Breakfast in Bed

"Put your apron on, Princess. You need to get to work and clean up this mess," I gesture to the piss drenched carpet and your clothes strewn all around.

You say nothing more, just an obsequious nod with downcast eyes. You know there is no point in arguing and I know the chastisement was effective. You are perfectly subservient and docile, just as you should be. I was successful in lashing your natural obstreperousness from you.

You pop your frilly apron on over your head and wrap it around your nakedness, tying a secure bow at the back. You set about cleaning the rug, while I change out of my wet clothes and rinse off in the shower. Not only am I covered in your pee, I'm also sweaty from my exertions. Disciplining you is hard work.

****

When I return, you have cleaned and tidied. You are sitting in a chair, still moist with piss, still naked but for your apron, and awaiting further instructions. I can tell by your face and the way you writhe awkwardly in your seat, your pussy is yearning for satisfaction. I think perhaps I have made you wait long enough.

Taking you by the hand, I guide you up the stairs towards the bedroom. You follow obediently, trustingly.

I lay you on your back this time. Down on the bed so you're nice and comfy. Kisses on your face, your forehead, nose, cheeks and chin. I save your heavenly lips for last. My tongue enters your mouth, instinctively searching, exploring. My hand wanders, lifting your apron, parting your thighs and finding you delectable little cunt.

My fingers glide freely into your soaking wet snatch. I am overcome by the desire to taste you, to feel your soft labia on my mouth, to consume your young flesh.

Without another moment's thought, I'm between your legs. Kissing, licking, sucking, biting, devouring you with ravenous greed. Your juices are like nectar to me, as sweet as honey and as gratifying as manna from heaven. My tongue probes you and fingers spread your folds.

As I feel the crisis of orgasm rise in your gut, I focus my tongue, lips and teeth on your sensitive, aching clitoris. My fingers plunge in deep and hard, filling you. How many do I have in there? Two? Three? Four? You can't tell and you don't care. You just want to come, to reach the ecstatic relief of orgasm at your daddy's hand.

The tension builds within you, getting closer and closer. Muscles in your abdomen and limbs strain and tauten, all the way to your clenching fingers and curled toes. Even your face is contorted in splendid torment.

"Don't stop, Daddy. Don't Stop!"

The culmination of an entire day's denial explodes in a tidal wave of bliss. It rips through you, like lightning through a pitch black sky. An unrestrained, stentorian cry before your eyes roll back in your head and your muscles finally slacken.

You lie, trembling, on the bed. I slowly remove my sticky fingers from your still spasming sex and offer them up to your half open mouth. Instantly and dutifully you lap up every trace of your gruel.

Now that you appetite has been temporarily sated, I carefully remove your apron to reveal your nakedness once again. I pull back the bed clothes and position your quiescent body underneath. You make no hint of protest in your tranquil, submissive state and allow me to tuck you in snugly, for a well earned nap before dinner time. I lie with you, cuddling my girl. As you drift off into a placid slumber, you whisper,

"Thank you, Daddy."