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His hand came back. It didn’t feel big now… it felt huge. And the fingers… somehow both big and small at the same time… somehow so tender and so commanding… Two of them stroked my clit, and Papa Georg pressed his thumb between my paddled cheeks at the same time, to touch—just touch, lightly—my cringing bad girl hole… and my body stood instantly on the verge of a climax like I didn’t think I had ever even imagined.
I had had so many titanic, wanton orgasms already in my young life… and every one my daddies had allowed me easily eclipsed any of the ones on the streets of Hoboken. From the first time my Advanced Guidance daddies had let me come in bad girl prison, after I had begged, sucked their huge cocks, and had my ass whipped until I thought I would pass out… to the first time my Lumberjacks had gangbanged me in the old, compromised bunker, as I came and came and came on their three surging erections… to the one Papa Georg had allowed me in Garonov’s interrogation room and even the ones when all the warlord’s men had fucked me on the hard bench… but they all seemed to me now, as my body responded to my new papa’s touch, only the pale anticipation of what his firm hand and his firmer manhood would do, in just a moment… just a second… just a microsecond…
“Don’t come, sweetheart,” my papa said, and as always my body heard the voice of authority before my mind did—seemingly even before my ears did.
Every muscle shuddered, and I moaned at that feeling, and at the feeling of release denied.
“Oh, God,” I panted. “Please… please,Papa?”
He had a little pity on me, then. He took his hand away from my pussy and returned it to my bottom, so that the need for a climax receded just a little. Still, my terribly punished cheeks sent waves of arousal forward to my clit so that even the gentle circular rubbing Papa Georg started to do now made me whimper with need.
He let go of my wrist at last, then, and he began to stroke my back as well. He crooned, very low and deep in his chest, “Good girl… such a good girl.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered. I didn’t feel like a good girl at all… I felt like I could break something… fight someone… even fight my papa, for the right to the orgasm I needed so very badly.
“Good girls need hard fucking,” he murmured. “Ones like you, anyway.” His right leg loosened its hold across the backs of my knees.
Despite myself, I laughed. Something about the way he had just released my legs, the way it had changed the circulation in my lower body slightly and sent the blood flowing anew to the limbs my papa had restrained to punish me… it made me feel even floatier, more lightheaded… a better girl and yet a more mischievous one.
The hand, though… he had taken me off the boil, but now he put me right back there, in a brutal fashion that made me remember the way he had seemed to me at first, in Garonov’s bunker. He thrust two fingers inside my soaking wet sheath and he returned his thumb to the tiny aperture of my bottom and pressed it inside.
My giggle turned to a heart-wrenching cry of need. Or I hoped it wrenched his heart, anyway.
“Please…” I tried again, and then, like a bad girl, I added, “please fuck me so hard, Papa. As hard as you can.”
I had the feeling—such a strong impression that I felt absolutely certain I understood my papa at a thrillingly deep level—that until that moment Papa Georg had felt himself completely under control. I already knew, from the way he had acted from the moment I first laid eyes on him in the warlord’s interrogation room, that my papa prided himself on that quality: on his ability to keep command of his head and his heart in every situation.
When I pleaded with him to fuck me as hard as he could, though, the way he responded made me think that I—maybe even only I, in all the world, an idea that filled my heart with light—could make my wonderful, strict, self-controlled papa lose his command over himself.
He picked me up off his lap as if I weighed nothing, he turned me over in the air, and he threw me on the bed. For the first time in long minutes I could look up into his face and see his sheer handsomeness… the chiseling of his jaw, the gold of his hair, the icy blue of his eyes. I gasped, unable for a moment to believe that I belonged to the godlike man who loomed over me.
And he—the thing I had just realized, from him losing a little of his self-control—belonged to me. My papa. The man, the daddy… the one I loved.
