Summary: I get a little too excited helping Daddy assemble our new play set. Note: now finished!

I’m so excited; the day I’ve been waiting and waiting for has finally arrived. We’ve lived together for a year and as a “happy summer” (a stretch for a holiday, but worth celebrating nonetheless) gift, you had brought home a sizable stack of play set magazines from Home Depot. It took us days to pick the perfect one – we sat for hours on end, drinking wine and mulling over the bright pictures of rock walls, castles, ladders, and tire swings. We eventually came to a decision together, and the day that seemed like it would never come was finally here.

All the supplies has been delivered in a massive pile in the backyard. There were endless wood beams, plastic covered chains, colorful plastic pieces, and bags of hardware scattered everywhere. As you sit down in the warm grass to begin trying to decode the instructions that look more like a novel, I begin to scamper and climb into the pile of supplies. I’m so eager than I can barely keep myself from literally squealing out loud. You notice me exploring when you are distracted by a noisy crash. A part of the pile has collapsed underneath me, but I’m not hurt as a giggle in the middle of the mess. “Baby!” you snap, “what do you think you’re doing? Get down here! You’re going to twist your ankle!” I pout a little, deterred by your strict tone, and carefully pick my way over the materials to you. “I know you’re excited, Baby – I am too – but you can’t be making bad choices that could get you hurt. Look, I’ve brought you out a coloring book. Sit here in the grass with me and color while I read the instructions.” Your annoyed outburst quickly becoming a distant memory, I happily receive the box of crayons and Lion King coloring book and plop down into the grass.

I’m entertained by the coloring for a while, but after about a half hour I begin to get restless. I feel like I need to go to the bathroom, and just as I’m about to ask for permission to go inside, you stand up determinedly, announcing, “Okay! Let’s get started!” I suddenly forget about my urge to pee as I am overcome with excitement to see the construction begin. You begin to puzzle of the materials, slowly finding a few pieces that fit together. I am really trying to be a good girl; I sit on my heels watching you work and not bothering you at all. You notice my good behavior, and begin to let me help a bit. I get to sit on your shoulders and screw in the tops of the swings, and you even let me get to pick how high to hang them. I notice that besides the two regular swings, the set includes an oddly large kiddie swing. I give you a puzzled look when I notice this, frowning at the idea of using a lame swing like that. You only smile knowingly and kiss the top of my sun-kissed head.

Even though you’re letting me help a little bit, you won’t give into my pleas to let me hammer. “Please, please, PLEASE Daddy! I really want to try it!!” I beg over and over again, angrily stamping a foot into the grass.

“Princess, you are not big enough to use a tool like this. I’m not changing my mind, so you might as well save your breath!” You give me a quick hug as I begin to pout. “Daddies have to keep our little girls safe, don’t we?”

A few nails later, you seem to have made a mistake somewhere along the road. You go back to the instructions, focusing closely on all the grainy little pictures, brow furrowed. Still feeling salty about your scolding, I jump at the opportunity to try the one thing you’ve specifically forbidden. I quietly pick up the hammer and scoot over to the nails, a few of which are still sticking half out from when you realized your mistake. I grin and hold the nail with one hand, swinging my other arm back as far as it will go. The satisfying bang makes me jump, but the grin on my face drops as the pain sets in – I’ve smashed my finger with the hammer! I instantly being to wail, clutching my throbbing thump and racing over to you. “Baby, what happened?! Did you take my hammer?!” You let the question drop as you examine my swelling finger, pulling me close into you. “This is why little girls can’t use big tools, Princess! Oh, your poor thumb. Come on, let’s go inside and get some ice. It will be okay.” You pick me up into your arms and carry me inside, tears still streaming down my face.

Part 2:

You bring me into the living room and set me gently down on the couch, telling me you’ll be right back. My sobs are beginning to calm down as the initial shock of the accident wears off, and I’m instantly relieved when you come back into the room with an towel-wrapped ice pack. I don’t hesitate whatsoever when you sit down and pull me into your lab, nuzzling up into your chest as you press my thumb into the cool towel.

“Daddy…I think my finger is broken,” I whine, still pouting even though the pain has decreased dramatically. You chuckle and rub my back.

“It’s not broken, Princess. Believe me, you would be a much sadder little girl if that was the case. Nope, all this thumb needs is a little ice, some time to heal, and some cuddles to cheer you up. Are you thirsty, Baby? It’s been a while since you’ve had a drink, and it’s a hot day outside.” I nod my head, still feeling quite sorry for myself. I whine a little as you readjust to grab something from the coffee table, and my whining turns into full fledged protests when I realize you had somehow snuck a bottle into the room along with the ice pack.

“I don’t want a bottle, Daddy! I don’t –”

“Don’t start. I know you’re feeling bad but your behavior outside proves that you’re not ready to be a big girl yet. Just relax and let me take care of you, Baby girl. Don’t be bratty and argue; you know better than that.” I relinquish, not willing to put out the energy to argue further, and definitely not willing to risk the implied punishment you had threatened. You continue to murmur about how little I am as you reposition me so that my head rests in the cradle of your arm. I cheer up a bit when I realize the drink is Arnold Palmer.

As I gladly drink the contents of the bottle, you slip the ice pack off my now forgotten hurt thumb and begin to caress my stomach, lazily dragging your fingers around in slow circles. Your wandering touch gets lower and lower as I finish the bottle. You praise me and put it aside, now concentrating all your efforts on teasing me. I close my eyes, sighing and whimpering a bit as you slowly undo my shorts. The deliberate lethargy of your movements is torture, and I mumble, “please, Daddy…”

“Please what, Princess? What do you want your Daddy to do?”

I blush deeply and hide my face. “Please play with my Daddy. Please touch me…” You smile and oblige, slipping your hand under my lacy panties.

“Baby! You’re so wet! Did you have a little accident?” I moan a little louder at your embarrassing commentary, but the shift in your pants below me doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry Daddy…it just happened when I hurt myself! I meant to ask you if I could go to the bathroom earlier but I forgot…”

You give me a little hug, reassuring me, “it’s okay, Baby. You’re just a little girl and it happens. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can play.” You reach into the coffee table drawer and pull out the handy changing supplies we have stored there. It doesn’t take long for you to pull off my damp underwear and shorts and clean me up with a cool baby wipe. “There, all better. Now, what do you want to do, little girl?”

“Daddy, can I please have another treat…?” I ask shyly. You don’t answer until I beg a few more times as you begin to slowly stroke my pussy, and just before I get close to coming, you lift me off your lap and begin to unbutton your jeans. Taking the hint, I scramble onto my knees, eager to taste you.

“Is this what you wanted, Baby?” You ask, grinning at my readiness. I only nod and whimper in response, tugging down your boxers and greedily kissing your lower stomach. Wanting to tease you like you teased me, I slowly kiss and lick each of your balls until you give in and grab my head, forcing my mouth onto you. I smile as I take you into my mouth, working my tongue all around and taking you deeper and deeper down my throat. Just when I think you are about to come, you abruptly pull me off of you and up onto your lap. Tugging my shorts down and kissing me deeply, you ask, “Does my little girl need her Daddy inside of her?” Again, I’m too worked up to give you an answer as I desperately reach for you cock, pulling you into me. As I lower myself onto you I cry out; the sensation of being filled along with your strong hands on my hips is almost too much for me.

“Please…please, Daddy, can I touch myself?” I beg, barely able to get the words out between my moans.

“Yes Baby, make yourself come for Daddy. Show me what a good girl you are.” It doesn’t take long for me to honor your request, and as I feel myself clench in ecstasy around your cock I know you’re coming as well. I collapse into your chest, exhausted and heady, as you stroke my hair and pant into my neck, telling what I good girl I am as I thank you breathlessly. After a few recovery minutes, you gently pull me off of your lap, grabbing the ice pack towel to clean us up. “Wait here and be good, Princess. I’ll be right back.” You don’t have to tell me twice as I curl up, half asleep, into the comfy couch.

You return shortly, but I don’t realize what you’ve gone to get until I feel you flipping me onto my back into the telltale position. You expect the usual protest, but I am so relaxed from the intense orgasm and lost in little headspace that I simply sigh and spread my legs. This makes you happy; you kiss my stomach and tell me, “What a good girl you’re being now that Daddy took care of you. I think a diaper is the best choice for the rest of the day since you’re having such a tough time being a big girl. Thank you for being good and letting me take care of you like you need, Baby.” I smile contentedly as you rub baby powder into my skin and pull the thick diaper up and around me. “Let’s go finish building! We still have so much left to do.” I expectantly look at you, waiting for you to pull my shorts back on over the diaper. “It’s too hot for shorts, Princess. Just your shirt and your diaper are enough; that way I can change you easily, too. Right? If you’re a good girl, you can have a popsicle!” I open my mouth to argue, but remember the happy, little feeling of you being so proud of me and change my mind. You smile knowingly and reach out your hand to help me up. I take it and follow you outside, excited for the rest of the day’s adventures.