Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Seraphina
I bounded to the cabin, heart in my throat.
I hadn’t meant to run the whole way, but I was buzzing too much to walk.
Dr. Catherine Denton. A real therapist. Someone who might actually help me untangle the knots inside my chest. I’d tried calling Daddy—but she hadn’t answered, so I thought maybe I’d surprise her.
The second I pushed the cabin door open, I froze.
A low, throaty moan carried down the hall. My face burned instantly. My breath caught. I knew that sound.
I stood there, rooted, caught between bolting and listening.
But I couldn’t move. My chest squeezed tighter with every ragged sound until tears blurred my eyes.
I moved quietly down the hall to see her lying in the middle of the bed pleasing herself.
Why… why would she do this alone? Why not with me?
I retreated quickly back to the living room where I sank onto the couch, hugging a pillow to my chest, waiting. By the time she emerged—hair messy, skin glowing, wearing that loose t-shirt she loved—my face was wet.
“Sera?” she gasped, startled. Then the concern rushed in as she hurried over, dropping to her knees in front of me. “Babygirl, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
I shook my head, my voice small but sharp. “Is there… is there a reason we’re not having sex? Do you not want me that way?”
Her brows pulled together, pain flashing in her eyes.
“Little one, I want you more than you know. I’ve wanted you since the night I first kissed you.
But I thought—” She exhaled hard, steadying herself.
“It’s best to wait. To let you figure yourself out first. To not push you before you were ready,”
The ache in my chest cracked open wider. “I don’t want to wait.” My voice shook but held steady. “I want you. I don’t want you doing that alone when I could be the one getting you off. I want to feel you lose it with me. I want…” My breath shivered out. “I want your mouth again.”
Her pupils blew wide, heat flashing across her face.
I cupped her cheeks, tears still rolling. “Please don’t shut me out. Not from this.”
Her eyes narrowed, the hunger in them sharp now, controlled. She caught my chin in her fingers, holding me still, forcing me to look at her.
“Careful, little one,” she warned, her voice deep, commanding. “You don’t get to make demands of me.”
Heat rushed through me, and I whimpered, already undone by her authority. “Please,” I whispered. “Please, Daddy.”
That earned me the faintest smile—dark, approving. Her thumb stroked my lip slowly, almost lazily, though her eyes never softened.
“You want to be the one to make me come?” she asked, tone low and dangerous.
“Yes, Daddy,” I breathed. My whole body shook as the words left me. “Please let me.”
She leaned in close, her breath hot against my ear. “Do you even know what you’re asking for? To taste me? To serve me properly?”
My thighs pressed together helplessly, the ache between them unbearable. “I want it. I want you.”
A sharp tug in my hair snapped my head back, and I gasped at the jolt of it. “Say it right.”
“I want to please you, Daddy,” I corrected quickly, breathless.
Her smirk curved slow and sinful. “Better.”
Then her mouth crashed against mine, claiming me fully, leaving no doubt about who held the reins.
She kissed me until my head spun, then pushed me back just enough that I toppled onto the couch cushions.
I looked up at her, wide-eyed, heart pounding, as she stood over me like she owned me. Because she did.
She slid her thumb across my wet bottom lip, then pressed it into my mouth. “Suck.”
I obeyed. The word—suck—was a command and a promise, and I wrapped my mouth around her thumb like it was the only thing keeping me steady. Her weight hovered above me, warm and heavy, and I focused on the one task in front of me: to give.
“That’s right,” she murmured, watching me with hooded eyes. “Such a good girl. If you want the privilege of my mouth on you again… you’ll earn it. Tonight is about you proving just how much you crave to serve me. Follow me.”
I did. And she stripped down in the bedroom and got in the middle of the bed where she propped herself up, spread her legs, and she motioned for me to get between them. I slid off my shoes quickly and got on the bed as instructed. She put my hands on her hips, palms flat, fingers splayed.
“Get comfortable, because I’ve been waiting much too long to have you right here.” She murmured.
I removed my jeans, t-shirt, bra, and socks.
Lying back down with only my panties on.
Daddy leaned down and kissed me until I was breathless.
When I tried to follow her mouth when she pulled away, she lowered my head between her thighs.
I moved exactly how she wanted—slow when she wanted me slow, firmer when her breath hitched and the pressure in her hand told me to press.
I tasted her, the faint salt of skin and the tang of sweat from the heat of her body; every tiny noise she made was music, and I leaned into it, memorizing which noises meant ease and which meant need.
I loved the taste of her, and as she moved against my mouth, I became just as needy as she was.
“You’re doing very well,” she murmured, voice low and approving. “Eyes on me when I tell you.” Her hands traced down my jaw. “Good girl. That’s it. Give me everything you have.”
I looked up at her between my tasks—at the set of her jaw, the way her nostrils flared, how her fingers tangled in my hair when she wanted more.
I matched my rhythm to the cues she gave: a tightening in her hips, the soft curse that escaped her throat.
Each tiny victory—another approving sound, a softening sigh, a hand flattening to my head—made me bolder, made me want to please her more fiercely.
She guided me precisely, always in control.
When she wanted me to slow, she pressed my chin gently and I obeyed.
When she wanted more, her fingers tightened and I responded.
There was no confusion. Her commands cut through the fog of need and fear that had lived in me for so long; that fog cleared and all that remained was the clarity of service.
At one point she pushed me up onto my knees and steadied me with both hands at my shoulders. “Look at me,” she said. Her tone left no room to bargain. I did, and the sight of her—strong, raw, and burning—sent a new bolt of wanting through me. “Tell me you want to make me come,” she ordered.
“I want to make you come, Daddy,” I breathed. Saying it anchored me. It made my purpose obvious and made me feel small in the best possible way.
She let out a long, low sound and slid a hand down to my shoulders, fingers kneading like punctuation, pushing me back toward the prize.
“Then work for it. Don’t stop until I tell you.
” She watched me the whole time, eyes hooded with need and approval, and I poured myself into the work—deliberate, focused, hungry to earn the ownership in her gaze.
When the rhythm finally changed and her reactions sharpened into something more urgent, I didn’t falter.
I matched that urgency with every ounce of myself until she cupped my face, the pressure of her palm gentle and fierce at once, and released a sound that turned into a low, trembling exhale.
Her body relaxed and then tightened again, and when she came—when she let go in that small, contained explosion—I held her through it, not because I had to but because I wanted my hands and mouth to be the calm that followed her storm.
And I drank it all from her. Nursed her sweetness until she wore that look of contentment on her face.
She caught me as she came down, hauling me into her lap and folding me into her like I’d been the missing piece she was finally allowed to claim. For a beat I couldn’t tell where the caring stopped and the control began; they lived right on top of each other.
“Good girl,” she whispered into my hair, voice heavy and pleased. Her hands smoothed my hair, slow and grounding. “That was… exactly right.”
I stayed there, face buried between her breasts, breath ragged, chest full.
My whole body buzzed with something new and ancient—satisfaction, not only because she’d been brought to the edge, but because I’d been trusted to take her there.
It felt like proof: that I could be want and servant at once, that my need could be an offering and not a burden.
She eased us both back so I could look at her. Her expression was tender, tired, and ferociously fond all at once. “You wanted this,” she said softly, reading me like a book. “You asked for it. Did it feel like what you thought?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered, voice thick. “It felt… right.”
She pressed a kiss to my forehead, then swept a blanket over us. “Tonight is about your service. Tomorrow we’ll have other rules, other rewards. Now, it’s your turn.” There was an evil grin on her face that made me wonder what she was up to.
Bastard. Freaking Bastard. Sadist. Freaking Sadist. Why???
I never would have thought that my Daddy would be this way. But she was clearly part sadist and she’d worked us both up into a frenzy. It’d began with this vibe, the one she’d purchased from the store and wouldn’t let me see. She’d made me come so many times with it that I…
That torturous toy was buried deep inside me. I wanted it out. Each orgasm was more intense than the last one and I couldn’t give her another. I didn’t want to disappoint her so getting it out was imperative.
“Daddy…” I begged.
“You’re losing focus, babygirl. Instead of focusing on me you’re focusing on that sore cunt of yours.”
I groaned because she was right. I am not a masochist and so inflicting pain was that much more intoxicating for her, because she did enjoy it.
I took what she gave and I enjoyed it because she did.
I wondered if I could handle it all, but pain on a small degree did something to me if it was paired with pleasure, and she knew that.
“Play with that little pussy of yours for me. Make it crave what I need it to.”
Another forced orgasm seized me and it hurt more than the last one. Tears rolled from the corners of my eyes in despair but there was something even more shocking. I liked being forced to come for her. It took away my control, giving me the power of submission.
She increased the tempo of the bullet and another orgasm ripped free. She wasn’t finished.
“Play for me, girl.”
Cautiously, I lowered my hand, afraid that I’d break my kitty if I touched it.
Gentle caresses earned me a “good girl” and inspired me to explore further.
I spread my legs wide while stimulating my clit.
It was sore and slower to respond but persistence paid off.
I lifted my hips in time to meet the down sweep of my fingers.
It was wickedly refreshing and got my juices flowing nicely.
“Very good girl,” she praised.
“Thank you, Daddy…” I didn’t lose focus on the goal.
I just needed redirection and I’m glad I listened.
Glad that I was primed once again. It felt amazing to have my body in such a primal and orgasmic state that little tremors were a constant.
I knew this one would be monumental. My vaginal walls were already tightly gripping the vibe accepting the torture. I needed more. I wanted her.
One digit at a time, I deposited my fingers inside.
My eyes grew wide accepting the magnified feelings.
The heel of my hand rocked my clit while I moved my fingers back and forth inside.
Yes! My reactions were purely instinctual and reflexive, short circuiting my mind into compliance.
That rush of pure adrenaline let me know that it was time.
I wanted to slow down the moment but that wasn’t my call.
I embraced the sensations, letting it take control.
I cried out loudly and covered my mouth in shame.
“Let me hear you, dear girl. Talk to me.”
By talk, she meant moan. She liked it, and I aimed to please.
I moved my hand from my mouth but tightened my legs around my hand bringing it deeper inside.
“Oh!”
My fingers moved the bullet back and forth, now coming into contact with it.
Talk about a splendid feeling. The vibrations beat faster and my body froze as spasms squeezed every nerve ending until my entire being pulsed in pain and pleasure.
My eyes rolled backward and I screamed so loud that I felt the echo bounce off the wall and lick over me.
Tingling sensations numbed everything else out as I twitched like a fein begging for another hit.
One more… please!
I grabbed at the air but even my toes and fingers were cramped and tense. Puffs of air erupted from my lips as my body tried to regulate the convulsions. Finally, everything relaxed and I sank into the mattress.
She caressed my forehead moving wet tendrils of hair aside. I turned my head to lean into her caresses and my body groaned at the slight movement. Her fingers traced patterns over my torso and while it normally would arouse me, it helped to bring awareness back in place.
“Good, good girl. I’ll let you rest a bit before I torture that sweet pussy again.”
I opened my eyes to see her sadistic smile. She wasn’t serious, right? Right?!
I melted into her arms, the aftercare like balm.
Her fingers traced small circles everywhere; the heat between my legs cooled into a warm, satisfied ache.
I let myself breathe out all the tremors and shame.
In the hush after, with her steady heartbeat beneath my cheek and her arm looped securely around me, I felt something settle: the knowledge that when I gave my whole self to her—mindful, obedient, willing—she would guide me safely, and I would be cared for when I needed it most.