Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Yes, he tests me. He likes to push my boundaries. And then discipline me when I don’t quickly comply.
It’s becoming a habit with us. He shocks me, I rebel, he spanks me. Or takes away my privileges, leaving me bored. Or puts that stupid root in my bottom.
He doesn’t get angry. He simply smirks when I’m disagreeable and disciplines me without a word. I’m so used to it that I automatically lash out every time he adds another level of control to my life.
I know he won’t ever injure me. Never. He won’t do anything that permanently alters my skin. No spanking is so hard that I end up with open wounds, for example.
Daddy adores me. I often catch him staring at me instead of working. He likes to watch me when I’m reading or playing. His face gets very soft, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. Sometimes, I see him out of my peripheral vision and don’t let on that I’m aware. It makes me warm and tingly. He probably knows because I can’t hide my arousal.
What he hasn’t permitted me to do is walk. I’m always on my hands and knees. He lets me have clothes occasionally, especially when he’s working. Yesterday, he returned to full-time, so today is my second day in the playpen. I wouldn’t say the “clothes” he puts on me are the sort of garments people wear out of the house. They aren’t even items anyone would don at home. Especially not adults.
Daddy dresses me in warm footed pajamas. The sort of thing babies wear. But this doesn’t surprise me, since he also keeps me diapered, bottle feeds me, and has me almost addicted to my pacifier.
The jammies are warm and comfortable, so I don’t complain.
But the walking… This is a topic I’m going to push him on. Surely I will eventually wear him down. I must because I can’t stand the idea of crawling for the rest of my life. It’s degrading and makes me feel like the pet he insists I am.
Another issue is the diapers. They are so thick that my legs are always spread wide. He obviously enjoys the bulk between my thighs and the way I’m forced to sort of waddle when I crawl. I really need more reasonable diapers to walk on two feet. Or permission to use a toilet… But that’s not my first concern.
I’m also curious about eating. Daddy mentioned dry food that some of my friends have been allowed to eat, but so far, all I’ve had are bottles. Even though I abhor the fact that he referred to the food as kibble, I’m too eager to eat something crunchy to argue semantics.
I’m feeling ornery and feisty this morning, and I know it’s early. Daddy doesn’t have to get to work for a while. So I decide to push his buttons.
As soon as he sets me in the playpen, he makes his usual commands. “No standing, Zoey. I want your bottom on the floor at all times. Understood?”
I’m expecting this lecture, and instead of readily agreeing, I whine. “Daddy, I’m perfectly capable of walking. I’ve been walking most of my life. Your gravity isn’t bothering me anymore. You don’t have to worry about me falling.”
I don’t like the stern look on his face that’s incongruent with his words. “Okay, fine, you can stand.” He lifts me out of the playpen and carries me to the corner of the room.
I’m concerned when he sets me on my feet and proceeds to unzip my jammies. In seconds, he has them off me, and he removes my diaper next. Without saying another word, he turns me to face the corner. His lips come to my ear. “Since you want to stand, you can do so here until I say otherwise. Nose to the wall.”
My body quivers at this new twist. I’m cold, and now I’m being punished in a way I hadn’t expected.
He presses my forehead to the corner with a hand on the back of my neck and nudges my foot with his shoe. “Spread your legs wider, naughty girl.”
I shuffle my feet apart, but it’s not enough.
“More, Zoey. Don’t test me further. I want you to feel the cold air on your pussy while you think about who is in charge.”
Gritting my teeth, I force myself not to respond. I’m always chilled when I’m naked. He knows it. My body temperature isn’t high enough to tolerate how cold he keeps his apartment. Goosebumps rise all over my skin, and my nipples are hard points.
Don’t cry.
I can feel his gaze on me. He doesn’t tolerate backtalk, so that’s out of the question. He’s obviously never going to let me argue my case, which infuriates me.
It’s not fair. I’m not a pet. I’m a human. I should be permitted to walk. It’s demeaning to force me to remain on all fours.