Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Deke

The first thing I do when I get Windy to my place is carry her into the kitchen and sit her down on one of the tall island stools. Despite being packed with thick muscle, her little legs can't reach the floor. Her tiny feet scrabble for a foothold and can't quite reach the step-bar near the base of the chair. At over six-and-a-half-feet tall, finding comfortable furnishings has always been a Herculean task. That's why one of the few splurges I've made with the savings from my pro-ball days was to have this home custom-built to suit a man as large as I am. Everything from extra wide doorways to tall counters and jumbo-sized furniture makes this house one of the few truly comfortable places for me to relax.

The oversized chair makes Windy look even more petite than she normally is next to me. I turn the seat until I can nudge her knees apart and step between them. Even in the extra-tall seat, the cradle of her thighs is too low for me to nestle my needy cock against her, but that's okay. I silently command my unruly erection to settle down, because we have important matters to discuss before anything else can happen.

"You see how high up you are, little lush?" She nods her head and stares at me with wide eyes. She's nervous. She should be. My heart's still galloping from the fear I felt when she wasn't answering her phone and I found her door unlocked for any joker with bad intentions to just walk right in.

"Words, Windy. When I ask you a question, I expect you to give me an answer in words. Clear?" I ask.

"Y-yes, Sir." Her little stutter makes me so hard. Almost harder than when she calls me ‘Sir'.

"That's a good girl. Now, it's time for some rules. Then I'm going to feed you and put you in my hot tub to loosen up those muscles and soothe your sore knees. Before I tuck you into bed, you're getting your first punishment for scaring a dozen years off my life and not following directions earlier." I like to be really clear with Windy so she knows what's coming.

We haven't negotiated the D/s elements of our relationship yet, so I won't give her a real punishment, but after the panic she gave me this afternoon, a bit of punishment is necessary. I anticipate she'll learn a valuable lesson about following my directions when I edge her and deny her a few orgasms the next time she gives me a scare like this.

"Windy, have you ever heard of dominant and submissive couples?" At her tiny head nod, I continue. "I believe you're a submissive, babydoll. And I'm a man who likes to be in charge. Even more than that, I believe you're a very special kind of submissive partner. You know why?"

So far she's with me. Her head keeps nodding and there's a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Why?" She's my good girl, remembering to use her words when I ask her something.

"Because I think you're a special kind of sub called a Little girl. That means you need a Dominant who will be your Daddy and take care of you. Keep you safe and help you make good choices so you can achieve everything I believe you're capable of." Now's not the time to go into age regression and what I envision that looking like, but her rosy blush tells me she likes what she's hearing so far.

"First rule, when we're alone you can call me ‘Sir' or ‘Daddy'. It's your choice. I'll like them both, but I'll be honest and admit when you're ready to call me Daddy, it will make me the happiest man on the planet." My erection throbs so urgently it's nearly painful when I say the word Daddy . I might not survive hearing it come out of her sweet-as-candy mouth.

"Moving on, if I put you on a piece of furniture that's too tall for your toes to reach the floor, you stay put until I move you. My babydoll is a treasure to me, and I won't have you injuring my treasure. Which leads me to the next rule. Always take care of my treasure. You play a rough sport, and I understand you will get bumps and bruises on the field. That's okay, though Daddy will hate each and every ouchie on my precious girl's skin." I loathe the idea of her getting roughed up on the field, but in soccer it's bound to happen.

"Okay, Da—I mean… Sir. I will be careful."

She almost called me Daddy, and emotion lodges like a rock in my chest.

"And you'll be my Little girl?" I'm confident of the answer, but I need to hear her say it.

"Yes, I want that so much. I want to be your babydoll. Your good girl." The flush from her cheeks blooms down her throat to disappear behind her t-shirt, her nipples tightening into knots that poke the fabric out. When I was stuffing her clothes into the bag I hadn't spotted any bras, though I know she wears sports bras when she's playing soccer.

I pull my phone from my pocket, using the internet-enabled app to set the thermostat up several degrees. When she's here, I want her in as little clothing as possible. Once she starts regressing, she may want to be in a diaper or training pants, but even if she only wants to wear panties and use the bathroom like a big girl, I want to keep her topless every chance I get.

Possibilities, fantasies and plans are sprinting through my mind like fireflies in the summer dusk. Having her here, agreeing to be mine, feels like all my birthdays rolled into one.