Untitled

“Let me explain something to you,” he said. His tone was patient now, fatherly, as though explaining some immutable fact to a teenager. “These fantasies you’re having, these yearnings, they aren’t some passing interest that you’re going to outgrow. This is not something that will get better with time.”

“How can you know that, Sir?” She wanted to look at him, but she was afraid. He cupped her face in his hands and forced her to maintain eye contact. She felt herself shrinking, weakening.

“Because they’re needs, like water and oxygen. This is what you are. And despite whatever ideas you may have had when you came to me, I’m not going to fix you.” He moved behind her and she heard him pick up the collar. “In fact, my intention—should you choose to belong to me—is to do everything I can to make you much, much worse.”

Her face was burning and she looked at the floor again. She had known this already, of course. He’d shown her what she was weeks ago. “I need to belong to you, Daddy,” she said quietly. “I want to be yours.”

He pulled a chair in front of the floor-length mirror in the bedroom. As he sat down, he told her to kneel with her back to him so that she could watch.  She obeyed without hesitation although she had no idea what was coming next.  He grabbed a brush from the vanity and started on her hair. After a moment she asked softly, “May I touch myself, Daddy?” “You may, Princess, but gently.  You do not have permission to cum, so be a good girl and control yourself.” “Yes, Daddy.” She lifted her dress to expose the white lace panties he had chosen, which she pulled to the side. She watched his eyes in the mirror and knew that he was admiring her freshly-painted nails as she dipped into the juices pooled just beyond her tiny opening, and used them to lubricate her clit.  She was so wet already that her fingers made wet, smacking noises as she rubbed herself for him.

at 3 in the morning I stare at the ceiling

and run my fingers over my heart

to feel the places you carved your name

Fine Dining

He was leaning across the table, smiling at her intently.  “I need to taste you, Princess.”  

She felt herself flush, knowing what this meant. “Here, Daddy?”  Her voice was higher than she intended, almost plaintive.  

“Here and now, Princess,” he spoke softly, “and please don’t make me ask a second time.”  She hesitated, looking around shyly.  Their table was near the center of the restaurant, but there was a planter to her right side that obscured the view of most other diners.  She put a hand under the dress—thankful for once that he hadn’t permitted her to wear panties—and slipped the tips of two fingers into the wetness that waited just inside her.  She reached across the table and he took the fingertips in his mouth just for a moment, and growled audibly.

She thought this had all gone unnoticed, but a woman at the table to their left was watching, her mouth hanging open.  She returned the woman’s gaze and smiled sweetly, confidently, though her heart was pounding.

He slapped her when she fought against the ropes, trying to turn her face away. “I thought you’d be excited,” he said. Then he paused, “Did you say something?” The slap made her head spin and the edible was really kicking in now. “This isn’t what I meant,” she managed to mumble before he grabbed her hair and stuffed the toy into her mouth.

“Shhhh….,” his big hands began working the bulb to make the short, thick butt plug inflate alarmingly fast. “You said you were curious about inflatable toys, princess, and you know I love it when you tell me you want to try new things.” When he stopped pumping her eyes were watering.

She had a little dragon tattooed on her shoulder. Full lips and dark, almond shaped eyes.  Her friends left, but she stayed. We drank whisky and watched the snow fall out the big front window of the bar. 

She looked tiny wearing my coat, standing under the streetlights with one of my cigarettes in her mouth.  She sang to me and kissed my ears while I carried her on my back down snow covered sidewalks the last two blocks. 

The snow was heavy for November.  We talked and fucked and drank and danced and didn’t leave my place for 3 days. She wore my flannel shirts and my wool socks because that old apartment never really got warm in winter. She shaved her pussy with my razor and left the door open so I could watch her from bed.

“I don’t think I can do this, Sir.” She’d used nipple clamps before, cute pink ones that now seemed harmless. This was much different.

“Of course you can,” he was smiling from his big leather chair, amused, “It’s only a few more minutes. Come and kneel down here, tell me about your day.”

She sniffled as she stepped closer, then sank to her place on the floor and clasped her hands behind her back. Her nipples were already tingling, the way they did when he left the pink clamps on a little too long. She tried to formulate a thought, “I…I finished all the tasks on my list and I….”

He’d started to fondle one of the clothespins gently with a thick finger, she whimpered and tried to pull away. He snatched a fistful of her hair and pulled her face closer, “No, no, little one. Not that. You don’t pull away from Daddy’s touch.” His voice was soft and sweet, terrifying.

“It’s too much. I read that you’re not suppose to….” His other hand clamped down on one of the clothespins and her voice failed. She unclasped her hands and grabbed his wrist, but he was so strong.

“You what? Read something?” Mocking now, not sweet. “Educate me. What did it say?”

“I don’t remember.” She was sobbing, and she couldn’t even try to stop.

“Look at me.” He still had her hair, so she had only to open her eyes. Her nipples weren’t even tingling at all now, there was just a numb heat spreading across her entire torso. “You’re begging and squirming because you still think you can stop this from happening to you. But you can’t.” She nodded. “Accept it, and be good for me.”

She took a deep breath, nodded again, and clasped her hands behind her back. She cast her eyes down when he released her hair and watched a tear hit the rich grain on the capped toe of his dress shoe. Her mind felt fuzzy, vacant. He stood, and began to unzip his fly.

She pours coffee and takes it to his office, intending to place it on the desk without interrupting. Before she can turn to go he holds up a hand, then leans back in the chair and begins to unbuckle his belt.

She sinks to all fours and crawls toward his hanging cock, mind already quieting, softening. He places his hand over the phone and whispers, “Just warm it, don’t suck.” She nestles under the desk and his hand caresses the top of her head. She takes him in, soft, the cropped pubic hair full of his scent. She presses her nose into him and moans contentedly as she feels his pulse on her tongue.

She loses track of time until he hangs up the phone and smiles down, “Now the balls, Kitten.” She unsheathes him from her mouth, half hard, gently takes in his sack and lets his slickened cock drag luridly over her face, coming to rest on her forehead and covering one eye. It is not dignified, and she doesn’t care.

He sighs contentedly, takes a sip of coffee, begins to type. She waits, swirling her tongue slowly, absently, over the smooth skin. She notices a small tear on his dress pants and makes a mental note to mend it.

“Time for the next call, Kitten,” he guides his cock back to her mouth. For the next 20 minutes she can feel him harden and soften again a few times. He sips more coffee, makes notes, comments on the call. Her jaw aches. She forgets herself once as she feels him engorging and begins to suck, to milk him with her lips. He delivers a sharp kick to her ribs that will bruise later, and laughs at something on the call. He’s very hard.

He shifts in the chair and presses her head insistently. The tip of his stiff cock seeks the gentle resistance at the back of her mouth, and then pushes past it. Her mind goes fuzzy again as her throat yields, she breathes deep through her nose and her eyes are watering. She can feel her cunt soaking her panties and she shifts to straddle his foot, arms curling around his calf. He pats her head and she begins to grind on the toe of his dress shoe, reminds herself she will not suck, only warm him.

He pushed his empty plate away with a contented sigh, then poured himself a brandy and looked to where she knelt by his chair. Her cunt had been dripping, leaking his cum all over the gleaming oak floors. He sat back and ran his fingers tenderly through her hair.