Feral Games

I dig my toes into the fabric, feeling the catch of the material through my socks and trying to focus on that instead of the clawing need in my chest.

It doesn't work, but I knew it wouldn't.

I try again anyway, digging my toes in harder, curling them and pressing down into the soft cushion of the couch. I'm sitting on the arm of it, my back to the desk against the wall but I can hear the tapping of keys. I know he's still there. Still working on something or another that needs to get done. It's important to him, therefore it's important to me.

But the need doesn't care. It's like a feral animal in moments like this. A small, mostly harmless one, but one that's pissed and confused about being caged when she knows just what she craves and how to get it. The feeling rattles me, and I can't always resist cracking open the cage.. Knowing the wily little fuck will escape when I do.

So I do.

I crack open that cage, and she bursts forth. My body moves on auto pilot as my toes uncurl and my legs stretch out before swinging to the floor and I stand. I am removed from the automatic motions of my body as I move with fluid grace across the room. I am never this graceful when I am in control, but she is. She is a tiny, feral thing- pure need in motion. She reads like prey, her size and submission seeming to ask you to do as you please with her. But in this she is twice-over the predator. First, me. She set me in her sights and played the game until I relented, and released her. Now, him. She is his prey on most days, but when he doesn't want to play, she has no problem taking on the role and challenging him to give her what she craves. She is already willing, caught, but she must catch him to make any use of it. The prey, provoking her predator. But she knows she can, and the confidence in that gives her the grace to move us forward swiftly and silently.

She moves us to the desk, across the room in barely a breath and at his back. My hands settle on his shoulders, and the only sign that he is surprised by my presence is the brief tensing of his muscles under my hands. But the surprise falls away quickly and he has an admonishment for my interruption ready on the tip of his tongue. It never makes it out though because as he turns his head just slightly to meet my eyes, he sees.

He sees her in my eyes.

"Daddy."

Her need drives my voice up an octave, but it also somehow takes on this persuasive pouty lilt that always leaves me shaking my head a little.

He turns away from the screen and his work to face me, my hands falling from his shoulders as he does so, and takes me in. Takes in my tall socks, short shorts and too-big t shirt. His assessment catches at my mouth and the shift is nearly imperceptible but she doesn't miss it. Her victory is assured when his eyes take on a sharp hungry gleam and he meets my gaze.

He sighs. Reluctant, but committed. His words reflect the latter but his tone is all the former- a challenge. A choice.

"I've got to finish this, kitten. Not right now."

This would have been enough to deter me had I not let her out.

My feral need.

His kitten.

And she will not be swayed.

I smile, but I didn't decide to. My tongue darts out over my bottom lip before I bite it.

"Daddy," she says again, using my mouth. I release my lip, pouting it out just a little now that it's wet and swollen from being held between my teeth. I take a step forward, between his knees with just a few inches between our bodies. This game is not about physically being caught, and it works best when I am as close as I can possibly be. It's his mind I must catch, must persuade. And when I am this close to him, the distinction between her and me.. It melts away. We are one. One raw, aching need. One goal.

To be conquered.

Almost instinctively, his hands come to rest on my hip, hiking up my t-shirt to touch me directly. His thumbs brush up my sides and I sigh at the tenderness of his touch. In response, his grip tightens, but his gaze softens. He tugs my hips forward, closer, and he inhales.

"You smell so good," his words are soft, not a whisper but certainly not the false determination of moments ago.

My hands run through his hair, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation of my nails across his scalp, and entwine my fingers at the back of his neck. I grin down at him, knowing I'll only be taller than him for a moment if this goes to plan.

"Do I?" I ask, tugging his head forward toward my breasts, covered only by my t-shirt.

He arches a brow, but follows my grip and buries his head in my chest, inhaling me as his hands slide from my hips to the small of my back and then beneath the waistband of my shorts so he's gripping my ass.

We both groan- me at the way it feels when he grabs me like this, and him at the realization that I've got no panties on. I grin.

"You seem to have forgotten something," he tells me, voice muffled by my top and vibrating through my chest in a way that makes my spine tingle.

"Oh?" I ask absently, trying to focus on the places he's touching me, the feelings it stirs up.

His hands flex, gripping my ass cheeks and pulling them apart a little to test me. I don't react. At this, he releases one cheek and runs a hand down my asscrack. When I tense a little, he keeps going until the tips of his fingers reach my pussy. He doesn't even have to push inside me to realize how wet I am already and he chuckles.

"Oh, kitten," he says as he pulls back to look at me, shaking his head. He's not surprised, but it always seems to delight him in the most unexpected way when I come to him like this, "Come here."

"But Daddy," I pout, but I know my eyes are smiling, "You have work to do."

Disbelief flashes in his gaze briefly, then amusement, then realization. He's been caught.

The predator has been conquered, but still when he grins, it holds every bit the predatory gleam.

"And we both know," he tells me as he tugs me down onto his lap, my thighs bracketing his hips and pulling our bodies flush so I can't miss the press of his hard cock against me, "the only thing I'm going to be getting done this afternoon..." his voice trails off as he pulls my head toward him, mouth latching onto my neck just over my now-racing pulse.

I moan, the sound needy and choked, but victorious. I tip my head back into his waiting hand that has slipped up my spine just for this reason. To catch me in my submission.

He kisses up the side of my neck, across my jaw, and when his mouth is just a breath from mine, he pauses. Waits.

"Is me." I whisper.

And we both know I'm right.