Kitten

Your fingers leave my cunt entirely, and I moan a little in frustrated need, but can feel more than your thumb on my clit now, can feel your fingers slippery and sliding around me, stroking the length of that sensitive band of tissue, left hand side, right hand side, and then, curiously, concentrating on the left hand side. And I realise that that is precisely what I do, when I play for you, when I've masturbated on command. I always do concentrate on that side of my clit, and you are mimicking that now. The stroking turns to circular movements, wider diameter, then shrinking. And then you aren't circling, you're rubbing, with more than one finger. And, fuck, all sensation in my cunt is by the by. I can feel myself building to orgasm now.

And then a splash of fear, because I know I can't cum, won't cum. Something must change in my body language, you must sense my sudden reticence, for you lean in and whisper in my ear, "You may not cum, kitten. Do you hear me? You may not cum. Daddy doesn't want you to. You don't have permission."

I cry out at this, this invasion of my headspace. It isn't up to you, is what I start to think. You aren't controlling this. But then, yes, yes you are. And I can't cum anyway, you know that, so why tell me I can't. And your fingers are rubbing, faster now, my clit and labia slick with my slime, and the underlying lube, so silky, so wet. I can feel the urge to cum return, the shutdown response blown away.

You chuckle.

"Oh yes, I know you want to. I can feel your body tighten against me. Do you not know, kitten, that your clit swells, and hardens, when you get very close? I can feel it, I can feel your little clit responding to Daddy, tightening and sharpening for me. She wants to please me. But is she listening, kitten. Are you listening to Daddy. I know you want to cum, but you can't. I'm not going to let you. I'm. Saying. No."

And, perverse as it is, you telling me that I can't, that you don't want me to, instead of being heard by me as a command not to cum, is instead heard as a permission to not have to. That sliding away of a shutdown response is because you don't want me to anyway. You aren't giving me permission. So, I don't need to cum, don't need to want to cum, to please you. I need to not cum. And that's easy.

Except it isn't, because you are whispering in my ear again.

"Oh, kitten, do you know how beautiful you are, when you're so desperate to cum?"

Your hand has slipped to grab a handful of my hair hard in your left hand, pulling against my scalp.

"So wanton, legs splayed, mewling at me, flushed, your clit hard, your needy little cunt dripping. Oozing at me. Greedy little slut, you are. Greedy little kitten, and right now, Daddy just wants to shove his cock into that mewling throat of yours, shut you up and fuck that mouth good and hard."

Your hand shakes my head back and forth as the fingers of your right hand dance over my clit, pressure, heat, sensation, slippery sliding goodness. And that's it. Those few words, telling me what you want to do to me, your hand in my hair, tip me irrevocably. Your command not to cum stands for naught in the onslaught of your words.

And you sense it, and grip my hair all the harder, and as my body arches against your hand, and my mouth opens to scream the arrival of my orgasm, you say, "Come for me, kitten, come for daddy, come all over my hand." And fuck knows how you know to do this, but your thumb presses into my clit, circling, as you push three of your fingers hard up inside my cunt, just as the crashing spasms of orgasm tear at me, ripping through my cunt and up my arching body and emerging as an unholy scream from my throat.

Waves of sensation burst through my cunt as your fingers pump and push deep, deep inside me, fucking the orgasm into me, suspending the waves and prolonging it.

And then you're stilling me, shushing me, telling me I'm a good girl, good kitten. Daddy's very proud. Hush, quiet now. And I am curling into you, drawing my legs together and up, towards you, your fingers still deep inside me, my cunt holding you there, gripping and pulsing in the aftermath. My throat sharply burning from my scream. I can feel liquid dribbling from me, over your hand, sliding down my arse and falling to the sheets. I feel myself sob against your chest. You slowly withdraw your fingers, turn me so that my back is to you, and wrap your arms around me, pulling the glove from your right hand and dropping it to the floor.

"I'm here, my dear, let it go. I have you." And I cry for a time, the release so very welcome, and good. I am vulnerable, here in this space, so very vulnerable, but you have me, and I am safe. And I calm, and wiggle into you, heaving a huge sigh. I can feel the puddle of liquid underneath me, and groan as I feel another slick of it puddle from me and slide to the sheets. I laugh, and take your hand and guide it to my sopping cunt, and the cooling puddle on the bed.

You chuckle. "Are you going to try and tell me that's all me too, my dear?"

I laugh and press my arse back to the concave curve of you.

"No, Sir. I know it isn't. Funny though, right?"

"Right."

"And where the hell did kitten and Daddy come from, seriously?"

You laugh a low laugh behind me.

"I don't know. But, kitten," here you squeeze me tightly to you for a second, "do you care? Forgive me for saying this, but those words, well, uh, they did rather work, right?"

"Right."

I am silent for a moment. And then speak again, a whisper, "Thank you. Thank you, Daddy."

You squeeze me to you again, kiss my hair. "You're welcome, kitten."