Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Without further warning, the belt cracked across my bottom, the leather biting into my flesh with shocking intensity. I screamed, jerking against the restraints. The movement caused the plug to shift inside me, sending confusing signals of pain and pleasure racing through my body.
“Count,” Jax instructed, bringing the belt down again. “And thank Daddy for each stroke.”
“Two!” I gasped. “Thank you, Daddy!”
The belt fell again and again, painting fire across my bottom and upper thighs. With each stroke, the plug seemed to press deeper inside me, bringing my complete submission back to my roiling mind. By the tenth stroke, I had started to sob continuously, my face wet with tears and my voice breaking as I thanked him.
“Good girl,” Jax murmured, setting the belt aside and running his hand over my burning flesh. “Such a good bad girl for your Daddy.”
His touch was suddenly gentle, soothing the welts he’d just created. I heard the sound of his zipper, then felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against my soaking entrance. Despite the pain—no, much worse, because of it, I realized—I had gotten suddenly, very embarrassingly wet.
“Please,” I whimpered, though I wasn’t sure if I was begging him to stop or to continue.
“Shh, bad girl,” he said quietly.
I felt the head of his huge cock press into the opening of my aching sheath. My hips jerked, even restrained as I was, and my vagina clenched in desperation as I tried to get more of my daddy’s hardness inside me.
Then, abruptly, I seemed to float outside myself, and I felt like I could see myself as a different person. As if hovering near the ceiling, I looked down in horror at the girl restrained over the stool.
Who had I become? Twenty-four hours ago, I had been a college dropout selling drugs to make ends meet. Now I was begging a man I called ‘Daddy’ to fuck me after he’d just whipped me with his belt.
And worse—so much worse—I wanted it. I craved his approval, his touch, his punishment. The terrible things he’d done to me had awakened something I hadn’t known existed, something that had been dormant inside me all along.
I moaned as he filled me completely, the sensation of his thick shaft combined with the plug in my bottom creating an overwhelming fullness. Each small movement shifted both intruders, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my nervous system.
“What do you say when Daddy gives you his cock?” he prompted, his hands gripping my hips firmly.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice breaking with need and shame.
He began to thrust then, his movements measured and deliberate. Each time he pulled back, I felt myself clench around him, trying desperately to keep him inside. Each time he pushed forward, I whimpered at the delicious pressure against my most sensitive places.
“Such a good little fuck toy,” he grunted, his pace increasing. “Taking Daddy’s cock so well after your whipping.”
The words, degrading as they were, sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through me. I was his fuck toy, his little girl, his property. The thought was terrifying and yet somehow freeing in its terrible simplicity.
As Jax’s cock continued to fill me, my mind drifted again to all the stupid decisions that had led me to this moment. Dropping out of college. Selling drugs for Charlie. Stealing from my roommate. Lying to my parents. Each thrust of Jax’s massive hardness seemed to drive these realizations deeper into my consciousness.
I’d been spiraling for months, making increasingly destructive choices. And now, bent over this humiliating pink stool with a plug in my bottom and the man who had appointed himself my daddy fucking me from behind, I suddenly understood that this so-called ‘training’ had started to rewire something fundamental inside me. The way I thought about myself, about authority, about consequences, was changing with every degrading act he subjected me to.
“That’s it,” Jax murmured, his hand snaking around to find my clit. “Take Daddy’s cock like a good girl.”
A shameful warmth spread through my chest at his praise. I realized with a jolt of horror that I wasn’t just responding physically to him—I was developing feelings for my captor. The way he alternated between cruelty and tenderness, between punishment and praise, had created a bond I hadn’t anticipated. Even as I hated what he was doing to me, part of me craved his approval, his touch, his dominance.
“Oh, god,” I gasped, the revelation hitting me harder than his belt had. I was falling for Jax.
Panic flooded my system, my heart racing with fear even as my body betrayed me. My pussy clenched around his thick shaft, my hips pushing back to meet his thrusts despite my mental turmoil. I had started to make myself exactly what he wanted—a compliant little girl who associated pain with pleasure, humiliation with arousal.