Gothic Protagonist [Sexual]

The squat building standing before her looks different than it did the last time she was here. However, last time, it was disgustingly early in the morning and she was wasted. Some things are the same. There's the heavy door that yawns open with a shrill screech. A blotchy darkness within the house, only broken up by stray beams of sun shining in from broken windows. A foreboding feeling sticks to her even as a reassuring hand lands on the small of her back. These are all constants, including Joe, who impatiently walks ahead of her when she doesn't immediately move.

Joe said he had something to talk about. This is new, so despite her better judgment, Nora follows him into the familiar darkness, different now that they're going during waking hours. Even with the fog and overcast sky, enough light shines in to show how neglected the place is. How long ago was she last here? It's hard to recall—every time she attempts recollection, her mind throws the awful feeling of thrashing under the surface. Joe's detached look when he pulled her from the depths.

It must have been a month or two ago. Things grow fuzzy around the edges around this time of year. There are finals and holidays, and Nora wishes she could step away from it all. As more time passes, the less she understands why she's making herself play at normalcy.

Presently, she watches the side of Joe's face as she walks alongside him. Could he do that for her? Yes—he's made that much clear from his insatiable desire to see her in pain. It would not be wise, but frankly, she is sick of being expected to make smart decisions for herself. He wouldn't kill her, it's enough for her, and it's why she has no problem following him into the basement.

It's familiar when they step down those last steps. The trough isn't there anymore, but Nora isn't sure why she expected it. She wouldn't put him past it. It would put her on edge, make her nervous, and maybe make her second-guess the decision to go with him.

The silence stretches between them. Joe paces the basement, looking at nothing, and Nora dutifully waits for him to speak first. It feels right.

"I got you something," he says finally.

Nora walks over to him, standing awkwardly at his side. Too close to be friendly but not close enough to make them look like lovers.

She doesn't need to ask—he's already going to a table and grabbing something from a box. He goes to her, hands reverently shielding whatever it is.

Joe opens his hands. It's a simple collar, black leather, thin. Joe gives it to her and stands back, crossing his thick arms across his chest and staring down at her with an appraising eye. There isn't any emotion in his face—no satisfaction, desire, just a clinical interest, watching her watch him.

"Turn it over."

Nora obeys. His initials are stamped into the leather.

"What does this mean?" Nora's heart rate is kicking up and she wonders if she's feeling the butterflies everyone goes on about.

Joe gives her a tiny smile, only letting it flash across his face for a second before slipping back into neutrality. "It's for you to wear when we're down here, for now."

Nora nods, not quite understanding what he means. Now, her attention is on the collar and she busies herself with tracing the indented J.M.

Joe continues, stepping away from her and heading for the couch. When Nora hesitates, remembering what happened the last time she sat on that couch, Joe drags her there with him.

"We're gonna have some rules when you're wearing that," he begins. Nora allows herself to be pulled onto the couch with him. She tries and fails to hide how easy it is to sink into the cushions and melt against his side. He's constantly radiating heat, so she halfheartedly tells herself she can't help it in the cold of the basement.

"Like what?"

Joe goes quiet and it makes her meet his eyes. She finds nothing there and the discovery is all at once horrible and exciting.

"You put this on," he begins, putting his hands over hers while she toys with the collar, "and you won't be Nora anymore. You'll just be my boy, okay? Something for me to use when I need it."

Nora stifles the urge to swallow when she hears that. Torn between fear and the desire to shut her mind off, she asks, "There's more, isn't there?"

"Of course," Joe grins and it looks genuine. "First, you won't get to wear clothes in here. I know it's cold, but you'll be okay."

Nora draws her knees under her chin and tucks herself into the couch's corner. Joe watches her move away and spreads his legs wide, huffing out a dry laugh when Nora's eyes follow the visual path his leg makes. Starting at his work boots, heavy denim, his thick belt she's grown familiar with, and tight black shirt. The implications of what he's saying are too intimidating—she can barely bring herself to meet his eyes when he continues.

"You won't be allowed to speak unless spoken to. Though I probably won't really talk to you either."

"Why not?"

Joe gives her a long look. "Toys don't talk, do they?"

Heat blooms in her face and Nora drops her gaze, staring at the collar held in her hands. Instinctively, she wants to say yes, daddy, and stops herself when she spots the approval in his eye.

"Just like that," he says and smiles.

Warmth blooms from her core at the praise. Joe hardly feels the need to tell her she's doing good but if this arrangement means more of that—she'll gladly give up her voice for a handful of hours.

"You also will not be permitted to touch me unless I want you to."

That makes Nora's heart sink and she resists the compulsion to hide her face. She's always been too easy to read. When she meets Joe's eyes again, he's smiling softly. "It's okay. I'll find some use for you other than, y'know."

His disarming smile does not reach his eyes. Still, Nora nods along, knowing the suffering that will await her if she accepts. The anticipation she's feeling would probably kill a small dog if they had to endure it.

Cautiously, she asks, "Am I gonna be allowed to make any sound?" Talking to talk. Filling the emptiness with sound to avoid to growing pit in her stomach and more pointedly, to ignore the arousal building within that pit.

Joe rubs his temple. "Yeah—I mean a big part of the appeal is watching you break down." He trails off and stares thoughtfully at her until she squirms. "You can cry. Scream, whine, I don't know, just no words."

Nora nods because her words have failed her. Then, when he does not continue, she manages to get out a weak, "Okay. Anything else?"

"I'd like you to call me something—can you guess what it is, baby?"

The pet name goes straight to her cunt and Nora bites back the urge to whine. One carefully placed baby has her rolling her hips and squeezing her thighs together. Once, while balls-deep inside her, he told her she was an easier lay than the girl he roofied. Shaking the memory, Nora tries to meet his eyes and answers, "Daddy?"

Joe's smile deepens and Nora is unsure if she's imagining things, but the expression shows through in his eyes, lighting him up from within. "That's a good boy," he praises and leans forward, forcing her to flatten out under him until she's fully pinned.

Joe looms over her, caging her in, and Nora suddenly feels very small. Not too unlike the toy he's trying to force her to be. "I'll show you the position I expect you to be in when waiting for me down here."

He moves back, sliding off her and sinking back into the cushions.

Nora follows him, slinking along the couch like a cat and splaying herself across his lap. She's still wearing her warm Winter clothes, but she can't help but wriggle around a little. Feeling a bit like the wriggling buckets of bait at the tackleshop. "Now?"

Joe's hands land on her ass and idly grope her through the denim. "Nah—I just wanna mess around with you for now. I wanna try something easy."

Nora can't bring herself to mind that flat tone of his voice. It is not every day that Joe promises her something easy. Based on experience, it makes her internal alarms go off. "How do I know you won't force me to wear that all the time?"

Joe stops groping and ogling her for once. Instead, thoughtfully drumming his fingers on the swell of her ass.

"You're gonna be the one who gets to take it on and off whenever you want. So, if you're wanting it and I'm not here, I'll show you how I'd like you to wait for me."

Nora is silently grateful she won't have to learn that now. She's sober but feels dizzy with the bombardment of information.

"Let's try the collar today," Joe says in a subtle command.

Nora lifts herself from his lap, leaving his warmth, and stands shivering with nerves in front of him. Joe takes his time. He watches her for a while as she looks everywhere but his eyes.

Then, he rises, taking the collar from her and putting it around her neck. The leather is a little warm on her throat from her hands where they clenched the piece, worried and desperate for something to do. Its presence on her throat is subtle but enough to keep her aware of it. It doesn't help when she notices how focused Joe is on it. She swallows hard and he watches her throat move.

Unused to it but desperate to please—to do good this first, important time—Nora drops her eyes and stares at the floor, waiting for instruction.

The silence stretches on until Joe says, "Good. First, I just want you to sit on my lap for a bit. I'm not gonna rush you or anything."

Nora feels like a skittish animal as she stands back. He could very well be lying—she would not put it past him. But it is hard to resist when Joe sits and spreads his thighs, staring up at her with some questioning in his eyes. Silently daring her to break the rules. A small part of her wants to purely to see what would happen.

Before she does something stupid like speak, Nora straddles Joe and tries to ignore how hard she flushes when he positions her thighs for her.

Instead of speaking to her or meeting her eyes, Joe goes straight for her waist, grabbing her hard enough to force a gasp out of her. Firm, searching fingers press down on her through her thick coat, moving up her body to slide the outer layer from her shoulder. The coat is a dark puddle on the ground shortly followed by Nora's shirt and jeans. It isn't long until she's left on Joe's lap in only her panties and socks, shivering without having the guts to look around.

Joe asked her to wear a thong. Always obedient, she did, and now she watches as Joe reverently traces the straps with a soft hand. She follows the motions of his fingers while they graze over her sparse happy trail before he snaps the elastic waistband against her. It's something simple, navy and cotton, but Joe's eyeing her up like she's decked out in some Victoria's Secret getup.

"You listened," he remarks and has the decency to sound pleased. When he does not immediately continue, Nora looks up and meets his eyes. There's nothing amiss there, just the familiar and constant dull blue stare. "That's good, now turn around and bend over at the waist."

Nora hesitates, thinking of how exposed she'll be and how Joe will be at eye level with her hole.

Joe clears his throat when she does not instantly move. "C'mon. You don't want me to make you do it."

Nora gives him a lingering look before sucking in a breath and following his instruction. She stands, not moving to slip the thong off, and turns before bending. It's uncomfortable and humiliating. Nora's face is burning long before Joe touches her.

The first touch is just on the backs of her thighs. Joe brushes his knuckles over the downy hair there before traveling up to her ass. It's difficult to gauge what he's doing while she's staring holes into the floor. If she wanted to, she could angle her head further and look at him through her legs, but she was nervous about the promise of punishment.

Because she isn't Nora—because he doesn't see her as Nora, he doesn't speak. It's eerily still as his hands move to her hips and quiet enough that she can hear herself breathe.

At first, she didn't think she could take herself seriously. But something is unnerving in the way Joe examines her. His hands are slow and his movements careful as though he's been thinking of this for years. The path he's taking along her body is practiced. All her senses are forced to tune in and wait for his next instruction. It is not every day she is present like this and the sensation is almost as exciting as it is when he hits her.

Thinking of herself as a person is hard when he's touching her like this.

Joe slides his palms over her ass before slipping his hands under the thong's straps. For now, it seems that he is intent on just studying her without touching her sexually, but as his fingers move closer to her hole, she feels herself getting wet with sheer anticipation.

When one of his fingers touches the damp fabric concealing her cunt, he sucks in a sharp breath and slyly asks, "Is my boy getting all excited?"

Nora squirms under the attention and it's the wrong move. Her thighs are pressed together and the movement squeezes them, relieving some of the pressure in her clit while simultaneously making her crave more. A sharp smack on her ass shocks her out of her embarrassment. "Do I need to remind you of the rules? I'm speaking to you."

Right. Nora finds her voice. "Sorry." There's a tense silence and then, "Sorry, Daddy."

There's an affectionate pat on her ass when she says that.

"Good boy," he says and then tugs the crotch of the thong aside and shoves two dry fingers knuckle-deep inside her.

Nora can't help it—it's dry and awful and burns and she cries a sharp, "Stop!"

It does not stop. Joe's fingers scissor open, sending fits of shudders down her spine. "I'm not gonna get you for that one since it's our first time, but you can't speak unless spoken to."

Something inside her twists. The fingers plunge deeper, and finally, the resistance begins to let up. The burn is still intense, and it isn't long before Nora is reduced to a shivering, teary mess.

Maintaining her bent-over position is growing increasingly difficult and with the shaking and sniffling, it's almost impossible. There's a burn from the stretch in her hole and an ache from keeping her knees from locking.

"Just take it," Joe continues quietly. "I'll get you broken in soon enough—maybe have you keep plugs in while I'm not using you."

The notion of that makes Nora want to push back on Joe's fingers and take them deeper. She's wet now and his fingers are pumping into her like a well-oiled machine, but the sensitive edges of her hole feel raw from the initial intrusion.

Behind her, between stretching and spearing deeper into her cunt, Joe rambles on, finally speaking after so many tense minutes. "I like fucking you open like this, but it'd be nice just to pull the plug and replace it with my dick without having to take the time to prep."

His words make her face burn as she thinks of constantly having her cunt stuffed with something. Sitting normally would be impossible. She'd be squirming and stifling sounds until Joe had enough.

As though he's reading her mind, Joe says, "Tell me what you're thinking." While his voice trails off, he takes his fingers almost completely out, spits on them, and pushes them back into her.

It takes Nora a moment to regain her voice. "Uh—just that I won't be able to sit normally if you have me do that."

Joe emits a small laugh and despite everything, it makes her relax a little. "That's kind of the point."

Before she has a chance to question that, Joe's fingers leave her and he stands behind her. Despite his foreboding presence over her, Nora does not dare move, instead holding her position even as she strains and aches from the stiffness. It's so quiet she could hear a pin drop. Then, his hands return, covering her hips, running over her feverish, clammy skin, before he tells her, "Sit on the ground in front of the couch and wait for me. Play with your cunt while I'm gone, but don't mess with your clit."

Nora waits for a second, letting his words sink in and listening for the sound of his fading footsteps as he leaves the room. When she no longer hears him, she crumples to the floor, spreading her legs and ignoring the protests from her back. The floor is frigid under her bare ass and it's difficult to resist the allure of the couch. Ignoring the chill, her fingers go straight for her hole, tenderly feeling around the edges, checking for anything that should concern her. There's nothing—some redness, some raw, gaping feeling, but nothing worse than some soreness.

It's all Nora needs. Pent-up, flustered, two of her fingers dip within her, desperate to think of anything but the fact that Joe had her bent over like that. It isn't embarrassing, it's that she did it and would do it again. The implications of this rattle her until she curls her fingers and jerks them, each practiced slam knocking another doubt out of her head.

Joe didn't mention anything about cumming, but Nora still wrenches her fingers out the second she feels the telltale tightness in her gut.

Looking up for the first time since Joe left, she sees him leaning against the wall opposite the couch, staring at her with vague interest. Nora freezes like she's been caught doing something wrong.

"No, don't mind me," he says flatly. "Keep going. You can touch your clit now, just a little bit."

Nora drops her gaze and spreads her lips while her other, shakier hand travels to her clit. Under Joe's scrutiny, she's suddenly aware of how cold it is and how bare she is. The cold ground seems to slowly leach all the warmth from her until she's a shivering, shifty mess. Not daring to meet Joe's eyes and bring on another impossible task.

It only feels impossible because of how unnerving he is. She sees him looming there through her fringe when she glances up. Every time she gets a look at his face, he's watching her, not her cunt. Just staring holes into her expression, watching as she stifles her humiliation to chase that high.

They've been fucking for a while, so when Nora starts breathing harder, her free hand groping aimlessly for something to hold onto, Joe knows she's about to cum.

In the second that she looks down, Joe crosses the room and sits on the couch, his boot resting inches from her knee. Cautiously, she looks up and meets his eye.

"Keep going," he instructs and when Nora looks back down he snaps, "What do you say?"

Nora, staring at the fingers stuffed in her cunt, swallows her pride and says, "Thank you, Daddy."

Even though she can't see his expression, she feels his eyes slide along her body and nervous goosebumps form all over her arms. Her fingers move with newfound desperation—desperate to please and desperately chasing that high. It's close, she's clenching around the fingers, gushing out around them and filling the basement with audible evidence of her pleasure.

"Okay, baby," he says suddenly and places his hands on her shoulders, covering them with his clammy palms. Nora instinctively freezes despite how close she is and it takes everything in her to not squirm with need. "I think you've had enough."

When Nora looks up at him, Joe is already staring at her expectantly as if he's waiting for her to speak out of turn. As the silence between them stretches on, he gradually relaxes into the couch as Nora grows increasingly tense, head spinning with the possibilities of what else is in store.

Joe gives her a long look before beckoning her with a nod. "C'mere," he says, already letting his hands trail down, hauling her up and getting her splayed across his lap. He's warm under her naked form, even through the jeans, and his palms are blazing when he touches her cold ass. "I told you I'd keep you warm enough," he continues dryly as she melts into the familiar comfort of another warm body. "Now, are you upset with me?"

This is new. Nora attempts to meet his eyes to gauge what he's thinking, but it's difficult when she's over his knee and as she turns, a hand lands on her neck and forces her to stare forward.

"Try again. Are you upset with me? You can speak if that's what you're worried about."

There isn't anything unusual in his voice, only the question. It suddenly strikes Nora that Joe never asks how she feels. This is part of the routine she has not been let in on and the realization makes her skin crawl somewhere between unsettled and excited.

Cautiously, she admits, "I'm confused," and tries not to wriggle around when the hand on her neck closes around her throat. Not gripping her, just resting. Letting her know he's there.

Joe emits a low hum and the thumb on her neck starts rubbing little circles against her. Halfway between comforting and threatening.

"I know," he says. "I don't have to tell you everything, though."

Nora nods, even though she'd like to be less in the dark. There's this awful feeling welling up within her, from somewhere deep in the pit of her gut, something similar to a rabbit with its leg caught in a trap. The predator slowly advances. Joe pushes two dry fingers into Nora's sensitive, seeping cunt.

He speaks over her shrill gasp. "How is that? You can answer that."

Nora swallows hard and tries not to clamp down on the fingers gently pumping inside her. Gentle is the last thing she needs right now. It's too unlike him and she's uneasy (it's simple to blame the nerves on his kindness and not everything else he's done).

"Um—" It's hard to think. Then, his fingers curl, pressing down and forcing her to answer in a gasped, "Fuck, I need more."

Joe pushes deeper until his knuckles are kissing her hole. It feels like his fingers get thicker the farther they push in until they spread open inside her and he forces a third in.

"Are you sure you want more?"

The three fingers tucked knuckle-deep in her cunt flex, curl, and scissor open as he quietly speaks to her. She feels his breath ghost across the back of her neck and is presented with the mental image of having her throat torn out.

When she does not immediately answer, Joe turns his hand, angling it so his thumb rests just above her other, much less used hole. Concentrating on anything is difficult when he stops moving altogether and continues, "That's something you can answer."

It's too much and all that makes it out of her throat is some bitten-off embarrassed whimper.

"What was that? You're done? You've had enough?"

"I don't—" Nora does not know what she intends to say, but a firm slap on the back of her thigh steals it from her.

"I don't think you know what you want."

Nora shuts her eyes and her mouth and everything out of her mind, only concentrating on the sharp sting radiating up. Spreading throughout her tensed body like a disease. When she dares open her eyes, her hands are making fists, clenching Joe's jeans like they're her lifeline. The sole thing still tethering her to this Earth.

The hand on her thigh rears back and comes down with a vengeance, slapping her ass hard enough to almost force her from his lap. The only thing that keeps her on is his other hand, still motionless within her. His fingers are anchored deep within her, hooked and bent towards the spot that makes her cry.

"That's okay though," he continues slowly. His voice has taken on an odd tone; something deep and hoarse, like it's struggling to be heard. "I'm here for you, I know what you need."

Another slap collides with her ass again and a strangled cry breaks free from her throat. The smack and her gasp resonate in the room and it's nauseatingly loud in her ears. Nora is forced to confront the humiliation constantly thrown back in her face.

"I'll give you what you need."

Beneath her, Joe's knee jerks and forces her hips up. Then, his next hit lands on her exposed, leaking pussy.

Nora cries out and tries to curl in on herself, and that display of submission earns her a punch in the side. Somewhere inside, her ribs take the brunt of the impact and all her breath leaves her in a pained gasp. Her cunt clenches around his thick fingers and she shudders, attempting with everything she has to stave off cumming.

Joe leans down. Nora feels his thin lips ghost along her hair before he buries his face in there. It's only then that Nora notices his hand pulling her shoulder, forcing her to face up while his other hand remains stuffed in her cunt. The ache in her ribs worsens the second she notices her contorted position and the urge to wrench away almost overcomes her.

"It's okay," Joe whispers into her hair before beginning to pump his fingers inside her. Lazily stroking the inside of her pussy. "I'm not gonna let you cum yet."

The false sympathy in his voice makes something within her shrivel up and die. A piece falls away as she realizes she is completely under his control. How would she get up and take the first step toward the staircase leading to the rest of her life?

"You need more," he says with a sense of finality in his tone. "This is everything for you." Is that true? Isn't it? Joe's firm voice makes it feel like the truth.

Somewhere within the last few minutes, between the hard slaps and the stinging stabs of pain, and the slowly boiling pleasure in her gut, Joe has started talking carefully. It isn't too unlike his normal way of speaking, but it's more thoughtful. Practiced. Nora gets the sense he's been planning this a long time.

Her side must be bruised, painting a target for Joe's next display of horrors. Even with the anticipation, Nora finds herself leaning toward him, bracing herself for what's to come.

Just as she suspected, Joe goes straight for her ribs, first touching her with light fingers and gentle strokes. He releases her, allowing her to rest across his lap while he fingers her into oblivion.

He plays her from the outside and within—deft fingers dancing along her throbbing ribs and inside her pulsing wet hole.

"I want you craving it," he continues. His words are hard to concentrate on as a thumb digs into her ribs. Impaling her through the skin, spearing between bones. It feels like that, anyway, and Nora convulses on his lap while her hands scramble for purchase. "You need this," he repeats and it is beginning to feel like the truth. A fact she's known forever.

Nora does need this. Inside her, Joe's fingers scissor open while the hand at her side rears back and connects with her ass, hitting her hard enough to make tears prickle at her eyes. Her glasses slide down her nose as Joe spanks her until she discards them entirely. Despite all of this, Nora melts into it.

"Now, what do you say, boy?"

Nora basks in the fuzzy feeling the name gives her and when Joe lands another hit to the tender backs of her thighs, she says, "Thank you, Daddy."

Joe establishes a brutal pace, alternating between forcing his thick fingers deeper and beating her. The pain is immense and each hit sends her lurching forward as far as she can go, trying in vain to escape the assault without having the heart to fully stand—because despite how awful it is, he's right. She needs this.

Distantly, Nora hears herself rambling, thanking him and begging for more. A stream of slurred please Daddy, harder. Please hurt me—just use me. I'm yours. Then, she notices the distinct lack of anything inside her.

"That's a good boy," Joe croons and takes a moment to run one of his hands down her back, slick with sweat. He's breathing hard from the exertion and his voice is more hoarse. The sound of it goes straight to her cunt. "We'll work on the speaking out of turn later—I don't need you running off on me."

The way he says this sounds vaguely amused as though he does not believe she would ever leave. Not wanting to think too deeply about that statement, Nora buries her face in his thigh, rubbing her cheek against the denim, feeling him up as his hands stay busy with her ass. He spreads her and her cunt gapes open. His thumbs hold her labia apart and she feels him lean over her to inspect the hole.

Everything feels raw and she suddenly realizes she would rather him hurt her now and the epiphany causes her to shoot a worried look over her shoulder. This is the first time she's looked at Joe since he got her on his lap. His expression is closed off when he returns the stare. She does not dare speak out of turn.

"What?" He finally says. "Are you too sore for this?" As he asks, a finger circles her gaping pussy, just barely touching the tender and abused hole.

Nora nods, still watching him. Everything about him is big—like he's been designed specifically to torment Nora. She stares at his hands when he takes them away, resting one on the small of her back while the other runs through his close-cropped hair.

"Ask me to hit you again, or I'll finger you until you're bleeding."

Nora freezes, processes the calculated light in his eyes, and finds looking at him too much to bear. She pushes her face back against his thigh and thinks of how much a new intrusion would burn. Between the ache in her ribs and the stinging on her ass, the painful throb of her cunt is still too intense to ignore. Knowing him, he'd add a third finger to the stretch, work her open too quickly, and maybe force her to cum despite the pain.

She looks back at him and whines, "Please?" Her voice sounds too shrill in her ears, like she's been replaced with something smaller and unlike her.

Joe stares wordlessly for a moment. His hands are on her back, lazily tracing the curve of her spine. "You know what to call me."

Nora can't ask while looking into his eyes and she turns away, shuddering, as she asks, "Daddy, please?"

One of those hands lands on the back of her neck and she's suddenly a spooked animal trying not to wrench away. "Please what?" His thumb rubs along the tendons in her neck and she belatedly notices how much she's straining away from him.

"Please hit me, Daddy," she begs, feeling more tears prickle at her eyes and threaten to spill over. Her entire body is braced for what she knows will be a beating, but she needs it. Daddy said so.

He does.

Each time his hand collides with her, Nora grinds down, pushing her neglected clit against his knee. She usually doesn't cum just from penetration, and Daddy knows this, but cumming is a secondary concern for now. The spanking feels more like open-handed punches and the pain goes straight to her clit like her nerves have been rewired.

It keeps going and Nora stops expecting it to let up. In the back of her mind, she knows she shouldn't expect anything. She should be good and trust in Daddy's judgment—be the good boy he expects her to be.

One hit, in particular, has her sobbing, burying her face in Daddy's shoulder—who knows when he moved her—and sinking into the fuzzy haze that threatens to drag her under.

Daddy's hands rest on her hips and he drags her along the length of his thigh, grinning wickedly when she can't bring herself to meet his eyes.

"You're so good," he says and she hangs onto each word because his words are everything. "Say thank you, then we'll see about giving you some more."

Nora sniffles wipes her face on his shirt, and finally makes eye contact. "Thank you, Daddy," she says gratefully and cums with a shudder on his thigh.

Everything fades out for a moment and when Nora returns to herself, Daddy is digging his big thumbs into her ribs again, forcing her body to uncurl from its hunched-over position. Nora emits a small, strangled gasp as Daddy pushes her off of his lap, gets on his knees before the couch, and shoves her legs apart.

"Wh—"

A slap shuts her up.

"Don't," he says sternly, holding her gaze for a tense moment before looking down at her red, puffy cunt.

He spreads her labia, gingerly toying with the raw edges around her hole. "You'll be fine," he muses and it sounds like he's mostly speaking to himself. Then, unexpectedly, he leans forward and kisses her clit.

Nora jerks away, overly sensitive from the orgasm she had just a minute ago, but Daddy holds her down. The pressure from his hands forces her to sit painfully against the couch, all too aware of how sensitive and bruised her ass is.

Though, it's hard to think of that when Daddy gently licks her, tracing the edges of her cunt slowly and lightly. He's barely touching her sore hole, but she's so sensitive she knows she'll be trying to hump his face before she can stop herself.

Daddy touches her with soft lips and a gentle tongue. It's so unlike his usual treatment that Nora wonders if she's done something wrong, but then, he sucks on her clit and looks up at her with his eyes like still blue water, and his expression is so stern and harsh that Nora just knows she needs to cum or she'll regret it, and he knows what she needs.

Nora muffles a cry in her fist and when her eyes squeeze shut, tears finally flow without anything holding them back.

Daddy swirls his tongue around her clit as she sobs and tries to resist the urge to just grind up against his face. His nose is buried in her pubes and he inhales her deeply, eating and smelling her while his greedy hands grab handfuls of her sore ass.

He must see the desperation all over her face because he pulls away, presses a chaste kiss to her clit, and says, "No, baby. You're too sore."

Nora tips her head back and tries to stifle her whimpering when Daddy's lips form a seal around her clit and he starts sucking and licking and doing something with the hood of her clit that has her fingers making fists in his hair.

At some point, Nora cums on his tongue so hard she shudders through it and doesn't stop shivering until Joe comes back to her.

As always, Joe is right—it's easy to ignore the pain when she's preoccupied with her clit. His hands slide under her ass. She doesn't know when he stood and began hanging over her, but she gratefully allows herself to get scooped up. The collar slides off and she watches it slip out of view. The piece of herself that is Daddy's boy is put away for later use.

Nothing is real anymore.

Nora's floating—rather, Joe carries her as she dangles limp in his arms. The pain is something distant in her body while she drifts outside of herself.

The air around her vibrates with sound. She's lost, watching from the corner of the basement as Joe takes her to a different room. Nora follows somehow—halfway clinging to her body, her consciousness, and the other part of her lost in the pain.

This new room is smaller than the other and there are no windows. The absolute darkness nearly makes Nora drift off until Joe flicks a light on. The space is bathed in a harsh fluorescent glare and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. There's another squat couch shoved against a wall flanked by two crates acting as a side table. This couch matches the other and Nora's delirious mind imagines Joe digging through old furniture to decorate his nasty basement.

Joe lays down on the couch, so large he is forced to tuck himself in the dip where the cushions meet the back and hang his legs over the side, then he pulls her down to lay in front of him.

This is new. Nora remains quiet, unsure how to approach this. Joe throws an arm around her chest and pulls her tight against him.

His lips find the top of her head and her murmurs something against her hair.

Nora emits a little questioning hum, too exhausted to speak.

"You're mine, aren't you?" He asks. There's something in his tone that makes her roll over.

Nora faces him with his arm slung over her and her hands flat against his broad chest. She nods and ignores all the aches and pains and the empty feeling that opens up within her.