

"Yes you are. And you kept doing that, pulling my hair, making me choke, and every time you thrust inside me, it was harder, and hurt a little more. You finally began to fuck me again, letting my head drop, your arm going back around me, your hand going back to my pussy and I knew what was coming. You started working my clit as you pulled out, and shoved your cock into my ass."

"It's Daddy's property, baby."

"Yes, Daddy."

"And what did I do, then?"

"You began to fuck my ass, your hand on my pussy, rubbing my clit. And then I felt you cum inside me, pumping your load into my ass, your fingers painfully tight on my pussy."

"I own my little girl, right?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"And you took my load?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"And that's what you fantasized about? Me cumming inside your ass?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Daddy."

Good girls are made, not born.

She is standing, and she knows not to move. She dressed so pretty for me, a token which I appreciate, in her sweet, strapless dress. The soft browns and golds look lovely against her soft, goosefleshed skin.
She stands as still as possible, dead in the center of the floor. I could do anything to her and she would take it. I know she fears the pain that will come. I know she dreads the hair-pulling, name-calling, tear-staining moments which await her. I know that it excites her, too. I know she has been waiting for this.
"Legs open, baby." I whisper into her ear. I have little interest in being cold. I much prefer to coax her, and let her know that I am not here to be cruel, simply to make her better. I stroke her jawline softly with the pad of my thumb, smiling as I pull out the blindfold.
I see her breath catch a little in anticipation. I close the fabric over her eyes and let her tense and relax at the same time.
"Tell me how you're feeling baby." I step back and watch her mouth open while she thinks.
"I..." she breaths softly, and I can feel the hesitation. "I'm nervous... I'm excited..." I waited. There was more. "I'm wet." I smiled, but there was nothing I had not already known. "I want to be a good girl for you, but I'm nervous... I've never served a girl before." There it was.
"Good girl." She smiled, shifting her weight slightly. I stood back, allowing her to get both more comfortable and disoriented in her wait. I slid my hand between her legs, my hand meeting the wet patch of fabric that rested there. I rubbed it softly, her hips meeting the pads of my fingers as her cheeks to turn at my knowing she has soaked her panties.
"Legs together." She shifts up. I slowly pull her panties down, streaks of wetness left on the inside of her thighs. She steps out of them.
"Mouth open." She is trying her hardest to be so good for me. "Now... you know I'm not interested in your wearing panties, baby."
"I'm sorry-" she starts to say.
"No. Don't be sorry. I have no interest in sorrys. Now you know, and you will only make a mistake once around me. Now mouth and legs open."
She opens her mouth and slowly I fill them with her wet panties for her to hold. She spread her legs again, standing with them wide. She has been so good and I'm quite looking forward to training her. I would like her to be the best, and I think she could be at least quite good.
"Good girl." I put my hand back between her legs, sliding one and then two fingers inside her, slowly curling them, working them inside her wet pussy. Her hips move against my hand as my thumb moves to her clit, moving in small but worthwhile circles.
I hear tiny noises come in waves. I move in closer to her, my body wrapping around her smaller frame just slightly. I push deeper into her cunt, fucking her slowly but forcefully, my fingers soaked in her wetness.
"Do you want to be a good girl for me?" She nods.
I put a finger into her mouth and she sucks eagerly, trying so hard to please.
"Are you nervous for how much it will hurt to be a good girl for me?" She nods again.
I dig my nails into the soft curve of her ass and she whimpers. I release, only to spank her hard, making her push forward harder into my hand.
"Are you hoping that I'm going to push you?" She nods.
I press my finger against her ass, feeling her tense and relax, tense and relax, her heart and cunt fluttering.
"And are you excited?" My fingers work into her ass and cunt, fucking her steadily, pushing her softly. She nods.
"Do you want it?" She nods again and I fuck her pussy harder, cum dripping down her thighs as I curl my fingers and work her tight cunt. She keeps nodding, panties still pressed into her mouth. I push a finger deeply into her ass, filling every hole of hers. Her hips buck back and forth, harder.
"Do you really want it all, baby girl?"
She nods again, her hands tightening, fingers curling into her palm in what will be painful when she releases.
I pull my fingers out, wiping her cum on her cheeks. She will wear it.
"Then you're going to earn it, baby." She pauses, and when she regains her composure, she will nod, but I will already have left her alone.

There's only you tonight

I sit on his back. There is always a lot of skin on skin, but today I opt to wear a few choice pieces: latex gloves, a hair bow, and the thinnest of sheer panties and a matching lace bra. The side of one calf is nestled into his side, the curl of my toes just barely grazing his cocked thigh. The other leg is bent, and my foot rests comfortably on his arm.
I lean down, kissing the back of his neck, keeping my hands from touching anything by holding my arms out so the kiss looks like a swan dive. I kiss over and over, up his neck and down his shoulder. I can feel his breath, as every time his chest rises it grazes my nipples. I can feel it slowing as he relaxes into the bed, into my body, and into what is about to happen
I slowly grind my hips into him, letting him feel how wet I am getting as my cunt begins to drip over his back. I can feel his hips rise slightly, knowing he is getting hard into the comforter. This only gets me wetter. I imagine his cock swelling, I picture taking it into my mouth as I open my lips and bite the skin of his neck and then shoulder. Holding it in my teeth, I tighten and softly lick, stroking his flesh with the tip of my tongue.
After a long moment, where I will either have to stop this or fuck him I sit up.
His skin is prepped and cleaned, ready for me to do what I love. I slowly pinch his skin in my fingers, rolling it slowly between my fingers until it is ready for me.
I pull the needle from its casing and drop the shell with an empty clink onto the metal tray beside us.
"Breathe in, Love." I feel his chest rise, holding it for a second. As he begins to let his breath out I slide the needle through the soft skin of his shoulder, right where wings would sprout from his back if only he freed them. He feel him shudder and then relax. I place the palm of my hand on him back.
I move slightly down, pinching more skin, telling him to breathe, repeating this ritual over and over. I poke and prod him, letting metal slip through this thin shell of his body, feeling him shudder and shake and growl each time. I feel every place of hesitancy of the needle. I try and push each through smoothly, but now and then there is a bit of resistance and I notice my breath catching with each stubborn needle. I push them in, tapping them all the way once they poke through the other side.
I place five and then six, ten and then fifteen and then twenty needles into a fan over his back. I decorate the canvas of beautiful curves and valleys over muscle and sinew with pretty silver tipped in blue. I string a gloved finger over the bumps that the metal lines create in his back. They are tiny bits of braille covering him in a wide, sparkling semi circle.
I slowly stroke the other side of his back, feeling the muscles tense and flex and relax, rippling from the slightest of touches. I stroke his hair, softly twirling it with one hand as I strum over the needles with the other.
And then I begin to tap them, making sure they are all securely in their place. I then sit back, bracing myself, planting a hand on the small of his back. I pull back and make a fist, coming down hard on the needles. I gasp at my own release of pent energy. I can feel him tense in desperate pain and I shiver at the thought of causing it. I swallow, trying to regain the calm and composure I need to finish this as precisely as I started. I punch again.
I hear him cry out, tensing his fingers tightly around the pillow and tensing every muscle at once. I do it again, punching over the needles, knowing there will be blood and bruises and a beautiful sun red and purple marks which I will stroke and touch and help to heal. Right now, though, they must be caused.
I punch down over and over, making sure every single needle gets hard smack, making sure the semi circle is complete before stopping. I am teetering on reckless as I pound over and over, feeling my body pulse only when my fist comes down. My heart beats in time, squeezing out more of my blood as I demand more of his.
He is crying out, wincing and groaning with each smack. Even when I stop I can hear his breath ragged and enraged. He is holding back everything which tells him to turn over and destroy me. With his size and strength, I know he could without a thought, needles still sticking from him.
I pause, placing the flat of my palm on his un-mangled skin. Finished punching, my skin is tingling with energy.  I feel like I've just cum with a hand tight on my throat. I stroke, running the tips of my fingers over his arm, strumming the length of it like a harp. I pull off my glove and run my fingers through his hair. I slide off his back and lean forward to kiss his shoulder.
I wait until his breathing calms, kissing softly across his neck, shoulder, down his arm. I lay next to him, fingers stroking over his side, leg wrapped around his, cheek resting calmly on his bicep. His heart slows, his breathing slows, his body relaxes.
I climb back on top of him. There is a crescent moon of pure pain and violent destruction rounding over his skin. There are already pricks of blood forming, and I know there will be cascading red streaks as soon as I begin to pull the needles.
I grab a new pair of gloves and paper towels and begin to slow process of pulling them out one by one. I pull quickly and slowly, feeling him writhe under me. As his hips rise and fall, it only makes me wetter. I slip needle by needle out of his skin as blood waterfalls down his side and into the waiting towel and what is revealed is the most beautiful sunset of reds and purples I have ever seen.

Progress

Every 30 minutes, a bell dings. Until then, the ticking is painful. I don't know how he's still working so calmly when the ticking, the seconds disappearing, continues. The first half hour in I was told to remove my clothes. I gladly stripped down to naked save my glasses. I folded each piece of clothing diligently and put it aside. As soon as it was complete, the timer was reset and the ticking continued.

30 minutes. The bell dings and I had almost forgotten, working away on my laptop, reading reports and trying to form an advocacy argument out of it. I am editing rapidly, completely engrossed in the world before me and not around me. I am told to move to the ground. I have lost privileges to the furniture. I nodded, scooting down to the floor, placing my laptop on the chair, continuing to type and read and edit.

It only takes a few minutes before my knees begin to ache. I shift into a curl on my legs and try again to lose myself into my notes. I am curled at his feet, leaning against his leg. He feels so comforting as he works. I can feel as he looks down sometimes, and that is all I need.

30 minutes. He steps behind me and slides a hard posture collar round my neck. My shoulder sink and my neck lengthens to accommodate. As he sits back down, he sets the time and the ticking becomes more present. I try and focus on my work, but it's useless. The collar chokes me every time I look down at my laptop. I shift, trying to sit lower, trying to move my laptop higher, but it only works for a few minutes before I have to try again.

30 minutes. The bell dings and I look up, nervous. Without a word, he points towards the wall in front of me and I look forward, my face freezing in that moment. My fingers are poised on the keyboard in front of me, held in the perfect waiting position from years of piano lessons. Practice, practice, practice. He takes a pair of cuffs and secures them to my wrist. I wait for another step but he goes back to work. I lean over and kiss his leg softly for being so kind in this round.

30 minutes. He leans over and takes my wrists behind my back, clasping them together. I look up at him, opening my mouth to ask.

"Keep working."

I nod and lean down, typing in awkward jerks with my tongue and nose. I try and switch back to reading but moving the mouth with my face frustrates me and I fight not to cry at my own inabilities.

30 minutes. I have been struggling, the ticking of the seconds feel like a cruel teasing. They are becoming torturous as I feel like a failure in this round. I have written a few words which are just barely removed from gibberish, and have been trying to read, mostly unsuccessfully. But the bell has tolled. He grabs my hair and has me stand. He kicks my legs open and locks a cuff to each ankle, and a spreader bar to each cuff. He grabs my long ponytail, knotting it tightly around a ring and pulls the ring tightly up, hooking it onto a post I didn't even notice above me. I am simply supposed to stand and wait. I can barely move my head, forcing me to do so whether I like it or not.

He walks back but not to his desk. He returns with a piece of metal which makes me shake my head violently. I want to scream, my mouth tightly shut.

"Stop."

I shake harder, whimpering and he grabs my face.

"Open."

I start to cry, feeling my mouth open whether I like it or not. Once it is cracked, I feel his feelings push my teeth in either direction and the metal dental spreader slide in. He forces my mouth open and locks it.I stand perfectly still, tears still streaming down my face. He sits down and re-sets the timer. As the ticking feels slow and fast at the same time, I continue to cry, waiting, legs spread and standing, just staring forward. I don't know what is coming next but I know there is no fighting it and I will accept whatever is next on the list. Sometimes my own submission frightens me. While the ticking is making me more and more anxious, it is still a marker that I have time left before the next stage.

My legs struggle not to give out, wanting to simply curl up at his feet and beg him to stop. I am terrified of what is in store. I move my tongue around a little, trying to see if I can form words enough to beg him for no more, that I am done and I can only couch and gurgle a little. I want to beg for release, but it will not come. I don't even have the words to ask for mercy.

I hear the bell.

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine

So as some of you may already know - I moved on up to the East side! It's only few a little while, but it's quite a change from my beloved Brooklyn. It's going to be a nice change for summer, though. I've never lived in Manhattan, I've never lived by myself, I've never been surrounded by so many khaki-wearing white people...
But there are some very specific things I am excited for. The men in suits here are gloriously dapper. It could easily be an Electra-style complex inspired by the many years where I watched my father coming every night and take off his suit jacket and loosen his tie, but one of my deepest and most resonating fetishes is a man in a suit he knows how to wear.
When I am Daddy's girl, I dream about undressing him after a long day of work. I think about wearing a sweet little dress for him, something light and wispy, something with a little frill and a little lace. I wear panties (no bra) which match the sweetness of the dress.
When he comes in I am ready for him, and greet him with the longest of kisses. He walks and sits down and I trail behind him, giddy that he is home. As he walks I slide off his jacket and fold it over my arm, and then lay it to the side.
He sits and I kneel. I begin at his feet, kneeling and removing his shoes, his socks. Each is put aside, heels clicked together on the floor and laces re-tied. His socks are balled and placed next to (but never on!) his jacket. I ask him about his day, and his answers are always short, always banal place holders for longer answers he is not interested in sharing but I am happy to hear.
I slide up, my arms resting on his legs and look up at him. He caresses my face softly and I close my eyes, nuzzling his hand. His hand slides around to my ponytail, holding it tightly in his hand. I wince softly as my scalp adjusts to the sharp ache. His hand relaxes just slightly and I know what to do. I reach up and unbutton his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down just enough. I pull down the fabric of his underwear, which today is a beautiful bright green, and pull out his cock. It is slowly moving towards half hard and I lean forward.
His grip tightens and I watch him smile. I smile back at him, even though the ache is still present.
I open my mouth and extend my tongue as much as possible. He holds my head in place, tongue reaching and extending until it touches his cock. The beginning will be the hardest, where I can barely reach him. I push forward, running the tip over the head as much as possible, leaving little filigree designs of saliva all over the head. I flick and lap at the slit coaxing a little precum towards the front so I can taste him already. He lets me pull forward a little more and I maneuver my tongue under the tip. I can not yet reach enough to take it in my mouth, but I can at least stroke the head with the pad of my tongue, mouth wide and reaching. I want to take him in my mouth and feel him get hard next to my cheek. I want to slide my wet mouth from base to tip and back down, but his hand is so tight, I can only whimper periodically.
I feel him growing and swelling against my tongue. I rub the head with the tip of my tongue eagerly, trying to get him harder. He watches as I grow more and excited by this and shifts in his seat to make it easier for him. As he gets harder, and as his grip loosens, I am finally able to take him, slowly, into my mouth.
I am gleeful as his cock grows and stiffens. And without the slightest warning he pushes my head down on his cock, forcing himself into my mouth and throat. I choke, cough, not ready to have him so deep in my mouth but he does not relent. I am forced to adjust with his cock already in my throat. I squeeze his legs, my eyes watering furiously, and slowly breathe through my nose.
"Good girl."
I nod slightly as he simply holds me by the hair tightly. I slowly begin to lick, and then to suck. My fingers go from tense to relaxed to tense again on his thighs. As I begin to try and bob up and down on his cock he pulls my head back. I gasps, a line of pretty spit hammocked between my bottom lip and the head of his cock. I look up at him, eyes still watery and a tear of mascara now smeared below my lashes.
He pushes my head back down, all the way to the base, on his cock. I choke again but for less time now, trying to immediately suck him like the good girl I try so desperately to be.
As I suck he begins to pump my head roughly. It is his way of fucking my mouth. He tightens his grip on my hair and pulls me back before shoving my mouth back down. I can feel as spit drenches his cock and lap, tears run down my face as I gag over and over and over again.
And then he stops. I sit back a little to catch my breath.
"Good girl. Keep going."
I nod, asking him whether he would like a drink in the smallest whisper I can eek out.
"Not yet."
I smile up at him as I lean up to loosen his tie. I pull it open and slide it through the collar of his shirt. This morning, I sat on the bathroom counter and very carefully shaved him. I softly touch the skin of his neck, letting my fingers dawdle over the jaw line. Daddy has the most beautiful jaw line.
I unbutton his shirt, pulling out his cuff links and setting everything aside. I roll up his tie into a soft coil, fold his shirt into a perfect square, and delicately place his gold cuff links to the side.
Feeling a little more brazen, I straddle his lap, sliding my arms around his bare shoulders.
"Daddy? I would like a kiss."
"Oh is that so?"
I nod.
"And do you think you deserve it?"
"I have tried to be a good girl for you today. And if there is more I should do to earn it, I will do that."
He smiles and caresses my face softly. I relax into his hand just enough for him to pull back and smack me across the face.
"Did you really ask for a kiss before you finished undressing Daddy?" I nod, eyes cast down and move to crawl back between his legs. He stops me by grabbing my jaw. "Good girls aren't selfish. Good girls complete their tasks before they ask for rewards."
I nod, tears welling up as he scolds me. I regret being so bold. His hand does not release my face, and he forces me to stare at him as I struggle not to cry.

"But good girls also know how to ask very sweetly for what they want. And they understand that Daddy can say yes or no, but they may still ask."
I nod again, and he pulls me closer, lifting my chin and bringing my mouth to his. I kiss him back tentatively, but relax into my own eagerness. I lean in, sliding my tongue against his, arms gliding around his shoulders.
When I finally pull back (far too soon) he nudges me back down between his legs. I diligently sit and continue to undress him, pulling off his slacks, folding them, and then his underwear, holding them as well. On my knees, between his legs, I have perfect posture. I rest my arms on his thighs, his hard cock pointed up at me. I look up at him and open my mouth. I pause, letting him know that if you wants to hold my head and fuck my throat until I cry, that is his choice. He smiles and nods for me to continue.
I lean down, sucking him into my mouth. I am hungry, gagging myself on his cock with my over excitement. I plunge it deep into my throat, couching just slightly as my throat opens for him. I hear him sigh loudly and continue to bob up and down, my lips stroking his shaft.
My fingers find his balls, stroking them and working them as they fill with Daddy's sweet cum. I bounce on his cock faster, sucking heartily. This is my only purpose in this moment. Nothing else matters as much as milking Daddy's hard cock into my mouth with my own lips, at tasting every drop of precum before swallowing every drop of his cum. Over and over and over again I achingly suck on him. I want to taste him more than anything else in the world. It would make me nothing short of gleeful to have a mouthful of him cum.
He pushes forward and holds my head softly, and I know he is ready. He groans, tightening his fingers on my head and cums, exploding wave after wave into my mouth. I suck and suck, swallowing every last drop. I want it all so, so much.
I sit back on my feet and wipe my mouth. My eyes are watery, tears have streamed down my face. I must look like such a mess for him and I feel bashful. He breathes hard, leaning forward to stroke my hair, and then leans forward to kiss me on the lips. I touch his neck softly, kissing him back so sweetly that he knows how much I want to thank him for every drop of his cum.
"Can you take more, baby?"
I nod. I know exactly what he means. He watches me take a deep sigh as I nod, shoulders shifting up and back down.
He stands and strokes my hair. "Lets not get anything on that pretty dress of yours, ok?"
"Yes, Daddy." I nod and open my mouth, leaning a little forward, just in case.
I watch the edge of his mouth cock a little. He knows I'm nervous and that's why I'm leaning forward but doesn't say anything. I am still new and trying and he appreciates this.
He lays his soft cock in my open mouth. I stay perfectly still, trying not to get him hard again. He relaxes, breathes softly and slowly I feel him fill my mouth with his piss. I close my lips around his cock and begin to swallow over and over and over again. I feel his eyes on me, but I still can't look at him while he is doing this. It still makes me blush. It still makes me feel so low and used and worthless and small and wet and swollen. I am Daddy's and this is what he has asked of me and I will do this for him. Only him.
He finishes and I swallow, breathing softly. I hate this. I can't look up at him. I keep my eyes down, my chin dropped practically to my chest.
He crouches down and lifts my face but my eyes remain down.
"Thank you for being such a good girl for me." He whispers to me. "You are a very good girl."
I force a tiny smile and he lifts my face further, kissing me again and sliding his arms around me. I wrap mine around his neck and kiss him back aggressively. I push my mouth, my face, my body into him and he takes all of me. This is what Daddy wants of me, and I will be his good girl. Always.