Daddy's Bedtime Taboo Sex Stories

by Kelly Fleming

  He edged closer, his knee between her, and pushed his middle finger into the heat of her cunt. Leslie gasped, jolted, and automatically tried to close her thighs but his knee was in the way. Her trembling thighs gripped him tightly as she whimpered, as he inched his finger deeper into her tight heat, and finally found what he had been searching—her virginity—it was still intact. Satisfaction flooded into him, and he felt strangely triumphant in knowing that nobody had possessed her yet. Pleased, he reluctantly pulled away from her delicious heat, and stood up. His eyes were enflamed with an inscrutable intensity as he looked at her and announced his commands in his smooth, self-assured voice. He ordered his trusted second-hand man to send out orders for ransoms for these captives, set in steep prices, and if they were not collected by the end of the deadline, the prisoners would be sold into slavery.

  "In the meantime, bring this girl into my cabin," he said, giving Leslie's a searing look that terrified her, and shocking his crew; as far as they knew, the Captain never showed any interest—romantic or sexual—to any species of the opposite sex. They had already concluded that he was either attracted to men (for which there were no trustworthy evidence) or was so discreet in his sexual affairs that they were unable to discover them (to which they had never been able to disprove or prove for certainty).

  Two members of the captain's crew freed Leslie from her constraints and hauled her up. "Come on, hussy. Our captain's waiting for 'ye little pussy." They chuckled. She looked at her mistress for sympathy, for help—anything, but all her mistress gave her was a haughty look mixed with variable emotions that did not in any way, pity Leslie's situation; it was a disdainful look that told Leslie that her mistress thought her a whore for being chosen, that she was in fact, appropriately selected—a slut; and one Leslie could not decipher, which was Miss Prufrock's jealousy. Her pride was wounded in that the extremely handsome captain, exceptionally well dressed for a pirate—by far the most dashing and most magnetic man she had ever met—had deigned to choose her own plain maid instead of her. Her mistress turned her face away, and it truly broke Leslie's heart, as she was carried away.

  They shoved her into the captain's quarters, sneering as they slammed door shut. "Mind 'yer to give him all he wants—he's a dangerous man—the devil of the seas!" were the last she heard, as she stepped closer into the room. It was quite warm in here, warmer than it had been outside, at least. Still, Leslie could not help shivering. She was still feeling the aftereffects of the last few hours, and she was distraught and exhausted, both mentally and physically. She wrapped her tiny body with her arms, feeling tears glimmering in her eyes, threatening to fall. She had never been out of the Prufrock property, and now that she was out of it, to have such an experience happened to her! It was simply too much.

  Leslie looked around the room, relieved that the captain wasn't in it, probably attending to some piratical duties. Should she escape? But how? More importantly, where? She had nowhere to go, even if she managed to survive her swim in the dark, cold ocean. Then she remembered that she could not swim. It sank her spirits even lower, to know that she had no skills whatsoever to support her mission to escape, even if she had any! And her mistress! Her master would beat her if he should find out what had transpired, and she felt sure he would. However, knowing that Miss Prufrock would at least return home safely—on account of the Prufrocks's massive affluence—it brought a little bit of sunshine into Leslie's soul. Leslie didn't dare hope that the Prufrocks would spare any thought for her; she was simply a servant to them.

  She sighed; she didn't hear the door open and close quietly behind her, as the captain emerged, and locked the door behind him. But he heard her sigh, noticed that she was shivering. "What's wrong?" he asked in a disinterested voice. "Tired of waiting?" Leslie whirled around at his voice, her heart stomping in her chest. She backed away as he tossed his long black coat and gloves onto a chair, poured his self some wine from a nearby cabinet, and sank down on a long couch opposite her.

  He had his elbow resting on the couch beside his head, with his legs crossed, and drank his wine as sophisticatedly as persons of high titles that Leslie had seen at the Prufrocks's many extravagant parties and glamorous dinners. Miss Prufrock had told her pirates were savages and barbarians, but this pirate's manners were that of a person with high nobility. It was a surprising combination to his chosen vocation: pirating. She realized he was staring at her, and looked away, unable to hold her gaze with those hypnotic, dark eyes. They were too intense for her.

  "Are you cold?" he asked, breaking the silence. Leslie shook her head. "But you're shivering." Again, Leslie lied by shaking her head. He continued staring at her; his eyes mysterious. "Come here." When Leslie hesitated, that was when he lost all patience, and all the hell that he was capable of was unleashed. At once he flew at Leslie with the graceful agility of a predator, and before she could react, slammed her body against the wooden wall. She gasped.

  He pressed harder into Leslie, using his marbled body of muscles and immense strength, and looked deeply into her frightened liquid gaze of sky blue. "When I address you, kindly remember to answer me in the way I want you to," he breathed. "That is, answer me with words, and do as I say when I command you to. Understand?" His scorching gaze could have melted iron, and Leslie nodded. She gasped, when she saw his eyes narrow dangerously at her, for violating his law as soon as he said it, and hastily amended it by crying, "I-I'm s-sorry! And I u-understand. Please don't hurt me," she pleaded.

  He softened. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. She smelled so delightful, felt so warm and so soft, and her hair was like the tastiest cotton candy to his senses. Leslie didn't dare struggle against a man with his strength; quietly she stood trembling in his arms, and allowed him to drag his hand down her long tresses and caress her hair. "You've become so beautiful, Leslie," he murmured into her hair. "W-what?" gasped Leslie. How did he know her? She pushed him away—she did it easily, for he was too drunk on her just then—and backed away from his protective embrace. Seeing her big beautiful eyes shine with fear angered him. His eyes darkened. He took a step forward, to reclaim her, but Leslie backed away again, cowering. "N-no! Don't touch me," she said in a wavering voice.

  He ignored her, and more forcefully this time, lunged at her and pinned her to the wall with his body, caging her with his arms. Leslie whimpered, and he silenced her with a forceful kiss that knocked her breath away. Brutally he raped her innocent, pouty lips, and slid inside her mouth to explore its moist warmth with his tongue; and Leslie, having never been kissed before, was at a bewildered lost, as he attacked her tongue with his vigorous one, and forced her to accept his mastery over her.

  Leslie tried uselessly to push his body away, but he was relentless, and didn't seemed to feel her fists beating at his solid chest, or her flat palms trying their mightiest to drive him back. Leslie couldn't breathe. Finally he pulled back, when he realized that she didn't know how to keep up with her breathing steadily as they locked lips. She was panting and breathing heavily. She stared up at him, wistfully, "Who are you?"

  "You don't remember me?" Leslie shook her head mournfully. "Then it doesn't matter." He dipped his head down to claim her bruised lips again, but this time, he was gentler with her, letting her get used to his passion. But as he distracted her with his deceptive mouth, his hands were swiftly unbuttoning the front of her plain uniform. Leslie gave a cry of dismay when she realized what he had done; he had bared her shoulders, had pushed the straps of her bra down, so that her uniform and the strap were pinioning her arms, and half of her upper body was exposed. Quickly he tore his mouth from her delicious lips, and lowered them to her snowy chest. He gave electrifying tiny licks before pulling her bra down and attaching his mouth to a plump breast.

  He began sucking her rosy nipple, as if it was the sweetest candy in the world. But it wasn't, and it filled Leslie with deep horror. "Stop it! Stop it! Please. I'm begging you. Please don't!" she kept repeating, in between gasps an
d pants. Again and again, she tried to escape him; pushed against him, tried to pull her body away from him, but his grip on her was strong, and he followed every movement she made, sucking and licking intensely on her breast. He never let up; he rolled his hot tongue round and round her areola, before flicking the tip of his tongue over the tip of her nipple. He toyed with her sensitive nipple, teasing and seducing it, pushing it side to side, up and down. Again and again. He could feel it hardening, extending, and sucked harder, licked harder.

  Meanwhile, his other hand was busy keeping up with his furious pace with her other breast; massaging the full breast and maddening it with his cheeky fingers; he pressed at the nipple and pulled at it. Every time Leslie tried to push his head away from her; he sucked harder, tweaked harder. It was absolutely frustrating, and helplessness grew inside Leslie. The sensation of his warm tongue and his hot breath over her wet nipple fed her feelings she did not understand. She wanted to scream, but instead, in its place, unbidden low moans came out of her mouth. They sounded very sweet and alluring to her tormentor, and he in turn worked harder in his sucking so that he might continue enjoying this beautiful music.

  This sucking continued until he sensed her growing weaker and ceased fighting him, and had given in to the pleasurable agonies he wrought upon her. Slowly he detached himself from her breast, her dazzling, reddish nipples jutting out and looking shyly at him. Leslie moaned when he did, her breasts feeling oddly bereft and cold from the affections the captain afforded it, even though moments ago, the assault had frightened her. As she leaned against the wall, panting, the captain rained passionate kisses on her lips, her face, her neck, and her shoulder. He nipped at her earlobe, and whispered, in a husky voice, "I want to fuck you so bad." Leslie's eyes opened wider as she stared into his eyes—they were glazing with bright, feral lust. She quickly closed her eyes and shook her head wildly, terribly afraid—"N-no, please...no...I...wanted to s-save myself...f-for..."

  She gasped when he pressed closer onto her, kicking her legs wider apart so that he could touched her body completely with his, even with their clothes on, to let her feel the hot, throbbing cock dying to be inside of her. "You wanted to save yourself?" He humped against her, rocking his hips persistently and steadily against her, letting her feel the iron rod of his manhood. It made Leslie dizzy. He continued stealing her breaths away as he gripped her hips and pumped into her. "What for?" he added wickedly, humping harder when Leslie whimpered weakly.

  "Nobody will want you by the time I'm through with you." He laughed when he saw the look of fear and despair in her eyes. "W-what d-do you m-mean?" She choked out in a trembling, low voice. He stopped dry-fucking her, but kept his cock so close to her cunt that Leslie whimpered again; he laughed huskily into her ear. "It means—" He pressed his damp forehead against her, and placed a big, warm palm over her belly, "—I have plans for us." Leslie's pretty mouth opened, and he took advantage of it by kissing them. But she didn't respond to them; instead, she gazed into his eyes, which were also staring back at her, trying to read her—many emotions filled those transparent eyes: distrust, disbelief, shock, fear—especially fear.

  "Y-you mean..." she murmured against him but didn't finished; he continued kissing her, looking at her, making no effort to finish her sentence or understand her meaning, forcing her to express them on her own. "You...you would m-marry...m-me?" Her gentle voice contained incredulity in them. He pulled back, his eyebrows raised. "Are you asking me to marry you, precious?" Immediately, Leslie's cheeks blushed crimson, and she looked away. Of course he wasn't going to. She felt incredibly stupid; she should have known. Miss Prufrock had always told her no man would fall in love or marry a poor girl like her, because she was slow, stupid, weak, and clumsy; that she would be a burden, a useless mate.

  He saw her broken heart reflected on her starry, watery eyes; it filled him with instant guilt and anger at himself. Remorsefully, he tried to amend things, "Hey, hey, princess—" But she pushed him away; he never knew where this new energy came from. "I'm not your princess!" she cried, her eyes blazing. "Stay away from me!" she screamed, and her eyes blurring, ran towards the door, intending to do god-knows-what, if the captain hadn't gone after her, slipped his arms around her, and hauled her back. She thrashed in his arms, kicking her feet in the air. "Let me go! Let me go!"

  "Silence!" his thunderous voice scared her, and Leslie stopped, whimpering and sobbing in his arms limply. He carried her to his desk, and dropped her in front of it. "Bend down!" he ordered; still crying, Leslie bent herself over the table, not knowing what he intended to do. The captain fetched some rope he spied on the desk, yanked Leslie's arms behind her back—making her cry out at his harshness—and tied them together, securely—tight, bruising, and painful enough to let her know the futility of her situation.

  Then, the captain dropped down on a nearby chair, lifted Leslie's skirts high, and yanked the dazed Leslie towards him. She fell onto him, her thighs around his and her legs dangling on either sides of the chair. She was still crying, but quietly now. He ignored it. He was still fuming over the fact that she had tried to run away from him. It made him sick to his core to think of his sweet, innocent, ravishing Leslie running out there, with her beautiful, long, thick hair wild and enticing, her swollen, pouty lips, her cheeks flushed, and her lovely breasts spilling in front of her freely, and his men, lusty and greedy as many of them were, would have attacked her, used her, and broken her. They would have scarred her so much to the point where he would never find her in the way she had been before.

  His Leslie....Beneath her skirt bunched around her hips, the captain pushed his fingers into her underwear, and felt her dewy heat. He parted them by pressing deeper with his fingers. But he stopped when he felt something pointing against his thigh. It was a bit blunt, but he could feel it pressing down insistently, intent on producing damage. He looked up at Leslie; her face was still stained from tears, and she looked exhausted, yet the eyes that stared back at him—it glittered with trepidation, but also determination. "I'll kill you," she stammered. "If...if you touch me...I'll kill you. I really will," she said in a stronger voice.

  To demonstrate that she truly was genuine about her threat, she dug the letter-knife she had behind her deeper into his thigh. He could feel her hand shaking, but she managed to keep the knife still on his thigh. She kept her gaze level on him, trying fiercely to hide how scared she was at what she was doing, or what he'll do. She had seen the letter-knife on the desk, among others, and without thinking, she had reached for it, had pulled it to her chest. When he turned her around, she had grabbed the knife behind her, her heart exploding inside her, cautioning her to hold it carefully or risked having him find out before she could do anything with it. She waited for him to give his reaction, her stomach fluttering.

  Slowly he took his hand away, making no other response. His sweet, innocent Leslie...did he say that? No, she was his sweet, innocent little devil. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him was aroused and intrigued, another part wanted to tell her how provocative she was when she looked serious, deadly, when her pouty lips opened a little, waiting for him. But he didn't want to spoil the tension she had built up. She did look very serious; her eyes flashed with hardness. "What do you plan to do if you did kill me?" he asked, holding her gaze. He could see that she distrusted him, wary that he was planning something.

  "My men will be waiting outside if you come out." His eyes narrowed meaningfully, "You know what they'll do to you, especially as you're tied up as you are now." Leslie gulped, but she kept her resolution. "After I kill their captain, I'll jump into the sea and drown myself," she replied, and nothing in her voice told him that she would not carry it out; it had no false heroism. She truly was authentic about all this. His heart was quickly beating harder in his chest—she meant to go for suicide! He couldn't allow that. He tried to suppress his rage over her reckless decision. He had to calm down. "But—" he said in a controlled voice that held no hint of the turbulent emotions swirl
ing inside him. He tried to caress her hair, but she arched away, suspicious, digging the letter-knife harder in the same spot. He stopped. "—you can't really kill me with a letter-knife. It's blunt, precious." Leslie bit her lip, but answered, "I know. At the very least, I could hurt you badly if I push it hard enough." Boldly, she added, "We could try, if you want to."

  He was amazed at her imagination, but even more astonished that she would try to take a risk on a plan that had a higher probability for failure than success. Ironically, it was making him become supremely more attracted to her, drawn to some passionate energy that emanated from the deep soul hidden beneath all her innocence. "Which will it be?" her eyes blazed. "Leave me, or I'll truly hurt you." Then, after a few seconds of quick musing: "You're really making me very hard right now, baby." He said them in a quiet, dangerous voice. Leslie was thrown off her guard, and shuddered; despite her audacity, she was still an innocent girl after all, and he knew that. "So very, very hard," he let the words flow out of his lips slowly, emphasizing them; watching her eyes grew in confusion. He held her gaze, and moved his hands over his trousers.