"If you're a bad girl you know I can always take your favourite toy away for another month..." Sloane makes a good, quiet girl out of the patient with nothing more than a press of her gloved hand against the aroused, swollen vagina under the hospital gown. "Ah, there we go. That's my good girl, not feeling so fussy now?" She smiles, leaning over the railing of the hospital bed to peck Emily on the check.
"I'll try and be a good girl for you, Daddy," Emily whispers, and Sloane knows without a shadow of a doubt that it's a pretty little lie.
How she came into possession of Emily was neither here nor there, in the eyes of the board at least. They needed a chief for their struggling, fund-hemorrhaging excuse of a clinic. And Sloane, being the best of the best, required more than a slight sweetener in order to sign the dotted line and finally plant roots somewhere. It wasn't that Sloane couldn't go out and find a submissive if she wanted to, she was still fairly young, beautiful, in fantastic shape, respectable and more than financially secure, but life had afforded her very little time to find the submissive to compliment all of her darker, innate desires. Seven years of medical school, four years active service attached to the Marines as a trauma surgeon to pay off her debts, three years developing her groundbreaking research. It was worth it, of course, but it came at a personal sacrifice where her love life was concerned.
When the board called a few weeks after the initial sit down to say they had the profile of an unclaimed submissive who ticked all the right boxes, Sloane believed it was too good to be true. The best part was that the young woman, Emily, was more than entirely willing. Emily had just finished her master's degree and wanted a Daddy, a female one, mean and tough as nails too, either a military woman or a surgeon, according to her profile. In Sloane she found all of those things. Emily had already packed her bags and bought her plane ticket before Sloane had agreed to anything. An eager baby girl, if ever there was one.
A few handshakes under the table with the bigwigs upstairs, Emily was signed over to Sloane's claim and the board had their new chief. A year later, and the honeymoon period still hadn't even reached its twilight. Emily was an unruly little firecracker of a woman, and the novelty had not worn off yet. They drifted between periods of at home domesticity, and then, for a few weeks at a time, baby girl became her little inpatient. It was deliciously subversive for both of them.
"Get on all fours for me. Daddy needs to examine you and perform a few procedures," Sloane orders, authoritative and yet almost disinterested, as if this is any ordinary doctor-patient encounter. Her baby girl does as she's told, shivering in anticipation, aroused and nervous. "That's a good girl, can you pull your gown up for me?" Sloane snapped on a pair of black latex gloves.
The little troublemaker hesitates.
"Is it going to hurt, Daddy?" Emily peers over her shoulder with those big, glimmering green eyes.
"Only your feelings, so long as you're a good girl." Sloane smirks and lifts the gown up and over her submissive's small pale hips until the flimsy material bunches around her panting belly. The doctor buckles the restraints around her ankles deftly, quickly, the routine of it ingrained in both of their muscle memories. "There we go, nice and tight," she hums the words to herself and gives the leather cuffs attached to the railings a quick little tug.
The overhead lamp is pulled down and switched on, the hot bright light pointing directly at the patient's tiniest, pink, spread open crevices. The love between them, the playfulness, the pretense of it all, it escapes through the puncture wounds of the cracked open window until there's nothing left but method and structure. The doctor pinches the little labia hard, pulls them apart, like little wings, until they're almost translucent underneath the hot bright lamp, her thumbs rubbing the insides of each slick wet tiny labia until she is satisfied with her patient's whimpering response to the stimuli.
"Patient hasn't climaxed in a month, her external sexual features appears to be more responsive than normal." Sloane cranes her head towards the dictaphone in the pocket of her lab jacket. "Clitoris is far larger than normal for a young woman of her stature and ethnic background, the labia appear to be flushed and swollen, these may be physiological indications of arousal, or the patient might just be a big girl between her legs." Sloane smiles and pats her blushing patient's hip, aware of how much she hated any insinuation she was 'larger' than normal.
"Daddy can we do something different?" Emily whimpers and shifts away from the gloved hand resting on her hip.
Sloan smiles at that, already knowing the answer to her next question, "Does little girl want to stop or are you just feeling naughty?" she asks anyway.
"The latter, Daddy."
"Well, I challenge anyone to fault my little girl's syntax."
"Can you..." Emily halts and inhaled a short, sharp breath.
Here it is, Sloane thinks to herself with a smile.
"I want you to be nasty to me. I missed you so much when you had to leave for your meeting. Daddy, I missed you between my legs extra badly..." The memory makes her squirm and roll her eager hips.
"You didn't climax, did you?" Sloane asks accusingly, anticipating an incorrect answer and already on the brink of anger because of it.
Sloane is an optimist, not a fool. She knew Emily loved to bend and break the rules from time to time, mainly just so she had a reason to punish her in the ways they both liked, but this, the thought of Emily reaching between her legs and fiddling with a month's worth of research data? It leaves the clinician damn near seething.
But Emily shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, "No ma'am. I undid my gown and rubbed and pinched my nipples as hard as I could like you taught me to do when I feel antsy between my legs."
Sloane exhales a deep, relieved sigh, "Good girl—"
"And then I rubbed my kitten on the pillow and pushed my fingers as deep in my hole as I could get them." Emily's eyes glimmer as she takes in the furious, measured expression of the woman who calls the shots. "I sucked my fingers clean and pretended you were growling at me to gag on them, Daddy. I got three fingers all the way but it made my kitten ache so I pulled them out before I came."
"You fucked yourself in the twenty minutes I left you to hand over my paperwork?" Sloane doesn't even know where to start.
"Yes, but I didn't cum. Give me that much?" Emily pouts.
The response to the admission of guilt is swift and methodical, silent and pulsating with clinical anger. Sloane walks around and restrains each of her wrists as hard and tight as she can. Her gloved hand reaches underneath the moaning, warm, pushing chest and blindly rub and squeeze the puffy areola hard between the thumb and forefinger. There, she smiles to herself as the first little bud begins to stiffen and grow hard. The medical clamp is applied, the pressure tightened, the steel biting into the base of Emily's areola until her squeals grow high and warbly.
"Stupid games, stupid prizes." Sloane spares no sympathy as she clamps the other nipple.
Sloane sits back down on her stool at the bottom of the bed, enjoying the sight of her little submissive sobbing and trying her hardest not to rest weight on the sore, tightly clamped, stiff nipples. The overhead lamp is moved closer between the straining, separated legs. The light is so bright and hot between the patient's parted thighs, close enough to burn and sting her plump vulva. Though, that alone isn't enough, not for Sloane's big brave girl. The labia are forcefully parted, the hood of her clitoris tugged back, the fat little cunt bead examined with careful, methodical appraisal while a gloved finger rubs the tip until the tears start up.
"Daddy," Emily chokes and loses her breath, "Oh god... Daddy... the light... it's too hot on me..."
"You've been a naughty girl." Sloane slaps her hard across the plump mound and earns a hard little jolt. "You get what you get, princess."
Sloane patted her girl on the small of her back and steadied the trembling hips that made for difficult work. The catheter was next on the agenda, Emily knew as much too from the sharp rustle of the plastic covering. It makes the young woman whimper and grow small, innocent in ways she doesn't deserve to be, as if this punishment didn't quite fit the crime. Catheters were always the worst thing that could be done to her in the personal ledger of procedures and punishments that could be doled out at whim. Sloane cares to disagree. The tip is lubricated and aligned with the tiny, twitching orifice between her puffy mound. Sloane hesitates once she has the thick tip inside. It's a little game she likes to play, one where no matter the outcome, she is always a winner. The patient fists the crisp white sheet beneath her body and throws her head back damn near hard enough to break her neck, veins bulging, teeth gritted, snarling and fighting against the slow unrelenting intrusion into her urethra.
Sloane thinks, with absolute certainty, her girl is the most beautiful wild thing to have ever breathed.
"I give!"
"What was that?" Sloane stops and pulls the catheter slightly, smirking to herself.
Emily's head slips forward again in defeat, her breaths deepening in relief. "I give," she finally says it again, more solemn this time. "I give, Daddy. It's too big." She slumps in relief as the doctor removes the offending stimuli.
"Well that didn't take long, did it?" Sloane is amused by the false start.
"You went for the big guns early."
"Honey, if you thought that was the big gun. If I have warned you once..."
"No." Emily snaps around with wide eyes, her plump lips pouting again as she realises this was absolutely part of the plan. "You're not serious? You're not... doing that?" she asks, tacitly.
"What do I always tell you?" Sloane levels a serious, heavy expression, her manicured brow piquing.
Emily blinks and swallows hard, "But it took six weeks to wear off last time."
"I still have the little pink plastic potty in my office." Sloane shrugs and changes her gloves with a quick, thunderous snap. The plastic covered syringe taken in one hand as she moved to the cupboard to fetch a little bottle of botox, her fingers dancing over the lined up medicines until she found a syringe of numbing agent too. "You look cute in diapers too, everyone always agrees it's sweet the way you get so embarrassed about it."
"The charity gala is in two weeks — you already bought my dress for it." Emily is eager to remind the doctor bubbling with ideas a few feet away.
"Well," Sloane sits herself back down with a darkened little smirk, supplies clattering on the metal tray. "You're going to look very bulky around the hips now. Stupid games, little one."
The labia is spread but this time Sloane takes her forceps from the metal tray, the littlest ones that have handles like scissors but small steel circle clamps at the end, and tugs the vulva apart with them. Each handle is taped to the lily white skin of Emily's inner thighs, nice and out of the way. It frees up the doctor's million dollar hands for other things. Emily becomes quiet and respondent, her spine pushing up and down with the unsteadiness of her breathing, excited, fearful, nervous, aroused, all of these things simultaneously until there is no room for cheekiness or back talk.
Sloane almost misses it, for a moment at least, but then she is flicking her finger against a syringe of numbing agent, preoccupied with other things.
"I'm going to numb your urethral meatus now, you will feel a sharp sting but it will go away quickly, then all you will feel is tugging and pressure." The doctor pulls the overhead lamp back down until she has a better view.
"Daddy—" Emily chokes on the word nervously as a gloved finger traces over her tight, taut cunt.
"When you hear the sound of your bladder expelling in the pan, the sound of you pissing yourself like a little girl—" Sloane becomes crude and serious, her thumb and forefinger pinching the opening of the urethra. "I want you to remember that your kitten belongs to me. It's my little research project, my little thing to change and touch and play with at whim. Do you understand me?"
"Yes Daddy," Emily gasps.
"Say it back to me, so I know you understand why this is happening." The doctor drags out the torturous anticipation, fingers tugging and playing with her tiniest opening. "What did you do that you shouldn't have done, little one?" She becomes impatient.
"I played with my daddy's toy without permission," Emily whimpers, "I fucked myself even though I knew it would make you mad—oh!" A long, hard gasp punches the ceiling as the doctor sets to work.
The hypodermic needle was a wondrous thing, easily one of the greatest medical inventions of the modern world. It was merely a very thin, hollow tube with a sharp tip, and yet depending on the procedure necessary, it could administer life saving medicine with narrow precision or relieve the body of cysts and malign that would otherwise cause catastrophic harm. Yet, so many people were frightened of them. If only they knew the painful things Sloane was capable of inflicting with nothing more than a twenty-five gauge needle and a bone to pick, then they would have something to be fearful about. A needle never hurt anyone, only a doctor in a bad mood ever did.
The sharp bevel punctures the urethral opening, a tiny amount of numbing agent injected, the warning of a sharp pinch given just a moment too late. Emily whimpers and clenches her trembling thighs. Cute, Sloane thinks to herself, hushing and rubbing the tensing flesh. No more than a moment later she is back at it, injecting a little deeper, numbing her slowly, methodically, the cool tingly loss of sensation climbing up her bladder like static. Emily whimpers that she doesn't like the feeling of it, Sloane chuckles slightly and reminds her that she isn't supposed to with a chaste peck against the plump globe of her bottom.
Ah, there it finally is.
Sloane's smile glimmers, eyes glittering, jaw tensing with a delicious, heady sense of arousal as a trickle of clear liquid dribbles out of the numbed little opening. The metal pan is placed between her baby girl's restrained propped thighs, the sharp sound of water hitting the metal startling the girl with sudden humiliation. There was always something gorgeous about watching the defeat slowly sink in, the awareness that her daddy had played with something so deeply innate to her personhood that there was nowhere to hide other than the deepest layers of her subspace.
It was a little joyful pleasure to be had, like chocolate fondant, rich and decadent to Sloane's palet.
"No," Emily whimpers and crumples forward, blushing and tearful.
"I am determined to find new things to make catheters pale in comparison," Sloane whispers the explanation and rubs her patient's hip as the bladder helplessly voids itself. "There there, you're nearly finished. Someone clearly didn't go to the bathroom like I politely suggested earlier..." She placed the pan out of sight now her kitten was finished wetting herself.
"Daddy it hurts," Emily whines and twists her hips around the strange void of sensation between her legs.
"No it doesn't."
"Alright, fine, it doesn't now but it's still embarrassing!" Emily's shoulder collapse forward, but then there's a sudden jolt and gasp.
The nipple clamps, Sloane remembers and smiles.
"You know you're my pretty girl, always, don't you princess?" Sloane comforts the sore little troublemaker with latex hands gliding up and down her trembling thighs. "Even when you're sore, when you've been naughty, when I have to do things to you that make you feel like a silly little girl, you know you're still gorgeous, don't you?"
The corner of Emily's mouth twitches at that. "Well that helps, slightly," she mumbles, the surface tension of their pretense briefly shattered.
"Good." The doctor nods to herself, sighing for a moment. "Right then, that's settled. Head down, bottom up high, I still need to administer the botox and punish your fuck holes. I have an hour and then I need to review some labworks, time isn't on our side."
"Yes ma'am."
The gleaming little spread open crevices are wiped with antiseptic, and god does her little troublemaker jolt and buck when the sting touches her most private places. Sloane is very thorough, wiping and blotting and tracing and dancing over the tiny lips and little dips of her patient's vulva. After a moment, once the sting subsides, her methodicity is enough to earn a tiny strangled moan that is more aroused than it is sore. She circles the clitoris again, pointer finger dancing over the twitching little bud, then she stops before it feels too good.
"If I'm a good girl can I cum?"
Sloane can't help but laugh loudly, "Baby, I think we're miles over that bridge now."
"But I didn't cum earlier," Emily snaps around with a devastated, forlorn expression. "You said one month, no orgasms, you said!"
"Ah ah," Sloane plunges two slick fingers deep inside her vaginal canal, pads curling into the spongy flesh that made her troublemaker's toes curl. "Inside voice," the doctor reminds quietly.
"Yes ma'am," Emily's voice hovers above a tiny whisper, her gasps strangled, shoulder blades tight, weight bearing down on buckling elbows as the doctor between her legs tentatively fucks her. "You said one month, Daddy," she whispers, softly.
"Goodness, your so engorged and swollen." Sloane's eyebrows knit together, entirely unconcerned with the wittering little pet shackled to the bed. "I can feel you throbbing." Her fingers twist inside a little deeper, knuckles riding hard against the posterior wall. "How much do you think you could take right now, kitten?"
"Anything for an orgasm, Daddy," the troublemaker pants hard.
Anything. Sloane feels herself come to a near boil on that one little word.
"I'm going to stretch your vagina with my fist. I'm going to stuff every last finger inside, and then I'm going to fill your bottom—" Emily writhes and gasps in relief already, slumping, pushing herself back up, trying desperately to fuck her hips backwards against the two fingers making slow work of her arousal. "I'm going to pinch you, prod you, play with you, edge you, stuff your little fuckholes until you're achy and bruised, and if you magically find a way to impress your daddy, I'll think about letting you cum. Am I clear, princess?"
"Anything for you, Daddy," Emily pants hard, "Please, I want it."
Sloane slips a third finger inside, her digits wiggling and curling and feeling out the tight little orifice. It's enough to make her pet sob a deep, guttural moan of relief. The latex glove made for a low coefficient of friction, fingers slick, the pressure slippery, and so the doctor stuffs her pinky finger inside before the little troublemaker has the usual minute or two to adjust. The walls clench around her fingers so tight, pulsating, almost trying to push Sloane out. The doctor wouldn't have that. She adjusts her grip and stands from the stool, her other hand grabbing the propped hip for leverage, she puts her shoulder and back into her efforts, fucking the sloppy little girl on the bed like a whore.
The clitoris beneath her thumb twitches and throbs, swollen and desperate for attention underneath the hood. Sloane can't dissociate completely, no matter how much she enjoys her little pet, she is a woman of method and order before all other things. Analytical, cool, focused, a woman knitted together by her training. She notices the tremor in Emily's hips, palpably aware of the inner workings of each internal system, the blood rushing to each erogenous zone, the nervous system suffocating itself with dopamine, the arteries constricting, the capillaries engorging, the muscles contracting, the innermost private functions of her baby girl's body. It means she knows exactly where and how to touch her. It makes their love making soaked with a strange sense of professionalism. She is a doctor, and a daddy, and a dominant, and a woman on the edge of her own sensibilities, and somehow she is all of these things at once.
It's the military training that does it, Sloane is well aware. It's almost like the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi — the practice of repairing broken ceramic pottery with gold. All of the pieces of herself, fractured and jagged, scraping against one another, ill-fitting and difficult to sit next to one another, are knitted together by the quiet sense of self-authority and order.
She is a doctor, and a daddy, and a dominant, and a woman on the edge of her own sensibilities, and the calm sense of order she exerts over herself allows her to be masterful at each and every single one.
"Daddy, oh god, I'm going to cum—" Emily buckles and pants hard, her stuffed cunt glistening and gleaming, the muscles pushing outwards like a blooming flower.
"No you're not," Sloane tells her calmly, thumb twisting inside the hot tightness of her cunt forcefully, punishingly, squeezing inside until the rhythm building in her baby girl's lower muscles is disrupted and controlled. There, Sloane grits her teeth as her wrist settles snug against the tight canal. "You do whatever you have to do to stop yourself cumming. You climax when I tell you that you're allowed to climax, and if you feel like you're going to cum without permission then you do whatever the fuck you have to do to figure it out," the words are almost languid in how calmly they're uttered, "Do you understand me?"
"Yes ma'am, oh god, I'll try my best," Emily weeps and twists on the fist working up into her guts.
"Do not disappoint me, Emily." Sloane fists her with one hand and rubs the back of her thigh with the other, "If you cum without permission I'm going to inject this botox in your clit. How long did it take to wear off when I stuck it in your bladder last time, remind me?"
"S...six weeks, Daddy." Emily gasps.
"I'll fuck you every single day for those six weeks, princess. I'll lick and suck your clit, I'll rub it slowly just the way you like, I'll throw every single toy at you, and you won't feel a single damn little tickle of it." Sloane deepens her grip and fists her deeper, moaning and slick herself with the thought of it. "I dare you, I fucking dare you to cum without Daddy's permission." She felt her little troublemaker start to clench and bounce her hips back.
"Daddy please can I cum? Please?" Emily's begs began, hard and arduous, her voice high and warbly with each little plea, "Please Daddy, please! I'll be such a good girl! I'll do anything you tell me to do, I'll do anything!"
"Nope," Sloane says calmly and presses a lubed finger against her quivering, twitching anus. "I'm going to fill your bottom up with my other hand, don't you dare cum, princess, I mean it. I will make love to you for the next six weeks and you will not get to enjoy a single second of it..." Sloane gave her girl fair warning as the glistening latex finger slid home.
"Jesus Christ!" Emily threw her head back, hard.
"He won't help you now, honey." Sloane smirked to herself and made sloppy work of her troublemaker.
There is a hard clench around her fist, deep inside the walls of the vagina, hard enough that the pressure around the single digit stuck in her kitten's ass grew tight too. Sloane smirks, breathing heavy, gulping back the thought of how delicious the next six weeks would be. She knew Emily was on the edge of herself, dancing perilously towards the cliff's edge of her climax, building and building towards that delicious, golden, glittering state of bliss that would be her last for a while. Despite her own orders, Sloane wants to force her there.
"I love your mouth," Emily whimpers to herself with choked, throttled, wobbly moans, "I love my daddy's mouth, I love how plump it is, I love the way it tastes. I love the way it feels on my skin. I love the big words that come out of it. I love how mean it is..." There's a long, hard gasp that struggles to contain itself.
The clenching begins to dwindle slightly, backing off, backing down, the gleaming sweaty hips no longer fervent and bucking, calming down to a slow deep rocking motion. The doctor furrows her brow and holds her position, unsure of herself.
"...I love my daddy's hands. I love how strong they are. I love how soft they are. I love how the veins stand out. I love how it feels when she spanks me. I love how they feel around my throat—" Emily gasps and winds herself tighter, face buried against the crisp white pillow, comforting herself with the kind of thorough and methodical list her mind felt capable of wrapping around.
"What are you doing, princess?" Sloane slips another digit inside of her bottom, working her slowly, the other hand twisting against the spot deep inside her cunt that made for screaming, gut wrenching, body collapsing orgasms.
"Distracting myself," Emily groans and pulls against the wrist restraints. "I love my daddy's stomach, I love how tight it is, I love the muscles there, I love how they feel underneath my tongue, I love the way the muscles feel on my fingertips." She clenches her eyes hard as the temptation to climax floods through her. "I love my daddy's back, I love the tattoo between her shoulders, I love tracing it when she's asleep, I love falling asleep on the bottom of her back, I love how tight it gets when she picks me up to fuck me, oh god I love your back—" Emily groans it out loud, and Sloane becomes certain that the orderlies currently pushing laundry carts down the hallway are getting quite the tour of her body.
"Well now you're just being a little sycophant," Sloane blinks, swallowing the piquing arousal that came from the flattery. "Tell me what else you love, tell me everything, don't save a single fucking thing for yourself," she orders with a low growl, fucking her softly, deeply, making the kind of sloppy noises that would surely make the angels turn away in embarrassment.
"I love the way you taste when you let me go down on you—oh god, I love the way you taste." Emily fists the crumpled sheets within her reach. "I love licking you off my chin, I love sucking you clean, I love making you shiver, I love the way your thighs get tight around the back of my head when you let me sit between your legs at your desk—" The troublemaker pants hard, the temptation for an orgasm building deep within herself again. "Daddy please, please, please can I cum?"
"Figure it the fuck out, princess." Sloane grits her teeth and rocks her fist back and forth carefully, her knuckles riding the swollen little g-spot twitching deep inside her baby girl. "I want to hear the whole list."
She is a woman on the edge of herself too, a woman on the brink of her own sensibilities, a thigh clenched, jaw tensing, throat quivering excuse of a domme, entirely dumbfounded with how this power dynamic was so often tipped upside down. It infuriates her, it angers the deepest parts of herself that ache for total control, it teases her, it tantalises her, it tickles all the parts of herself that she was otherwise unaware could be toyed with so pleasurably. Sloane licks her lips and smiles to herself, well aware that she would put her baby girl to work between her legs once she had the time later on to make leisure of it. For now, dangling the carrot is enough to get her off.
"Daddy—" Emily bucks and gasps, eyes wide and hips trembling. "Daddy please I can't hold it, I can't. Please, Daddy, I love you, I love you, I love you, please?"
"Don't make me tell you again."
"Yes ma'am, oh god, okay, I'll try," Emily loses herself to another warbly moan, her hips bouncing backwards, her cunt a sloppy mess on the gloved wrist between her legs. "I love my daddy's thighs, I love the long dip where your muscles knit together, I love when I've been a good girl and you let me make a mess on the top of your leg, I love how it feels on my pussy when I clench and you grab my throat and hold me close to your chest and tell me to cum—"
"I'm not telling you to cum, don't take yourself there, baby." Sloan reminds, her fingers working expertly.
"I love my daddy's hair, I love how long it is, I love how shiny it is, I love playing with it, I love stroking it, I love bunching it up and holding it out of her way when she sucks my clit... oh god, oh fuck—" Emily rises up and grows tight.
"Are you cumming?" Sloane barks.
"No, Daddy, I'll be a good girl," Emily cries tearfully and holds it back as best she can, bringing her hips back down.
"Good girls certainly don't say the word fuck," Sloane fists her a little harder.
"I love when Daddy punishes me." Emily starts up again quickly, aware that any delay might be enough time for Sloane to think of a creative punishment. Her girl was many things, but a fool she was not. "I love when I've been bad and you fist me in my ass, I love the way you stretch me out for hours, build me up, work me up, make me love it and then you pull your hand out before I'm allowed to cum. I love when you pin me down and put your fingers in my mouth. I love when you spank me. I love when you make me stand in the corner of your office with my panties down and my dress pulled up. I love when you put me in stirrups and make me hold your things. I love when my daddy ties me up and leaves the vibrator on my clit until I'm sobbing and sorry, oh god, I love my daddy, I love her so much, please, fucking please, can I cum?" Emily screams and sobs, her tears making wet trails down her cheeks.
Sloane smiles and closes her eyes.
"You're such a good little girl," Sloane whispers and cranes her neck, kissing and licking and sucking around the plump cunt lips cradling her wrist. She jams her knee on the edge of the bed for leverage, twisting and working as best she can with her mouth. "You've been such a good girl, tell me you're daddy's good little girl," Sloane lets her breathe graze her troublemaker's sensitive little parts.
"Oh fuck, I'm your good girl daddy, I'm your good little girl," Emily chokes and tries her hardest not to get ahead of herself.
"How much does your daddy love you?" Sloane prods, turning her attention back to where it matters, sucking and kissing the twitching clit that ached for attention.
"My daddy loves me so much," Emily pants hard, "My daddy adores me. My daddy loves me. I'm the only thing my daddy wants. I'm the only thing my daddy wants. My daddy is so good to me, oh god, ma'am, please, I can't—" Her hips rise up and grow still, her thighs trembling like hummingbird wings. "Daddy I can't hold on for much longer—"
"Cum baby," Sloane sucks and nibbles and licks and kisses, "You've been such a good girl, show daddy how grateful you are, cum for me, princess."
Emily shatters and snaps instantly, hips whipping, cunt pulsing hard, squealing, crying, squirting, gasping, fisting the crumpled sheets, straining against the restraints, choking on her own moans, riding back as hard as she can as if the fist just can't get deep enough. Sloane holds her there, kissing her folds and sucking her cunt, sucking and nibbling around the outskirts of town until the little wild thing's weight is collapsed and resting almost entirely against her face. Even then, Sloane doesn't stop, she kisses and strokes her tongue and brings her down with crooning sweet little nothings until her girl is jolting with shivers of electricity.
"I came Daddy," Emily mumbles, gasping, stating the obvious as the doctor shifts her legs to make an escape from underneath her.
Sloane smiles as she guides her body back down, "I know, baby. You're such a good girl. You need cuddles?"
"In a bit please, ma'am. I'm too tingly right now."
"That's okay, good girl," Sloane whispers as she undoes the restraints around each of her sore, tired limbs. "You just lie there and let me clean you up, kitten." A hand slips over and strokes the back of her long hair.
Emily lays there, collapsed, satiated, whimpering, shivering, glittering with the last of her climax. Cute, Sloane thinks to herself, aware it was about to get a whole lot cuter as she grabbed a diaper off the tray. The crinkly sound of the material is enough to stir her girl, those two big eyes fluttering open over her shoulder with an embarrassed, hesitant look.
"You're okay, baby," Sloane slips it underneath and around her girl, making quick efficient work of the tabs. "The anaesthetic will wear off in a few hours, nothing to worry about." It earns a relieved, shakey nod.
Emily lays back down in a warm, tingling pile with her legs curled up to her tummy. "Sloane,' she whispers tiredly.
"Yes, baby?"
"Snacks, and a blue gatorade too please."
"Oh. The vending machine is broken, sorry baby." Sloane rubs her calf and stares at her, breathing her in, certain that she is without a doubt the most beautiful thing she has ever seen on a moment to moment basis. "You want a water instead?"
"Sloane," Emily's voice sounds a little more serious this time.
"Yes, baby?"
"Did it sound like I was asking? To clarify, please go and get me a Gatorade and something sweet with caramel in it." Her eyes open slowly, glittering and glimmering. "Figure it the fuck out, Daddy," she teases with that low, playful tone.
Sloane can't help but smirk and grow a little taller, but she nods her head and swallows. "Of course, baby." She closes her eyes, "I'll send an intern on a wild goose chase at ten o'clock at night, just for you." She sighs and reaches in her pocket for her pager. "Don't say I don't spoil you..."
"Thanks," Emily whispers, "Oh, and Sloane?" She flutters her eyes open again.
Sloane piques her brow this time, "Yes, baby?"
"Smuggle me up to your office please. I want to sit in your lap and sign things for you. Head strokes, head strokes would be nice too." The little troublemaker blinks a bit, rotating her arm slightly as if she's unsure of the joint. "And that thing you do when you rub that one spot behind my shoulder blade. It feels stiff, I need your hands on it."
"Well, if I can't take care of one little princess what business do I have running a department?" Sloane takes it in her stride with a deep sigh, turning back to her pager to dole out the orders.
"Sloane?"
It exasperates her this time. "Yes, baby?" she says, frustrated.
"Love you daddy."
"Mhmm. Shmove-shmoo daddy," Sloane mimics and taps away, barely even glancing up.
"I'll try and be a good girl for you, Daddy," Emily whispers, and Sloane knows without a shadow of a doubt that it's a pretty little lie.
How she came into possession of Emily was neither here nor there, in the eyes of the board at least. They needed a chief for their struggling, fund-hemorrhaging excuse of a clinic. And Sloane, being the best of the best, required more than a slight sweetener in order to sign the dotted line and finally plant roots somewhere. It wasn't that Sloane couldn't go out and find a submissive if she wanted to, she was still fairly young, beautiful, in fantastic shape, respectable and more than financially secure, but life had afforded her very little time to find the submissive to compliment all of her darker, innate desires. Seven years of medical school, four years active service attached to the Marines as a trauma surgeon to pay off her debts, three years developing her groundbreaking research. It was worth it, of course, but it came at a personal sacrifice where her love life was concerned.
When the board called a few weeks after the initial sit down to say they had the profile of an unclaimed submissive who ticked all the right boxes, Sloane believed it was too good to be true. The best part was that the young woman, Emily, was more than entirely willing. Emily had just finished her master's degree and wanted a Daddy, a female one, mean and tough as nails too, either a military woman or a surgeon, according to her profile. In Sloane she found all of those things. Emily had already packed her bags and bought her plane ticket before Sloane had agreed to anything. An eager baby girl, if ever there was one.
A few handshakes under the table with the bigwigs upstairs, Emily was signed over to Sloane's claim and the board had their new chief. A year later, and the honeymoon period still hadn't even reached its twilight. Emily was an unruly little firecracker of a woman, and the novelty had not worn off yet. They drifted between periods of at home domesticity, and then, for a few weeks at a time, baby girl became her little inpatient. It was deliciously subversive for both of them.
"Get on all fours for me. Daddy needs to examine you and perform a few procedures," Sloane orders, authoritative and yet almost disinterested, as if this is any ordinary doctor-patient encounter. Her baby girl does as she's told, shivering in anticipation, aroused and nervous. "That's a good girl, can you pull your gown up for me?" Sloane snapped on a pair of black latex gloves.
The little troublemaker hesitates.
"Is it going to hurt, Daddy?" Emily peers over her shoulder with those big, glimmering green eyes.
"Only your feelings, so long as you're a good girl." Sloane smirks and lifts the gown up and over her submissive's small pale hips until the flimsy material bunches around her panting belly. The doctor buckles the restraints around her ankles deftly, quickly, the routine of it ingrained in both of their muscle memories. "There we go, nice and tight," she hums the words to herself and gives the leather cuffs attached to the railings a quick little tug.
The overhead lamp is pulled down and switched on, the hot bright light pointing directly at the patient's tiniest, pink, spread open crevices. The love between them, the playfulness, the pretense of it all, it escapes through the puncture wounds of the cracked open window until there's nothing left but method and structure. The doctor pinches the little labia hard, pulls them apart, like little wings, until they're almost translucent underneath the hot bright lamp, her thumbs rubbing the insides of each slick wet tiny labia until she is satisfied with her patient's whimpering response to the stimuli.
"Patient hasn't climaxed in a month, her external sexual features appears to be more responsive than normal." Sloane cranes her head towards the dictaphone in the pocket of her lab jacket. "Clitoris is far larger than normal for a young woman of her stature and ethnic background, the labia appear to be flushed and swollen, these may be physiological indications of arousal, or the patient might just be a big girl between her legs." Sloane smiles and pats her blushing patient's hip, aware of how much she hated any insinuation she was 'larger' than normal.
"Daddy can we do something different?" Emily whimpers and shifts away from the gloved hand resting on her hip.
Sloan smiles at that, already knowing the answer to her next question, "Does little girl want to stop or are you just feeling naughty?" she asks anyway.
"The latter, Daddy."
"Well, I challenge anyone to fault my little girl's syntax."
"Can you..." Emily halts and inhaled a short, sharp breath.
Here it is, Sloane thinks to herself with a smile.
"I want you to be nasty to me. I missed you so much when you had to leave for your meeting. Daddy, I missed you between my legs extra badly..." The memory makes her squirm and roll her eager hips.
"You didn't climax, did you?" Sloane asks accusingly, anticipating an incorrect answer and already on the brink of anger because of it.
Sloane is an optimist, not a fool. She knew Emily loved to bend and break the rules from time to time, mainly just so she had a reason to punish her in the ways they both liked, but this, the thought of Emily reaching between her legs and fiddling with a month's worth of research data? It leaves the clinician damn near seething.
But Emily shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, "No ma'am. I undid my gown and rubbed and pinched my nipples as hard as I could like you taught me to do when I feel antsy between my legs."
Sloane exhales a deep, relieved sigh, "Good girl—"
"And then I rubbed my kitten on the pillow and pushed my fingers as deep in my hole as I could get them." Emily's eyes glimmer as she takes in the furious, measured expression of the woman who calls the shots. "I sucked my fingers clean and pretended you were growling at me to gag on them, Daddy. I got three fingers all the way but it made my kitten ache so I pulled them out before I came."
"You fucked yourself in the twenty minutes I left you to hand over my paperwork?" Sloane doesn't even know where to start.
"Yes, but I didn't cum. Give me that much?" Emily pouts.
The response to the admission of guilt is swift and methodical, silent and pulsating with clinical anger. Sloane walks around and restrains each of her wrists as hard and tight as she can. Her gloved hand reaches underneath the moaning, warm, pushing chest and blindly rub and squeeze the puffy areola hard between the thumb and forefinger. There, she smiles to herself as the first little bud begins to stiffen and grow hard. The medical clamp is applied, the pressure tightened, the steel biting into the base of Emily's areola until her squeals grow high and warbly.
"Stupid games, stupid prizes." Sloane spares no sympathy as she clamps the other nipple.
Sloane sits back down on her stool at the bottom of the bed, enjoying the sight of her little submissive sobbing and trying her hardest not to rest weight on the sore, tightly clamped, stiff nipples. The overhead lamp is moved closer between the straining, separated legs. The light is so bright and hot between the patient's parted thighs, close enough to burn and sting her plump vulva. Though, that alone isn't enough, not for Sloane's big brave girl. The labia are forcefully parted, the hood of her clitoris tugged back, the fat little cunt bead examined with careful, methodical appraisal while a gloved finger rubs the tip until the tears start up.
"Daddy," Emily chokes and loses her breath, "Oh god... Daddy... the light... it's too hot on me..."
"You've been a naughty girl." Sloane slaps her hard across the plump mound and earns a hard little jolt. "You get what you get, princess."
Sloane patted her girl on the small of her back and steadied the trembling hips that made for difficult work. The catheter was next on the agenda, Emily knew as much too from the sharp rustle of the plastic covering. It makes the young woman whimper and grow small, innocent in ways she doesn't deserve to be, as if this punishment didn't quite fit the crime. Catheters were always the worst thing that could be done to her in the personal ledger of procedures and punishments that could be doled out at whim. Sloane cares to disagree. The tip is lubricated and aligned with the tiny, twitching orifice between her puffy mound. Sloane hesitates once she has the thick tip inside. It's a little game she likes to play, one where no matter the outcome, she is always a winner. The patient fists the crisp white sheet beneath her body and throws her head back damn near hard enough to break her neck, veins bulging, teeth gritted, snarling and fighting against the slow unrelenting intrusion into her urethra.
Sloane thinks, with absolute certainty, her girl is the most beautiful wild thing to have ever breathed.
"I give!"
"What was that?" Sloane stops and pulls the catheter slightly, smirking to herself.
Emily's head slips forward again in defeat, her breaths deepening in relief. "I give," she finally says it again, more solemn this time. "I give, Daddy. It's too big." She slumps in relief as the doctor removes the offending stimuli.
"Well that didn't take long, did it?" Sloane is amused by the false start.
"You went for the big guns early."
"Honey, if you thought that was the big gun. If I have warned you once..."
"No." Emily snaps around with wide eyes, her plump lips pouting again as she realises this was absolutely part of the plan. "You're not serious? You're not... doing that?" she asks, tacitly.
"What do I always tell you?" Sloane levels a serious, heavy expression, her manicured brow piquing.
Emily blinks and swallows hard, "But it took six weeks to wear off last time."
"I still have the little pink plastic potty in my office." Sloane shrugs and changes her gloves with a quick, thunderous snap. The plastic covered syringe taken in one hand as she moved to the cupboard to fetch a little bottle of botox, her fingers dancing over the lined up medicines until she found a syringe of numbing agent too. "You look cute in diapers too, everyone always agrees it's sweet the way you get so embarrassed about it."
"The charity gala is in two weeks — you already bought my dress for it." Emily is eager to remind the doctor bubbling with ideas a few feet away.
"Well," Sloane sits herself back down with a darkened little smirk, supplies clattering on the metal tray. "You're going to look very bulky around the hips now. Stupid games, little one."
The labia is spread but this time Sloane takes her forceps from the metal tray, the littlest ones that have handles like scissors but small steel circle clamps at the end, and tugs the vulva apart with them. Each handle is taped to the lily white skin of Emily's inner thighs, nice and out of the way. It frees up the doctor's million dollar hands for other things. Emily becomes quiet and respondent, her spine pushing up and down with the unsteadiness of her breathing, excited, fearful, nervous, aroused, all of these things simultaneously until there is no room for cheekiness or back talk.
Sloane almost misses it, for a moment at least, but then she is flicking her finger against a syringe of numbing agent, preoccupied with other things.
"I'm going to numb your urethral meatus now, you will feel a sharp sting but it will go away quickly, then all you will feel is tugging and pressure." The doctor pulls the overhead lamp back down until she has a better view.
"Daddy—" Emily chokes on the word nervously as a gloved finger traces over her tight, taut cunt.
"When you hear the sound of your bladder expelling in the pan, the sound of you pissing yourself like a little girl—" Sloane becomes crude and serious, her thumb and forefinger pinching the opening of the urethra. "I want you to remember that your kitten belongs to me. It's my little research project, my little thing to change and touch and play with at whim. Do you understand me?"
"Yes Daddy," Emily gasps.
"Say it back to me, so I know you understand why this is happening." The doctor drags out the torturous anticipation, fingers tugging and playing with her tiniest opening. "What did you do that you shouldn't have done, little one?" She becomes impatient.
"I played with my daddy's toy without permission," Emily whimpers, "I fucked myself even though I knew it would make you mad—oh!" A long, hard gasp punches the ceiling as the doctor sets to work.
The hypodermic needle was a wondrous thing, easily one of the greatest medical inventions of the modern world. It was merely a very thin, hollow tube with a sharp tip, and yet depending on the procedure necessary, it could administer life saving medicine with narrow precision or relieve the body of cysts and malign that would otherwise cause catastrophic harm. Yet, so many people were frightened of them. If only they knew the painful things Sloane was capable of inflicting with nothing more than a twenty-five gauge needle and a bone to pick, then they would have something to be fearful about. A needle never hurt anyone, only a doctor in a bad mood ever did.
The sharp bevel punctures the urethral opening, a tiny amount of numbing agent injected, the warning of a sharp pinch given just a moment too late. Emily whimpers and clenches her trembling thighs. Cute, Sloane thinks to herself, hushing and rubbing the tensing flesh. No more than a moment later she is back at it, injecting a little deeper, numbing her slowly, methodically, the cool tingly loss of sensation climbing up her bladder like static. Emily whimpers that she doesn't like the feeling of it, Sloane chuckles slightly and reminds her that she isn't supposed to with a chaste peck against the plump globe of her bottom.
Ah, there it finally is.
Sloane's smile glimmers, eyes glittering, jaw tensing with a delicious, heady sense of arousal as a trickle of clear liquid dribbles out of the numbed little opening. The metal pan is placed between her baby girl's restrained propped thighs, the sharp sound of water hitting the metal startling the girl with sudden humiliation. There was always something gorgeous about watching the defeat slowly sink in, the awareness that her daddy had played with something so deeply innate to her personhood that there was nowhere to hide other than the deepest layers of her subspace.
It was a little joyful pleasure to be had, like chocolate fondant, rich and decadent to Sloane's palet.
"No," Emily whimpers and crumples forward, blushing and tearful.
"I am determined to find new things to make catheters pale in comparison," Sloane whispers the explanation and rubs her patient's hip as the bladder helplessly voids itself. "There there, you're nearly finished. Someone clearly didn't go to the bathroom like I politely suggested earlier..." She placed the pan out of sight now her kitten was finished wetting herself.
"Daddy it hurts," Emily whines and twists her hips around the strange void of sensation between her legs.
"No it doesn't."
"Alright, fine, it doesn't now but it's still embarrassing!" Emily's shoulder collapse forward, but then there's a sudden jolt and gasp.
The nipple clamps, Sloane remembers and smiles.
"You know you're my pretty girl, always, don't you princess?" Sloane comforts the sore little troublemaker with latex hands gliding up and down her trembling thighs. "Even when you're sore, when you've been naughty, when I have to do things to you that make you feel like a silly little girl, you know you're still gorgeous, don't you?"
The corner of Emily's mouth twitches at that. "Well that helps, slightly," she mumbles, the surface tension of their pretense briefly shattered.
"Good." The doctor nods to herself, sighing for a moment. "Right then, that's settled. Head down, bottom up high, I still need to administer the botox and punish your fuck holes. I have an hour and then I need to review some labworks, time isn't on our side."
"Yes ma'am."
The gleaming little spread open crevices are wiped with antiseptic, and god does her little troublemaker jolt and buck when the sting touches her most private places. Sloane is very thorough, wiping and blotting and tracing and dancing over the tiny lips and little dips of her patient's vulva. After a moment, once the sting subsides, her methodicity is enough to earn a tiny strangled moan that is more aroused than it is sore. She circles the clitoris again, pointer finger dancing over the twitching little bud, then she stops before it feels too good.
"If I'm a good girl can I cum?"
Sloane can't help but laugh loudly, "Baby, I think we're miles over that bridge now."
"But I didn't cum earlier," Emily snaps around with a devastated, forlorn expression. "You said one month, no orgasms, you said!"
"Ah ah," Sloane plunges two slick fingers deep inside her vaginal canal, pads curling into the spongy flesh that made her troublemaker's toes curl. "Inside voice," the doctor reminds quietly.
"Yes ma'am," Emily's voice hovers above a tiny whisper, her gasps strangled, shoulder blades tight, weight bearing down on buckling elbows as the doctor between her legs tentatively fucks her. "You said one month, Daddy," she whispers, softly.
"Goodness, your so engorged and swollen." Sloane's eyebrows knit together, entirely unconcerned with the wittering little pet shackled to the bed. "I can feel you throbbing." Her fingers twist inside a little deeper, knuckles riding hard against the posterior wall. "How much do you think you could take right now, kitten?"
"Anything for an orgasm, Daddy," the troublemaker pants hard.
Anything. Sloane feels herself come to a near boil on that one little word.
"I'm going to stretch your vagina with my fist. I'm going to stuff every last finger inside, and then I'm going to fill your bottom—" Emily writhes and gasps in relief already, slumping, pushing herself back up, trying desperately to fuck her hips backwards against the two fingers making slow work of her arousal. "I'm going to pinch you, prod you, play with you, edge you, stuff your little fuckholes until you're achy and bruised, and if you magically find a way to impress your daddy, I'll think about letting you cum. Am I clear, princess?"
"Anything for you, Daddy," Emily pants hard, "Please, I want it."
Sloane slips a third finger inside, her digits wiggling and curling and feeling out the tight little orifice. It's enough to make her pet sob a deep, guttural moan of relief. The latex glove made for a low coefficient of friction, fingers slick, the pressure slippery, and so the doctor stuffs her pinky finger inside before the little troublemaker has the usual minute or two to adjust. The walls clench around her fingers so tight, pulsating, almost trying to push Sloane out. The doctor wouldn't have that. She adjusts her grip and stands from the stool, her other hand grabbing the propped hip for leverage, she puts her shoulder and back into her efforts, fucking the sloppy little girl on the bed like a whore.
The clitoris beneath her thumb twitches and throbs, swollen and desperate for attention underneath the hood. Sloane can't dissociate completely, no matter how much she enjoys her little pet, she is a woman of method and order before all other things. Analytical, cool, focused, a woman knitted together by her training. She notices the tremor in Emily's hips, palpably aware of the inner workings of each internal system, the blood rushing to each erogenous zone, the nervous system suffocating itself with dopamine, the arteries constricting, the capillaries engorging, the muscles contracting, the innermost private functions of her baby girl's body. It means she knows exactly where and how to touch her. It makes their love making soaked with a strange sense of professionalism. She is a doctor, and a daddy, and a dominant, and a woman on the edge of her own sensibilities, and somehow she is all of these things at once.
It's the military training that does it, Sloane is well aware. It's almost like the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi — the practice of repairing broken ceramic pottery with gold. All of the pieces of herself, fractured and jagged, scraping against one another, ill-fitting and difficult to sit next to one another, are knitted together by the quiet sense of self-authority and order.
She is a doctor, and a daddy, and a dominant, and a woman on the edge of her own sensibilities, and the calm sense of order she exerts over herself allows her to be masterful at each and every single one.
"Daddy, oh god, I'm going to cum—" Emily buckles and pants hard, her stuffed cunt glistening and gleaming, the muscles pushing outwards like a blooming flower.
"No you're not," Sloane tells her calmly, thumb twisting inside the hot tightness of her cunt forcefully, punishingly, squeezing inside until the rhythm building in her baby girl's lower muscles is disrupted and controlled. There, Sloane grits her teeth as her wrist settles snug against the tight canal. "You do whatever you have to do to stop yourself cumming. You climax when I tell you that you're allowed to climax, and if you feel like you're going to cum without permission then you do whatever the fuck you have to do to figure it out," the words are almost languid in how calmly they're uttered, "Do you understand me?"
"Yes ma'am, oh god, I'll try my best," Emily weeps and twists on the fist working up into her guts.
"Do not disappoint me, Emily." Sloane fists her with one hand and rubs the back of her thigh with the other, "If you cum without permission I'm going to inject this botox in your clit. How long did it take to wear off when I stuck it in your bladder last time, remind me?"
"S...six weeks, Daddy." Emily gasps.
"I'll fuck you every single day for those six weeks, princess. I'll lick and suck your clit, I'll rub it slowly just the way you like, I'll throw every single toy at you, and you won't feel a single damn little tickle of it." Sloane deepens her grip and fists her deeper, moaning and slick herself with the thought of it. "I dare you, I fucking dare you to cum without Daddy's permission." She felt her little troublemaker start to clench and bounce her hips back.
"Daddy please can I cum? Please?" Emily's begs began, hard and arduous, her voice high and warbly with each little plea, "Please Daddy, please! I'll be such a good girl! I'll do anything you tell me to do, I'll do anything!"
"Nope," Sloane says calmly and presses a lubed finger against her quivering, twitching anus. "I'm going to fill your bottom up with my other hand, don't you dare cum, princess, I mean it. I will make love to you for the next six weeks and you will not get to enjoy a single second of it..." Sloane gave her girl fair warning as the glistening latex finger slid home.
"Jesus Christ!" Emily threw her head back, hard.
"He won't help you now, honey." Sloane smirked to herself and made sloppy work of her troublemaker.
There is a hard clench around her fist, deep inside the walls of the vagina, hard enough that the pressure around the single digit stuck in her kitten's ass grew tight too. Sloane smirks, breathing heavy, gulping back the thought of how delicious the next six weeks would be. She knew Emily was on the edge of herself, dancing perilously towards the cliff's edge of her climax, building and building towards that delicious, golden, glittering state of bliss that would be her last for a while. Despite her own orders, Sloane wants to force her there.
"I love your mouth," Emily whimpers to herself with choked, throttled, wobbly moans, "I love my daddy's mouth, I love how plump it is, I love the way it tastes. I love the way it feels on my skin. I love the big words that come out of it. I love how mean it is..." There's a long, hard gasp that struggles to contain itself.
The clenching begins to dwindle slightly, backing off, backing down, the gleaming sweaty hips no longer fervent and bucking, calming down to a slow deep rocking motion. The doctor furrows her brow and holds her position, unsure of herself.
"...I love my daddy's hands. I love how strong they are. I love how soft they are. I love how the veins stand out. I love how it feels when she spanks me. I love how they feel around my throat—" Emily gasps and winds herself tighter, face buried against the crisp white pillow, comforting herself with the kind of thorough and methodical list her mind felt capable of wrapping around.
"What are you doing, princess?" Sloane slips another digit inside of her bottom, working her slowly, the other hand twisting against the spot deep inside her cunt that made for screaming, gut wrenching, body collapsing orgasms.
"Distracting myself," Emily groans and pulls against the wrist restraints. "I love my daddy's stomach, I love how tight it is, I love the muscles there, I love how they feel underneath my tongue, I love the way the muscles feel on my fingertips." She clenches her eyes hard as the temptation to climax floods through her. "I love my daddy's back, I love the tattoo between her shoulders, I love tracing it when she's asleep, I love falling asleep on the bottom of her back, I love how tight it gets when she picks me up to fuck me, oh god I love your back—" Emily groans it out loud, and Sloane becomes certain that the orderlies currently pushing laundry carts down the hallway are getting quite the tour of her body.
"Well now you're just being a little sycophant," Sloane blinks, swallowing the piquing arousal that came from the flattery. "Tell me what else you love, tell me everything, don't save a single fucking thing for yourself," she orders with a low growl, fucking her softly, deeply, making the kind of sloppy noises that would surely make the angels turn away in embarrassment.
"I love the way you taste when you let me go down on you—oh god, I love the way you taste." Emily fists the crumpled sheets within her reach. "I love licking you off my chin, I love sucking you clean, I love making you shiver, I love the way your thighs get tight around the back of my head when you let me sit between your legs at your desk—" The troublemaker pants hard, the temptation for an orgasm building deep within herself again. "Daddy please, please, please can I cum?"
"Figure it the fuck out, princess." Sloane grits her teeth and rocks her fist back and forth carefully, her knuckles riding the swollen little g-spot twitching deep inside her baby girl. "I want to hear the whole list."
She is a woman on the edge of herself too, a woman on the brink of her own sensibilities, a thigh clenched, jaw tensing, throat quivering excuse of a domme, entirely dumbfounded with how this power dynamic was so often tipped upside down. It infuriates her, it angers the deepest parts of herself that ache for total control, it teases her, it tantalises her, it tickles all the parts of herself that she was otherwise unaware could be toyed with so pleasurably. Sloane licks her lips and smiles to herself, well aware that she would put her baby girl to work between her legs once she had the time later on to make leisure of it. For now, dangling the carrot is enough to get her off.
"Daddy—" Emily bucks and gasps, eyes wide and hips trembling. "Daddy please I can't hold it, I can't. Please, Daddy, I love you, I love you, I love you, please?"
"Don't make me tell you again."
"Yes ma'am, oh god, okay, I'll try," Emily loses herself to another warbly moan, her hips bouncing backwards, her cunt a sloppy mess on the gloved wrist between her legs. "I love my daddy's thighs, I love the long dip where your muscles knit together, I love when I've been a good girl and you let me make a mess on the top of your leg, I love how it feels on my pussy when I clench and you grab my throat and hold me close to your chest and tell me to cum—"
"I'm not telling you to cum, don't take yourself there, baby." Sloan reminds, her fingers working expertly.
"I love my daddy's hair, I love how long it is, I love how shiny it is, I love playing with it, I love stroking it, I love bunching it up and holding it out of her way when she sucks my clit... oh god, oh fuck—" Emily rises up and grows tight.
"Are you cumming?" Sloane barks.
"No, Daddy, I'll be a good girl," Emily cries tearfully and holds it back as best she can, bringing her hips back down.
"Good girls certainly don't say the word fuck," Sloane fists her a little harder.
"I love when Daddy punishes me." Emily starts up again quickly, aware that any delay might be enough time for Sloane to think of a creative punishment. Her girl was many things, but a fool she was not. "I love when I've been bad and you fist me in my ass, I love the way you stretch me out for hours, build me up, work me up, make me love it and then you pull your hand out before I'm allowed to cum. I love when you pin me down and put your fingers in my mouth. I love when you spank me. I love when you make me stand in the corner of your office with my panties down and my dress pulled up. I love when you put me in stirrups and make me hold your things. I love when my daddy ties me up and leaves the vibrator on my clit until I'm sobbing and sorry, oh god, I love my daddy, I love her so much, please, fucking please, can I cum?" Emily screams and sobs, her tears making wet trails down her cheeks.
Sloane smiles and closes her eyes.
"You're such a good little girl," Sloane whispers and cranes her neck, kissing and licking and sucking around the plump cunt lips cradling her wrist. She jams her knee on the edge of the bed for leverage, twisting and working as best she can with her mouth. "You've been such a good girl, tell me you're daddy's good little girl," Sloane lets her breathe graze her troublemaker's sensitive little parts.
"Oh fuck, I'm your good girl daddy, I'm your good little girl," Emily chokes and tries her hardest not to get ahead of herself.
"How much does your daddy love you?" Sloane prods, turning her attention back to where it matters, sucking and kissing the twitching clit that ached for attention.
"My daddy loves me so much," Emily pants hard, "My daddy adores me. My daddy loves me. I'm the only thing my daddy wants. I'm the only thing my daddy wants. My daddy is so good to me, oh god, ma'am, please, I can't—" Her hips rise up and grow still, her thighs trembling like hummingbird wings. "Daddy I can't hold on for much longer—"
"Cum baby," Sloane sucks and nibbles and licks and kisses, "You've been such a good girl, show daddy how grateful you are, cum for me, princess."
Emily shatters and snaps instantly, hips whipping, cunt pulsing hard, squealing, crying, squirting, gasping, fisting the crumpled sheets, straining against the restraints, choking on her own moans, riding back as hard as she can as if the fist just can't get deep enough. Sloane holds her there, kissing her folds and sucking her cunt, sucking and nibbling around the outskirts of town until the little wild thing's weight is collapsed and resting almost entirely against her face. Even then, Sloane doesn't stop, she kisses and strokes her tongue and brings her down with crooning sweet little nothings until her girl is jolting with shivers of electricity.
"I came Daddy," Emily mumbles, gasping, stating the obvious as the doctor shifts her legs to make an escape from underneath her.
Sloane smiles as she guides her body back down, "I know, baby. You're such a good girl. You need cuddles?"
"In a bit please, ma'am. I'm too tingly right now."
"That's okay, good girl," Sloane whispers as she undoes the restraints around each of her sore, tired limbs. "You just lie there and let me clean you up, kitten." A hand slips over and strokes the back of her long hair.
Emily lays there, collapsed, satiated, whimpering, shivering, glittering with the last of her climax. Cute, Sloane thinks to herself, aware it was about to get a whole lot cuter as she grabbed a diaper off the tray. The crinkly sound of the material is enough to stir her girl, those two big eyes fluttering open over her shoulder with an embarrassed, hesitant look.
"You're okay, baby," Sloane slips it underneath and around her girl, making quick efficient work of the tabs. "The anaesthetic will wear off in a few hours, nothing to worry about." It earns a relieved, shakey nod.
Emily lays back down in a warm, tingling pile with her legs curled up to her tummy. "Sloane,' she whispers tiredly.
"Yes, baby?"
"Snacks, and a blue gatorade too please."
"Oh. The vending machine is broken, sorry baby." Sloane rubs her calf and stares at her, breathing her in, certain that she is without a doubt the most beautiful thing she has ever seen on a moment to moment basis. "You want a water instead?"
"Sloane," Emily's voice sounds a little more serious this time.
"Yes, baby?"
"Did it sound like I was asking? To clarify, please go and get me a Gatorade and something sweet with caramel in it." Her eyes open slowly, glittering and glimmering. "Figure it the fuck out, Daddy," she teases with that low, playful tone.
Sloane can't help but smirk and grow a little taller, but she nods her head and swallows. "Of course, baby." She closes her eyes, "I'll send an intern on a wild goose chase at ten o'clock at night, just for you." She sighs and reaches in her pocket for her pager. "Don't say I don't spoil you..."
"Thanks," Emily whispers, "Oh, and Sloane?" She flutters her eyes open again.
Sloane piques her brow this time, "Yes, baby?"
"Smuggle me up to your office please. I want to sit in your lap and sign things for you. Head strokes, head strokes would be nice too." The little troublemaker blinks a bit, rotating her arm slightly as if she's unsure of the joint. "And that thing you do when you rub that one spot behind my shoulder blade. It feels stiff, I need your hands on it."
"Well, if I can't take care of one little princess what business do I have running a department?" Sloane takes it in her stride with a deep sigh, turning back to her pager to dole out the orders.
"Sloane?"
It exasperates her this time. "Yes, baby?" she says, frustrated.
"Love you daddy."
"Mhmm. Shmove-shmoo daddy," Sloane mimics and taps away, barely even glancing up.