“Oh kitten, what is it huh?”
You whimper for what must be the hundredth time in lieu of words, prompting an eyeroll from me.
“Baby. You know what I need. Words, little one.”
“Please what? Go on, be my good girl and tell daddy what you need.”
“I- I want you to touch me, please!”
“Oh but that can’t be right kitten, or do we both remember this morning incorrectly?”
I know you don’t, and you know I wouldn’t forget. I’d been out all morning, grabbing mundane things and running errands for the house, and you’d been left at home with only one rule. No touching any of daddy’s toys.
It was an old rule, one that we both wrote into our contract at the very beginning, that any and all toys would be kept in my lockbox until I decided how to use them on you. A stipulation to this rule? You were included in the list of daddy’s toys. Which meant the same, no touching daddy’s toy, until he decides how he wants to use you.
A simple rule yes, but clearly not enough, as the moment I’d come home what do I find? My kitten writhing and moaning in our bed, those pretty fingers rubbing frantically between your own legs, pathetically trying to get yourself off before I could come home. Apparently, you miscalculated.
And now I’m not going to touch you at all. In fact, I’ve been sitting in the corner in my chair while you lay on our bed, your wrists and ankles tied so you remain spread wide open, and nothing else. The only thing I’d done to you to touch you at all was the process of binding you, your order now was to remain quiet, for however long I decided.
I’d initially decided on half an hour, to which afterward you were meant to continue onto the next part of your punishment, but it seemed you weren’t in the mood for following rules today. The moment I’d sat down you were already squirming, and I knew you weren’t lasting long, you never did and I loved every second of watching you try not to break.
Another stipulation to your current punishment I’d added on, right after tying the last bind, was that each time you writhed, or begged for my touch, I’d be adding on another five minutes to your time.
In total, you were already past the one hour mark, and it wasn’t looking like any odds would be in your favor tonight.
“N- no daddy, please, I- I’m sorry I promise, please, please I need you to touch me!”
I contemplate for a moment. Deliberating on whether or not I want to give in now. After a moment of anticipation, I move. Getting up from my chair, I walk to our shared closet, pulling from the top shelf our toy box, and opening it. I grab what I’m looking for after only a minute of rifling, then stride toward your slightly trembling form.
I hold in my hands a small jar, no bigger than my fist in size, and screw off the cap as I throw my right leg over one of your own, and half-kneel on the bed. I can see the confusion in your eyes, and I throw a smirk at you in response.
I dab the tips of my fore and middle fingers into the jar, spreading the substance inside around my prints before dipping my hand low to circle your clit. No warning given, and I see you immediately rise to it, your hips thrusting and a little whine breathing out from your lips. It almost, but not really, makes me feel bad for what I know is about to happen.
With no further preamble I remove my fingers, close up the jar, and remove myself from the bed, another whine sounding from you when you realize I’m not coming back.
“No please, please daddy I need more!”
I chuckle deeply, “Don’t worry kitten, more is exactly what you’ll get. Perhaps this ought to teach you to have a little patience.”
I say nothing more, simply sitting myself back where I was in the beginning and watching you, waiting.
It only takes a few more moments before I see you realize, in real time, what I’ve just done to you. The oil I’ve just rubbed all over your pretty clit was a stimulant butter, coconut oil… and peppermint. The tingling picks up quickly, and I can already see you beginning to leak onto the sheets.
Your hips are wiggling this way and that, attempting to close them, rub yourself, grind against the sheets, anything to get away from and relieve the now-persistent arousal making you clench around nothing.
Your breathing picks up, the whimpers starting up more in frequency and volume, and I simply sit where I am and watch with a growing smile. Content to do nothing more but admire my pretty little toy, all wet and aching, squirming all over the bed like you’re in heat.
No, the odds for you don’t look good at all kitten.
