Page 11 of Daddy's Princess

I moan in response, not able to form words. I whimper when Oliver’s finger retreats. I’m not left empty for long because he’s right back to pushing inside me, only this time with a second finger. It’s been so long the stretch is a delicious ache. I’m completely lost to the sensation of being filled for the first time in months. God, so fucking good.

My blood becomes liquid fire in my veins when Oliver’s clever fingers stroke over my g-spot. He keeps teasing that sensitive bit of flesh until I’m mindlessly moaning. My orgasm is building again, bigger and brighter than ever. Then his fingers are gone, and the promise of release is snatched away.

“Nooo!” I cry out. Then his words filter back through my mind… creative punishment. Oh God, he’s not going to let me come. “Daddy, please. Please!” I beg. “I’ll be a good girl.” I’d promise him just about anything to stop this torture. It’s been months—months—since I’ve had a proper orgasm.

“You beg so prettily.” He runs his wet fingers up over the curve of my ass, then back through my folds. My whole body jerks when he starts rubbing my clit. I’m so primed that this time I’m panting and moaning in seconds. My orgasm is closer than ever. I know he’s going to stop before he does, but it doesn’t stop me from crying out in frustration as he snatches my orgasm away.

He barely gives me time to catch my breath before he’s fucking me with his fingers. Again, he stops before I can find release. He keeps up that same pattern, alternating between rubbing my clit and fucking me with his thick fingers. I’m so on edge it hurts. Every touch to my clit is like a thousand tiny pinpricks of sensation.

Tears are streaming down my face as I beg Oliver for mercy. Some small part of me reminds me that I have a safeword. I can stop this at any time. I could yell ‘red,’ then give myself relief. But I don’t want that. I want Oliver to make me come. I want the pleasure he’s promised over and over again and cruelly taken away.

Without warning, Oliver moves. The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back, and Oliver’s mouth is on my pussy.

“Oh, fuck!” My overly sensitive clit practically sings at the warm, wet heat of his mouth.

“Language,” he scolds. I half expect him to stop again, but instead, he licks me more purposefully.

“Please, daddy! Please can I come?” I ask for permission hoping that he’ll have mercy.

“Come, babygirl. Come all over my mouth so I can drink you down.” He sucks my clit between his lips at the same time that he thrusts two fingers into my pussy. Fucking me over and over, hitting my g-spot every time with precision.

My climax builds into a living breathing thing until I’m sure I won’t survive it. Then it’s crashing over me, and I finally understand why people say that fireworks explode behind their eyelids. It’s like the Fourth of freaking July right now. I come harder than I’ve ever come in my life. He licks and sucks my clit like it’s his favorite treat while his fingers keep up their toe-curling motion. Just as I think my orgasm is starting to ebb, it builds on itself until it’s roaring through me again.

Oliver doesn’t stop. I come again and again, or maybe it’s just one continuous, never-ending orgasm. It’s too much. I pull at his hair, desperately trying to get some relief from his onslaught, he catches my wrist in his free hand and pins my hand to my side. My feet scramble against the mattress, as I try to escape the devastating pleasure.

“Too much.” The words come out somewhere between a scream and a sob. “I can’t! Please!”

First, he had me begging for release, and now I’m begging for mercy of a different kind. From orgasm denial to forced orgasms. I never thought I would be begging to not orgasm again. Who knew there was such a thing as too many orgasms? Certainly not me.

“One more, babygirl.”

His words vibrate over my clit, and my body jerks in response.Oh, God. This time it builds slower. Tears stream down my temples, and I’m sobbing out nonsensical words. Oliver doesn’t relent. I climb and climb and climb until I’m freefalling into a climax so big it causes me to arch up off the bed.

Finally—finally—he pulls his fingers from my swollen pussy. My body shudders as an aftershock of pleasure jolts through me. I collapse back to the mattress, completely boneless. My eyelids feel like they weigh a million pounds and refuse to open no matter how much I try. I’m barely aware of Oliver crawling up beside me on the bed and pulling me into his arms. My last thoughts before unconsciousness claim me is of how good it feels to be cradled in Oliver’s strong arms.

* * *

I don’t knowhow long I sleep, and I’m regretful the moment my brain clicks on because the fairytale is officially over. Even as I lay here, ensconced in Oliver’s strong arms, the weight of loneliness starts pressing in again. How did I not realize how very lonely I’ve been these last months? I don’t know how I’ll go back to that version of my life.

I let myself have another minute in the warm comfort of Oliver’s embrace, then open my eyes to reality. The room is dark, the only light coming from the open door of the attached bathroom. There are no windows in the room, so I have no way of knowing what time it is. Oliver’s face is relaxed in sleep, his hair is mussed. Probably from my hands. It takes a ridiculous amount of self-control to keep myself from running my hands through the dark strands. I have a moment of regret that I can’t remember if his hair is as soft as it looks. I was too lost to the pleasure he was wringing from my body to pay attention to a detail like that.

Slowly, I extract myself from his arms. Either he’s a heavy sleeper, or he was exhausted because he doesn’t even twitch as I quietly get dressed and slip from the room. I nearly have a heart attack when a big hand comes down on my shoulder.

“It’s just me,” Andre soothes.

I turn and face him. My cheeks flaming with embarrassment. I feel like I just got caught doing the walk of shame. Well, I guess I kind of did.

“You okay?”

I open my mouth to speak but snap it closed again because I have no idea what to say. Am I okay? Yes. No. Maybe? Probably not… I can’t pin down any one thought or emotion. I settle on shrugging. Nice and noncommittal.

Andre just nods and holds his hand out. My pretty silver shoes are dangling from the tips of his fingers. “Thought you might want these.”

I grab them and slip my feet into them. “Thanks.”

“He know you’re leaving?” Andre looks at me accusingly. I don’t know why he’s asking me when he already knows the answer to his own question.

“He’s asleep,” I say guiltily.

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