r/DaddysDinnerDiaries

You’re in and out of sleep on the drive home.

Long, dark, country roads. No lines. Just a gray, narrow, twisted bit of gravel. My lights. The playlist. My hands.

One on the wheel. One on your thigh. Warm, where the AC is cold.

The sleeves of my white button down retreated to my elbow during dessert. And you didn’t think I noticed your eyes on my hands the rest of the night. When I held my drink. When I fed you dessert.

You’re in and out of sleep. A Lana-Del-Rey-Dey-Dream in the middle of the D-A-R-K.

And you’re having that dream. The one that makes you wet. The one that makes you moan.

You rouse a little. Did you moan out loud?

My warm hoodie that I leave in the car more for you than me, hugs your chest and lap. It smells like me. Feels like the opposite of summertime sadness.

The trees blur. Fade into a long open field. Lightning bugs drifting lazily until you can’t tell where they end and our stars begin. All the stars sparkle for you, it seems.

But that dream is back between blinks. And my hand is lit by the dash. And my other is steady, a few inches away from where you’re dreaming.

And you wonder how far we are from home.  

You and your partner have a long evening cooking together that naturally leads to an excellent night together after putting away the leftovers.

This story, exclusively audio! Great editing by Nikki AKA: u/freakazoidokami over the past couple days while your favorite dinner-making daddy was down and out with a cold.

Story, photo, and audio by me.

Step into the kitchen with daddy! (14:13)

Do you remember that Studio Ghibli weekend where we both got sick?

You were first. Your cheeks were puffy red and your hair tangled itself into a nest on the top of your cute little head. All you wanted to do was curl into a ball on the couch, or on the floor among a hoard of blankets like world’s least intimidating dragon.

I kept a veritable kinescope of movies running, DVD after DVD of your comfort films. And brought you little hot drinks and soup. Which, at first, you didn’t want to eat, until I said, “Open your mouth and eat this,” rather firmly until you looked up at me with those big doe eyes. “If you don’t eat food from this world, you’ll disappear,” I finished the quote.

You took a sip of the soup, and I kissed your forehead. When you finished, I coaxed you off the floor and onto the couch among my arms. You were hot and cold at the same time, but you melted back into me.

“You’re going to get sick, too” you said.

And I just kissed you anyway. “If I’m going to get sick, I’m going to get sick. It’s not going to keep me away, especially when you need me most.”

“I’ll feel bad,” you said.

“Well, here’s a deal then. If I get sick, you can take care of me for a change, little girl.”

And that contented you.

It was a couple days later before I was the one sick. My throat was raspy and I didn’t want to talk … which you know for me is quite the oddity. I woke up with my hair askew, not even wanting to swallow. I am pretty sure I had lines from the pillow still impressioned onto my cheek.

You asked what you could do, and I said I was fine. But you reminded me “You said I could take care of you, if you got sick.”

And I smiled.

Later that day, after I had eaten some of the soup you had made, you asked how I was feeling and I quoted “I see no point in living, if I can’t be beautiful” rather dramatically. But then I smiled and pulled your head to my chest for a quick hug to show you I appreciated all the care.

But, it was like a light went off in your eyes. And you flitted into our room and to our closet and grabbed a robe. It was one I bought home from an estate … not because I ever really planned on wearing it, but just because it was beautiful. In fact, the only time I wore it was to one costume night we did … but …

There you were with it and a pair of slippers. And you said “Get up, sir.”

And you slipped the silky red and gold over my arms and placed the slippers at my feet.

Then you came back around front and looked up at me, expectantly. “How’s that?” you asked.

I brought you in for a hug and kissed your forehead. “Now, it’s worth living.”

I sat on the couch and you brought me some tea. “In the tea ceremony there is an idea that each time you have tea is unique. ‘one time, one-meeting’” you said.

And you gave me a cup and sat by my knee.

“One time, one meeting,” I said. “Among many to come.”

And we cuddled a good, long time.  

“Do you need anything else?” You asked as it got closer to bed time.

“Yes, sweetie. Let’s go to bed. I could use one last comfort before the day is out.”

When we went to bed, I motioned for you to put your head on my shoulder where I could stroke your hair and kiss the top of your head. “I want to lay like this,” I said, as I grabbed your hand and ran it down my chest and stomach to my lap “with my arms around you while you give me that piece of comfort.”

And daddy held you close in the dark while you took care of him, knowing so long as you were close, with his lips on the top of your head, with his arm wrapped around you, with your hand tracing along his thighs, your fingers wrapping around him, your breath on his neck … that you could do no wrong in the comforts you offered.

And when finally, you brought it to conclusion, the two of you found rest in each other. In the healing of the ritual of skin against skin, of comfort given freely, and of lives worth living.

Today, breakfast is simple. Cinnamon raisin French toast and coffee.

Daddy makes two. One for him to eat on the couch, and another to feed you as you snuggle on the floor, with your head on his thigh.

He eats his with a fork, but yours he feeds you with his fingers. It's a little sticky but plenty sweet from the honey drizzled on top.

"Make sure you don't leave any on my fingers, sweetheart. All that golden, sticky, sweet goodness is for you. And we wouldn't want to get any in your hair after breakfast when I run my hands through it before we take our shower and start our day."

This is actually one of the two audios that started my journey posting on Reddit. One was improvised at my desk. This one, was the first one I recorded intimately in bed when all I had was my built-in phone mic. It included a real-life ritual from a former dynamic, so recording it let me just be myself—which is what gave me the impetus to finally post it after a couple of false starts recording script fills I never released because they just didn't sound like me.

Now that it's been 10 months (with a brief hiatus back during the winter), things sometimes sound a little different with my recording set up, but the link between food and care and care and intimacy remains just as strong.

“That’s my girl, just resting, close connected, mine.”

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a weekly ritual where all your stress could be washed away providing you a clean slate to really enjoy the weekend with your partner?

In this audio, your soft daddy dom partner wakes you up with waffles and coffee for your ritual of Saturday morning cartoons. After sitting at his feet for a while, anticipating what is next, he eventually tells you exactly what he wants you to do with your hands, mouth, and your pocket-sized toy so you can finish together and release every bit of stress you’ve been holding onto.

“Don’t squeeze, yet. Patience, little girl.”

Tags: [Soft Mdom][Lots of Reassurance] [Praise Kink] [Telling you exactly what to do] [Head in Lap] [Hair stroking] [Teasing] [Wholesome] [Licking] [Blowjob] [Eye Contact] [Check-ins] [mutual orgasm] and, as always, [aftercare]

Names used: Babe, Baby, Little Girl, Good Girl, My Pretty One.

I originally thought about splitting this into two parts, but I’ll let you choose your own adventure a little. If you just want the relaxing morning with hints of what’s to come, listen til 19:30 after I ask “Are you ready to try for me now?”.

If you want to follow my instructions and join me more intimately, continue on til the end.

“It’s time to fill your head with the light little things and relax. We can fill your head with something else later if you want.”

You texted me from work that you had a wicked migraine. The fluorescent lights, you said. But it was more than that. You were doing too much. Eating too little. Sleeping too little.

It was a busy week for both of us. And we had been passing each other in the hallway too many times when one of us was leaving and the other was coming. I’m glad we don’t do that anymore.

You had been complaining the night before that you were cold and that you had a joint that hurt. Today it was the migraine. I knew some of what you needed could be solved with a little bit of iron and protein … and your favorite cut of sirloin would do the trick.

The problem was, I was heading out to play rehearsal before you’d be home. And, on top of that, a storm came through and knocked the power out. Luckily, I had just finished a shower before it went out. The steaks marinated in Worcestershire while I thought about what you needed when you got home and made the plans. And then, I was in the dark. And our stove was electric.

Even if the power would likely come back on soon after you got home, I figured you wouldn’t want to cook. So, I decided to fire up the grill outside. The remnants of the storm pitter-pattered down on my already damp hair. I think it’s the only time I’ve grilled in a bathrobe before or since. But I put on some fries and some zucchini in some oil and ran back inside to grab the meat and send you a little voice memo since I knew you’d be on your way soon.

“Power’s out, but no worries,” I said. “It’s under control.”

I popped back outside and laid the steak on the grill with a sizzle as it and a little drizzle of rain spattered down.

The sky cleared and left the beautiful smell of rain, strong even against the scent of the Cajun seasoning on the fries and the smell of the marinated meat starting to cook.

I finished grilling, ate a quick bite of my own, and made you a plate covered in foil with a note beside it.

>Know you needed this. If the power is still out, all the better. Eat up. There is iced coffee in the fridge if you’d like it, if not, take an Excedrin in the bottle beside your plate. Then into bed for a quick nap, no alarm. I’ll wake you a little after I get back. With the kind of kisses I end up deciding you need after I see the state of you. The forehead kind. Or the more thorough ones. I want you feeling better, so we can both enjoy making the most of our night together. But either way, you’re going to have my lips on you soon. Count on it. Love, M