by Dani Wyatt
“Oh god.” I whimper, desperate to move the toy and touch the throbbing parts of me that will surely set me off in no time.
“You like that, don’t you? Like that I watch you. Like that I think of you in that way. I think of slipping in the bathroom with you. Sitting on the edge of the tub and reaching down under the bubbles. Slipping my hand down where I know you have yours. Don’t you, baby? You play with yourself in the bath, don’t you?”
My core clenches and my free hand reaches up to cup my breast, fingers gently pinching my nipple and before I can answer I hear Stas say the words I so love to hear.
“Jesus, God, yes...fuck, baby, that’s so fucking hot.” He growls as I force open my eyes to see the laser intensity of his gaze on the screen of the phone, watching me.
“Yes, Daddy.” I answer on a shaking breath as I run the purple vibe around and around. “I put my fingers down there. It feels good. Is that bad? Am I a bad girl?”
We play into the dark fantasy together. Its heady taboo nature has my head light and my breathing shallow. It’s wrong but it feels so good.
“You make Daddy very hard, little girl. That’s very naughty. Making him want you like this. Making him need you. You get that, don’t you? Daddy needs you. Daddy loves you. Daddy wants to show you how much. Would you like that? Would you like Daddy to show you how much he loves you?”
His words push me nearly to the edge. So wrong. So dirty. But I can never deny the effect this game we play has on me. On us both.
“Yes.” I manage, the tension gripping me as I shift my hips, needing more contact from the vibrating wand.
“You want that toy on your clit, don’t you?” Daddy asks and I nod on a groan. “Needy little girl.” The comment sounds disapproving, but there’s lust there as well. The heady combination only serves to drive me further towards the edge. “You like to drive me crazy, don’t you? Tease your Daddy? Thinking I won’t touch you because it’s wrong. Is that what you think, baby?”
I shake my head, looking at the screen on the phone as Daddy’s eyes narrow. “No.” I respond best I can through my quick breaths. “Ooops, I mean...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you.” I play into the fantasy, feeling the tension rise and my need grow with every word.
“Daddy wants to taste you. Did you know that? That I want to put my mouth on you. Give you some very special kisses.”
“I’d like that.” I twist the toy round and round on my outer lips, my body begging for more, but I know not to rush things. Daddy knows best and although it’s driving me crazy, I don’t dare do anything without specific instruction.
“Goodgirl. Move the toy now onto your clit for me. Lightly. I want to watch you squirm for a while. You pretend that’s Daddy’s tongue. Daddy tasting his little girl for the first time. It’s so special having him lick you down there, isn’t it?”
“Um hm.” I barely get the sound out as the vibrator makes contact with my throbbing nub, sending a wave of desire through my body. I’m so close but I bite the inside of my lip to keep the orgasm that’s been building since I sat down in the chair at bay.
“Spread those fucking legs so I can see.” His voice rumbles deeper. “Show me what you like. How you cum when you think of me touching you.”
I close my eyes as I arch my back and my head presses back into the chair.
“I see how wet you are.” Daddy’s voice is slow and methodical. “You’re a naughty girl for Daddy. Only for Daddy. Always for Daddy.”
“God, Daddy please.” I beg as the tension becomes nearly unbearable.
“Take the toy away.” He commands, and I moan out a protest. “Do it now.” He barks the order and I relent, pulling the vibrating wand off of my dripping folds and taking a deep breath as I try to steady myself.
I focus my foggy gaze back on the phone and even the way he looks at me right now has my tummy fluttering and my skin heating, the hairs on my arms standing up.
“What now, Daddy?” I whisper as I feel the wetness drip out of me, down my ass and into the chair fabric below.
“I want you to show me how you touch yourself when I’m not around. How you make yourself cum when you’re thinking about Daddy. You do think about me, don’t you? Think about your Daddy while you touch yourself?”
I nod, my inhibitions falling away as my drive to push myself over the edge consumes me.
I set the toy on the table next to the chair and bring my fingers to myself.
“That’s my girl.” Daddy’s deep voice urges me on. “It pleases me to watch you. Pleases me when you do as I ask.”
“Yes, Daddy.” I answer as I take the tips of my first two fingers and begin circling my clit with them.
I know our fantasy play would be offensive to many, but it works for us and there’s no harm. I do think of him as my Daddy in many ways, not like the man that raised me. No. This is so very different. I would get zero pleasure from thinking about him.
But when Daddy and I take on these roles between us, it feels so right. So good in so many ways, not just like this. Not just the taboo dirty talk, although that sure feels right and works as well.
For us both.
“Goodgirl. Take one hand and play with your tits, baby. I want you using both hands on yourself. Pretending it’s me.”
I do as he asks, my other hand moving faster and faster around my clit until I’m rubbing it directly as I hold and squeeze my tits back and forth. It takes everything I have to keep my eyes on him on the phone screen but the look of approval and desire in his eyes is intoxicating to me.
My mouth drops open and I take stalled breaths as my orgasm builds again. I curl my toes, trying to push it forward, praying Daddy lets my release happen this time. He enjoys this, edging me until I’m a begging mess.
“God, I fucking love you.” He says on a groan. “You are everything to me, Babybear. Everything.”
I keep my eyes pinned on his as he watches me play until I can’t take it anymore.
“Daddy, please, may I cum?” I ask in a breathy voice as respectfully as I can muster at the moment.
“Do you love me?”
“Um,” I moan, trying to form the words I know he needs and I want to say. “Yes...so much I don’t understand it. So much I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Goodgirl. But still, not yet. Daddy’s not done watching you.” His low rumble tells me I’m having a similar effect on him, but his control is far better than mine. “I want a finger inside of you. Show me where you’d like my cock to be, babygirl. Show me how you’d like Daddy to fuck you someday.”
I lower my hand and press my middle finger into my soaking opening. It slides in easily and I think of Daddy. Think of when he fucks me. Think of how he stretches me and fills me.
I pump the finger in and out, listening to the wet sound it makes as I speed up and clench my inner muscles, watching Daddy’s face on the screen.
“You make me so fucking hard.”
“God.” I plead and whimper. Knowing I have that effect on him somehow always pushes me right to the edge. “Please, please, Daddy. Please.” I draw out the word, praying I can hold back, but on the next breath no longer caring what the punishment might be if I can’t.
“I do love you begging. Know you belong to me. Know Daddy loves you. Know you are here to please me. To serve me. To cum for me. Yes, Babybear. Cum for me now. Show Daddy how you’d cum for me if I was the one inside of you. If I was the one kissing you down low. Sucking up all th—”
I don’t hear anything else. My body explodes and my own vocal expressions consume me for what feels like an eternity. I cum hard, rolling one orgasm right into the next.
When I finally come up for a breath, stars are in my eyes and Daddy’s voice is there.
“Get that toy back on my pussy. Cum again, right now. Do it.” He half shouts and I fumble for the toy, turning it on and doing my best to comply with his order. “Cum again. Now, Babybear. Right now.”
I’m so programmed to his voice command i
t only takes the slightest touch of the toy before I’m off again, this time even harder and longer, until I can’t catch my breath and my thighs are shaking uncontrollably.
“God, you’re beautiful. So sexy for Daddy.” I hear his voice as I come down, my body going slack in the chair and I drop the toy to the floor.
It dances and moves around on its own but I don’t care.
“Thank you, Daddy.” I’m thanking him for his compliments, but he’s also taught me my orgasms are his. At his discretion. And it shows him the respect he deserves to thank him for allowing me to cum.
“Goodgirl. Thank you, my precious. My love.” I look up to see him half smiling at me. “Now, Daddy has to work. If you’d like to play longer, you may, but George will be back soon and I don’t want him to come looking for you. Okay?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m done.” It’s the truth. That last orgasm nearly had me needing CPR.
“Okay then. Daddy has to go. You be good. Be safe. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Bye for now, my Babybear. Daddy loves you.”
“Bye Daddy. I love you too.”
With that he clicks off. I reach over and replace my glasses, let out a long exhale as I wait to be sure my legs are going to be able to get me back downstairs.
F I V E
Stas
THE SILENCE IN THE basement room of the abandoned warehouse makes every drip an avalanche, every cough an echo that bounces off every wall.
Brown water leaks from cracks in the crumbling cinderblock, while the hanging lightbulb casts long shadows across the face of the client sitting across from me, the musty odor of mildew mixing with the gallon of cheap cologne he must have showered in before arriving.
The meeting place is near the defunct Rouge Steel Plant in downtown Detroit. Not a vacation destination, but safe for our needs and a location we’ve used before.
Once my last details were secured, the information about the meeting point was delivered to the client who we’d instructed to wait in a rental car about an hour away for the final instructions. He took his sweet fucking time getting here after that though, which did not get us off on the right foot.
I don’t know all the details of what he’s done to require my services. I treat everyone the same. Knowing too much puts me in more danger and it could influence my decision making.
Malcolm gives me the information I need and no more. He’s in this, same as me. Make our money and keep us as safe as humanly possibly given our profession.
And more so than ever, I want to get in, get this job done and get out.
We’ve been sitting here about five minutes in silence. The details of his new life spread on the table in front of us. He looked through the packet after I handed it to him and now he’s just staring at me.
I won’t speak first. Whoever talks first loses.
Patience is something I learned a long time ago, and I can do silence better than most. I fold my hands on the table and stare him down, breathing slowly and evenly like I’m watching a ballet instead of the pock-marked face of a man who needs a new life.
I can read people, and sitting across from me is a man straight out of a ‘how to become a sociopath’ instruction manual. Even with all my talents, I’m having a hard as fuck time concentrating.
All I can think about is getting back home. That never fucking happened to me before. I’d be gone weeks, sometimes a month or more, and never think twice about ‘home’.
That place was a house, a place to lay my head and store my shit.
Now? It’s fucking home to me. And all I want to do is get back there.
I want to fill the seven bedrooms with kids, to plan Christmas and Thanksgiving and all that shit. And, fuck, I know that leaves me vulnerable, but I don’t see a way out. Not yet.
I’ve dealt with the dark side of humanity before in my line of work. But never have I felt this level of arrogant evil coming from anyone. It’s a dangerous combination.
“You and your boss have over-promised and under-delivered.” He picks at his fingernails for a moment while keeping his dead shark eyes on my face. His gray suit matches his hair and the blood red tie matches the ruby pinky ring he twists and taps on the table. He also has this annoying habit of humming after he speaks.
I do not waver. I do not look away. And I do not miss even the slightest twitch of a muscle or shift in his body language.
It’s not fear, it’s survival, and never have my survival instincts been this heightened. Not just because he feels like the most dangerous son of a bitch I’ve ever encountered. No, I could handle that.
It’s that I have so much more to protect now. I never gave a shit about myself before. That worked to my advantage.
Now?
Fuck. I have everything to lose. Everything I never thought I would have. And keeping myself safe is part of that package.
Not for me.
But for her.
Always for her.
“I’m delivering your ass back to you. That’s what we promised. The wrapping paper around it isn’t to your liking? Tough shit.”
I keep my answers simple because I’m not fucking here to argue. Take the package or leave it.
“I told your boss my needs. You’ve met nearly zero of those.” He takes a white handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his suit and blows his nose like a trumpet. It takes a hella effort not to roll my eyes, but this asshole is unpredictable and I’m calculating my every breath around him.
Malcolm, my connection, my boss for lack of a better term, did give me a laundry list of demands. Both of us laughed because that’s not how this works. He told me he’d informed the client that we would do what is in his best interests to keep him alive, that was our job. Guess the message didn’t register.
“I’m not a fucking travel agent. You didn’t come to me unless you figure your current life is probably going to get you killed. But I don’t want to know, I don’t want your sordid details I’m as disinterested in them as I am knowing what’s on your bucket list. You don’t want to take my package find someone else. Maybe whoever you find will better meet your needs.”
I shrug a shoulder. I’m not the only person in this business, we both know that and I drive the point home.
“And I’d guess more than likely your body will never be found. Or, take what I offer and maybe see a future. In a few years, maybe you talk to Malcolm again, throw him some more cash and get an upgrade. Live a different lifestyle if things have cooled off for you. But if you want to keep breathing, you’ll do what I tell you. Take the name I’m offering, take the blue-collar life, take the two-story walk-up rental, take the fucking subway everywhere and stop wasting my fucking time.”
All I can think about as he taps that fucking ring on the table is Ginger. How a piece of filth like this could taint our lives.
She will never know what I do. Never be in the same air space as this fuck. She’s too pure. Too innocent for this life.
Because I am here with him, he affects our lives and every second that ticks by I’m planning how to get out of this life and find something better for us both.
“You don’t value life, do you, Stas?” He uses my real name and my heart skips a beat.
A surge of heat courses down my body but I keep my poker face intact. No one is supposed to know my name.
I fight to keep my breathing even, eye him with boredom as my mind races through possible scenarios of how this could end. None of them are good.
“An existential discussion on life and its value—or lack thereof—is wasting valuable time. Time you don’t have. You do realize all my work,” I turn my hand upward and wave it over the papers and photos on the table between us, “is time sensitive. These offers are not indefinite. If you opt out of what is being offered...the new identity is solid, you will not be found.” I scan his face but find nothing, so press ahead. “But you keep fucking around and you miss the flight I’ve set up, the dominos fall and the entire thing falls apart. No more is Mr. Paul Finkle of She
rman, Minnesota, a possibility for you. You’ll stay Leonard Calfus. And you wouldn’t be here if that’s what you wanted.”
I glance at my watch and let out a sigh, fixing my eyes back on his. Weakness or indecision here is blood in the water and the sharks are hungry. It’s eat or be eaten and I have too much at stake to be anyone’s meal.
“You seem very confident, Mr. Pavlovich, for a man with things to lose.” He clears his throat on a half-smile that leaves my blood icy. Looking down at the papers in front of him, he continues, “I will not live this life. It’s for cretins.” He sneers and nods toward the proposed new identity I’ve created.
“Two things.” I play back, trying to not allow him the upper hand by seeing my reaction to the fact that he knows my full name. Something that’s supposed to be solidly secured. I’m known simply as Smith if any moniker is necessary, which it usually isn’t. “First, I didn’t fucking come to you. I don’t send out mailers or try to gather business with a fucking coupon in the Sunday paper. Second, you have thirty seconds to get your ass out of that chair and into the limo with me on the way to the airport. There, I’ll give you the rest of your documents, new accounts and your freedom. Clock starts now.”
I lock my eyes on him and silently begin the countdown.
His smile tells me he thinks I’m playing, but in twenty-three seconds when he’s watching the back of my head as I walk out the door he will think differently.
“Such a serious boy you are. You should learn to have more fun.” He narrows his eyes. Shifts in his chair, only slightly, but I pick up on the movement.
He’s deciding. Sociopath he may be, but he wants to stay alive. I can’t help it if setting him up in the lifestyle in which he is accustomed while staying here in the US isn’t possible.
There is one question we ask when someone comes to us for fixing. Are you open to living outside the US? If they are, we can set them up like kings and queens in Mexico or some other country where money buys anything.