Page 17 of Daddy's Lesson
I just stared at him, hoping he’d hear what I wasn’t saying and take the hint.
He didn’t. “Both it is.” He grabbed vials and tubes in every color under the sun and tossed them into the cart, two at a time.
I sighed.
“I really haven’t been doing much art lately,” I said again. “I don’t know if I can.” It was a statement of fact, not a protest, and I hoped he would take it as such.
To his credit, he did. Sort of. All the items stayed in the cart as he steered us into the next aisle. Painting kits. Child art sets and paint-by-number.
“Zoe, with me as your Daddy, you will not be setting aside this part of yourself. You will make time, thirty minutes each day, to work on creating. And to be clear, I’m not expecting you to churn out the next Mona Lisa. I don’t even care if you throw it straight into the trash once you’ve finished. You can finger-paint like a toddler, or use a paint-by-number, even, if it will make it easier. But you will let me purchase these items, and you will take them home, and you will use them. And of course, if you don’t, there will be consequences. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I conceded with a sigh. What else could I say? In just a few short hours I’d learned that my Daddy was not one to be argued with.
“Good girl.” Standing behind me, Lennon wrapped his arms around my waist and dropped a kiss on the top of my head, a simple gesture that made me feel loved and cared for, and meant more to me that I could possibly explain. “Now,” he said, turning us toward a row of advanced paint-by-number kits. “Do we need to get some of these, just in case?”
I smiled as a paint-by-number of the Mona Lisa caught my eye, as well as a quaint bookstore scene, complete with cats. “These look fun.”
He tossed the two I’d pointed at into the cart, and added a few more for good measure. “We could paint together,” he offered. “If that would make it easier to start.”
I wasn’t sure if it would or not, but it still made me smile. “That would be fun.”
His grin spread across his face, bringing out his deep dimples that had me swooning. “It would be fun. Alright, I think we have gotten the most important things. Shall we head out?”
“Yes please.” I’d had a nice time, despite the plug in my ass and my emotional and physical discomfort, but I was not used to all the doting attention, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could shop, or how much more money I could let him spend before I fell back into old habits and ended up in hot water.
Thankfully, he seemed to be done, and after we checked out, we headed back to the car. I remembered this time to wait for Lennon to open the door, and was surprised when he not only opened the door, but helped me into my seat, and leaned over to buckle me up, something I could have easily done for myself. I didn’t tell him that.
Despite the luxurious comfort of his car and the soft leather of the seats, sitting down with a plug in my ass was not pleasant.
I shifted from side to side as Lennon drove, looking in vain for a comfortable position.
“Can I take this out when we get back to your place?” I finally asked, as we pulled into the garage.
“Not a chance. That little plug is going to stay right where it is while we go over your rules, and until I’m sure you are fully aware that you are not the one in charge.”
“I ammm aware,” I whined, not recognizing my own voice. And to prove my point, once parked, I stayed put and waited for him to come around to the passenger side and let me out.
Lennon carried the bags and still managed to hold my hand as we made our way back to his penthouse apartment. Once inside, I sat awkwardly on the couch, waiting to see what would come next. The plug was still making sitting uncomfortable, pinching my skin and filling me completely. My bottom, where I’d been spanked, was still sore and achy, and the hum in my pussy had not dissipated. If anything, it was worse now.
Lennon went to work in the kitchen, fixing us lunch, and I followed him with my gaze, looking at him with a fresh set of eyes, seeing him differently than I had just this morning.
For one thing, now I noticed his large, thick hands, and his bulging arm muscles. Thick biceps and broad shoulders.
Arousal pooled between my legs, and for the first time I realized that not only had I been aroused by the spanking he’d given me, and by his domineering actions, I was turned on by him!
The packet, still resting on the coffee table book, caught my eye, and I cringed when I thought about all the ‘no’ boxes I’d checked. I hadn’t even read the full list, and while more transparent the second time around, I’d still been guarded.
And yet, Lennon had taken care of me anyway, in exactly the ways I hadn't known I’d needed.
Reaching for the abandoned papers and the pen, I flipped to the second page. Limits. I’d checked nearly everything that didn’t have to directly do with spanking, and even some of the things that did.
Determined to open my mind this time around, I read through the list in earnest. First, it listed implements. I had chosen about half of them as acceptable. I changed that so that only two were not.
The next things were a mish-mash of BDSM activities, ranging from public play to bondage to breath and electric play. I had checked no on everything. I changed public play to a solid maybe, gave bondage a thumbs-up, and kept the others as big fat nos.
And then it came to the sex questions. That gave me pause. I knew Rent-A-Daddy was touted as a platonic, no-strings-attached, power-exchange accountability program. If it hadn’t been, I probably wouldn’t have signed up, and as my pen hovered above the section header, I wondered why sex was even a part of the questionnaire. But even I knew that some people had trouble separating the two things, and who was I to judge, just because I didn’t think I would have the same problem? This was probably just an insurance policy; including these questions was just a way to cover their asses.
For a moment I considered leaving the section as it was. It wasn’t like Lennon would want to have sex with an old woman like me anyway.