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“Why?”
“Because I like taking care of you.”
“Are you sure you’re not a daddy dom?”
“I’m sure. I definitely never want you to call me daddy. I have no interest in contracts, playing roles, or doing scenes.”
“I thought you didn’t know what a daddy dom was?” she asks suspiciously.
“I didn’t until you asked me if I was one, then I did a little research,” I admit. It took me a Google search and about five very uncomfortable minutes to know that I don’t have any interest in any kind of daddy dom, little girl arrangement with Etta. Sure, a lot of the things it said a daddy would do for his little are things I want with her. But the age play and a lot of the other dynamics are not my kink. But I don’t need a title or a kink name to describe what I want from her. I simply want to control her, care for her, and keep her. I want my ring on her finger, and my baby filling her womb. I want her to be mine and for her to do what I tell her to, because it’s the only thing that feels right for both of us.
“Would you drop me off in town if I started calling you daddy?” she asks with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“No. If you call me daddy, I’ll call you brat, bend you over my knee, and spank your ass raw with my belt.”
Her nose wrinkles, and fear flashes in her eyes. “I don’t want that.”
“Spanking not your thing?” I tease.
“No, I don’t like pain.”
“Me either, I prefer pleasure and…praise.”
Swallowing thickly, her pupils dilate.
“You like it too, don’t you, Little One? You love being my good girl, don’t you?”
Sucking in a sharp inhale, she shakes her head. “No,” she lies.
“Don’t lie to me, Etta. I can see the way you light up when I tell you how perfect you are, how well you take my cock, how you’re my very good girl.”
She shakes her head, but her body can’t hide her reaction to my praise, and she visibly shudders with every compliment and affirmation I give her.
“Do you need me to prove it to you, Little One? I know your pussy is sore, but I’m happy to use your mouth or ass to prove my point and show you just how much you love being good for me. And you do, don’t you Etta? You love being my very. Good. Girl.”
Pushing my hand between us, I cup her pussy, and she cries out.
“Good girls get to come on my fingers. Bad girls get their assholes rimmed, then fucked, your choice.”
“No,” she squeals, reaching behind her and covering her ass.
“Then don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I like it,” she says, but the sound is barely louder than a whisper.
“What do you like? Tell me.” I’m being an asshole right now, but she needs to learn that I won’t let her pretend that she doesn’t love every second of what’s happened between us.
“I…” She tries to look away, but I force her to keep her eyes on me.
“You what?”
“I like…being your good girl.” She says the last few words so fast they’re barely discernible. I could make her say it again, but I think I’ve made my point.
Smiling to myself, I continue to wash her, making sure every inch of her from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes is clean. Instead of using the cloth, I coat my hands in soap and gently work it over her tits, teasing her nipples until they pebble into sharp peaks.
Getting more soap, I bend down to my knees and look up at her. “Spread your legs.”
“Oz.”
