8 months ago. Wednesday, May 7, 2025 at 3:15 PM
It’s quiet. Golden light spills in through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room. He’s in his chair, that damn book in his hand again, but I know he’s not reading it. Not really.
Because I’m here. Right where I’m supposed to be.
Curled up on the floor, knees tucked beneath me, a thick blanket draped over me, and a mug of forgotten tea on the table. My cheek rests against his thigh, and it’s like everything in me settles the moment I touch him. Like my body finally remembers where it belongs.
His fingers slide into my hair—slow, lazy, possessive—and I melt. Right there. Against his leg.
“You feel safe here, don’t you, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and rough, that dangerous edge I crave laced with something tender.I don’t even answer. I don’t have to. My body says it for me. A hum, a shift, a breath. I press closer, let my fingers curl into the fabric of his pants like I’ll fall apart if I let go.
The tea goes cold. I barely notice. My hands are too busy—one resting on his knee, the other curled under my cheek as I nuzzle in deeper. The blanket slips down my back, forgotten, and I don’t fix it. I know he likes me like this. Unguarded. Exposed. His.
He strokes my scalp again, slow and deliberate, and I feel it—every pull of his fingers dragging me deeper under his spell. My breath catches, lashes fluttering, but I don’t move. I can’t. I just sink.
“Thought about you all damn day, baby,” he whispers, thumb brushing along my temple. “Meetings, errands… couldn’t get your pretty face outta my head.”My lips part. A soft “I missed you, too, Daddy” slips out before I even think. It’s warm, sleepy, wrapped in devotion. I nuzzle into his thigh and let the world disappear.
Some time passes with us just like that. Me at his feet, head on his thigh, his hand in my hair. There isn't a single thought on mind except this. The silence, the feel of his trousers against my cheek as my hands aimlessly roam his leg.
And then he says it—“Come here.” I crawl to him. Slow. Deliberate. Every movement is a silent confession: I want him. I trust him. I need him.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as I climb into his lap. His fingers graze my cheek, and I feel my whole body sigh. But he doesn’t let me get too comfortable. Of course, he doesn’t.
“You don’t get to sit here without doing something for me first,” he says, his voice dark and teasing. “But I think you know what I like, don’t you?”
My heart pounds. I do. And I give it to him. Every look, every breath, every bit of submission he wants—I offer it freely.
But then?
Then my lips touch his neck. A soft kiss, sweet and careful… at first. Until my tongue grazes his Adam’s apple and I hear it—that growl that makes my stomach twist and my thighs clench. The second our mouths meet, it’s not soft anymore. It’s heat and hunger and possession. His hand fists in my hair, and I don’t resist. I lean into it. I want to be kept.
“You like waking up that beast in me, huh?” he growls. “You want Daddy to lose control?”
Yes. Fuck yes.
And when I whisper it—“I’m yours, Daddy. Your toy. Your good girl. Your brat. Your everything…”
He snaps.
“That’s it,” he growls, his grip tightening. “Say it again. Louder.” And when I do, he doesn’t hold back. His hand slides up my thigh, teasing, dangerous. Then his teeth find my bottom lip and tug, and I swear I feel myself unraveling.
“You belong to Daddy,” he growls. “And tonight… I’m going to make damn sure you feel it everywhere.” Then he flips me. Without warning, I’m over his knee, his oversized t-shirt pushed up and my panties pulled down, revealing my ass. I gasp as his palm drags across my ass… and then—CRACK.
One.
Then another. Harder. Then again.
“Count for me,” he commands. “And if you forget a number, I start over.”
Two. Three. Four. My voice shakes, but I obey. Each strike stings. Bites. Burns. But I need it. I crave it.
“Don’t get cocky,” he growls as his hand trails down my thigh. “We’re not even halfway.”
CRACK. Five. Six. My breath trembles. Then I whisper it again, soft and broken, “Six, Daddy…”
CRACK. Seven. My body jolts. His fingers twist in my hair, pulling my head back, making my back arch for him.
“You’re dripping for me. Squirming. I bet if I slid two fingers inside you right now, you’d cry from how full and ruined you already feel.”
Fuck.
CRACK. Eight. Lower this time. My yelp escapes before I can stop it.
“You’re mine,” he growls again, spanking me harder. “This body? This mouth? That sweet little mind? All mine.” His teeth sink into my shoulder, claiming me. His fingers tease between my legs, brushing just enough to make me whimper. And then he whispers against my skin—hot, filthy, true—
“Every number is a promise. A bruise for Daddy. A moan you owe me. And by the time I’m done with you... you’re gonna be wrecked and ruined and proud of it.” My skin is still stinging—warm, flushed, and humming from the last strike.
The air in the lounge feels heavier now, like it’s pressing against my bare skin, thick with anticipation. The soft glow from the standing lamp turns everything gold and shadowed. I can hear him behind me—his breathing calm, deep. Collected. Like nothing just happened. Like I’m the only one trembling.
There’s a pause.
Then I feel his fingers slide beneath my chin, tipping my face up—not roughly, just enough to remind me that I belong to him.
“That’s enough,” he says, voice low and firm, like a closing door. “Up. Now.”
My legs shake slightly as I move. He doesn't offer help. Of course not. That’s not the point. I push myself up carefully, every movement slow, controlled, because I know he’s still watching me. Always watching.
“Go to the couch,” he instructs. “Kneel. Chest down. Keep your face forward. I don’t want to see you look back—not once.”
I obey. Of course I do.
I cross the room slowly, each step echoing with silent tension. The couch is warm from the soft lighting, and I sink into the cushions just enough to steady myself. Knees spread, chest pressed against the couch cushions, arms crossed as I rest my chin on them, looking at the wall in front of me, spine arched just slightly. I face forward. Just like he told me.
I don’t look back. I want to.
God, I ache to.
But I stay still, breathing shallow, waiting for whatever comes next. The sound of him moving behind me—the slow steps, the pause, the faint shift of leather—it’s maddening. Not knowing. Not seeing. Just feeling the silence stretch between us. And knowing he’s still there.
Right behind me.
One hand he reaches down in between my legs and finds my hot wet pussy...the anticipation of it all making me jolt when his fingers gets in contact with my clit and i let out a sigh, with the other hand he grips my hair and pushes it all to fall over one shoulder exposing my neck. He lowers himself, placing his face on my neck and breathing me in, sending shivers down my back.
He steps back, forgetting the instruction given. I turned my head to see where he was going, but quickly turned back after remembering, earning a chuckle from him. " Some seems eager...t-shirt off"
"Okay"
SMACK!
I gasped. That was a warning; there was a sudden drop in temperature, and goosebumps blossomed across my body. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth to stop the shy smile appearing, as the realisation of the moment dawned on me. Daddy was gone, no more light touches and sweet kisses...this was Sir, and he would ruin me.
"Yes, Sir," I said as I tugged my t-shirt over my head and threw it to the side, remaining only in my purple thigh-high socks, and returned to my position. Then I waited. He was still there, I felt the heat radiating off of him and the tick of his watch. He just watched.
We stayed like this for what felt like an eternity. I was dying for him to touch me, and I finally broke the silence, "Sir...please," hoping those two words would be my saving grace...still nothing. I started squirming, rubbing my nipples against the leather fabric of the cushions to get some sort of release.
'Please,' I whispered like a prayer to heaven.
"I thought you'd never ask." In a second, the couch dipped from his weight, and he was up against me, he was grinding on me in that animalistic manner. Lacing his fingers between my hair, " I love how desperate you get for me. I didn't even touch you, and you're dripping." Tsk..Tsk...Tsk "Slut"
I heard the unbuckling of his belt and his zipper run down and the tip of his dick circle my entrance. Slow torture. Over and over again. When I thought he would slide in, he wouldn't. I was shaking and whimpering, pleading for more. "You take what I give you when I give it to you. If the tip is what I am giving you, then the tip is what you take. Understood?"
" Yes, Sir,"...he continued his torture alternating between his tip and his fingers, never giving me enough to go over the edge. My thighs were trembling and my pussy clenching. Then, when I thought it would never end, he slammed into me without warning.
Hard and fast, he filled me up.
I let out a cry that wasn’t even a sound anymore—just raw noise, dragged from somewhere deep in me. His grip was brutal—one hand on my hip, the other in my hair again, dragging my head back just enough to make my spine curve. Each thrust hit deeper than the last, his pace relentless now, animal. His body slamming into mine like it had a point to prove.
I was gone.
My thoughts blurred, my body on fire, every nerve frayed and begging. The couch creaked beneath us, leather moaning under our weight, and I could barely hold myself up. My arms trembled, collapsing beneath me. My cheek pressed flat into the cushion as I sobbed out some mess of his name.
"That's it," he growled through clenched teeth, "Look at you—fucking ruined for me."
He never stopped moving. Not for a second. Every time I thought he’d slow down, he gripped me tighter, pushed in harder, pulling whimpers and curses out of me like I was made to sing for him.
“You begged for it,” he hissed into my ear, “Now you take it. Every damn inch. Say it—tell me who you belong to.”
“Y-you, Sir… you… I’m yours—”
SMACK—his hand came down across my ass again, raw and sharp, making me jolt.
“Damn right you are.” His rhythm started to falter, breath coming in ragged gasps. I could feel him pulsing inside me, that last stretch of control barely hanging by a thread.
His hand slid across my throat, not tight, just resting—possessive, grounding. His hips slammed forward one last time, deep enough I saw stars behind my eyes, and then he let go with a low, guttural groan that vibrated against my back.
He collapsed forward over me, chest rising and falling. We stayed like that—bodies tangled, breath ragged, sweat cooling between us.
And then, after what felt like forever, he pressed a kiss to the back of my neck.
Gentle.
Grounding.
Mine.
"Good girl," he whispered, so low I almost didn’t hear it. “My perfect, obedient little slut.”