“Yes, Daddy.”
My cock twitches. Finally. I’ve thrown a few “daddys” out there to see if she’d respond, but she didn’t, until now. Something triggered it; maybe me offering to help her, maybe me touching her. Learning what flips her switches is going to be fun.
“Skirt next. Leave off the blazer and tie for now.”
She tugs the skirt off the bed and struggles into it. I can see the strain of remaining bent-over. The tendons behind her knees are standing out beneath her white socks and her thighs are trembling. She’s doing so well, trying so hard to please me. Once she has the skirt around her waist, I soothe her with my hand in the small of her back. “That was beautifully done, Emily. Stand up and turn around to face me.”
She does, smoothing down the skirt. I button the waistband for her and zip up the short zipper before I rise from the chair, open the armoire and reach into one of the small drawers. I fish through the drawer’s contents with a fingertip, and select a pair of tiny clamps, tipped with rubber and connected with a silver chain. Then I sit back down in the chair and beckon to Emily with two fingers.
She shuffles forward a step. I reach out and catch her waist, drawing her against the chair’s slatted back. As anticipated, her breasts are at the perfect height, just above the chair’s top slat. I dip my head and lick her left nipple, feel it pebble against my tongue, taste the sweet salt of her skin. Then I pull it into my mouth and nibble until she’s squirming against my arm. I lift my head and admire my handiwork. Her nipple is as hard and red as a pencil rubber. I blow across it, both to dry it and to watch her shiver, before carefully closing the tips of the nipple clamp around it.
She gasps and grabs at the chair back for support.
“Are your nipples sensitive, baby doll?” I ask, letting dark heat fill my voice.
“Yes, Daddy. That hurts.”
“I know, baby doll.” I lean in and kiss the purpling tip, feeling the cold metal of the clamp against my lips. “But you’re going to bear it for me, aren’t you?”
I see her struggle for a second before accepts the pain. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl.” I bend to her right nipple, tease and nip it taut, before I close the second clamp onto it. She whimpers, a sweet little sound of pleasure and pain. I want to wring those little whimpers out of her all night.
I kiss her captured nipples until her whimpers turn into breathy little sighs. Then I carefully button up her shirt.
“Put on your tie now.”
I wait while she fastens the clip-on tie to her collar, then check to make sure the tie isn’t putting too much weight on the chain connecting the nipple clamps. She’s flushed and squirming, but clear-eyed. No sign of bad thoughts.
“Emily, look at me.” When she does, blinking at me with those big hazel eyes, I tell her, “You’re doing beautifully. I’m proud of you. I want to warm you up, but if it would be too much or if it’s too soon for me to touch you like that, just tell me.”
“Warm me up?”
“Um-hum. I want you to bend over the bed and pull up your skirt and pull down your panties so I can see your pussy while I dress. Then I’m going to finger-fuck you. You’re not allowed to come. Would that be too much?”
She presses her lips together and for a second I think she’ll refuse. “No, Daddy,” she whispers. “It wouldn’t be too much.”
“Good girl. Do as you’re told.”
She does, following my instructions so deliberately, so specifically, I feel my chest tighten. I really am proud of her. Crazy, but there it is. All of my bottoms have been compliant, eventually, and followed my instruction as best they could, but only Emily does it as if each word is the most important thing she’s ever heard.
It’s a beautiful thing.
When she’s bent over the bed, I reach out and rub my fingertips up and down the seam of her pussy until her lips are sheened and flared. Once she’s displayed, I give her labia a few hard taps, to see her flush, while I pull on my own clothes: a conservative, summer-weight, dark suit that I enliven with a tweed waistcoat. I’m not a flashy dresser, and since we’re going to my club, I dress even more conservatively. There’s no dress code; we just don’t dress to attract attention. We’re Dominants, not rock stars. Or porn stars, which is probably why Rick’s application wasn’t approved.
I pick a maroon tie to match the maroon stripe in the plaid of Emily’s schoolgirl uniform and tuck the supplies for our scene, and a few other things, into my pockets while I have the armoire and dresser open.
After lacing up my Cambridge crew dress shoes, which look sharp enough for dinner but I can still run in if required, I return to the woman bent over my bed. I rub my fingertips up and down her labia again, testing her reactions, and smile when she arches her back and gives a needy little whimper.
“One finger now, baby doll,” I tell her, before I press my middle finger into her. It glides in to the first knuckle. I work it in and out. When my finger’s slick, I pull it out and circle it over her labia, until she’s spread open like the petals of a flower. “Beautiful, baby doll. Two fingers now.”
She nods and clutches at the bedspread.
I press my first and middle fingers into her. Beyond her pubic bone, her pussy’s wonderfully tight, gripping my fingers. I take my time, working my fingers in and out, finding the places that make her breath catch. Her g-spot’s nicely accessible, closer to her cervix than her opening, which will make fucking her from behind a delight for both
