Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I’m at the other head of the table—or maybe the ass, unless a table is considered double-headed, like a dildo—as the birthday boy, and to my right is Corbin, with Vi next to him. And finishing out the circle of who I consider my family are Clarice and Brian. At a small table off to the side are Corbin and Vi’s kiddos. We tried to get Luna to sit with them to eat, but she insisted she wanted to sit with her daddy for his birthday. Really, I think she just prefers to be around adults when given the choice. She’s a little sponge like I was at her age, scary-smart, just like both her parents, and although she loves to play with other children, when it comes to times when she’s not being active and has to sit still, it’s the big people she wants to sit with and listen to. Even when there are older kids she could hang out with, she’ll choose the adult table every time.
So up until now, conversation has been either PG or very coded—since she can already read, so the “spelling things out so she doesn’t know what we’re saying” phase didn’t last long. She’s on her last bite of cake though, so when she swallows, I call her name and tell her to come over to me.
When my little girl is by my side, I lean down and whisper in her ear, “All you kids are done eating now, baby. How about you go claim your spot on the couch for the movie they’re putting on?”
She leans around me to peek into the living room, and I look over my shoulder to see what she sees.
Fuck my life.
“It’s okay, Daddy. Scout is saving it for me,” she says, spinning on her heel to no doubt go back to her seat at the table, but I catch her tiny hand and tug her back to me.
I want to be careful here, because there’s no way I want my child to think I don’t want her presence. I will never make my baby feel rejected, no matter how desperately I may desire adult-only time. I’m a certified genius. I can figure out a way to get what I want while making sure my little one knows she’s always wanted, important, and is not in trouble if Mommy and Daddy need alone time together, as in without her. It’s a little more difficult to strategize when we’re in a group, because “it’s not alone time, since everybody else is here too, Daddy.”
While her mama can put her foot down and tell her to go play just “because I said so,” there’s something inside me that cannot for the life of me turn Luna away without giving her a reason that’s acceptable to her.
Maybe it’s the years I’ve now spent as a soft Dom, toeing the line of being a Daddy Dom for my submissive wife. My doll ranks very low on the masochism scale and needs the love, reassurance, and praise that comes with a DD/lg—Daddy Dom/little girl—relationship, but without any of the age regression on her part. And seven years ago, you couldn’t have paid me to believe I’d like anything about the DD role, especially if you told me you were taking away ninety-two percent of any type of sadism I could at least enjoy as a consolation prize.
Too much responsibility.
Too much pleasure lost by giving up my sadistic tendencies.
Too much touching, and kissing, and cuddling, and… ugh.
I was way too selfish for that shit.
But then came Twyla.
The twenty-four-year-old woman who’d never even been properly kissed.
And just knowing I was her first everything made me want to be the very best at each physical pleasure and show of affection to be had. I wanted her to experience it all, to never look back after choosing me and ask herself if she made the wrong decision, if she missed out on touches and kisses and cuddles by picking someone who never bestowed those things on anyone he played with in the past.
And seeing and hearing and feeling how much pleasure she got from those touches, kisses, and cuddles, so responsive in a way I’d never experienced before, her reactions became an addiction for me. I began to crave her body’s natural response to my every little caress and stroke and gentle squeeze. Became ravenous for her sweet gasps and pretty moans more than the squeals of shock and the screams of begged-for pain I desired from everyone before her.
So much more that I don’t miss or even think about my former Sadist identity.
That’s not who I am anymore. I now identify as a soft Dom, and there are no regrets.
So, since that’s who I am, it would make sense that it carries over into my parenting style. I spend every moment making sure that my wife/sub feels loved, safe, and wanted above all others. Why would I not treat our child the same way? In a totally different way, of course, but with the same result—her feeling cherished like the gift she is and knowing her father will always do everything he possibly can to not let anything bad happen to her.