Let's Go Home

It's weird to be standing here, all alone, waiting for him. I don't know what he looks like--in my head, he's perfect, but he has insisted to me that he is not. We've been together for over a year now, email, IM, phone calls, gifts in the mail and even handwritten letters. His handwriting is a chicken-scratch, but I've learned to decipher it. It's no worse than mine, so I can't complain. I savour every pen-stroke.

He knows me, of course. Many of my tasks for him have involved taking pictures in the clothes he sends me. I stand here, alone in this dark room full of people, and trust that he will come for me.

He has to. I have nothing left but him. Nowhere to go. I don't even have my cell phone. I can only trust he will come for me. I left everything behind, gave up my apartment and everything in it. I have only the clothes on my back, my ID in my pocket, and the rings on my fingers, each one a gift from him, one for each month of the last year. A year ago today he told me I would be his, forever, full time in his own house. I didn't have to say yes. I had no choice.

And I can't wait. I want to go home.

I'm standing in the dark on a dance floor, on a raised dais. There's a railing I can lean against, because every once in a while my knees start to tremble and I have to lean. Every wall of this place is a projection screen, scenes of naked bodies, clothed bodies, men and women coming together in ecstasy. Scenes of rape and love. It's all beautiful and it's all a little too loud and a little too bright. There are people here but I can't see them very well. They stay away from me. I'm not dressed well enough to be here. I'm wearing his favourite jeans and the brand new sparkly red tank top. Everyone else is in suits and dresses, straight back to Victorian. No one comes near me. I'm glad of that, even though I scan every face I can see, wondering if it's him.

I stand and watch the screen directly in front of me, watch skin on skin, bodies moving together. People on the dancefloor. People on the screen. My body can't decide whether to be terrified or aroused. Maybe both.

And then there are hands on my hips and lips at my ear. "Don't turn around," he murmurs. His voice, no mistaking that voice. He's here, he's come for me, I'll never be alone again. My knees give way and the tears start down my face.

He catches me, doesn't let me fall. He chuckles, a low and beautiful sound. "Hello, my girl."

"Daddy," I whisper.

His hands are sliding up my body, over my breasts, his body pressed against mine. I can feel him in the small of my back, already hard. "I'm so glad you're here, baby girl," he whispers, swaying with me, reaching under my shirt and pinching my nipples. "Good girl," he murmurs when I gasp.

His hands travel down to my jeans, unbutton them. Here in this place, here surrounded by people. Surely not here?

"Daddy," I whisper again, hesitant now.

"Yes, my girl?"

"I..."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes," I say, almost too quietly to hear.

"You can be scared," he says, "but your body is mine and I'm going to use you. I want you. Now." His fingers find their treasure, sliding into my oh-so-wet pussy. "Mmm, you're going to be such a good slut for Daddy," he whispers. "You're so tight and already so wet."

"Daddy," is all I can say. Shaking. Melting in his arms.

His hands are pushing my jeans and the little thong with cherries on it down over my hips. "Are you ready, little girl?"

"Y... no." I'm trembling, crying now, joy and fear.

"Too bad," he smiles in my ear and I hear the zipper, hear him unzipping his fly and then I can feel his hard cock against my ass and he bends me over the railing and oh god he's pushing into me. "You're being such a good girl for Daddy," he tells me. "Relax."

He'd told me before he was going to take me when he wanted me, that it was time for me to not be a virgin anymore even if I wasn't ready. 22 is too old to still be a virgin. And that made me so wet when he said it, so long ago. I didn't know he meant now, in front of everyone. I'm terrified and raised to exultation at the same time, I want him, I want to be his, but this is public and oh god he's pushing deeper into me, whispering over and over to relax, to give up to him, to let him in. Oh god. His words drive me on, pushing back against him, pulling him into me, and I come already, so fast, shuddering and shaking while he holds me and fucks me slowly, all the way in, all the way out.

"There you go, good girl, you're such a good slut, coming for Daddy all ready," he tells me. "That's my good girl," he whispers. I'm still crying, tears dripping onto the dancefloor. Someone looks up at me and then away, not noticing or not caring that I'm just some little slut getting fucked over the railing. He continues inside me, harder and faster now, constant litany in my ear, "You belong to me, Katie, you're mine now, say it," and I can't, I can't find the words, the tears and the feelings are too much, I'm flying inside and I can't speak.

He twines his fingers in my hair and holds me tightly. "Say it," he growls in my ear. "'I belong to you, Daddy.'"

"Daddy... yours," I manage.

"Say it properly, Kaitlyn," he says, voice so stern. My heart is fluttering and hopping and I can't think.

When the words pour out they don't stop. "I'm yours Daddy I belong to you my body is yours my mind is yours my heart my soul Daddy, Daddy, Daddy..."

I feel him deep inside me, exploding, purring in my ear, whispering, "Take it, girl, take my cum. My gift. Gift for a good girl. Take it."

He holds me tight while we both shake, and then he pushes me down, saying, "Lick it clean, girl." Pushing me to my knees. I stare at his cock in front of me, try to look up at him but his hands won't let me. "Now."

I take his cock in my mouth, tasting him and tasting me, cleaning him off. He pulls me up and turns me back around too quickly, I never want to leave this spot, I want always to be on my knees for him.

"Get your clothes back on before the lights come up," he tells me, and then he's gone.

Gone?

"Daddy!" I shout, fear welling up. I grab my jeans, yank them on. The lights come on then, my zipper not yet up. Where is he? Oh god no.

But he's there, halfway between our dais and the exit, hands folded, calmly watching me, waiting for me. Loving me. I walk toward him on shaking legs. It has to be him, every detail is perfect. The love pouring out from him can only be my Daddy, my home. I reach him and he wraps an arm around me and kisses my forehead.

"Let's go home, little girl."