“Hmm.” Sliding his hand into the water, he strokes his fingers gently over my lips, and I make a show of wincing at the contact. “There doesn’t seem to be any visible irritation. I’ll have to see if Luna or Anya are available to take a look. I wouldn’t want any harm coming to my little doll tonight.”
I watch in horror as he pulls his phone from his pocket with one hand, while the other keeps my knees firmly apart. “Lift your hips, little one. I want to make sure I can send them a clear picture.”
“Daddy, no! No pictures!”
“Isabella, stop fussing. Daddy needs to make sure there’s nothing wrong with your little pussy.”
“It’s fine! It’s fine!”
Lowering the phone, Daddy raises a brow in a look that makes my core tremble with fear. “Well, which is it, Isabella? Is it fine or are you too sore for Daddy to touch you?”
If he eventhinksI’m lying, I’ll be punished. My brain races, trying to think of a way out. “I am still a little sore, Daddy. Not so bad you can’t touch me, though.”
There. Now I’m technically not a liar, which will hopefully be good enough for the man watching me with eagle eyes.
Those eyes that see far more than I’m comfortable with narrow slightly as he studies me. “Hmmm. I suppose the easiest thing to do would be to test exactly how sore you are.”
Fear and desire pound in my veins as I watch his hand slide down my thigh to my not-at-all-sore pussy. This time, I don’t wince at the gentle feathering of his fingers over my lips, but I do jolt a bit when he pushes those lips aside to gain entrance to my tight channel.
One finger slips inside me, drawing a gasp from me as pleasure flashes through me. My eyes flutter close as my head falls back against the built-in pillow on the tub, and my hips lift seemingly of their own accord, my body instinctively searching out the pleasure I know he can give me.
As he pushes a second finger into me, stretching me, his thumb unerringly finds my clit, and I’m lost to the waves of sensation he’s forcing on me. For what feels like hours I float, literally and figuratively, as he strokes my bare pussy with those clever, clever fingers. Every touch drives me closer to the edge, until I’m standing with toes right on the cliff, ready to fly.
And just when I think he’s going to send me over, he pulls back. The pleasure fades, morphing into something closer to pain as my eyes fly open to stare up at his smug smile.
“Sore, perhaps, but certainly not too sore for what Daddy has in mind for you tonight, little doll. Let’s finish getting you ready for your big night.”
* * *
Gideon
My little doll is sulking. Adorably so, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout and her shoulders hunched forward as we finish her bath. And when I wrap her in a towel to lift her into my arms at the end, she huffs softly as she drops her head hard onto my shoulder.
You shouldn’t have lied to Daddy then, little one.
I was tempted to wash her mouth out with soap once I discovered her deceit. But I am a firm believer that the punishment should fit the crime, and since she lied about her pussy being sore, it felt fitting to leave it aching as a punishment. And judging by her petulant state, I chose her discipline well.
My amusement at her antics is pushed to its limit, however, when I try to put my little doll on her feet in the closet and she immediately collapses into a dramatic heap on the floor.
“Isabella. Stand up, please.”
“Babies can’t stand.”
It’s a fair enough point, and I have to swallow a laugh at her attempt to outwit me. But as my Little girl is about to learn, Daddies are always one step ahead.
“Oh, dear.” I’m sure the drama in my voice is over the top, but Isabella doesn’t seem to notice. Sighing heavily, I leave her on the floor for the time being as I make my way across the expansive closet to a large cabinet. “Well, if my Little one can’t stand on her own, I suppose we’ll have to get creative.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch her head jerk up at the word “creative”, wariness spreading across her features.
“What do you mean?”
Opening the cabinet, I pull a long metal pole attached to a sturdy base free and carry it over to her. Isabella eyes the contraption warily, and it’s all I can do not to burst into laughter at the expression on her face.
Attached to the top of the pole is a padded, horseshoe-shaped piece of metal, with a similar piece about halfway down the stand. With the pole in place, I bend down and pick my little doll up, allowing the towel to fall from her as I position her on the stand. Her armpits rest on top of the first padded bar, while the one in the middle wraps around her waist. The middle piece is far more flexible, and it takes only a few tugs to secure her in the stand.
Stepping back, I admire the picture she makes as Isabella looks down, confusion twisting her features as she tries to make sense of what’s been done to her.
After several long seconds, I take pity on her and explain. “It’s a doll stand, little one. Meant to keep dolls in place, usually after they’ve been dressed and put on display, but I figured it would work just as well to keep you upright while Daddy picks out your dress for dinner.”
