Just Ask

Photo Credit: Max Pixel

This is when I nestle my ambition and wants inside your mind, Little One. You may not realize what is happening yet, but I do.

But it sure feels good to be writing to you again, My Love. It just never felt quite right putting pen to paper apart. We both know that daily, my ache and yours never left our sides, adjacent us as if we could almost physically clasp at it. In some ways, I think I did.

I pull at you each morning as I wake, opening my eyes to find my hands clutching goose down pillows with faint scents of Tom Ford Orchid Soliel. Pillows, that transport my mind for hours prior, to make me believe if only for a brief moment when I awake, that I am clutching at you.

Even it’s just for an instant, that instant is one of the best moments I have each day, feeling your presence, reminding me of the mornings I’ve held you when your long hair swept down across my chest.

My brain, playing tricks on me as I convince myself that you are just but a mere bundle of feathers, as I yearn for what I desire most to clutch, so I squeeze and recall the feel of what your body feels like in my arms.

I reach for; I clutch at — your body.

Soon enough, My Love, soon enough. But until then, I will remind you that your body is still mine, as it always was, since the moment I first claimed it and when you first submitted yourself to me.

My collared sub — never removing her mark. God, you make me so goddamn proud to be your Daddy sometimes.


But this piece, my sweet Kitten, is just a little bit different.

You see I have realized something new as I am committed to rebirth, and I find the ache for the level of control I seek is at new heights.

So right now, I want you to touch.

I want you to rub that kitty of mine and I want for you to edge yourself until you cannot handle it anymore. And I then I want you to keep going, and keep going, and keep going. This should make you squirm, Little One, and as you squirm, you need to remember very fucking vividly what my eyes look like when I liberate those orgasms from your body.

Oh what? Don’t tell me you need a reminder?

Fine.


I want you to think about me as your hand slides between your legs and your fingers circle over your clit.

I am wearing a navy blue button-up and jeans, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you undress and touch your pussy for me with an unnerving determined composure. The green eyes and beard that make you wet are staring back at you, but that little smirk that shows my innocence is somehow void from my face, as I maintain stoic presence because my mission is not to win hearts in this moment.

Ordering you to touch — you touch.

Ordering you to edge — you edge.

I look into your eyes and I find the sum of a thousand lifetimes of passion and desire, aching for Daddy to just take you and fucking make you cum already. But I am not going to do that, because as bad as I want your body…

I want your submission more.

Seeing you, a true submissive, releasing her mind into my hands — that is what I want most, not because I am an egomaniac, although I won’t deny it, but because I know at your core you need so bad to release this side of you.

For the pathway to your soul is marked by footprints of my will to resist.

I absolutely must — fucking must — allow you, to give your deepest side of you. I must fight that desire to take you. Unfortunately, me devouring you sometimes does not allow for that side to fully mature, no matter how bad I want to claim your beautiful cunt, own it, thrash it as I claim it and soak my motherfuckin’ face and the bed with your liquid lust, as I ruin your ability to see straight from the anger fuck session that is coming your way, my sweet sweet princess.

But not right now.

Now, I want for you to keep touching, to keep edging, and to pull yourself together enough to imagine me walking over to you, extending one hand to grab you by your hair pull you to the bed.

To throw my left hand around your windpipe as I kiss you like the whole world is dead to us.

To see in my eyes that passion cannot be faked, and that love cannot be fabricated. And to see my ache to make you feel my dominion over your entire existence as a human being is founded in a childlike innocence of adoration of you, on cosmic proportions.

You are mine.

I am yours.

Fuck everybody else.

Rub that kitty of mine and fucking feel my passion for you when you do it. Feel the blood boiling inside me as I type this shit out and know in your fucking soul I am coming at you like never before.

Touch.

Edge.

And envision my hand sliding between your olive legs as I make you beg me for your orgasm. As I look into your eyes when my fingers make your clit come to life and see the look in my face the moment when I decide “she has had enough.” And then anticipate the moment I flood you with so many orgasms you lose track, as only Daddy can. When I see one, two, three, four, and five wipe you the fuck out while I am barely getting started, My Love.

So rub. Touch. Edge.

And when you are ready to cum…

Just ask.