Page 31 of Chaining Daisy
Always. She can’t possibly mean it literally, but that doesn’t matter. I take it that way. Because I want to. Because the monster inside of me needs to. I’malwaysgoing to stay at her side.
* * *
Daisy sleeps peacefullythrough the night. I don’t. After an hour, I’m sitting up in her bed, staring down at her.
Her hair is a messy tangle, her lips softly parted, her hands tucked underneath her cheek. Adorable.
How many times have I watched her like this? Dreamed about this? And now she’s here, naked in front of me. Now she’s actually mine.
The sick, twisted part of me wants to yank her out of bed right now and force her to her knees, making her blow me again, not because I’m already hard—just because I can. Because she agreed to be my sub. Because she said yes.
But that darker part of me is overshadowed for the first time in a long time by this tender, content knowledge: Daisy belongs to me.
It’s still a surreal fact that floats through my head like a dandelion seed—impossible to catch and hold onto.
I try to appease the demon whispering in my ear by thinking,One day. One day, we’ll hold her down as we fuck her face until she’s choking …God, my fantasies have warped in the year and a half I’ve spent pining after her, feeding this dominant daddy fantasy until it’s this massive, nearly unmanageable beast.
Right now, I’m ahead. Right now, she’s doing really well submitting to my rules, playing along with my kinks. There’s no way I’ll fuck this up or let my control slide into something darker and more depraved. No way.
For a while, I imagine how good she’s going to look on my arm at those stupid work dinners I hate. The holiday party. She’ll be so beautiful that those things might just become tolerable. Showing her off as mine might even make me enjoy them.
Of course, that will be after everyone swallows their judgment.
If my co-workers thought me marrying a patient was scandalous, what would they think when they find out I’m dating that woman’s daughter? My own stepdaughter? Those imaginary work dinners warp into nightmare images where everyone is glaring at us and making her uncomfortable and me angry.
Maybe we should keep things low-key for a bit. Let ourselves get used to this thing first. Yes, that sounds like a good plan.
So, instead of Christmas parties, I imagine us on a tropical vacation where nobody knows us or will judge us, in a private villa with its own pool and Daisy is skinny dipping, emerging from the pool with water cascading down her body.
Much better.
We’ve made so many nice, PG-rated memories already. I need to make so many more naughty ones.
I wonder what she’ll do when I try to play with her in public—finger-fucking her in a movie theater and ordering her to be quiet. Will she be able to last? Keep quiet and still when we really do have an audience and could get kicked out?
What about when we go to a restaurant? I gaze down at Daisy right now. She’s curled onto her side, breathing evenly, the pert line of her nose and then the column of her neck drawing my eyes. Will my girl slide under the table so she can suck my cock when I tell her to?
What about when I add another layer of danger by inviting her friends…taking them all to a club, getting them drunk, sending the others off to dance, and then forcing Daisy to walk to the bathroom and take off her panties, to sit next to me and spread her legs, trying to keep her face passive while I whisper in her ear and pinch her clit…telling her she should invite one of the girls home to play…I wouldn’t let her. It would ruin the perfect trust between us and I don’t want anyone but her. But I’d want her to get up, start to walk away, be willing to ask. Be willing to do anything for me, just like I would for her.
I don’t want to push her too far … but I do want to push. And push. Until those limits of hers expand little by little.
God, if I hadn’t come twice tonight already, I’d be hard as a rock right now. As it is, I’m halfway there, but age is catching up with me. Which is exactly why I don’t want to waste a minute now that I’ve got my girl. My one and only.
I slide out of bed, careful not to jostle her before padding down the hall to my room naked, I grab my cell phone from the charger and wander into my closet to slide on a robe.
Reading glasses. Where did I put those damn things?I find them on my dresser and toss them on before I type out a quick text to work, telling them I’ve come down with something. There’s zero chance I’m going in tomorrow.
I’m going to revel in this newfound thing between us.
But she has a test coming up so she can’t just play hooky all day.
Dammit.
I haven’t followed Daisy for a while … not like I used to. I used to watch from my bedroom window whenever she went swimming in the backyard, long legs kicking as she swam laps.
A couple of times, I followed her to the movies, telling myself I just wanted to ensure she was safe—that she wasn’t lying and going to some rave or something. But then, somehow, I ended up in the back of the same theater … just watching her. Just staring at her profile, ignoring the screen when any jokes came along, just so I could see her laugh.
Maybe I should do that tomorrow. I mean, now that she knows, it’s different, the guilt won’t trail after me as I follow her. It will be better. Mmm … yes. I make my way back to my girl’s bed, plans for the next day taking shape.
