Chapter 4
Elodie
I'm surprised at how little fight I put up as Rye buckles me into what can only be described as a series of pink leather belts that basically cover nothing. Instead, they accentuate certain areas more than you would think.
Naked is naked, but somehow, I feel more exposed than even having nothing on.
The world narrows to a pin prick when he buckles the pink collar around the center of my throat and clips the leash to it, jerking me hard against him.
My mind goes blank.
I open my mouth, thinking I should put up at least some kind of haughty protest as Rye holds the chrome leash wrapped around his hand. But there's something in his eyes that sucks any of the brat I was considering letting loose back into the ether.
“For the record, I haven't touched a woman since your mother married my brother. If your previous comment about my sex life is any indication of where your little girl head is at.”
His admission leaves me shaken.
“No one?” I stutter.
“No. No one in all those years. Not one.” He lowers his hand, and the tension on the collar snaps taut, pulling me down with it. “After one of these nights, I might find myself fucking my hand a few times. Other than that, I'm all pent-up frustration, little girl. And then you walked in.”
He drags me down to the floor by pulling the leash nearly to his feet. My knees meet the soft rug, his foot spreading them wide as I find myself kneeling in front of my uncle, looking up. A sudden rush of confusion, shame, and something surreal washes over me as his face flickers.
My uncle. My father. My uncle.
Back and forth. My brain tries to make sense of what's going on.
There's a knock on the door that breaks the tension. Rye straights back to standing, his head turned toward the door, his eyes darken, the pupils nearly pushing out the last of the greenish-gold iris.
“What?” He barks, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The day’s scruff on his jawline moving under his skin.
A man’s voice comes through the door. “Just checking if you’re going to be coming back anytime soon. The room sessions are scheduled for ten minutes and we have to clean--”
“I’ll be as long as I fucking wanna be. My name’s on the god damn deed and last time I looked, I was still majority owner of the business. Don’t knock on the fucking door again.”
Deed. Majority owner.
I knew Uncle Rye was an investor and a business man, but the specifics of such never seemed to materialize in any family conversations. Now I know why.
There’s a quick shuffling sound from outside the door, but Rye’s attention is back on me as I stare up from my position on my knees, swallowing around the dry lump in my throat.
I'm nervous, maybe for the first time tonight. It’s not fear of being harmed in some way, but still, anything could happen and I’m ill-prepared for at best for any of this.
There's something between us now, even in this dark fantasy world, that feels more real than any of the times we've been together over the last 14 years.
“Now,” Rye starts on a sniff, his lips rubbing together before he continues as my pulse patters like a hummingbird, “one of the most important things a Daddy does is he teaches, he guides, he wants you to be the best you can be in all areas of your life.
He'll push you, he'll coach you, he'll discipline you.” Rye meets my eyes, and there’s something in his expression I can’t read.
“And he'll fuck you. And fucking isn't just putting a cock in a cunt. That's another lesson you're going to learn, Dautie. Right now, you are going to understand that my cock is your God. You’re going to do as you’re told, aren’t you?”
I open my mouth, ready to talk back, ready to question everything, but nothing comes out.
I'm learning a lot about myself tonight.
Because every time this man talks about his cock…
God, my nipples pull tight, and things happen between my legs that make me want to fall back and offer myself at his altar.
I'm nearly whimpering with lust.
Whatever this is, this calm dominance he exudes borders on self-righteous entitlement.
I should find this whole thing arrogant, misogynistic, and patriarchal, but instead of being disgusted, I want more of whatever this is.
And to hell with tomorrow. To hell with independence. To hell with making my own decisions.
“Yes, Daddy,” I manage as he keeps one hand wrapped around the leash, his other petting the side of my head in slow, hypnotic strokes.
A little groan seems to catch in his throat as he finally lets his gaze fully rake over me, devouring the bare flesh wrapped in pink leather, willing and waiting at his feet. His lips peel back as he works the zipper on the front of his black slacks.
My mouth goes dry, anticipation building.
Can this really be happening? Is this real, or did I hit my head this morning and it’s all some wonderful, crazy dream?
I watch in awe as his erection springs free through the opening.
Jesus. “What the fuck?” My hands clasp over my lips.
It cannot be real.
I whimper, and Uncle Rye pets my head again. “Did you just curse, little girl?”
I stutter, “Well, look at it. Wouldn't you curse?”
He gives a shrug. “I see this cock every day. It doesn't scare me.”
He reaches down, his fingers barely spanning the girth at the base, his fingers tightening around the stalk of flesh, turning the mammoth head nearly purple as liquid expels in tiny droplets from the slash on the tip.
I stare, trying to scoot back on my knees, but he gives the collar and leash a hard jerk. “Don't move, Dautie. Lift your hand. Put it where mine is, and just hold it. This is your safe place. This is Daddy.”
He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing as I bring my trembling hand upward, replacing his, stroking, amazed at the softness of the skin that covers steel hardness underneath.
“Look at me while you beat off your uncle's dick, baby.”
I tear my eyes from the monster staring me down, my breath wheezing in and out of my lungs.
“Good girl. Now, open your mouth, stick out your tongue but keep your hand moving. Up and down. Just like that.”
“What? I—”
“You have a safe word, Allegra.” The name makes me shiver. I chose it, and that somehow makes it more mine than my real name. Something that is between us. “Use it, or do as you’re told.”
I wonder for a second if this is some sort of test. Is he pushing me deliberately, trying to see how far I’ll go before tapping out?
He has no idea. I’ve spent my whole life doing exactly as I’m told. The fact that I could stop this at any point makes me feel powerful, and I don’t want that feeling to end. I want to do as I’m told, so that I can walk that tightrope.
And I want to see how far he’ll take it.
I do as he says, opening my mouth, extending my tongue as I watch his eyes, identical to my father's, but they are different. Worlds apart in some invisible way.
“Good girl. Hold your mouth just like that.” He looks pleased and a balm spread through my chest that I’m the reason for that pleasure. “Have you ever touched a man before?”
I shake my head.
“Good. I don't want to have to undo bad habits. Now, you’re going to give Daddy a nice little hand job. And then, good cock worship always ends with a good girl choking on her daddy’s cock.”
He draws his lips together, then the unmistakable sound of a person gathering spit tickles my ears before I realize what’s happening.
Rye centers his mouth above me, lowers his head, his eyes on mine as my tongue stretches outward, the surface dry, my jaw muscles stretched as he releases the glistening warmth from his lips.
I falls and I catch it on my tongue, the erotic taboo nature of my uncle spitting into my mouth sends my lower forty into a spin.
“Keep stroking me.” He orders as I struggle with what comes next.
Do I just keep his spit on my tongue?
No, that’s dumb. I need to swallow it. I need to be grateful for it. I need to show him I appreciate the gift he’s given me.
How I know all this, I’m not sure. It’s as though a new Elodie has awakened inside of me with knowledge of things I’ve never before considered but feel wildly natural and empowering.
Watching Rye closely, I draw my tongue back into my mouth. Close my lips and swallow the warm saliva as it mixes with my own.
God, how I want to see how I affect him. How he reacts to me. How I want to please him is like a growing, breathing, demanding new being inside me.
I squeeze my fingers tighter as I move my hand up and down the veiny stem of his arousal, there’s a hint of Scotch lingering in Rye’s spit as it slips down my throat and from the flicker in his eyes, my actions are pleasantly surprising.
“You know what Daddy needs from his little girl.” He takes a long, satisfied breath as another drop of clear liquid seeps from the tip of his cock.
The leash jerks again, sharp enough to leave a sting where it bites into my neck along the bottom edge. The other pink leather straps cling to my skin, leaving nothing hidden from my uncle’s eyes that lock onto me as his thick cock bobs in front of my nose.
His free hand hooks under my chin. “I know you’re wet,” he makes an animalistic sound when I run my tongue over my lips.
He drags his thumb along the seam, “You know all that slick little girl juice you’re making is for Daddy now, isn’t it?”
I barely nod as my throat tightens questioning if this is all just a part of tonight’s game for him.
My heart skips. Things inside of me re-arrange themselves because for me, none of this feels like performance and not knowing if Rye feels the same, is more dangerous than anything I’ve done so far tonight.
The liquid’s dripping faster from the tiny slit now and it’s mesmerizing. I’ve never seen a man’s anatomy like this up close. Only in pictures and a few porn clips that never seemed to do anything for me but make me roll my eyes.
But, this. Oh my God, it’s a thing of beauty that also inspires fear.