Chapter 23 #3
I lost track of the days, measuring time instead by feed cycles and maintenance logs, by the slow progress of the cuttlefish as it learned to hunt the live shrimp I’d started dropping into the tank.
I named her Newton. The act of naming something, even a cephalopod, felt like a reclamation of agency.
Tobias visited every evening, and ate dinner with me. Sometimes he brought books— more marine biology texts, technical manuals, even the occasional battered novel with his own penciled annotations in the margins. Sometimes he wanted to talk. Then he made me come my brains out.
One night, he lingered in the doorway after we’d finished, his hand hovering uncertainly at his side.
“May I stay?” he asked, not quite meeting my eyes.
I nodded, surprised by how much I wanted him to. He sat at the end of the bed, hands folded like a child waiting for a reprimand.
“I used to think vulnerability was a weakness,” he said. “That if you allowed yourself to be known, you lost control of the narrative. But you—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You make me want to try.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than I expected. I didn’t know what to say, so I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. He flinched at the contact, then relaxed, letting his palm settle against mine.
We talked until the only illumination was the ghostly blue from the moonlight setting.
I asked about his childhood, and he told me stories of growing up in a house that felt like a museum, every object curated, every conversation a negotiation.
I told him about tidepooling with my dad in California, about the first time I saw an octopus squeeze through a gap the width of my thumb.
We were both products of our environments, just in different ways.
When he finally kissed me, he let me lead, let me dictate the pace, and guided me to hump against his thigh until I spurted.
He left before sunrise, but not before tucking the blanket around my shoulders and brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. I lay there for a long time after he was gone, awake and alert, the shape of his absence etched into the mattress beside me.
By midweek, I found myself waiting for his knock. I hated myself for it, but I waited anyway.
And every night, I grew hard as the time to honor our agreement came.
After a few days of going through each of the silicone plugs, gradually stretching me, he brought a dildo to our session.
“I want you to take this for me. It’s the smallest dildo I have, so you should be fine.”
“Okay,” I exhaled, laying back with my head on my pillow.
Tobias sat beside me and put his hand on my thigh, and my eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of his touch.
Honestly, it was hard to remember that I wasn’t supposed to be liking all this. But why wouldn’t I like it? He made me come at least once a night, never hurt me, showering me in pleasure without ever taking anything for himself.
The heat of his palm radiated through my skin, grounding me as I let out a slow breath. My cock had was already hard and leaking against my belly, but Tobias wasn’t focused there yet. He reached for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, the soft click of the cap opening loud in the quiet room.
“Just relax for me,” he murmured, his voice soft and calming. “You’ve been so good with the plugs. This is just the next step.”
I nodded, biting my lip as he squeezed a generous amount of clear gel onto his fingers.
The familiar coolness hit my rim as he pressed the first finger inside, circling gently.
I let out a shaky exhale, my hips twitching instinctively.
He worked me open with practiced patience—one finger, then two, scissoring and stretching until I was loose and pliant beneath his touch.
“Ready?” he asked, his dark eyes meeting mine.
I swallowed and whispered, “Yes.”
He withdrew his fingers and picked up the dildo. It was a modest size—maybe six inches, slender but with a slight curve at the head. He coated it in lube, stroking the shaft until it glistened under the dim light. I watched, my breath catching, as he positioned it at my entrance.
The tip pressed against me, slick and cool. I clenched involuntarily, but he didn’t push. He just waited, his free hand stroking my thigh in slow, soothing circles.
“Breathe,” he reminded me.
I inhaled deeply, and as I exhaled, he eased the head inside. A soft moan escaped me—a mix of resistance and pleasure. The stretch was fuller than the largest plug, but not sharp. He paused again, letting me adjust, then pushed a little deeper.
“That’s it,” he praised, his voice a rumble. “Taking me so well. So good for me.”
I whimpered as he slid in another inch, the silicone filling me in a way that made my cock jump. He didn’t stop until the entire shaft was buried inside me, the base pressing against my cheeks. I felt deliciously full, my hole gripping the toy and pulsing around its shape.
He held still for a long moment, letting me acclimate. His hand came to rest on my hip. “How does that feel?”
“Good,” I breathed. “I like it.”
A soft smile flickered across his face. “Now I’m going to move. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He started slow—a gentle pull back, then a smooth push in. I gasped at the drag of the toy against my walls, the slight curve nudging something deep inside. My hands gripped the pillow beneath my head as he built a steady rhythm with long, languid strokes that had me writhing beneath him.
“Oh, fuck,” I moaned as he angled the dildo differently, and the head brushed against my prostate, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot through me.
His eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction. “There?”
I could only nod, biting back a cry as he adjusted his grip and fucked me with that same angle, each thrust hitting that sweet spot. The room filled with the wet, rhythmic sound of lube and the creak of the bed. My moans grew louder, more desperate, as pleasure coiled tight in my belly.
“Please, please, please—”
“What do you want, little siren?”
I shivered at the pet name. “I…”
He fucked the toy in as deep as it could go on the next thrust, making me gasp out a loud, broken moan.
“You like it deep, don’t you? Tell me.”
“Y-yes,” I stuttered, legs trembling as he held the dildo in me by pressing the palm of his hand flat on the base until his skin was flush with mine. When he started grinding it in like that, I sobbed out a moan and flung my head back.
“Do you want something, siren?” he crooned.
“I—I… Daddy,” I cried as he changed the angle of the toy and began grinding it into my prostate relentlessly. I didn’t even realize what I’d called him until he said something.
“That what you want? For me to be your Daddy? You want Daddy to fuck all the cum out of your tight little balls?”
Tears streamed down my flushed cheeks, as embarrassment filled me. I’d never had a Daddy kink before, but I guess there was a time for everything.
“Y-yes,” I whimpered.
“Yes, what?”
A full-body shiver wracked my body. “Yes… Daddy,” I moaned. “Oh, oh, I’m so c-close,” I choked out, my hips bucking into nothing.
“I know, precious. Let go for me,” he said, his voice soft but firm as he battered my spot over and over. “Come.”
That was all it took. My back arched, a guttural moan tearing from my throat as I came.
Hot ropes of cum splashed across my stomach and chest, my muscles clenching around the dildo as if trying to milk it.
The waves of pleasure rolled through me, intensified by the continued pressure inside, until I finally collapsed, limp and panting.
Tobias slowly withdrew the dildo, careful not to overstimulate me. The absence left me feeling hollow and a whine slipped from my lips, but his hand immediately returned to my thigh, rubbing gently.
“Good boy,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. “Perfect, pretty siren. My most precious possession. My Cove.”
Afterward, he lay beside me, arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against the nape of my neck.
“You could have anything,” I said, not meaning to speak aloud.
“I have everything I want,” he replied.
I almost believed him.
I drifted in and out of sleep, waking to the faint glow coming from the windows and the distant call of curlews from the cliffs outside.
My body was sore, but it was a good sore, the kind that came from being wanted.
I thought about the ankle monitor, about the locked doors, about the fact that every comfort in this room was a calculated reward for good behavior.
I should have been planning my escape, should have been plotting every second, but instead I found myself calculating the number of hours until the next visit, the next touch, the next taste of something like freedom.
I didn’t know what to call this feeling.
It wasn’t love, and it wasn’t hate, and it wasn’t some Stockholm cliché.
It was the sensation of being studied, understood, and chosen—not just for my compliance, but for what I was when I wasn’t performing.
I didn’t know if it was enough to survive on, but it was enough for now.
I was still a captive. But for the first time, I started to think of myself as something more than just that. I started to think of myself as part of the system—a variable, a catalyst, maybe even a threat.
I wondered how long it would take Tobias to realize it, too.