I flinch, already expecting the worst. My skin is tender where his fingers are, on the outside, but I know it will be worse inside.
“Shh,” he soothes. “I was hard on you yesterday. This won’t hurt.”
It does hurt when he finds my clit, but it feels good too. I spread my legs wider so he can reach me better, and he nods in approval. His fingers toy with my clit, sliding along either side, dipping into my slit to gather wetness.
“Do you know the story of the minotaur?” he asks, his voice conversational.
It’s a struggle to focus with his hands playing with my sex. The schoolroom at Harmony Hills had taught us almost nothing. We learned about the Bible, as interpreted by Leader Allen, and how to be good, obedient disciples. Only the boys were taught to read and do math. Girls quit school early, and me even earlier. Everyone knew that my mother was Leader Allen’s whore, even if no one said the words out loud. I think everyone knew that I would take her place, too.
I struggle to remember from tutors and textbooks.
“He was…” A gasp interrupts my words as his forefinger slips inside me. “He was half-man. Half-bull. He lived—” Another gasp. “In a maze.”
“That’s right. And every year the cities would send their young men and women—virgins, naturally—as a feast for the minotaur.”
“Until one of the men killed him.”
A strange smile twists his lips. “Well, every story needs a hero.”
“You’re not a monster.”
He ignores me, fingering me deeper. “The thing about the minotaur is that he knows what he is. He can’t pretend to be a human. He can’t pretend to be a bull. He’s trapped in that maze, not by the walls outside it, but by what he is.”
I grab his forearm, feeling the muscles flex. “You’re not a monster, Ivan.”
He adds a second finger, and I squirm. His arm on my shoulder holds me down. “There’s no use pretending he’s something different. He doesn’t even want to. But can you imagine how it would feel to find a sac
rifice you wanted to be there? Who begged to stay?”
His fingers speed up, and I rock my hips against them, unable to slow down, unable to stop. “You’re not—You’re not a—”
He pinches my clit, and I soar over the edge, the climax like fierce wind against my face. I close my eyes against the blur and feel tears streak down my cheeks. I fuck his finger, seeking the last breathless rush before I crash at the bottom.
He does up my jeans with deft hands, efficient now.
Wet fingers press into my mouth, and I can only let him in. Only suck to clean him.
“No more questions,” he says softly. “I want you to call me Daddy because I want you to know that when we’re together, I’m the only one who can tell you what to do. And I will always do what’s best for you, even if you don’t like it. I will always give you what you need.”
I shudder, my insides clenching around nothing as my orgasm gives one final pulse. My eyes are wide, lips stretched around his fingers. I nod yes.
“And you’re my little one, because you want to be so good for me, don’t you? You want to be taken care of, cherished and punished. Isn’t that right?”
He removes his fingers from my mouth and leans back, studying me.
“Why didn’t you—”
“What is it?”
I bite my lip. “Why didn’t you want me to call you Daddy last night?”
He had put his hand over my mouth and fucked me into the bed.
He’s watching me from beneath heavy lids. “I didn’t deserve the name last night. I was angry, and I didn’t take care of you.”
We’ve been circling each other for years, teasing each other with bad behavior and punishments. The first time he did it, I had already been living in my own apartment and working at the Grand. I’d shown up for work late, and he’d swatted me over my panties. We’d dared a little further each time, but never going all the way—never actual sex until last night. It had left me unfulfilled and a little afraid, for exactly the reason he said.
I dare to put my hand on his leg, right below his knee. “Please, Daddy. Show me what it would be like with you. When you take care of me.”