6. Chapter 6
V iktor
Pretty as she is, she’s even more so bent over with her legs widely spread.
Slickness along the folds of her pussy shimmers and shines with everything she wants so badly to hide but can’t.
I’ve never felt so powerful or invigorated, although this game—Daddy and Little girl—is anything but new to me.
I pace the floor behind her, admiring how gorgeous she is when she can’t help but submit.
All I want is to fuck, but work first. When work is done, Daddy will play.
Unable to help myself, my hand settles on the soft heat of her blushing ass, stroking the back of one tensing leg, then the other.
She whimpers, but she isn’t gagged or protesting, not even when I let my hand wander to the crease of her ass, following it down past the quivering bud of her asshole into the slick heat of her pussy.
She’s dripping, so wet, her unmistakable arousal coats my fingers as I part her folds and sink my finger into her.
Her pussy spasms, hugging my finger with all the eagerness she’d rather burrow into the blankets than allow me to see.
Her back hunches, and she pulls at her trapped wrists.
Tiny whimpers try to convince me she doesn’t want this, but I can feel the beating of her heart, the pulsing in her tight pussy, and the gush of all that slickness as she fights not to like it.
There’s so much more for her to enjoy, so much more for Daddy to show her.
Aligning my thumb with the tense brown ring of her ass, I apply pressure until no matter how she struggles to squeeze and lock me out, her body yields, and I sink in.
She groans and hides her face, but it’s more humbling than painful.
Wait for it, Princess. I will delight in showing her all the many ways I can make the hurt feel good.
This is just a taste, a playful lesson of what to expect if and when she disobeys.
“Stop!” she moans, but her fluttering pussy is flexing, gripping, begging my finger for more as I pump my thumb in and out of her ass. My cock is going to be in this ass. She’s going to cry, groan, squeal, and love every minute.
Taking away both my thumb and finger, I give her bottom a brisk slap and head to the bar on the far side of my bedroom, near the spacious closet and bathroom.
I keep one eye on her as I make myself a fresh ginger Moscow Mule and spy her peeking back at me.
Every tense line of her body shows how nervous she is, but human beings aren’t meant to be tense all the time, and eventually, bit by bit, she relaxes.
She watches, more puzzled than concerned, as I select a piece of ginger root from the small store I keep in the bar fridge.
She doesn’t know what’s in store for her.
There’s no change in her visible concern as I peel the root, every bit as useful in the bedroom as in the kitchen.
I grate a healthy dose into my glass before scoring the sides to make sure the juice irritants are flowing before notching the base.
“Wh-What… is that?” she stammers, watching as I cross the room to the bed. She rears up as much as she’s able when I take a bottle of lube from the nightside table. The lines of her body tense again, and her tone turns demanding in her nervousness. “What is that?”
She’s not that innocent. The ginger maybe not, but she knows what the lube is for.
I return to her at the foot of the bed. She’s squirming, pulling at the cuffs on her wrists, thrashing her bottom this way and that, trying to keep both the lube and ginger root always in her sight as I step behind her.
Every muscle she has flinches when I pop the lid on the lube.
The only sound she makes is the tiniest squeak as I squeeze a dollop of gel onto the tight pucker of her asshole.
She can’t fight me. She can’t kick or snap her legs shut, and she certainly can’t rear up far enough to get her chest off the mattress, much less stand, as I rub the lube around her hole with my thumb.
I won’t always be gentle, but it suits me to make her like what I do.
I want her to want my touch. I want her to ache for it, especially on those days when I decide to make it hurt.
“Wait!” Her legs stiffen, her bare toes raking furrows in the carpet as all ten ball up into tight little curls. Her fingers clutch the bar she’s cuffed to as her back bows.
Pressing my slick thumb to her equally slick backside, I once more show her just how good Daddy can make it.
Welcome to my world, Princess. You’re Daddy’s play toy now .
She buries her face between her arms, smothering her mew of dismay in the blankets.
She can tell me no, but this is not the body of a woman who wants me to stop.
Her wanton arousal spills through her folds to drip from her poor, neglected, swollen clit.
It peeks at me from out the cover of her flesh as I gently fuck her bottom with my thumb, over and over, until it doesn’t matter how desperately she tries to muffle it, and there is no hiding her breathy moans.
Pulling my thumb out, I replace it with the prodding tip of the peeled ginger root.
It’s not much bigger than my thumb, but her toes still curl tight as I press it in.
She squeezes, fighting to keep it out, but the lube works in my favor, forcing the unyielding firmness of the root to penetrate, no matter how many breathless ‘nos’ she squeaks and whimpers into the bedding, although there aren’t many.
Just two soft protests quickly broken by gasps as I force her to take the widest part of the base.
Arching, she throws back her head, casting her gasp of relief toward the ceiling as it pops into place.
“You’re crazy,” she gasps. “Why would you do that? You’re crazy!”
“Don’t push it out,” I warn. “If it leaves your body one second before I physically remove it, I will strap your naughty bottom until you can’t sit down for the rest of the night.”
Her breathing hitches, and she hides her face again, but she doesn’t flinch.
The tiny involuntary squirm as my hand rests on her back seems more like writhing, her flesh silently crying out for my touch.
I caress her, avoiding the pale lines of old scars that cut across her back, her ass, even the tops of her thighs—her father will pay for each one—but this…
this is Daddy’s gentleness. It’s her first lesson, and it’s far more important I read her body correctly than to be distracted by them.
I’m not a good man—no one will ever hear me say otherwise—but my entire adult sexuality has developed around making women want to submit.
I can’t think of one good reason to justify the hurt these scars prove she’s endured.
Real men don’t do that. Real fathers love, shelter, and protect until the day a husband assumes that privileged responsibility.
Alviero forgot that. Before this is over, I will remind him, and he will bleed for every scar he marked her with, but I can’t afford to let myself fixate on that right now.
This is about me and the little girl who, before this night is over, will call me Daddy.
I caress her bottom as her asshole quivers around the base of the stinging irritant.
She grunts and grits her teeth as she rolls her head side to side.
Every attempt she musters to pretend this isn’t happening, that she can’t feel it, visibly fails.
Her expressive face shows her growing discomfort as her muscles clench and quiver, especially in her bottom and thighs.
“Get it out,” she finally groans. “Please... just get it out!”
Tsking, I reach between her legs to spread what ginger juice remains on my fingers through her slick folds, especially on the head of her highly sensitive clit.
“I’m willing to forgive your misbehavior and poor attitude, but you’ll have to show me you’re willing to cooperate. You will be my wife, Princess—one way or another. The sooner you agree, the sooner your naughtiness will be forgiven, and we can go on to more pleasant things.”
“No! I won’t!” she keens through clenched teeth, thrashing her head in a violent back-and-forth shake of refusal. “You can’t make me!”
If she thinks this is the extent of my persuasive techniques, I’ll enjoy showing her otherwise.
“Say, no, Daddy,” I corrected. “I won’t, Daddy. You can’t make me, Daddy. Naughty little girls getting their naughty bottoms punished need to learn to address the one who properly cares for them.”
The manacles on her ankles reduce her frustrated kick to little more than a twitch. Rearing inches off the mattress, the glare she gives me is full-on defiance.
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you, Daddy,” I remind as she collapses again.
Taking hold of the base of the ginger plug, I’m not anywhere near gentle now, and the fire rages in her back hole as I fuck her bottom with the root.
Heat overwhelms whatever pain she might otherwise have felt, but the heat is enough.
The friction fans the flame, turning the torment unbearable with every in and out thrust.
“God!” she shouts, defiance giving way to pleading almost instantly. “Stop, stop! Please!”
“Please, what?” I demand, twisting the root in her tight bottom to keep the friction burning icy hot.
She throws herself into one last stubborn flurry of kicks and jerks, but she’s hit the edge of her defiance.
“Daddy!” she wails. “There, I said it! Daddy.”
Setting the root deeply again, I stop fucking her bottom and let go of the base.
“We will need to do something about your mouth.”
Patting her bottom, I leave her panting and wilting, her angry stare boring through my back as I cross the room into my closet.
From the cupboard in the back, I pull down what is sure to become the bane of her life once we’re married—a cherry-wood paddle, long and wide enough to cover the entire summit of her round bottom.
It’s not intimate, so it can’t be used over the knee to full effect, but in the position she’s in, it’s an endurance breaker.
A well-varnished length of wood that adds shine and class to what otherwise is a devastating implement to behold, much less feel.
I’ve never met anyone who it couldn’t break down within the first ten strokes.
The moment I walk out and she sees the lovely monster dangling from my ready hand, she falls silent.
Her feet twitch out two aborted kicks, and her fingers clasp the bar she’s bound to.
Her knuckles whiten and stay that way, even after I lay the paddle on the bed in front of her without giving her so much as a taste of the sting that lies in store.
She shudders, but the look she gives me once she finally wrenches her eyes from the paddle says she isn’t giving up. Tears fill those lovely black pools, yet her defiance reads clearly what she already said. I’ve been hit before… I can take it.
Poor little Princess. I caress her hair, her back, her bottom. She tenses—I’m sure she’s afraid I’m about to pump the ginger plug in and out of her until the fire borders on pain again—but I’m content to let her clenching ass torture her for me.
The more she fights and strains, the worse the fire in her bottom becomes and the more I touch her.
She mewls, her thighs shaking harder as my hand follows the curve of her taut flesh to give her sweet, slick pussy a fond pat.
She barely flinches, but the ginger juices mix freely with her natural lubricant, and I only kick up the spicy heat another notch higher as my fingers search out her clit.
She closes her eyes, turning her face into the mattress, helpless to do anything but burn in ginger’s humbling fire while I play with her. Stroke her. Caress after circling caress bringing her body back into taut guitar strings just begging to be strummed.
“Good girl,” I tell her. Come for Daddy .
I know how much it has to hurt, but she can’t stop herself.
She wiggles, her bottom grinding as she basks in the pleasure of my touch.
She arches, her muscles locking down, her body shaking when at last I break through her reserves and she cums. Quivering spasms rock her, over and over.
I love watching it. I love the sound of her despairing cry as I milk every last shudder of pleasure her body unwillingly gives up.
She hasn’t earned it, but that’s all right. We have all the time in the world for her to explore just how harsh I can be… and how much she’ll come to like it when I am.