“Try again, Simone.”
“I mean, I wasn’t thinking. I wouldn’t have if I’d been thinking clearly.”
“Would you like a ball to hold between your legs now?”
I sigh. “Yes, Sir.” It seems like I better go for the ball. As naughty as I’m going to feel holding it, I do not think I want my tit pinched many more times this morning. They’re getting sore.
“Good choice.” Daddy heads toward the mudroom and returns a moment later, holding a pink rubber ball. It’s almost the size of a basketball, and I inhale deeply when he places it between my legs. “Grip it between your knees, Simone.”
“Yes, Sir.”
It’s hard to color with him being all sexy while he cooks. He thinks I’m cute and it’s distracting. Well, I think he’s all Daddy sexy, and that’s distracting, too. I try to focus on the page in front of me, but he’s wearing those jeans, all low on his hips. And that T-shirt, all tight so his muscles bulge out.
Before I basically moved into this house, I never saw Professor Arnalt in jeans. And yes, that’s who he was—buttoned up, professional, suits and khakis, ties and bowties, dress shirts, loafers and dress shoes… That’s Professor Arnalt at the university.
This man—my Daddy—wears jeans at home. He still looks sophisticated because he’s not capable of looking any other way, but he also looks delicious. Both sides of him are equally yummy, but the man cooking me breakfast with bare feet and low-hanging jeans who fucked me senseless last night is my current favorite version of Camden Arnalt.
It’s hard to keep the ball between my thighs. I have to clench it to some extent or it will fall on the floor. Daddy didn’t say what the penalty was for dropping the ball. My stomach muscles are going to get very defined if I have to do this repeatedly.
It’s like a giant circle with no end. Staring at Daddy reminds me of my pussy—which is leaking. My pussy reminds me to clench the ball. Squeezing the ball makes me so horny that my nipples are hard. Looking at my breasts covered by nothing but the cotton dress causes me to jerk my attention to Daddy, wondering if he’s seeing my hard tits.
Yep. It’s a giant circle. And he is looking, which makes my cheeks heat.
He chuckles as he approaches with two plates of food. “Are you angry with the purple crayon, Baby girl?”
I frown. “No.” What is he talking about?
He points toward my hand. “You’re gripping it hard enough to snap it in half. And you didn’t make a single mark on the picture the entire time I was cooking. You were too busy staring at my ass.” His voice is teasing, but I wince at being called out.
I shrug. “It’s a nice ass, Daddy.”
He sets the plates on the table before reaching out and pinching one of my nipples.
I yelp. “Daddy…”
“I really like this idea of you not wearing a bra. It’s convenient.”
I hold my hands over my boobs, not touching them, but just barely. There’s about one inch between my palms and my tits. “Daddy, that hurts.”
“But it’s effective. Soon, you won’t use naughty words at all.” He sits in the chair next to mine, reaches over the ball, and strokes his fingers across the wet gusset of my panties. “Except you like it when I tweak your nipples.”
I groan. I do. What’s wrong with me?
He kisses me. “My little pain slut.”
“Daddy…”
“What? It’s true. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just a fact.” He leaves me wet and bothered as he removes my crayons and coloring book and replaces them with a plastic divided plate and a chubby spork.
I giggle. “Natasha has plates like this.”
“I bet she does. But you’re not Natasha, remember?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You don’t have to like the same things she does. If you enjoy booster seats and toddler dishes, I’ll spoil you with both. If they feel too young for you, we won’t use them.”
“I like them. Edith gives them to us when I eat at their house.”
