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“Honey, are you with me?” Daddy Jacob said, his forehead growing a little troubled.
I bit my lip, feeling my own brow crease. Maybe Daddy Jacob’s puzzled look had only been because I seemed spacy? I guessed I felt out of it, a little like the detached, floaty feeling I had started to get all the way back in the doctor’s exam room when all of this bad girl fuck toy stuff had started. I felt kind of, well, thoughtful? Again I realized, with a new blush, that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—have felt that way unless my daddies had… taken care of me.
And thewaythey had taken care of me, with their belts and hands and rigid cocks, made the blush get suddenly very hot.
All of which, I realized, must make me look pretty spacy to Daddy Jacob.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said, genuinely penitent. “I… I just…”
“Your bottom hurts a lot, doesn’t it?” Daddy Phil asked, his voice uncharacteristically sympathetic.
I looked over at him. In his bearded face I saw real compassion, alongside a paternal condescension and a wolfish hunger that made my tummy flip. I nodded, and when his eyebrows went up, I automatically used my words, the way a little lady would, once her daddy had spoken to her.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I looked down at the pink plastic bib covering my front. I noticed that I’d dropped a spot of barbecue sauce onto it, a dark red reminder that my table manners weren’t everything they should be. The contrast of the bib’s childish design with the rest of my naked body, and the way I could see my stiff nipples on either side of its innocent surface, combined with the outrageous but nevertheless plausible idea that my daddies might punish me for getting my bib dirty. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and swallowed hard, unable now to lift my gaze.
“I was saying,” I heard Daddy Jacob’s deep voice continue, “that we should clear the table and do the dishes, honey. Daddy Phil, why don’t you meet us in Marianne’s room with her punishment panties?”
I couldn’t keep a little noise, a mew of distress, from rising to my lips. I looked up with desperate eyes first at Daddy Jacob and then at Daddy Phil, a mute plea in my eyes for more information. The mental image of Ashley rose irresistibly into my mind. Pretty red-headed Ashley in my doorway in her own strange, thick underwear, such a degrading contrast with her well-developed chest… and then in bed with her wrists bound, turned over on her side, her panties’ gusset showing evidence of what seemed a very odd sort of discipline.
My daddies’ eyes told me nothing at all. They gazed back at me steadily, their sheer handsomeness and the fascinating similarities and differences between them distracting me so thoroughly I forgot whether Daddy Jacob had issued some instruction to which I needed to respond to avoid another punishment. Daddy Phil’s hair with its slightly lighter shade of brown… Daddy Jacob’s beard with its slightly shaggier trim.
“Honey,” Daddy Jacob said, “go ahead and clear the table now.”
My lips parted and I took a fearful breath, because I thought for a moment that I’d missed his direct command, and surely my bear daddy would lay me over the table I should have cleared for a paddling.I couldn’t bear it, I thought, and yet the idea made me squirm on the pillow, and find to my dismay that alongside the soreness I had begun to feel more of the wanton heat my daddies seemed shockingly able to call up with their discipline.
But I saw, glancing at him in anxiety, that he had a smile on his face. I took a gasping breath at the way warmth and relief filled my chest. Daddy Jacob’s eyes said that he understood that a naughty girl, after she’s learned her lesson, might well become thoughtful—spacy, even—at the dinner table.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, hardly even noticing the little-lady voice as it emerged.
I stood up, the movement bringing a wince to my face and stinging the corners of my eyes with tears, and picked up my plate, putting my fork and knife on top of it. I went over to Daddy Jacob’s place and bent over to pick up his silverware, so that I could stack the plates.
As I did it, I felt my brown-eyed daddy’s enormous hand run up my thigh, from the back of my knee all the way to my thoroughly-punished bottom. I gave a little cry, and the cry became a soft moan because Daddy Jacob’s two middle fingers pressed in between my legs to find my aching pussy. I felt my cheeks go hot as I sensed myself almost gushing with need onto his gently moving digits.
I couldn’t move: I stood, my daddy’s fork and knife in my right hand and my left curled helplessly into a little fist, as my bear daddy softly probed inside me to find my mortifying wetness. Little whines came out through my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as I felt my hips respond, trying desperately to lure my daddy’s arrogant fingers more deeply into the sheath he had claimed so masterfully for himself yesterday, and then left needy today.
“Good girl,” Daddy Jacob murmured. “Nice and wet for Daddy.”
I let out a cry as my bottom squirmed in his hand. “Yes, Daddy,” I whispered.
All the soreness seemed to have transformed itself into the greatest arousal I had ever experienced, as if my daddies’ discipline had opened new pathways in my nervous system. My whole body trembled like a guitar string played by Daddy Jacob’s skillful fingers.
“I’ll do the dishes,” he said. “After you clear the table, you may take off your bib and go to your room. I want you to lie on your back on your bed, and hold your knees nice and open, and think about what it means to be your daddies’ bad girl. Leave your bedroom door open.”
I opened my eyes and looked at Daddy Phil. I understood that Daddy Jacob had decided to give my wolf daddy his share of alone time with their fuck toy, to return the favor Daddy Phil had done in letting my bear daddy take me to the break room by himself.
“Do as Daddy Jacob says,” said Daddy Phil, smiling. “I’ll come and show you your punishment panties, and we can talk about them a little while we wait for him.”
CHAPTER19
Marianne
I would have guessed that obeying Daddy Jacob and lying there by myself, shamefully exposed, wouldn’t really have felt like anything new. I would have been wrong.
Even before things got truly humiliating, the simple act of having consciously left my door open made me blush as I pulled down the covers and climbed onto the bed. That blush became scalding when I lifted my knees and put my hands on their backs to open myself up completely. I could see the start of the cleft of my pussy. I could even see a little bit of my clit’s wrinkly, complicated hood.
I could see, over the shameful glimpse of my private parts, the open doorway. I bit my lip.
