Just today realized I've spent the last eight years of my life and 200k agonizing words trying to work out just how true this is and how far he would go. The answer is
its fucking killing me that all Henry did was pull El towards him, look into her mind, and express his mild frustration at her not answering his question. Like. He even asked her twice before looking into her mind. Bud clearly had no intention of hurting her. If he wanted to he absolutely would. It's almost laughable. And like the writers did nothing with that. Nothing. that's his child whom he loves more than anything and anyone and no one can convince me otherwiseđ
Yeah đ Itâs a fucking joke.
As far as Iâm concerned, El was the only person who could have truly saved Henry. He loved her more than anyone and anything, and I will die on that hill.
Vol 2. WasâŠmeh. It had its strong points and weak points. I have some bones to pick tho so here are my opinions that nobody asked for !!đ
- Willâs coming out scene really missed the mark for me. It didnât feel personal, or intimate in any way. Like⊠why was the entire town invited? And why on earth was their middle school teacher there?? What is he supposed to do with that informationđ I absolutely love and adore Will, which is exactly why this annoyed me so much. This shouldâve been a meaningful moment with the core group, not whatever that was. He deserved better than this.
- Am I the only one who felt like there was way less buildup for the final battle? In season 4, the Vecna showdown felt insanely high-stakes, and that tension was already mounting by the end of the episode before the finale. This time, though? Iâm just not feeling that same sense of anticipation or dread. It kind of feels like everyone just went, âAlright we have a plan⊠letâs go!â Maybe Iâm nitpicking, but the urgency and weight that should come with a final battle just arenât really landing for me.
- Iâm just going to say it: I hate 008. I didnât care for her in season two, and I still donât care for her now. It honestly feels like she was brought back solely to stir the potđ On top of that, she is sooo fishy. She was basically just⊠there. Lurking in the background, brooding, and telling Eleven that the solution to stopping the government (the abusers) is to essentially delete themselves?? Likeâno. I get part of what sheâs trying to say, but a suicide pact is absolutely not it. The goal should be to stop the abusers, not remove the victims from existence.
- Something else thatâs been bothering meânot just in Vol. 2, but in Vol. 1 as wellâis the sheer amount of âgoddamnsâ they keep dropping. Yes, that word has always been part of the show, but this season it feels ridiculously overused đ Itâs not only excessive, but also a little uncomfortable for me personally because of my religion. And beyond that, it just makes the dialogue feel cringy at times. Maybe itâs just me, but it feels like the writing keeps falling back on it to force emphasis, as if thatâs the only way to make a moment feel important. Just let the dialogue speak for itself. When everything is punctuated the same way, it stops having any impact at all.
Just some other tidbits:
- why does no one care about Ted ? HELLO?
- Eleven and Maxâs reunion was so watered down. đ
- Why is Eleven struggling to lift a truck and lift a metal panelđ Just figured her endless amounts of training would strengthen her right up..
- anyone else confused by the Jancy scene? I wasnât aware it was a break up until I opened TikTok the next morning đ (it does make sense for Nancyâs character as she is such a strong character but damn I was confused about what that scene was trying to sayđ)
I know some of these things arenât that deep but when it was hyped up so much and doesnât meet the hype?? Iâm bothered đ I overall enjoyed this volume but there were things that I just was likeâŠ
A.n: Hi all! This was a request sent in over on my Wattpad account. I really enjoyed writing this and dipping into inhoâs extremely dormant fatherly care and instinct. I hope you enjoy the softness of this. Happy reading â€ïžïž
Your pregnancy wasn't exactly planned. In truth, you and In-ho had never even discussed the possibilityâit was a subject you both seemed to avoid as if speaking it aloud might make it real.
The day you found out, you stared at the test on the bathroom sink, hardly daring to breathe, unsure whether your eyes were playing tricks on you.
Then again, it wasn't so surprising. You and In-ho had never been careful, losing yourselves in each other night after night, in moments wherever you could find themâthe kitchen, the bar. In-ho even insisted on the front window where your breasts could be pressed against the glass for anyone to see if they just looked up. You closed your eyes, purring at the thought of it.
With the way he touched you, how could either of you have been thinking about consequences?
The thing that weighed heaviest on your mind was the age difference.
You were nearly twenty-six. In-ho was pushing forty-nine.
It shouldn't have felt so monumentalânot when he barely looked his age. Not when his presence turned heads on the street, his hand clasping yours as if he had every right to claim you.
Yet it still made your stomach twist sometimes, that flicker of doubt and the quiet envy from strangers. He always seemed to sense it, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, as if to remind you that you were his.
Then there was his work.
Being with a man who ran organized crime wasn't what most people would call safe, typical, or even sane. But you'd long since accepted that part of him. You didn't condone itâbut you didn't turn him in, either.
Because you loved In-ho. All of him. The good, the immoral, the shadows, and the light.
If that made you a bad person... so be it.
All of this swirled through your mind nine months ago, as you stared at the double pink line on the pregnancy test, tracing it over and over as though willing it to disappear.
You told him a few days later. The memory shimmered behind your eyes:
"No, it's not a joke. I'm not that cruel."
He'd stared at you, breathless. "You are... a cruel, beautiful thing."
But then his expression shifted, tenderness breaking through the shock.
"I... never thought I'd get a second chance."
You'd guided his warm, callused hand to your abdomen and watched the way his eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he nodded slowlyâlike he was trying to memorize the moment forever.
Then came the sleepless nights. The way you couldn't lie down for more than twenty minutes without feeling like you'd vomit your guts up. The sudden, overwhelming aversion to nearly every smell.
You'd taken to wandering the corridors of the facility late at night, needing air, needing space to think. Always guarded, of course.
Because In-ho hardly ever let you out of his sight.
He'd even gone so far as to install someone else as Frontman, stepping back from the job he'd built his world around, just to stay close and watch over you like a hawk.
"I don't need surveillance twenty-four seven," you'd snapped one night, exhaustion fraying your patience. "And I especially don't want to be the reason you step down from your position."
In-ho only tilted his head, eyes glinting in the low light.
"You and the baby don't leave my sight." His voice was soft, deep, edged with quiet command.
"But Iâ"
He stepped closer, lowering his mouth to your ear, his breath warm as silk against your skin.
"No arguments, sweetheart." His fingers brushed your cheek, gentle but firm. "This isn't just about you anymore. I won't risk losing either of you."
You understood why he was so protective.
You remembered the night he finally opened up about his pastâa year into your relationship. You could tell how hard it was for him to speak the words, the way his voice went quiet, eyes distant. You'd never pressed him about it again.
Still, you knew it made it even harder for him to give you any slack.
Labor was... something else entirely.
Of all places, it had to start on the islandâright in the middle of the games.
The first unbearable contraction hit you like a freight train while you were alone in your private quarters, In-ho off in the control room overseeing his temporary replacement. The only people with you were your midwife and a single-armed guard who nearly dropped his radio in a panic trying to reach In-ho.
After that, everything blurred into pain.
You remembered the searing, tearing agony ripping through your body, radiating from your stomach down to your toes. The midwife practically carried your weight towards the room as you collapsed against the wall, sobs breaking free with each contraction that wracked your muscles.
Turns out, you'd been in labor for a whileâyou just hadn't known it.
And the irony wasn't lost on you.
While lives were being taken all around you, you were in the midst of bringing one into the world.
And you wouldn't trade it for anything as you lay in bed with a book in hand, your gaze drifting to where In-ho cared for your week-old daughter.
He sat shirtless in the old wooden rocking chair, your daughter curled against his broad chest, her tiny breaths evening out as he rocked her through the remnants of her fussiness.
You watched him, your heart catching at the sight of her small hand wrapped tightly around his finger. The look in his eyes was the same one he'd worn the first time he'd held herâawestruck and fiercely protective.
"So beautiful and strong," he murmured, his voice husky as his eyes lifted to yours, dark with tenderness and something deeper.
"She gets that from her mother," he added, his thumb brushing over your daughter's tiny hand. "Both of my girls... fierce and perfect."
The memory was just as domestic as the sight before youâBoth would've seemed impossible to anyone but you.
Word of In-ho's newborn child had spread among the guards, most assuming he'd be a distant, uninvolved father. At least, that's what your personal guard had confided to you.
But that was the illusion In-ho maintained when he was working.
You knew the truth.
You knew the man who could cradle his daughter with infinite tendernessâand who would put a bullet in anyone's skull for daring to breathe in your direction.
Closing your novel, you tilted your head and smiled.
"You know, you're going to have to share her eventually."
In-ho looked up at you, a slow, wicked curve lifting his lips, his eyes dark and warm.
"I'm not in the habit of sharing what's mine." His voice was protective.
You tossed the comforter off your legs, a teasing glint in your eyes.
"Trust meâI'm painfully aware."
You set the book aside, stretching with a content sigh before rising from the bed. Your daughter had begun to stir again, her soft whimpers breaking the peaceful silence.
In-ho looked up as you crossed the room. His bare chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, comforting her without effort, without words.
You leaned down and kissed her head, then met his eyes.
"Mind if I borrow her for a minute?"
A reluctant, teasing smile tugged at his lips. "If you must."
Carefully, he passed her into your arms. You sat comfortably on his lap, your body fitting naturally against his, and adjusted your silk nightgown as your daughter began to nurse.
In-ho's arm circled around your waist, his free hand gently cupping the back of his daughter's head, his breath warm in your ear.
For a long moment, there was only silenceâthe soft sound of her feeding, the creak of the old rocking chair, the hush of nighttime settling over the island.
Then his voice came.
"She's perfect," he murmured. "Too perfect for a man like me."
You didn't speakâjust rested your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his forearm.
"I've done terrible things," he went on quietly, watching her. "Things I can never take back. But somehow... I still ended up with both of you."
His lips brushed your temple. "I don't know how I got this lucky. But I'm never letting go of it."
Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Smut, Age Gap (Reader is 25, In-ho is 54), Usage of Daddy, Mentions of Emotional Abuse in the Past, Low Self-Esteem, Sex as a Business Deal, Edging, Spanking, Overstimulation, Face Slapping, Oral Sex (Both receiving), Gagging, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Minors do not interact!
Author's note: It's mostly bad experiences and smut. Anyone who knows me, knows I can't do wholesome...But, you guys, I'm trying!
It has been quite a while since his wife died and he hasn't gotten over it. But now he found someone who brings out a softer side of him...or makes him feel anything at all. Even if it's just the fact that he doesn't have to dine and sleep alone.
The day of her death was always the worst.
Of course he was always cold. One might even muster up the courage to call it cruel.
He was a complicated man in any sense of the word. While he was as cunning as he was handsome, he was also cool and composed. He didnât ever lose that tight composure, until he allowed himself to. There were only few situations that allowed him to let loose and unleash the beast that lived within him.
It was rather obvious that there was more to him. The way he carried himself made it seem like he was no more than the stoic business man, but sometimes, sometimes you caught a soft glimpse of whatever was underneath. The way his eyes shone in a certain light.
 His brother was enough.
His wife, of course.
 But you were clever. And your sense of self-preservation forbade you to pry. All you had to do was do your job. And what was your job?
You found yourself applying a drop of perfume to your neck and your wrists, staring at your form in the mirror. The black lace covered most of your intimate parts, but it was just enough to leave him yearning for more. He liked that especially â when he had to use his imagination.
But sometimes, on rare occasions like that night, he needed more. He needed a little, naughty dream, to distract him from the turmoil that raged within him.
He was never cruel to you. He was just cold.
It wasnât like you minded. So far, you had heard all kinds of things from a few friends of yours. Men could be vile creatures, who performed the most heinous crimes, whenever they felt like it. You were sure you could call yourself lucky, when it came to that.
He was older, that was out of question. But that wasnât necessarily a bad thing. Not for you anyway.
You couldnât tell when that started or what the exact reason was.
Your father had been a fairly good man. He never abused you and never hurt you out of the ordinary. The occasional session of spanking was something that stopped once you got older. Of course a child that steps out of line will get punished. Itâs not that dramatic and you were sure, you took no damage after that.
He had been a kind man. Good-hearted. He loved you, your sister and your mother very much.
Until he got drunk.
Of course, he loved you then as well. And he never hit you then, either. Not you.
Your mother, sure. The poor, sweet woman she was. Her broken spirit cracked through the light in which her soul was covered, because she was strong like that. Gentle, but strong.
He wasnât gentle when he drank. No, all you had to do was say the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly heâd explode. The way he yelled out of nowhere was the worst thing. The way he gritted his teeth like a wild animal.
You had flinched more than once during the course of your life, simply because he got so angry.
But after a while, he always calmed down, didnât he? He came down from his demonic horror trip and suddenly, he was good again.
Of course he was proud. Too proud for anyoneâs good. His pride often kept him from apologizing. In most cases, heâd just try and act like nothing changed, like nothing happened, like he didnât just made the walls crumble with his anger.
But sometimes, when he went really overboard, he managed to swallow his pride and then he would apologize. A hug, a kiss, and everything was back to normal.
You forgave him. Why wouldnât you? He was your father. He loved you.
But daddy issues? No. He was there, after all. He didnât abuse you. Didnât hit you.
You had no issues. Why would you?
Right?
You finished applying the perfume and decided to put on some lip balm. It held the faintest hint of rose-color. He didnât like too much make-up. He didnât like anything that felt like you were playing dress-up. The silk on your body, it only made sense if it highlighted your character in a way. Not change it.
The gloss on your lips, the blush on your cheeks. No eyeshadow allowed, unless it were natural colors. Mascara was alright, but no fake lashes.
Blush was okay, contour was not.
Lace was okay, leather was not.
Jâadore was okay, Chanel Number 5 was not.
You released a slow breath and took a moment longer to check your appearance.
You were pretty, you knew that. Probably not in the way that made you get voted prom queen. More in the way that made weird men ogle you.
That was a talent of yours you had figured out at some point. Your eyes were expressive. And people loved to eye-fuck you.
Sometimes, youâd indulge. It depended on the man and the situation. It depended on the way his eyes on you made you feel.
Not any man would do. Some were perverts, some were disgusting, some desperate. You didnât look back, when a man walked beside his oblivious wife and looked at you like he was ready to devour you. You also didnât look back, when a man stared at you with wide eyes and licked his lip in a way that was too lecherous at once.
A subtle glance.
Not even a smile.
Just a look.
Youâd look away and after a while, youâd check again. The feeling that spread in your chest was often the same. One of recognition, of attention. It made you feel pretty and desired. Someone wanted you. They were subtle about it, but not subtle enough to refrain themselves from staring.
In most cases, it didnât lead to anything.
Sure, you had that messed-up phase, after you turned nineteen. Looking back, you really wished your father had been stricter with you. You were always allowed to do whatever you wanted. Meet who you want, do what you want, unless, of course, it got dark outside. No walking alone in the dark.
But he never checked who you were with, if you were truly where you said you were. Your parents trusted you. Back in the day, when you told them you had already finished your homework, they trusted you. Your bad grades werenât their fault. They had trusted you to do better.
Back when you were nineteen, when you told them you were at the cinema with a few friends, they trusted you. They didnât check, if maybe you were getting pounded away by some forty-seven year old man, who came on your face and left you feeling used and humiliated.
Never during. Always after.
You had no idea why you felt like you needed this so badly. Attention of men. Approval of men.
Men.
They were never good to you. They used you in most cases and then theyâd just up and leave.
First, you were naĂŻve. You pictured all kinds of things. Your motherâs Italian friend, whoâd take you to Rome and buy you gelato. Youâd walk some coast and heâd show you the lovely way Italians lived. Heâd love you, you were sure.
It didnât matter than he had a daughter your age or maybe even a few years older.
Heâd love you.
But of course, he didnât. Silly you, you really believed that, didnât you? And he didnât even say he would. You just made up that version of him in your head.
Some sweet guy from Oregon, who sang Arctic Monkeys song for you with his guitar. You only spoke online, but why care? Youâd go and live the American dream with him. Of course you would. He had those soft, brown eyes and the voice of an angel.
Youâd give him as many babies as he wanted.
So, of course you agreed, when he asked you to take your top off. Suck on your fingers, look up at the camera with doe eyes, while you did. You slipped two fingers inside yourself, moaning and gasping. Of course you were pretending. Who got off on this? Not you. All he did was stare at you. You didnât see his face, while he pulled his pants down. It was either his face or the rest of him. But you were looking at him, while you touched yourself for him. It didnât take him long to cum. But that was alright. Youâd get married, after all. In some cases, long distance worked. This was one of them of course.
Blocked.
You spent months trying to find him again. But no way. He was gone, deleted, lost in the depths of the internet. A lost memory. A shameful one.
Sometimes you asked yourself, why your sister turned out normal. She had a job, a family, a husband who loved her. Or did he?
He did get angry, at times. And those few times when he called her a slut, when they argued. It wasnât that bad, right?
That one time he left her standing at the sidewalk in the middle of the night, in a foreign city. It wasnât that bad, right? She had angered him after all.
You felt nauseous, just thinking about it. Your sister was the epitome of life and liveliness. She was so spirited, that sometimes her anger scared you. Her confidence did for sure. She was your fatherâs daughter after all.
But the bastard she married broke that spirit.
And she didnât even realize it. She just let it happen. You didnât understand it.
But what you did understand was that she wasnât as perfect as you always thought. Things were a little more complicated than you initially thought. But you were still far behind her.
You tried to push the thoughts of your messed-up existence and upbringing aside and focus on the task at hand.
Him.
Mr. Important.
You knew his real name and he knew yours, but names didnât really matter. All you normally called him was daddy.
But luckily, you werenât babygirl or little girl. That felt odd, even to you. It wasnât that he was after that â someone who was remarkably younger than him. You just happened to be.
He was fifty-four, going fifty-five. You were twenty-five, going twenty-six.
Thirty years more or less, who cared about that?
And he didnât really look his age. You found, he looked a good forty-six, maybe.
But aside from that, he was different. The were two kind of men in the world.
The real ones and the made up ones.
The ones who ogled you, while they were walking beside their wives and the ones who never got over their wifeâs death and were looking for a way to distract themselves.
You had seen a picture of her. He didnât make a secret of it. No, he was proud to having loved her. The thought filled you with something bittersweet. A part of you was jealous. Jealous, that someone got loved so intensely, that sheâd never be forgotten, ever.
After all, she died young and pregnant. It made you nauseous.
And another part of you, the far bigger part, the less selfish part, it admired him.
He loved her. He loved her so dearly, that she took a great part of his soul with him, when she left.
God, you wished to be loved like that. To be loved at all.
You remembered the way you first met him. The subtle eye-contact. No smile.
But you didnât feel like you normally did. Something about him was different. He wasnât lecherous. He was calm. Almost like he wasâŠlonely.
And he understood your loneliness.
The arrangement came quick and without any fuss. He did pay you, but not with money per say. He paid for your studies, he bought you gifts, sometimes he took you out to places you had never been before.
The theatre. The ballet. The opera, even.
That was what you loved the most. He didnât just use you and left you feeling empty. He didnât even fuck you every time you saw him. Sometimes youâd just go out. Have dinner. Talk.
You talked a lot and about everything. Sometimes you felt like you were an old soul, sometimes you felt like you knew nothing at all. He knew things. He looked at you. He listened to you.
Sometimes he could be really funny. On other nights he was rather quiet.
You didnât care if he absentmindedly played with your hand or hair or if he stared straight ahead. Whatever he did, it always made your heart race.
You understood that you were treading on very thin ice.
Feelings were not a part of the arrangement.
He would never love you. You would never be more to him than treasure.
But when you lay there, your head on his chest and still breathless after you just spent hours doing the most wicked things to each other, you couldnât help yourself. You craved his warmth. His arms around you and how protected he made you feel.
You couldnât make a mistake. Nothing you did ever made him yell at you.
And that was rather dangerous.
Because you could picture it so easily. Being his wife. His everything. Having his children. Cooking his dinner. Doing all the things loving people did.
All the things loved people did.
You pushed the thought aside with intense fervor, when you heard his raspy voice call out for you.
âTreasure? Are you alright?â
You nearly gasped when you realized how long you had been in there. With a soft shake of your head and a slow exhale, you pushed down the door handle and stepped out of the bathroom. He stood in front of the fireplace and stared down at the flames, lost in thought. When he heard the door open, he looked up and met your gaze. Something in him stiffened for a moment and his gaze ran down your body slowly. You swallowed thickly and tried to push your nervousness aside.
You wanted to be perfect for him. But you were so far from perfect. Each and every time you feared he would look at you, scoff and shake his head.
âI donât remember that much skin.â
âYou looked younger last time.â
âWhereâd that wrinkle come from?â
But of course he never said anything like that. Simply your insecurities, giving you a hard time.
He hummed softly and shifted so that he was fully facing you.
âYou look beautiful.â He murmured. âCome here.â
You approached him with slow steps, the sound of your tiptoes the only sound beside the crackling of the fireplace.
You came to a halt before him and he tipped your chin up in a gentle way, slowly tilting your head up and making you look at him. He brushed his lips over yours in the softest way, making you shiver in response.
His hand slowly ran down the side of your neck, until his fingers brushed over the lace that covered your collarbone. His eyes followed the movement and he released a soft sigh.
âYou get more and more beautiful every day.â
How did he expect you not to fall in love with him, when he was being like this?
âThank you.â You whispered in return and swallowed a bit of your nervousness.
His eyes crinkled in a smile that hardly reached his eyes and his hands slowly came down to grip your hips.
âYou know what day today is?â
You nodded.
âGood.â He whispered and dropped his hands to his sides. âThen be a good girl for daddy and distract him.â
You licked your lips and slowly pushed him back. He was letting you. Until you reached the armchair and he slowly sat down on it. You stood before him and tipped his chin up, making him look up at you now. The look in his eyes was nothing short of admiration. His breath against your skin sent a pleasant tingle down your spine.
You slowly straddled his lap and rested your knees on the armrests, pressing yourself against him and feeling the hardness in his pants press into you already. But not yet, you thought. Why not tease him a little?
You leaned in as if to kiss him, but the second before your lips met, you slowly pulled your head back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
A low growl grumbled in his chest. âStop being a brat.â He murmured.
You bit your lip and leaned back with a grin. âMe? A brat?â
âYouâre just asking to be punished.â
That made you chuckle. âWellâŠâ
âOh, I see.â He tangled a hand in your hair and tugged on it, tilting your head back and making you look up at him. âThatâs how you want to play?â He murmured and his hot breath fanned over your lips and neck. âAlright, then. I invented this game, little dove.â
He released his grip on your hair and grabbed you by the hips, standing up and holding you against him. He picked you up like you weighed nothing and strode off to the bed, practically throwing you down onto it. The sudden intensity left you breathless and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He reached for his tie and slowly undid it.
âI thought you were daddyâs good girl. Looks like I was wrong.â
He sounded as calm as ever, not a hint of anger as usual. He was just being himself.
âI am your good girl.â
âIâd prefer you to be bad right now. Because I feel like punishing you.â
You swallowed thickly and bit your lip, like you did every so often when he got you cornered like this.
âHow?â You whispered.
He smirked in that delicious way, which lit his whole face up without even trying. Then he slowly pulled the tie off and ran his fingers along the soft material.
âTurn around.â
Within seconds, you were on your knees and facing away from him. His hands were gentle as he reached for your wrists and brought them behind your back to tie them together. You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, while your body surrendered. It wasnât hard for you. You trusted him. He knew your boundaries.
For whatever reason, with him you had boundaries.
Never in your life before had you ever told anyone to stop or not do something. Was it fear of being rejected? Simply fear? Something else? Whatever it was, it kept you from setting healthy rules to keep your body and mind safe. You were free to use. Anyone just did whatever they wanted.
Sometimes you did protest, but they wouldnât stop and eventually you gave in.
But not so him.
He had asked not once, not twice, but countless times. Until eventually you had been forced to be honest and tell him what it was that threw you off. And to your surprise, he didnât get angry, didnât even move a muscle. He just nodded and accepted it.
There were a few freaky things you were into and you were obviously allowing him to do. But if there was something that you didnât want, he didnât do it. Just like that.
How hard it was not to fall for him. Impossible even.
He tied your wrists together fairly tight and made a point of pulling on the tie to make sure it was good enough. You felt his gaze roam along your back silently. He then ran his fingertips up your back, over your shoulder blades and eventually the back of your neck.
âYouâre my little brat, arenât you?â He purred.
When you didnât respond at first, he made a point of gently tugging on your hair.
âYes.â You whispered.
âYes what?â
âYes, daddy.â
âAnd youâve been bad, havenât you?â
When you nodded, he tugged again, slightly harder this time. You gasped and immediately added: âYes. Yes, Iâve been bad.â
âSo, you deserve to be punished. How should I punish you?â
There was only one right answer to that.
âHowever you wish.â
You heard the way he smirked. âGood girl. Youâre learning.â
He hummed and slowly circled you like a predator. Of course you felt rather exposed, kneeling on the bed like that, wearing nothing but that thin piece of lace and nothing to cover the dampness between your legs.
âLook at you.â He murmured. âSo open and ready for me. Letâs see how ready, shall we?â
He didnât hesitate to slide his hand between your legs and run a finger over your wetness. You couldnât help but inhale sharply. Your body was aching for his touch.
Surprisingly, he knew how to make you cum. Pretty good even. No other man had ever accomplished that. Youâd normally count only on yourself for that, but Mr. Important? Fuck, he was skilled.
He circled your clit in the same skilled way, causing you to squirm and gasp under his touch. He began to work his fingers on you more and more quickly, keeping his gaze firmly on your face. Your brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, but you didnât care. You were so close. So close. So-
You whimpered when he sharply withdrew his hand, leaving you aching.
âPlease-â You whined.
âNot yet.â He said calmly. âOpen your mouth.â
You obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to slide his slick fingers into your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The bulge in his pants became more and more obvious and it did things to you. The way he looked at you, while he made you suck on his fingers was enough to make you go dripping wet. After a beat, he slowly pulled his fingers back and dried them against his shirt. You let out a shuddering gasp.
âYou still ought to be punished, if I recall correctly.â
âWasnât this punishment enough?â You whispered.
He smirked. âNot even close.â
He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently draped you over his lap, stomach down and your rear up in the air. Your cheek was pressed against the sheets and you closed your eyes.
âTen. You know the rules.â He murmured and you nodded.
His flat hand cracked against your skin, sending a sharp pain through your body. He wasnât gentle about that. Not at all.
You cried out in pain and tried not to squirm too much. âOne. Thank you, daddy.â You gasped out.
He hummed approvingly, before his hand came down a second time, causing you to wince and cry out again. Somehow, every strike seemed to get more and more rough. Your skin felt raw and sensitive, more and more with every hit, but you forced yourself to stay still and count, like a good girl. By the time you reached the seventh hit, the pain was nearly unbearable. But you knew better than to beg and plead. It only turned him on more and he was ready and eager to start anew.
âNine. Thank you, daddy.â
âOne more. Just one more, treasure. Youâre almost done.â
He deliberately waited for a few seconds, causing you to go rigid and tense in his grip. The uncertainty of when the next hit would follow was nearly killing you. Just when you expected it and you winced forcefully, he instead ran his palm along your red skin gently. You took a deep breath.
And then it came.
The most painful of them all and you immediately felt tears sting your eyes. Your voice cracked as you cried out: âT-ten. Ten. Thank you. Thank you, daddy.â
He made a soft sound, filled with approval and a hint of pride. âThatâs my good girl. You did so well. Iâm proud of you.â
His words made you feel warm and fuzzy and suddenly you felt like crying even more. Your feelings for him were more complicated than you thought.
âThank you.â You whispered, still trying to catch your breath.
âI think you deserve a reward.â He murmured.
You tried to swallow, with your mouth dry and whispered: âI do?â
He ran a gentle hand over your hair and hummed again.
âYou do. Letâs see what we can do for you.â He shifted you gently so you lay on the mattress instead, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He ran his knuckles over your cheek and smiled slowly.
âWas it too much?â
You shook your head.
He took a slow breath and nodded. âGood.â He shifted so he was on top of you now and pressed a leg between your own. His knee slowly pressed against your core and you felt your eyes fall shut. You didnât try to hide your pathetic whimper.
He smirked against your ear and gently nipped at it. âLook at that. Have you been this wet all the time?â
Your face flushed painfully and you swallowed your embarrassment. âYes.â
He hummed approvingly and ran his lips along your cheek, before they finally met your own. You had no time to understand what was going on, when his tongue already parted your lips and delved into your mouth. He wasnât sweet about it, instead your tongues met in a messy battle, ready to prod at and devour each other.
âWhat are you?â He groaned against your lips.
âYour cumslut.â You whispered back.
He groaned again and bit down on your lower lip. âFuck, yes, my dirty little cumslut. You want daddyâs cum, donât you?â
âYes, daddy.â You moaned out.
âWhere do you want it, treasure? Dripping down your chin or deep inside you?â
Your eyes nearly rolled back. âWherever you want.â
He pulled back just enough to kiss your neck. His kisses made you squirm and shudder, but it only ever got more and more intense. You felt so exposed and helpless, but also cared for.
He slowly moved his lips along your collarbone, before they brushed over the material that covered your breasts. He bit down on it and tore at until you felt the cold air hit your now exposed chest. He growled in response and didnât hesitate to kiss and suck at the skin of your breast. Your hips involuntarily arched against his knee, which was still working on your core. You gasped breathlessly and rubbed yourself against him, desperate for more friction.
âPlease-â
âPatience.â
He licked a wet path down your stomach, causing you to writhe and moan.
He wasnât one for half things. When his lips reached your core, he wasnât gentle or careful. No, his mouth enveloped your most sensitive spot and he began to work his tongue on you almost furiously. He sucked and licked, slid his tongue inside you and over your wet folds with an intensity that made you cry out. He then sucked on your clit in a way that was almost too much, but just right to make you cum so good that you felt like everything around you faded into nothingness. You felt warm and good, better than you had ever before. He took his time and made the moment last, riding out your release so intensely that you nearly had to pull away from him when it became to much. He smirked up at you and slowly came back up to face you. He was fighting for air, as were you.
âOh God, that was-â
He pushed his tongue back inside your mouth, nearly fucking it. At the same time he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them torturously and pumping them against you in a way that brought you close yet again.
âP-Please, I- Ah!â Your release rolled over you again, hard and soft at the same time, with an intensity that was near painful. Your hips arched off the bed and you nearly screamed by the way you couldnât find it in you to shut your mouth.
You gasped for air and expected him to finally pull back, but he didnât. He kept curling his fingers against your sweet spot and the feeling quickly became too much. Your body was so sensitive and every new touch he added felt almost painful.
âStop- Please- St-â You cried out and pressed your hips against his hand involuntarily. Your release came crashing yet again, this time it was a feeling between heaven and hell. It still felt good, but it felt far too much.
âPlease.â You gasped, before the feeling even was gone. âPlease. I canât take any moreâŠâ
He smirked against your lips and gently bit down on the lower one, before he slowly withdrew his hand.
âGood girl.â
You were still panting and gasping for air, when he gave your cheek a light slap. âTime for you to get to work.â
You moaned, and with some effort, fought your way to get up. Your hands were still tied, so you carefully slid down to your knees, kneeling in between his legs. He was still in his pants, so you looked up at him with innocent eyes and whispered: âCan you help me?â
He smirked again and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. âSo obedient.â
He freed himself from his remaining clothes and you found yourself staring at him. Despite his age, he was so well-built and you were always desperate for every glimpse, every touch and every taste.
âCan I?â You breathed out.
He hummed and nodded. âGet to it.â
Your gaze wandered down, but he quickly caught your chin. âKeep your eyes on me.â
Your insides tingled with newfound desire. You forced yourself to keep looking at him, while your tongue slowly slid down his stomach. You saw the shift in demeanor. He was still dominant and calm, but his breathing sped up and something changed in his eyes.
âNo teasing today.â He all but growled. âLet me feel that pretty mouth.â
You didnât hesitate to obey. You parted your lips and ran your tongue over his tip. His head fell and back and he groaned. He then tangled his hand in your hair and guided your movements. He didnât give you time to catch your breath, he just pushed you down and forced you to take him in. You were caught off-guard for a moment and felt yourself gag. He loosened his grip the tiniest bit and you began to move in the rhythm and pace that he set for you. He quickly went from calm and collected to a beast which rammed his thick cock into you and began to use your throat to his pleasure.
You felt yourself grow wet yet again as you moaned against his skin. Whenever he seemed to hit the back of your throat, he couldnât control the low moans and groans that left his lips. Your movements became more and more frantic, determined to make him feel just as good as he had you.
Of course you wanted him to fuck you and he probably would in an hour or two. And again and again and againâŠBut right then, you wanted nothing more than for him to shoot his hot load into your mouth and down your throat.
You sucked and flicked your tongue against him in a way that made his grip tighten more and more until he-
He went still, except for his cock, which was throbbing furiously inside you. He came with a low growl and he filled your mouth with his seed. He held your head in place, until he rode out his release. When he finally caught his breath back, he released a soft sigh and his grip on your hair became gentle again.
âOh God, that wasâŠâ He sighed again. âFuck.â
You slowly swallowed every drop of his cum, all the while never taking your eyes off him. His eyes instantly darkened again and he ran his thumb over your tongue.
âMy good girl. My treasure.â He breathed out. âIâm so proud of you.â
You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. It became increasingly gentle and he slowly cupped your cheek in his hand.
âThat was incredible.â He murmured. âIâm not done with you yet.â
He reached behind you and carefully freed your from his tie. Then he slowly rubbed his thumbs over your sore wrists.
âDoes it hurt?â He murmured. You shook your head.
He pulled you up onto the bed again and gently laid you down beside him. He stared down at you for a long moment, before he finally rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.
âI donât know about you, but I could use a full-course meal right now.â
You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him, slowly running your hands down his back. âIsnât that what you just gave me?â
He smirked and slowly opened his eyes. âYou and that wicked mouth of yours.â He murmured.
Your smile softened when he pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.
âCan I stay for the night?â
He would most likely let you. He never sent you away feeling used or unsatisfied or, God forbid, unwanted. But there was a part of you that needed to be reassured so badly. And he seemed to know.
He raised a brow and his own expression softened.
âDid you expect anything else?â
His coldness melted away whenever you were like this, entangled and breathless.
No matter how many times he said that it didnât mean anything.
His eyes told a different story.
âNo.â You whispered softly and rested your head on his chest. âNo, of course not.â
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