Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“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.
CHAPTER 18
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, reassured me 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.
Had I 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.