Cleansing


There she was, her knees curled to her chest, her bottom covered in blood that dripped down the curve of her thighs. It was falling to the floor in droplets, little spatters of the deep fluid coating the polished wood. He looked down at her, grinning while baring his canines, and pressed the tip of his shoe to the blood on her ass.

"You'll need to clean them now," he growled, a deep sound that cut through the overbearing silence. She shivered, nodded, and her ringlets covered her face, a more comfortable position when she was feeling particularly small, little. He nudged at her bottom in light kicks, making the flesh on her body jiggle and bounce. Still, she did not move; so he crouched down beside her, put his hand on her upper arm, and whispered in her ear. "Let's get this little girl cleaned up."

Few things were as calming or comforting as the sensation of warm water running over the cuts and scrapes. Daddy kisses made all of the boo-boos better, even when his kisses were vicious bites more painful than the cut itself. He picked her up, not caring about the blood getting on his suit pants, and brought her to the tub, turning the water on. It was tempting to drop her in and continue the sweet torture, but he held back silently, breathing heavily against her neck as he waited for the tub to fill halfway. She knew; he was such a good Daddy because he held back, because he knew when to let her be his little girl and not his little prey. They were sometimes one in the same, but right now, she needed his hands on her, cleansing her of her disgusting misdirection.

He lowered her body into the water gently and picked up their favorite cup: it had a little lip that made it easy to pour the water in the proper place. She was slumping in the bottom of the tub, still not saying anything. He placed a hand on her back, letting her feel him. "It is alright now, little one. It is going to be alright." Her sighing response received his fingers running through her hair, pulling it out of her face so that he could get a good look at her. "Daddy's here."

The tub was almost filled now, so he filled the cup completely to the brim and waited. "Tilt your head back for me," he commanded, and she did, whispering a small, Yes, Daddy. He took off his suit jacket, rolled his shirt sleeves up, and squeezed some shampoo into his hands before lathering it into her hair; she melted beneath his hands.

Finally, the water was pouring over her body, heat stinging the cuts but relaxing the knots and tension. Always pain but always comfort; comfort in the pain.

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