27
Logan
Iwatch my baby devour her bagel, getting crumbs all over the bed, her fingers sticky with cream cheese.
She’s still naked, and I haven’t done a thing to clothe her.
I watch her tits as they bounce and jiggle with every one of her movements, the rolls of fat on her stomach, the way she’s placed her legs so that they’re half-open, one of them draped over the side of the bed, the other one bent in a butterfly position, the heel of her foot inches from her pussy.
I’m jealous of that foot.
But I’m even more jealous of her mind that holds all the things I’ve missed out on for eighteen years.
No, not eighteen: my eyes widen when I see the date.
“Happy nineteen years, baby,” I whisper in her ear, startling her so much that she faceplants into her cream cheese.
“Logan!”
I lick the spread from her nose. “It’s been nineteen years since I last saw you.”
“I’m pretty sure you last saw me a few moments ago,” she teases, and I grin at the mocking tone that reminds me of the old Lia.
But she’s not the old Lia anymore: she’s a new Lia. A better Lia.
“You know what I mean, baby.”
“Yes, I do. And... oh!” She bites her lip. “That means I missed your birthday. I didn’t get you a present.”
I kiss her freckles. “Having you back—all of you—is the best present I could ask for. Anyway,” I add wryly, “I don’t have the best memory of your actual attempts at presents.”
“Well, it’s not that easy buying a present for...”
“For someone who has everything,” I finish.
“I was going to say, for your captor! That’s what you were, you know.”
“That’s what I still am.”
A shadow passes over her face and I kick myself internally for bringing it up. “What’s the nicest present you’ve ever had?” I ask her, in an attempt to change the subject.
“Hmm.” She makes a face. “I guess it was a Barbie dreamhouse.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “You’re a little old for that, aren’t you?”
“I mean, I wasn’t when I got it. I was in elementary school.”
I frown. “And you’ve never had anything nicer than that?”
“Nicer might not be the right word to describe the burns those candles left on my right ass cheek all those years ago, but... let’s say they left a lasting impression.”
“I’m glad they did.” I chuckle at the memory, then hug her at this new proof that her memory’s back. “What about since then?”
The lines in her forehead deepen. “I don’t... I don’t remember any birthdays in Ireland. Maybe that’s why it was so strange to realize how much time had passed. I don’t think I celebrated them.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” I murmur, holding her against me. “That’s a lot of presents you missed, isn’t it? But I’ll make it up to you, Lia. You’ll get your eighteen presents, I promise.”
“Uh uh.” She shakes her head. “No, Logan. You don’t owe me eighteen presents.”
“Oh?”
“You owe me nineteen. And I’m holding you to it.”
I laugh again. “I love you, little ghost girl, do you know that? I love all 75 of you.”
It’s her turn to look confused.
“Your 74 freckles and you,” I add.
“Oh. That’s corny.”
“The kids call it cringe these days, you know.”
By now, she’s finished eating her bagel, and I lick each of her fingers clean before licking her face.
“You’re so slobbery.”
“But you love it, don’t you?”
She avoids answering, instead asking, “How about you? Has Damien gotten better at giving you presents?”
“Nah. But that’s different. I don’t need presents; you do. You need to be taken care of and spoiled and...”
“You need it just as much! I’ll give you nineteen presents too.”
“Please don’t,” I say in mock horror. “I want to live to see next year.”
“Logan! Just for that, I’m giving you twenty!”
She squeals as I pull her down on the mattress, straddling her hips, and tickling her until she gasps for breath.
“Logan! Don’t! I’ll only give you fifteen! Okay, fine, ten! Logan! Sto-o-op...”
Her face is splotchy red by the time I let up and reward her with a kiss.
“I’m so glad I have you back,” I murmur in her ear. “Every single part of you. Your ass, your tits, your tears, your memory. Don’t you dare ghost me again, do you hear?”
I nibble on her earlobe, then drag my tongue down her neck as she shivers.
“Logan, wait... how about dessert?”
“I’m about to give you the best dessert you’ve ever had, ghost girl.”
“I want a real dessert...”
I toy with her nipples, running my fingers over them until they’re stiff, before tweaking and pinching them.
“I can’t wait any longer, Lia. I just can’t. But if you’re my good girl now, maybe I’ll get you a chocolate cake later. Now, behave.”
“Fuck! Ow, fuck!”
I’ve just pinched her nipples particularly hard.
“Logan, stop!” She tries to crawl away, but I push her back down on the bed, frustration getting the better of every other emotion I’ve been struggling with.
“I’ve been very patient, Lia. I’ve had nineteen fucking years of patience. And these past few days have been the hardest ones of all. So you’re going to lie right down and let me use your body.”
“But I’d like the chocolate cake first,” she pleads.
I stare at her. “Are you fucking with me right now, Lia? Or do you really not want me? Red still works. Red will always work. But I swear, it’s going to drive me crazy if I can’t touch you. Do I need to stop? Is it red?”
She blushes hard. “I’m just... nervous. I’m still not used to... Okay, go ahead.”
My chest feels a lot lighter as I place a hand on her waist and another on her back, nudging her up and then pushing her down on her stomach.
“What are you doing?” she gasps when I start running my hand over her back and then over the swell of her ass, parting her cheeks so I can admire what’s between them.
“Close your eyes, Lia,” I grunt. “Put your face down against the mattress and lock your hands behind your head.”
She obeys, looking more nervous than ever, but her ass wriggles in anticipation. I reward it with a smack.
Then I edge back, looking at her naked body. She’s mine. I can do whatever I want to her, and she can’t do a thing about it—she belongs to me. The thought makes me hard.
“How should I play with my ghost girl, hmm?” My hand falls on her ass again, but this time, it’s to pinch and knead her cheeks. Then I slip my fingers in her crack, but I don’t enter her. I just want to touch her. To remember every part of her.
I stroke up and down, over her asshole, down to her pussy, and after a few moments, she relaxes under my touch, moaning and arching up to me.
“Alright,” I say, pausing abruptly when I see her enjoying it too much, “get in the cage.”
She looks up, her face white. “Wh-what?”
I don’t know why I’m like this. My mind has accepted all the trauma she’s gone through and tells me it’s my fault. My heart goes out to her and wants to protect her and make her happy. But my cock…
My cock wants her to suffer.
“Get in the cage,” I say, my voice hard.
She frowns. “No. No, I don’t want to.”
“Too bad.” I grab her, slinging her over my shoulder as she lets out a stifled yelp, then push her through the opening left by the sawed off bars.
“I won’t stay here. I won’t let you keep me in this cage! I’ll leave!”
I know she’s only talking about the cage, but her words reawaken all my old anger.
Well, not all of it. Just enough of it that it makes my cock ache.
“Uh huh. You can always try to leave, at any rate.”
“The bars are sawed off. You can’t lock me in anymore.”
“Oh, can’t I?” I grab the chain connected to the collar and snap it around her neck before she has time to react. Then I grab the handcuffs, also connected to the bars of the cage, and put them around her wrists just as a flow of curse words leave her lips.
“Still want to leave?”
“Asshole! You’re an asshole, Logan!”
“I know.” I take a step back, admiring my work. The chain isn’t very long, and the handcuffs mean she’s almost flush against the bars. But it’s still not enough. I want her even more helpless.
I grab other cuffs from the wide assortment the cage-maker left. These ones are bigger, meant to go around the thighs and the middle.
“Get on your knees.”
“Absolutely not! I won’t!”
I see her pussy glisten, and her tits are as stiff as ever. But I try to ignore the signs that some part of her wants it. It’s a lot more fun to pretend she doesn’t.
“Get on your knees,” I insist, pushing down on her shoulders until she has no choice but to obey. “You remember the word, don’t you?” I add after a beat.
Her scowl and the lips she’s pressed together tell me she does.
Relieved at her silence, I cuff her thighs to the bars and place another cuff around her middle.
Now, she’s just as I like her: helpless on her knees for me.
“Open your mouth,” I order, unzipping my fly and fisting my cock in my hand.
“No!”
I squeeze her cheeks open with one hand, the other one pulling on the chain that connects her neck to the bars, and yank it to me. Now she really is pressed against her prison bars, and she can’t do a thing but take my cock as I stuff it in her mouth.
Oh, fuck.
For all her resistance, she does her very best to take me once I’m inside, opening wide and sucking me. Though she barely has time to because of how hard I drive into her, each thrust hitting the back of her throat.
Soon, tears are leaking out of her eyes, wetting her face, and to make sure they’re the kind that last, I bring my free hand—the one not holding the chain—to her tits, and torture them in rhythm to my thrusting.
She’s so sexy like this, her face going from red to purple as tears shine on her cheeks, and her tits take on a puffy, angry appearance.
It takes all the energy I have to make the pleasure last before I coat the back of her throat with my seed.
In the past, I would have been pissed off at having come already, before having had time to use her other holes. But I have a lot of orgasms to make up for. I get hard again in the time it takes to free her of her restraints and flip her around.
“Make me come,” she begs.
I smack her ass hard, then start tying her up again so she’s just as helplessly on her knees as before, but this time, her ass faces me.
It’s a nice fucking ass, too.
“You’re perfect,” I breathe, running my hands over her.