Coming Home

When I come in, you're sitting there. I don't remember the last time you were here before me... I usually rush to get in first, to be waiting for you. I live in the anticipation of seeing your face, Daddy.

When I see your face, I struggle to read it. You are always so calm, so collected that my breath catches. I can tell when you're angry. I can tell when you are excited (which is often just a reflection of my own giddiness, projected onto you). But today you are just neutral.

I walk in and pull off my jacket, my fingers trembling with each large, wooden button. But they slip through the holes and I slide it off, a sweet baby blue dress draping my hunched shoulders underneath. I wear thick, woolen grey tights and red Mary Janes, and I already feel over-dressed. It is only moments before I will be stripped bare, but in the moment I feel silly in my clothes.

You motion me over and I practically skip over to stand in front of you, standing between your knees as you sit comfortably.

"Hi Daddy."

"Hi, Baby." I stare, quiet, unable to hide the smile that always accompanies my time with you.

"You saw a boy today, didn't you?" I nod, taking a shallow breath. You knew this all along, knew when I would be with him, knew when I would leave him. I'm sure you could even imagine the things he was doing to me. "Did you have a good time?"

I nod again, a bit afraid. All I want, all I ever want, is to let you know how devoted I am to you. How I ache for you when you are not there. How I think about you when I cum, when I am curled up in a chair, when I am putting a hand between my legs in bed.

"Good girl." I smile, only realizing that I was holding my breath when I release it. "Take your clothes off. Let me see you."

I nod, walking to the side of the chair to slip out of my shoes and pull off my dress. My nipples are already tight and hard. They are darkened from abuse, from use. I know he sees. He knows my body well enough to know. The rest of my skin is generally unmarked. He knows marks are for him and him alone. If he wanted to slice his name into my hip, I would gladly wear it.

I stand in front of you again, hands at my sides with fingers which ache to stroke. I know how soft the fabric of your shirt is and I want to feel it run under the tips of my fingers. I want to feel your firm shoulders, and if I am lucky, the heat of your chest.

Your hands begin to run over me, softly tracing the curves which are yours to devour. Starting with the tips, they become firmer, harder. As they skim down my thighs they begin to squeeze at the flesh. At first it is delicate, exploratory, but quickly it moves to something much more demanding.

I whimper as your rough hands pull and grope my flesh. And then I know.

"Spread your legs."

I do, opening them wide, my pussy open and waiting and wet and used.

"Hands behind your head."

I pull back my arms and look straight ahead, eyes locked and solid as my breath becomes more rapid. You stand and my unfocused eyes remain wet and still.

"Open your mouth."

I drop my jaw. This is where I know you will start. Your fingers begin the inspection, running over my teeth and tongue and gums in long swipes.

"Did you suck his cock?"

I nod, trying  to relax my tongue as you push down, your finger firm and thick.

"Did he fuck your throat?"

I nod again, and feel your index and middle finger push back. I begin to gag, to tremble a little. I can feel my eyes welling with tears as your fingers begin to thrust into my throat and then hold there, pushing slowly until I cough and sputter and try to keep my mouth open. I finally pull back and cough again, and then lean forward, mouth wide. Your fingers resume their investigation.

"Did he cum in your mouth?"

I shake my head, my tongue touching the back of my bottom lip, almost edging over as drool proceeds to drip, running down my chin and chest. You pull your fingers out and wipe them on my chest before your fingers move to my nipples, squeezing them painfully hard. I whimper.

"Do they hurt, baby?"

I nod.

"Tell me what he did."

I nod again, slowly closing my mouth and taking a breath. "He slapped my tits around while he was fucking me. He squeezed the nipples, first the right one and then the left one, and then both together. He used his fingers only, no clothes pins or teeth or anything."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"As much as I enjoy that kind of thing, yes, I did."

You nod and I look up at you, a little nervous. You smile down, lifting your fingers to my chin and pulling my head up. Your kiss is warming. I am safe here, still.

"I'm glad, baby." Your fingers pinch and squeeze my nipples. I wince,  whimper, and hold steady for you. "And tell me how he fucked you."

I nod, taking another breath. "He put his cock in my cunt. First he bent me over and fucked me doggie style. I was on my knees, ass in the air." And I feel your fingers thrust inside my wet cunt, still sore from earlier. I cry out just a little as three thick fingers push inside me. They do not thrust.

"How big was he?"

Your voice drops as your other hand grips my hip, pulling me closer. "Smaller than your fingers inside me right now. But he was rough. He pounded my cunt as hard as he could. I told him I wanted to be sore. I told him to fuck me harder."

Your fingers remain inside twisting, exploring, expanding, contracting. You are touching every spec inside me. They move deeper only, curling here and there to feel more. I know I must be dripping down your hand.

"I was pushing back against him, trying to get him deeper inside me. When I knew he was getting close I pulled back and laid on my back."

You smile and pull me a little closer and i can't help but smile for you, kissing your arm softly the second I am close enough. I always try and do this to you, you know how much I love being on my back when I cum. And unless I've been a good, good girl for you, you always hold my hips in place. Daddy always cums the way he wants, and I would have it no other way.

"And how hard did he fuck you?" Your fingers pull back and slam into my cunt. I can feel the tips of your fingers bruise my cervix and I almost drop my hands. I cry out, trembling a little. I stand up, interlacing my fingers again, and lean into you. "That hard?"

I shake my head. "No... no, Daddy."

You thrust again, a little softer but still firmly. I am already sore, and with the tingling from the last thrust, I shiver with such pure pleasure I can't stifle my own gasp. "That hard, baby?"

"No... not that hard, Daddy..."

I stammer. You thrust again a little softer. "That hard?"

"I... Daddy?"

You smile, knowing exactly what is happening. "Yes, baby?"

"It was that hard... but please fuck me harder... the second one... please?" I look up at you, my breath starting to quicken. You pull your fingers back and thrust harder. My jaw trembles hard, my chest almost seizing as I struggle to breathe through such incredible pleasure. I moan loudly, mouth opening against the fabric of your shirt.

And then your fingers are gone.

I am silent. Struck. "You have to earn that, baby."

I nod. "Anything, Daddy." I practically bark. You cradle my face softly. I lean into the curve of your hand, my eyes closing. Your hand pulls back and smacks me. Hard. I am stunned, but I know to stiffen my neck and hold my head up. My eyes remain closed as your hand begins to come down over and over and over, until my ears begin to ring. I pull back a little and you give me a long moment to regroup. You begin again in a moment, hitting me back and forth across the face until I can feel my cheek start to swell. I try and hold my head but I am shaking. I can only hear my own breath. Your hands continue, back and forth. I try and keep steady but it is becoming increasingly difficult. My eyes are watering, my skin is red and numb, and finally I taste blood in my mouth as my lips slices over my teeth. It will be swollen in the morning as well.

I know you see the crimson when you stop. Your hand comes back to hold my now damaged and broken face. I slowly open my eyes, looking up at you tentatively, but will all the love and warmth I can muster through my exhaustion.

"Thank you, Daddy."

I know he will fuck me. I know I will cum. I know he will cover me in his cum and I will gladly lick it up. And I know that today, tomorrow, and for as many days as I am allowed by nature, I will have the deepest and most glorious and sincere honor of wearing my Daddy's marks on my face. While he has bruised and marked and knicked and hurt me often, the swollen apple of my cheek and the blossoming swell of my lip are the most beautiful gifts he could give me, and the smile I cannot take off my face when I have them is the greatest gift I can give him.

There is nothing in the whole world I want more.