Chapter 3 #2
“You could have refused.”
“You try refusing Anna and Jeremy. Anyway, maybe I’m tired of thinking everything through, ad nauseam. Maybe it was a chance for me to not be Little Miss Perfect for once.”
I visualize my life, summed up in a series of perfect pliés and straight A’s. The sudden hardness of my answer is not necessarily directed at him, but this strange and unusual place has given me a dark freedom that emboldens me.
Rye rakes his open hand down the front of his face, his eyes eating me from my head down to my feet, then back up. “I don't think you understand what a girl like you looks like to some of these men.”
“What do you mean, ‘what I look like’?”
“You look fucking lost. You look like a girl...” He hesitates, nostrils flaring on a breath. “No, not just a girl. An offering. An innocent, who doesn't know what she does to men.”
“And what do I do to men, Uncle Rye?” I meet his eyes, daring him to say it. “What do I do to you? You are a man after all, tell me, what. Do. I. Do?”
He growls. “I’m going to show you a little bit of it right now. But you agreed to the dare, so from now on, I’m Daddy, now, follow me.”
He spins on his toe, one hand darting back to pinch at the fabric of my dress at my waist, dragging me stumbling behind him. The brace on my shoulders digs in, turning my shoulders in order to move through the crowd without knocking someone in the face with my helpless, outstretched hands.
I’m wildly off balance, which, as a classically trained dancer, hasn’t happened in longer than I can remember.
What does it say about me that I like it?
Rye receives nods and respectful smiles from a lot of the other mentor guides in the crowd as we pass, and yet still none of them put even an eye on me.
It's all as though I am simply an extension of him. It should annoy the hell out of me. It smacks of sexism, but somehow it doesn’t feel like that. It feels safe, like being next to him is some sort of shield.
Or honor.
I could be stark naked, and only one man in this room would be looking at me.
“Do you worry about all the girls that come in here like this?” I ask.
“No. That's not my job. They come in here willingly, and if they don't know what they’re agreeing to with a lot of these men, that's not my problem.”
He leads me to the back of the cavernous club, where there are several doors along a dark wall. Large windows look inside small rooms as an enormous, black-suited man nods at Rye as he approaches one of the closed doors.
Uncle Rye swings it open, tugging me inside as it closes behind us with a hard click.
I’m panting from being paraded through the crowd with the arm bar and collar in place.
The sudden vacuum of silence inside this small space leaves me with just my own heartbeat as he turns, reaching to the back of my neck, working the snaps of the collar, then unclipping the cuffs on my arms, and within a minute, I am free again, my arms falling to my sides, my chin dipping to my chest my body feels warm and pliant, moldable almost.
As my eyes dance around the room, I notice in the corner a short wall forming a boundary around what I can only call a ball pit, like at one of those pizza places where all the kids come for their birthdays. There’s a mirror above it, but no windows.
On hooks against the opposite wall, there are various pink and black leather straps, gags, and blindfolds. There’s a short, white little-girl nightgown, and what I think are onesies...
There are also coloring books on a low wooden table with child sized chairs, and about ten stuffed animals in a basket in the corner.
Rye heaves an exhale from behind me. “Are you ready for your dare?”
I whip back around to find him staring. There’s a challenge in his eyes, like he still thinks I’m about to chicken out and run sobbing for the front door.
Would he be relieved if I did?
Or would he run after me? dragging me back, forcing himself on me, the weight of his body pinning me down as I struggle and scream.
I’m curiously annoyed with the idea that I won’t know his reaction to my imaginary escape attempt but in another way, I just want to crawl in his lap and take a nap.
The way he gives me the hard stare the way his voice takes on that stern hardness his chest puffing up and down as he looks at me, I'm ready for whatever is coming in this unusual but oddly comforting play space. “I'm here, aren't I?” I say, keeping my chin raised, voice neutral.
“You are.” He steps up to me, and I’m suddenly very aware of the difference in our heights. Even in these ridiculous high heels, he towers over me. “Call me daddy”, he demands.
My insides start to ripple that he’s just thrown a boulder into the center of a still pond.
I know this man would never hurt me. I’ve known him my whole life.
But do I really know him?
Because he has the face of my Uncle Rye, and a body identical to my father’s, but he’s not the man I thought he was. Or maybe this person I’m with now, is more him than I ever realized.
When he finally steps back, it’s impossible to miss the tent on the front of his slacks. I'm giving up control, and yet clearly there is something about me that controls something inside of him.
He can demand I do things, but if I refuse and use my safe word, he has to stop. That’s what the other man said.
I watch his Adam's apple move in his throat as he waits. For me to make a decision. For me to give up my control.
Because, it is mine to give.
“I'm ready, Daddy,” I say quietly, and it feels… euphoric. Erotic. I try the word again. “Daddy. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” I repeat, harder and harder until he grabs my hand and I fall silent.
His gaze locks on my mouth. “You have a little girl inside you.
But you have the body of a woman. That's a combination that men would pay for with their very lives just to have one quick taste, one chance to get their cocks out in the same hemisphere as you. Every man in this place wants to find out what you have there between your sweet little legs. You have no idea how the world works, Dautie.”
“Jeremy wouldn’t want that from me. And he’s here,” I smirk darting my eyes toward the door.
Uncle Rye snort chuckles. “Okay, maybe not every man. But most of them and some of the women, too. Dommes are more intense than most Dom’s. They’d love a taste of you as well. You are the definition of beauty and innocence and unspoiled grace that is a rare commodity in this world.”
My nipples stiffen into peaks as he trails his knuckles across my shoulders.
I want to goad him. I want to push him. Compliance has basically been my middle name my whole life, but here, in this anonymous black walled room, the urge for me to be something else is magnetic.
“All right, Daddy, now what?” I add a hefty helping of sass to my question.
I want to see how far I can push.
Before what? I don't know.
Rye turns away, stepping towards the wall where the garments hang. “Take off your dress,” he orders without looking back.
“Take off my—”
I start to question, but he spins and stomps my way, in two seconds we're nose to nose, within a breath of each other.
“Did you not understand what you agreed to for your little dare? I’m Daddy, and you do what I say. You do not question. Your only out is your safe word. Do you understand?”
His warm breath puffs against my mouth as I swallow. A wave of fear prickles over my skin.
All I can do is nod.
There's something about the calm, definitive way he speaks that melts things inside of me.
“Good girl.” Those two words do something to me that takes a blow torch to any remnants of feminism left inside me.
I want to hear him call me that almost more than I would like to hear those other three words that most girls long for.
I reach around to my back, bending my elbow to reach up between my shoulder blades and work the zipper down on my dress, letting it fall to the floor leaving me standing in my heels, my ruined white panties, and no bra, because Anna said bra straps would be tacky.
“Shoes off,” Rye orders as he inspects the selection of garments on the hooks. “Daddy wants to dress you.”
When he finally turns around, he doesn’t even look at my nearly naked body. The control he shows is both infuriating and sexy. His eyes are like arrows that pierce into parts of me I’ve not allowed even myself to indulge until right now.
He grabs one of the pink strappy deals hanging on the wall, his hand moving methodically over the leather, the buckles clinking as he works them open.
“Shoes off. Panties off.” He says it like he’s telling me to put butter on toast, and again, I’m reminded of how comfortable he clearly is in this environment, and with this level of physicality.
A rush of jealousy pours out of me.
“You’ve done this a lot, I take it.” I fight the sharpness in my voice that reveals my insecurity.
“Guess Uncle Rye has had a good little sex life all these years after all. Mom used to always wonder why you never brought any women around. She thought maybe you weren’t inclined toward the fairer sex—”
His hand darts out in a blur of motion before the clamp of his fingers latch around my throat.
“I don’t think you understand your dare, my dautie.
You are a little girl, I am your Daddy. A little girl speaks as a little girl would.
A little girl is playful, free of concern about where her Daddy spends his time and with whom.
Your job here is to find that little girl inside you, and set her free.
We both know you’ve never had that opportunity before, even when you were young. ”
The weight and pressure of his hand controlling my breath focus me on his words as my eyes burn, hating him for seeing so much, but loving him for it at the same time.
I pout, and that urge to curl into his lap returns as he withdraws his hand, returning to the wall with the leather straps.
“I’m your Daddy, but I’m also your uncle that wears your father’s face.” He holds up a dangling bundle of pink leather connected by chrome rings and studs.
Is that what I think it is?
His lips curl into something akin to a smile, something he rarely does. The tips of his fingers twitch as he holds the pink garment in one hand, and in the other a long chrome-linked leash attached to a matching pink leather and chrome collar.
“I’m not wearing a dog collar.” I cross my arms.
The vulnerability of standing in front of him naked makes the wetness between my legs drip down my inner thighs.
Rye doesn't react. His face is set in stone.
“You'll wear the collar, Dautie. With the leash attached and crawl on all fours if it pleases me.
I was going to let you play in the ball pit, but it seems there's a different set of balls that you need to start paying attention to.
You're going to get your first lesson in cock worship to focus your mind. Your evening dare just changed direction.”