The Institute: Daddy Issues (18 page)

“Hmmm…” Salt was still on his knees in front of me. He put his big hands on my thighs, his thumbs press­ing lightly against my outer pussy lips and leaned for­ward to ex­am­ine his handi­work thor­oughly. I felt an erotic shiver run through me as his warm breath blew against my freshly shaved flesh.

“Is it all right?” I asked, look­ing at him un­cer­tainly. I’d had no idea how much more sens­it­ive and tender I would feel. It didn’t seem like los­ing my little patch of curls could make such a dif­fer­ence and yet, I’d never felt so na­ked in my life.

“Beau­ti­ful,” he mur­mured, look­ing up at me. “You are beau­ti­ful,
mishka.
Like a ripe, juicy peach.”

“Well, I guess that’s not sur­pris­ing con­sid­er­ing every bath product in this bath­room is peach flavored,” I said, try­ing to laugh. But the laugh caught in my throat when Salt spread me open with his thumbs, bar­ing the slick, in­ner folds of my cunt.

“I am not talk­ing about the fla­vor of the bubbles,” he mur­mured. “Just look at your­self,
mishka—
see how ripe and juicy you are. How
wet.”

I bit my lip as I looked down and saw that he was right. I felt like I’d been in a near-con­stant state of arousal for hours now. From the minute Salt had taken me across his knee and spanked me, I had been turned on. Tak­ing Mandy up on her erotic dare and suck­ing my part­ner’s cock had also some­how ad­ded fuel to that fire and then the long, sen­sual bubble bath where he tugged and teased my sens­it­ive nipples had made my arousal even more acute.

Al­low­ing him to shave me in such an in­tim­ate way and then kneel be­fore me and ex­am­ine his handi­work was like the cherry on top of the cake. My pussy was swollen with need—my juices wet­ting my in­ner thighs. My clit was prom­in­ently dis­played, stand­ing out like a little pink pearl that wanted des­per­ately to be stroked and loved.

“I…I can’t help it,” I whispered, feel­ing my cheeks get warm when I saw how open and wet my pussy was for my part­ner…my Papa. “I don’t…don’t know…”

Salt shut me up with a kiss. Not a kiss on my mouth, though. He pulled me to­wards him and pressed his lips to my open pussy. I moaned softly as I felt the heat of his mouth on my trem­bling sex. His tongue pressed against me—not lick­ing but still mak­ing con­tact—
tast­ing.
I could feel its wet heat against my throb­bing clit and for a mo­ment all I wanted was more. God it felt so in­cred­ible, so good—
too
good.

With a little gasp, I jumped back, put­ting some dis­tance between us.

“For­give me.” Salt licked his lips, which were shiny with my juices. “I could not res­ist. I have wanted to do this for years.”

“Years?”
I bit my lip and pressed my thighs to­gether.

“Yes.” He nod­ded and rose to tower over me but his eyes never left mine. Their pale blue depths were half-lid­ded with raw lust. “Years,
mishka,”
he mur­mured, his deep voice hoarse with lust.
“
That is how long your Papa has wanted to taste your sweet pussy.”

A flood of emo­tions ex­ploded in­side me. Lust…fear…de­sire… un­cer­tainty…they flowed through me so quickly I could barely breathe. But I knew that if we con­tin­ued down this path we were on, things would never be the same.

“Salt,” I whispered, us­ing his real name in­stead of the play-role per­sona.

He seemed to un­der­stand.

“For­give me,” he said again and this time there was real re­gret in his eyes.

“It…it’s all right.” My pussy still tingling from his kiss, I turned to get an­other pink towel to wrap my­self in.

“Wait…” Salt put a hand on my shoulder.

“What is it?” I turned my head to see him study­ing my back­side with a wor­ried frown on his face.

“You are still tender and red where I spanked you,” he mur­mured. He reached for some­thing on the counter and held it out for me to see. “I found the cool­ing oint­ment you were talk­ing about earlier. Will you al­low me to put it on you?”

“Oh, I…” I bit my lip, not cer­tain of any­thing. Though we were sort of get­ting back to nor­mal, I was still more than halfway into the Little-space where I just wanted to be loved and taken care of and pleas­ured. Let­ting Salt rub sooth­ing gel all over my sting­ing ass ac­tu­ally soun­ded really nice.

“Yes,” I whispered, at last, nod­ding. “Yes, that would be…would be good.”

“Good.” Salt nod­ded. “Then go lay face down on the bed and wait for me. I will be there shortly…
mishka.”

Oh God, were we back to that again?
Does it mat­ter if you are?
whispered a soft little voice in my head.
After all, isn’t that ex­actly where you want to be—safe in your Papa’s hands?

I couldn’t an­swer the ques­tion. All I could do was go into the bed­room and drape my­self na­ked over the king-sized bed, just as Salt had com­manded.

He let me stay there for a few minutes, my fear and an­ti­cip­a­tion build­ing, my mind buzz­ing with ques­tions and doubts. When he fi­nally came in, my body was tight as a wire, every muscle clenched as I waited for what was about to hap­pen.

“So, here you are.” Salt settled on the bed be­side me and put one big hand between my shoulder blades.

I gasped and jumped, my body ty­ing it­self in knots again as I tried to deny what we were do­ing. Salt, as al­ways, was at­tuned to my moods.

“Mishka,
my darling,” he rumbled, strok­ing my back gently. “What is it? Why is it that the minute I leave you alone you start to doubt?”

“What—you mean doubt that this is a good idea?” I asked, giv­ing a shaky laugh.

“No—you doubt that I want you, I think. Doubt that I will be gentle and care­ful with you. That I will pro­tect your heart as well as your sweet body.” Salt soun­ded thought­ful. “But do not worry, my little
mishka.
I will al­ways be here. And for now, I just want to heal you. Can you trust me to do that?”

“I…I think so,” I whispered.

“Good. Then un­tangle your legs—I can­not reach you in this way. Not to do you any good.”

With a shiv­er­ing sigh, I un­crossed and opened my legs, wait­ing for his touch. When it came, I gave a little gasp as the cool­ing oint­ment made con­tact with my hot flesh.

“Gently,” Salt mur­mured, strok­ing it over my heated ass cheeks. “So gently, my little
miska.”

At his gentle, sooth­ing touch and his deep voice flow­ing over me, I could feel my­self float­ing into that head­space again where I just wanted to trust. Where the shrill little voice of doubt and un­cer­tainty was easy to ig­nore and all I wanted was my Papa’s hands on my body.

“Papa,” I whispered, spread­ing my thighs a little more. “Please, it still hurts…lower down.”

“Here?” He rubbed more of the gel along the un­der­curves of my ass, strok­ing dan­ger­ously close to my in­ner thighs.

“Even lower—more in­side,” I said softly and spread my legs even wider for him. I could feel my pussy lips spread­ing open, my little clit throb­bing with need as I dis­played my­self for him. I couldn’t stop think­ing of how much I wanted his touch.

“Oh,
mishka,”
he mur­mured. “We should not.”

“But I’m
hurt­ing,”
I whispered and it wasn’t a lie or an ex­ag­ger­a­tion. Just now my pussy felt so wet and hot and achy I thought I would die if he didn’t touch me, at least a little.

“Was the shav­ing too rough for you?” Salt soun­ded con­cerned. “You are hurt­ing where I used the razor on you, per­haps?”

“Yes, ex­actly.” I nod­ded and looked back at him. “Please…could you put some gel on me there? Where you shaved me…Papa?”

Salt gave a low groan and I knew he was still re­luct­ant to do this—to touch me so in­tim­ately even though he had kissed me there a little while ago. But that had been just a single kiss—now I was ask­ing him to stroke my open pussy, to caress my aching core and give me pleas­ure. We both knew it wouldn’t end with him just put­ting gel on the out­side of my mound. I wanted more—
had
to have more.

“Please,” I whispered again. “Please, Papa—it hurts so much. Please make me feel bet­ter.”

“Yes, my little
mishka.
I can deny you noth­ing,” he mur­mured at last. “But turn over first—if you really want this, turn over so I can see you.”

“All right.” I turned over, feel­ing a little shy but my un­cer­tainty turned to pleas­ure when I saw the hun­ger in his eyes.

“So beau­ti­ful,” he mur­mured, run­ning one big hand down my na­ked body. “So beau­ti­ful and open and sweet.”

At those soft words in his deep, rum­bling voice, I felt my­self open­ing like a flower. He liked what he saw—I was wanted—loved. And I wanted to show him that I loved him back. I re­laxed un­der his touch and let my thighs drift even wider apart, bar­ing my newly shaved pussy for him.

“
Mishka,”
he mur­mured. Then I felt his big hand reach between my thighs. I moaned and par­ted my legs even wider, giv­ing him easier ac­cess. I couldn’t re­mem­ber ever want­ing any­thing as much as I wanted my part­ner’s touch at that mo­ment. I knew it was wrong, knew it would prob­ably change our re­la­tion­ship forever but I couldn’t help my­self—I was hungry
to have his hands on me and it was a hun­ger I had been deny­ing far too long. I
needed
him.

Salt star­ted by strok­ing the cool­ing gel over the outer lips of my pussy but then I moaned and wiggled, press­ing my mound into his hand.

“In­side,” I whispered, look­ing back at him, over my shoulder. “Please, Papa—touch me in­side. That’s where it really hurts.”

He made a low, in­dis­tinct sound in his throat and then I felt his long fin­gers strok­ing gently over my wet in­ner folds.

“Where does it hurt,
mishka?”
he mur­mured hoarsely. “Here?”

“Mmm…yes, Papa,” I moaned de­li­ri­ously. It felt so good—so right and I never wanted him to stop.

“And here?” he asked, the pad of one fin­ger circ­ling gently around the swollen bud of my clit.

“Yes!” I nearly cried with pleas­ure as he fi­nally touched me ex­actly where I needed to be touched. And he was do­ing it just right too—strok­ing all around the sens­it­ive bundle of nerves without rub­bing too hard or too dir­ectly. It was like he was try­ing to be care­ful, still treat­ing me like I was a del­ic­ate, beau­ti­ful work of art that he might dam­age if he stroked me too hard. In other cir­cum­stances I would have pro­tested that I could take rougher treat­ment but in this case, Salt’s touch was per­fect—ex­actly what I needed.

“So beau­ti­ful, my little
miskha,”
he mur­mured as he con­tin­ued his gentle, in­tim­ate caress. “So soft and hot and so very
wet.”

“Am I?” I moaned softly, look­ing down at my­self. “I…I guess I can’t help it.”

“I do not want you to help it. Is beau­ti­ful how much honey your pussy makes,” he as­sured me. “I love the silky feel of you in my hand…rid­ing my fin­gers.”

As he spoke, I be­came aware that I was, in fact, mov­ing to a rhythm all my own. I was press­ing up against his big hand, rolling my hips, try­ing to get more of the ad­dict­ive sen­sa­tion of pleas­ure. Part of me—the part that was a tough-as-nails cop who took no shit off any­one—couldn’t be­lieve I was do­ing this. Couldn’t be­lieve it was ac­tu­ally me put­ting on his wan­ton, sexual dis­play. And yet, I couldn’t seem to stop—I couldn’t even make my­self
want
to stop. It felt too good, too right to have Salt touch­ing me this way.

“Oh,” I moaned softly. “Oh Papa, I’m close…so
close.”

“That’s a good girl,” Salt mur­mured, his eyes half-lid­ded with lust. He star­ted rub­bing a little harder, a little faster. “That’s a very good girl,
mishka.”

“Please,” I begged him. “Oh,
God…”
I was so damn close but I needed some­thing else…some­thing
more.

Salt seemed to un­der­stand my need. For a mo­ment, he stopped rub­bing my clit and then I felt two long, strong fin­gers enter me. As they kissed the end of my chan­nel, his thumb was back, tra­cing slow, ma­gical pat­terns around my aching clit again.

I gasped at the ad­ded sen­sa­tion and bucked against his hand as he fucked into me with his fin­gers. Oh God, I couldn’t stand this much more…

“Mishka,”
Salt growled, catch­ing my eyes and hold­ing them with his own.
“
Come for me now—come while I touch you.” Then he thrust in hard and I felt his thumb press against the throb­bing bud of my clit.

“Oh…
Oh!”
I gasped, un­able to help my­self—not
want­ing
to help my­self. I felt the or­gasm rush through me—as sweet and strong as wine that goes straight to your head. My toes curled, my back arched and my nipples turned into hard little points. I clamped my thighs around Salt’s big hand as I moaned and cried my pleas­ure.

Through it all, Salt watched me with half-lid­ded eyes. I could see how turned on he was—how in­cred­ibly aroused watch­ing me come made him. Yet he made no at­tempt to do any­thing but give me pleas­ure, even though he prob­ably had the worst case of blue balls in his­tory.