Page 16 of Daddy's Lesson

Wasting no time, I pressed the tip of the plug against her back entrance. “Push your ass out more.”

Her stance adjusted, her hands moved lower on the wall as she did what she was told. “Le—Daddy…” Her voice cracked, and I stilled my actions.

“Yes?”

“Please… be gentle. I’ve never…”

Realizing what she wasn’t saying, I closed my eyes. An anal virgin. Shit. Had I known that, I might have eased her in over time, and not taken her anal virginity in a mall bathroom with a metal plug, but it was too late to adjust now. I had to follow through.

Popping my eyes open, I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll be careful,” I assured her. “And I’ll go slow.”

Her head jerked in a motion of resigned understanding and her shoulders tensed, but she stayed still, hands on the wall, ass out, presenting herself for my discipline. I pushed the tip of the plug slowly inside, breaching her back entrance.

The pressure was met with a soft cry and a shudder down her back. “Bear down,” I instructed. “Try not to resist. That will just make it hurt more.”

There was a slight shift in her body language, and when I pushed further, my ministrations were met with little resistance. It would have slid in easily and settled between her cheeks nicely, but I went slow, twisting the base as I wiggled the plug inside of her, filling her slowly.

“It hurts.” Her voice was barely audible above the hum of the fan system.

“It will only hurt for a moment.” I pushed deeper, and soon it was all the way inside, the slender base resting in her crack while the bright jewel poked out between her cheeks. “There you go.” I patted the center of her bottom, my hand popping against the plug, firmly seating it inside her. “That should help you remember what I expect from you. Do you think you can be a good girl now?”

“Yes, Daddy.” She squirmed in place, and I could tell she was uncomfortable but not in pain. I knew she wanted desperately to grab her skirt and panties and pull them over her exposed bottom, but she knew better than to make a move I hadn’t told her to make.

After a moment, I did it for her, adjusting the fabric of her panties over the jewel, and pulling her skirt down to cover both. Then, and only then, did I turn her to face me.

She stared at the floor, and when I gathered her in my arms, she buried her face in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I know you’re trying to help, and that your rules have importance, and that you want to make my life better, but this is all so new to me, and it… feels weird to let someone care.” She straightened, squared her shoulders, and looked into my eyes. “It feels weird to have someone care. So… thank you.”

“Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for letting me take care of you.” When she looked down at the floor again, I caught her chin in my hands and lifted it so that she was looking up at me once more. “You deserve to be taken care of, and you deserve to take care of yourself.”

She nodded slowly, as if she couldn’t quite make herself believe it. “That’s… hard. But I’ll try.”

“I’m gonna help you. Now, go wash your hands, so we can continue our shopping mission.”

She groaned. “There’s more?”

“Just a bit.”

ZOE

The ‘more’ turned out to be a craft emporium that was new to the city. “Have you been here before?” Lennon asked, as we strode toward the front doors.

“No,” I answered. “I’ve been meaning to check it out, but…” I shrugged. “I don’t paint much anymore. Or do anything artistic, really, outside of class.”

“That’s another thing that’s going to change.”

He spoke with such confidence. I couldn’t bear to tell him that it wasn’t a matter of taking the time. When it came to creating, I seemed to have a major block these days.

The store was huge. The inside must have covered a city block, with enormous aisles and floor-to-ceiling shelves, boasting every craft medium known to man, as well as some home decor and novelties. Even blocked, it was hard for the artist in me not to feel inspired.

“Paint, I assume?” Lennon asked, grabbing a cart.

“Sure.” I followed him mindlessly as my eyes roamed the depths of the store. In the paint section, he was a wild man. Canvases went into the cart, followed by easels, palettes, brushes in every size, and even a few smocks. “Daddy…” I tugged on his shirt, poised to tell him that it was too much, that I had a lot of it at home in storage, and that it probably wouldn’t get used, anyway.

But he looked at me sternly, and all of a sudden, I felt the weight of the plug in my ass. The thought died on my lips.

“Watercolor or acrylic?”