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I cried out with every thrust, and I thought I could feel that my daddy’s cock got stiffer and stiffer at each pitiful sound. I began to feel good, to make my submissive noises, whether because they helped distract my body or because I could tell how they made my daddy’s fucking feel even better to him.
At last Daddy Jacob’s hips gave the extra jerk, the powerful thrust that broke the rhythm and told me my daddy had started to come. I felt his rigid penis pulse, and I knew I had just had a second helping of semen shot into my newly-opened rear passage. To my astonishment, I felt my cheeks get hot at the thought, even after everything my daddies had put me through.
“Good girl,” Daddy Jacob repeated. “Such a sweet little bottom. Just wait until tomorrow. You’ll wear your punishment panties tonight, so we can give you your reward first thing in the morning.”
I felt the heat in my face grow as I remembered Ashley: how she had looked in those strange panties, and how she had moaned… how her wrists had been cuffed to the bar next to the bed, and the size of the wet spot on the thick fabric of her underwear. As terribly full of Daddy Jacob’s cock as I still was, the memory distracted me, and worse, renewed the unsatisfied warmth in my neglected pussy.
“What…” I asked, stumbling over the words. “Daddy… wh-what are… what are they?”
Daddy Jacob chuckled and started to pull his still almost-hard penis out of my bottom. The soreness there brought a whimper from my throat, but it made my hips move, too, at how the pain back there brought heat further forward.
“Your punishment panties?” he said. “You’ll see, honey. Very soon.”
* * *
He wasn’t a gourmet chef, but Daddy Phil definitely did a good job on the kind of food firefighters needed to eat—which happened to be the kind of food I liked best, too. I caught the delicious scent of what had to be barbeque chicken from the living room. When I followed Daddy Jacob into the huge kitchen, I saw a huge salad on the table. I could smell the fresh garlic in the dressing the moment I stepped into the room.
The kitchen table, where my daddies and their colleagues, and, I guessed, my own colleague Ashley, clearly had all their meals, measured more than two meters long. Six chairs stood around it, enough for everyone to have a meal together. I tried to remember, feeling the red creep into my cheeks again… hadn’t Ashley said something about all of our daddies using us together? Would we all have dinner… or breakfast… together, first?
“Why don’t you go ahead and sit in Ashley’s chair, honey,” Daddy Jacob said. “It’s the one with the bib hanging on it and the pillow on the seat. You can use Ashley’s bib, too.”
My blush had already gotten hotter, but Daddy Phil’s words, as he turned away from the oven with the gorgeous, mouth-watering dark red chicken breasts on a platter in front of him, sent the red to the roots of my hair.
“Actually they sent Marianne’s pillow and her bib along with her. Go ahead and fetch them, sweetheart—they’re in the box on the coffee table.”
As I obeyed, heading back out to the living room with a deeply furrowed brow, my brain with all its “smarts” couldn’t help naming the degrading things I had gotten a quick look at, on Ashley’s chair.Special bad girl mealtime accessories.
There they were, in the box: pink, just like Ashley’s. A plastic bib to keep food off my naked body and, much worse, a thick foam pillow to put on the hard wooden chair. I hadn’t noticed, though, that the pillow had a message. In blue letters, written in an old-fashioned cursive font, it said,For her sore bottom, when she’s learned her lesson.
CHAPTER18
Marianne
The pillow didn’t help that much. My butt hurt in every possible way, including somehow in my mind: every time I looked at Daddy Phil and remembered him whipping me over the desk, I felt the heat creep into my cheeks again. Part of me resented it, obviously, but to my surprise and distress, anger didn’t dominate my thoughts and emotions about the man who had not just beat my ass but also deflowered it so masterfully that I felt the after-effects back there every time I fidgeted at the dinner table.
When I passed him the salad and caught a glance from his deep blue eyes, I found that knowing what he had done to me didn’t really make me mad at him as much as it seemed to have, well,reassuredme about him. Crazily, the idea that Daddy Phil wouldn’t hesitate to punish me that way, when the notion took him, made me feel protected, as if his duty of care as a firefighter had simply extended itself to embrace whipping and fucking his bad girl sex toy.
My feelings for my blue-eyed daddy weren’t exactly the same as my feelings for my brown-eyed one. I felt safer with Daddy Jacob, it seemed to me, even though in a certain way Daddy Jacob scared me more. Daddy Phil was like a wolf, maybe, while Daddy Jacob was like a bear. That thought almost made me giggle, despite the humiliation of the bib and the pillow, and the pain in my bottom cheeks and my no-longer-virgin anus.
Wolves were just as dangerous as bears, right? Somehow, though, I felt like a bear would beat a wolf in a fight. Maybe that was what my mind meant—Daddy Jacob had, after all, taken me to the break room and had me to himself in there: the soreness in my asshole probably had at least as much to do with my bear daddy as my wolf one.
“Marianne,” Daddy Jacob said, and I realized he had just said it a second time, as I gazed down at my plate, blushing from thinking all my strange thoughts about my daddies.
With a thrill of anxiety, I looked up at him, because the sharpness of his tone, in that deep voice, had made me fear for my already sore backside. His eyebrows had risen high on his forehead as he waited for me to respond, and I couldn’t tell if I had just gotten myself into trouble again. Nervously I shifted on the pillow, remembering the terrible little message my sore ass was currently covering:For her sore bottom, when she’s learned her lesson.
HadI learned my lesson? I suddenly wondered. Fifteen minutes earlier, when I had first laid eyes on the pillow and the bib, I would have said yes. Something about feeling so strangely and newly related to these hulking men, my bear daddy and my wolf daddy, though, had apparently let the independent side of me come back out. I felt as if I could see Daddy Jacob through two sets of eyes—the obedient little lady’s, sorry for all her misdeeds and ready to obey every instruction, no matter how shameful and uncomfortable… and the defiant bad girl, resentful that her daddy had told her he meant to put her in punishment panties, but had refused to reveal what the fuck punishment panties even were.
I felt both of those women flash across my face: the little lady’s fearful glance at her brown-eyed daddy became the rebel’s flared nostrils as I flicked my eyes sidelong towards Daddy Phil, to see if he shared Daddy Jacob’s apparent annoyance with me. Then I felt my eyes go wide as I realized what my expression had done, and all of me simply feared for my already-so-fucking-sore ass.
The little lady couldn’t take any more of that; she felt so sorry for the misbehavior that had brought her to her daddies’ firehouse—the crime for which they had sentenced her to degrading sexual servitude—and even for not paying attention to Daddy Phil in the office and not paying attention to Daddy Jacob at the dinner table. The rebel knew that if she meant to avoid a life of not sitting or even walking comfortably, she would have to use her smarts and choose her battles.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, looking back towards Daddy Jacob. I said it in the little voice, making my face as contrite as I could. In my bear daddy’s brown eyes, I thought I saw him register the two different sides of my reaction. His eyebrows descended and knit themselves towards one another as if he were trying to puzzle out precisely what had just taken place in my brain and my body.
Good luck,I thought, to my astonishment almost giggling at the thought.I have no fucking clue myself.
I did, though. The near-giggle had given me a clue. The rebel had come out not because I truly resented my daddies’ hardness on me—their hardness in every way—but because it had made me feel safe.
Did I really have both of these women inside me, the little lady and the defiant bad girl? I guessed I had always heard about that on videos and shit, but I also had never expected that it would come out in me this way—like something just short of multiple personality disorder or dissociative identity disorder or whatever the fuck it was called when you had too many people inside one head.
