You cry out as he falls forwards.
Sir comes forward. The air is cold but you stand there, defiant and flushed with heat. You want to go to Daddy, but Sir blocks you. He sits in the wheelchair like a throne, leering up at you with amused disdain
‘Quite a dramatic way to fight the block’ he said.
Your chest heaves as you keep looking at Daddy.
‘For the both of you.’ he said.
Your skin prickles with unease as he gestures to his assistants and they attend to Daddy, injecting a small hypodermic into his neck. He sighs as he gets to his feet and turns around, mud splattered on his t shirt as the rain drips off his shaved head.
‘This wasn’t real?’ you say.
Sir sighs and shakes his head.
‘We set certain parameters for the purposes of appropriating reality but otherwise, yes it was.’
Sir lifts his chin as Daddy comes towards you.
‘He’s as much a participant as you are. You chose one another on some level.’ he said.
One of the assistants comes over and Sir whispers something to her before she goes off.
‘We’ve arranged a post-session debriefing then your car will be waiting.’
You and Daddy look at one another. You know this man, through the role he inhabited, and you console yourself with the fact you had the memory hidden from you. A secret which never stayed still inside you. He made you feel you safe.
Daddy walks over to you.
‘It doesn’t scare me who we are out there.’ he says.
He reaches out his hands and knits his fingers between yours as he draws you close. You stare at his lips and the salt in his beard, how his soft brown eyes bear into you with a full and deep attention. He looks at you as he always does, with an affection which touches on something primal and playful in the same instance.
The session involves a respectful and gentle medical examination. You are offered laundered clothes and a hot shower. You are asked if you want to eat and you go to say yes but something stops you.
You make a request and it is agreed to.
He sits at the table and stands up when you walk in. He wears a white shirt and black trousers as the hostess brings your food to the table.
When he smiles at you, your body throbs and light skips through your veins like lightning.
It might fade with time, you tell yourself, but for now, you enjoy it.
He pulls out the chair.
‘Is that something you do or something you are?’ you say.
He grins and raises his eyebrows.
‘I feel a man is what he does. It’s how you make a woman feel safe.’
‘Do you know?’
He looks at you and smiles.
‘Yes, I do. Above all else, I know that.’
You sit and eat with him. He makes you laugh, talking about being able to remember the last book he read and wondering if he really enjoyed it.
When the food was finished, he takes your hand across the table and you share a comfortable silence.
Your car is brought around and the address is programmed into the satellite navigation system. He asks for his address and it gives you the same answer.
He smiles and looks at you.
‘It doesn’t scare me.’ he says.
He leans across and kisses you. The soft brush of his beard inflames you, as his soft lips dance over yours. His tongue steals into your mouth and the contact is electrifying. You feel the ache and every time it is like the first. He steals a hand to the hair on the back of your head and tugs it into his fist as he sighs with pleasure. Your thoughts grow light with the control he exerts, quiet and sure, as he takes possession of you. His other hand circles around your throat but he keeps his fingers away until your instincts compel you to close your hand over his.
You give him permission.
His fingers squeeze and he draws back, staring into your eyes with the intention of command.
‘Let’s go home.’
You nod and start the car.
The key fits.
The hallway is dark but he does not care as he pushes you against the wall. It comes to you both without artifice although there is play involved. His kisses have not attracted the dull flavour of duty or negotiation and you know they never will.
His fingers unbutton your jeans and slip beneath the waistband of your panties. You feel his fingertips graze the soft curve of your pussy.
No, you tell yourself.
The questions of reality fade away as he asks you to confirm his observation of what you were thinking about.
‘It’s your pussy, Daddy.’ you say
His fingers glide downwards and he parts you with a quiet confidence as he grunts with pleasure. He caresses you with a gentleness which contradicts the way he takes your hair and pulls you towards him.
Your thighs shudder as you back against the wall. Everything is alive with a liquid, sinuous heat as you enjoy the tension of his hands on you. He kisses you with intent, savouring the sweet play of it whilst controlling you and allowing the space for you to surrender to him.
He speaks through his hands, and each word makes your bones glow as the delicious synaptic fire of an orgasm begins to shudder through you. You ask him and he shakes his head, which feeds the delicious prohibition inside you.
You ask him again and he laughs as he shakes his head. In a thick, low voice he tells you to ask him again.
A ripple of want moves through you as you feel your body tighten with the need for release.
‘Please Daddy, can I come?’
He kisses you and says the words you need.
‘Yes, baby girl.’
It comes upon you, savage and beautiful, the relinquishment of thought and concern, only the glorious worship, the ritual of surrender and control which you found within his arms and as your feelings rush over reality itself, you become a symphony of primal ecstasy against him. His touch is elemental and he coaxes you through it with his voice wrapped around you. You buck hard against him, and press your hands to his face as he grips your hair tight.
You stare into his eyes and tell him you love him.
He smiles and tells you he loves you too. His eyes soften but he keeps his fingers at play inside you, prompting the slow burn of a second orgasm.
Soaked and shivering, you trust to his actions as proof of who he is.
You never really stop believing it.