Dear Diary (Love, Daddy 7)

I want to ask him why we’re never around anyone else. Why it feels like he’s keeping us a secret. But I can barely think straight with the belt around my throat and my ass stinging, wondering what’s going to happen next.

He doesn't touch my pussy with the spoon anymore. Doesn't stroke it. I twist my head to the side, feeling the edge of the leather dig in, and he's standing there, staring at me, licking his lips, his huge dick pressing out on his pants, but he looks so calm. Patient.

That’s what true control looks like. I know that now.

“I’ll try harder to be good, Daddy,” I say.

“That’s all I want to hear.”

“Now, pretty please, can I have my treat?”

He narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure if you’ve earned it.”

“Please, I’ve learned my lesson,” I beg.

He pushes his hand between my legs and cups me so viciously I lift off the ground. “Who does this belong to?”

I cry out as he begins to rub my clit in hard, sensational circles.

“That feels so good, Daddy...” I bite my lip as he slides his finger over and over against my slippery little swollen nub.

The long, hard handle of the spoon pokes at my opening then enters me. The sensation is so unexpected, I shudder.

The penetrating handle fucks me. Faster and faster until I’m a begging mess.

“Come now, babygirl.”

An orgasm takes me hard as my body shakes and twists against the spoon handle, fucking me until I’m spent, then he withdraws the foreign object, letting me go and I fall in a crumpled heap on the floor at his feet.

I can't even summon a smile as he stands over me. All delicious, bearded Daddy dominance. He reaches for the belt, loosening it and slipping it from my neck, then sliding both arms underneath me, he draws me up against his chest and carries me to the bedroom. I lie on my back, spreading my arms and legs wide. He shackles my wrists to the newly installed hooks on the bedposts, and my legs to the foot of the bed.

Then he strips, climbs over me, forces his cock straight inside my pussy. He fucks me hard and fast, chasing his pleasure with little regard to mine. Still, he makes me come four times until I'm begging for him to stop and let me rest.

And only then does he give me the gift of his cum.

When I wake up, it’s still dark outside. I'm in bed, the comforter tucked tight around my naked body. My hair is still damp from the shower Jackson gave me after our fucking. He put me on my knees in the shower, then showered me in a different way.

The warm stream he released on me made me feel that odd fever dreamy sensation again. I watched as the liquid left his body, running down my chest and he told me again that I belong to him. I’m his to do as he pleases.

It was humiliating. And exhilarating.

How could I allow it?

No, how could I like it?

But I did. Just another way he marked his territory. Then he rinsed me off and held me in his lap.

He soaped my body and massaged my shoulders. His fingers slipped into my pussy, washing me tenderly before he carried me to bed. He left, then came back with an enormous ice cream sundae. He fed me and we shared the decadent dessert.

He left to go finish some work in his office and I read and watched movies until he came back and said it was bedtime.

I fell asleep with his seemingly eternally hard cock tucked between my ass cheeks.

Suddenly, I jerk upright in bed, the comforter twisted around my naked body. It’s quiet.

“Daddy?”

He doesn't answer. I’m alone in bed, and it doesn’t feel right. How quickly I’ve come to expect him next to me, inside of me, with me in some way.

I slide out of bed and pull on a light blue negligee that wraps around my waist with a silk belt.

I step into the living room, but I hear nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioning. “Daddy?” I call out louder this time.

Padding barefoot down another hallway, I catch my reflection in the mirror. A wild and tangle-haired girl in a negligee, such a contrast to the virgin in the sweet lavender dress that invited the knight in shining armor in for a slice of red velvet cake.

I like what I see. I like what I have become.

I feel safe. Powerless and powerful at the same time.

I approach his open office door and see him standing at the windows, staring into the darkness outside. He’s wearing nothing, such a monolith of a man, white strands of hair at his temples, all reminding me how different we are.

Worlds apart. He's forty-one and I'm nineteen. He’s monster-sized and I’m snack-sized, as he says. It’s perfect. It’s safe. I know that he’ll always protect me.