The Playeur

"Daddy, you're going to make me come," she whimpers.

"Do it," he says.

She comes. Pleasure prickles in her nipples, her sex, her compromised mind. Her head falls back on his shoulder. Her back arches. Her chest thrusts forward. Still, he keeps his fingers on her nipple. He molests it all through her orgasm.

She sinks back against him.

"You're such a bad girl," he croons. "Coming so hard for Daddy as you think about getting raped by other men."

His words hit her in the core of her chest. They're so naughty. So wrong.

"Have you ever come just from this?" he asks as he continues caressing her nipple.

She shakes her head.

"So many virginities to take from you," he grins. "The thought of getting gang raped made you come easier, didn't it?"

She can't answer him. After that last orgasm, she can barely keep her eyes open.

"Now go ask for that dance," he says.

"No, Daddy," she slurs.

He moves to the end of the bench. He stands up and pulls her upright.

"Which one are you going to ask?" he says.

She looks at him with wide eyes. He really means it.

She looks around the club. How is she supposed to pick someone?

"Choose carefully, little girl," he says.

What is that supposed to mean?

"Daddy, let's just go home," she says.

He can see she's slurring her words. Her stance is unsteady. Her eyes are unfocused. She's so vulnerable, and he loves it.

"Not until you've danced with another man," he says.

"But why, Daddy?" she whines. She leans against him, clings to his shirt. "I belong to you. Only you."

He smiles. He doesn't get tired of hearing her say that. But he wants to play. "I know. And that means I get to do whatever I want with you, and you're going to do whatever I say. Do you understand?"

She pouts. But she nods.

He grips her wrists and pulls her hands off of his shirt. He angles her towards the room.

"Go," he says with a pat to her bottom.

She takes timid steps away from him. Timid, teetering steps. She holds her arms around her body. Her cardigan is so low up top and so high down low that she feels as good as naked. She looks around. There's the group of men who were watching her before. She looks away in embarrassment. She tries to avoid them, but she somehow doesn't walk in a straight line.

She finds herself in front of them. If she could count right know, she'd know that there are five of them.

"How are you doing tonight, babe?" one of them asks. "What can we do you for?"

"Um..." She turns around to look at Dave. He's just standing there and grinning.

"Is your boyfriend gonna beat us up for talking to his girl?" another one says.

Not my boyfriend, she thinks hazily. "Could I ask...if one of you would dance with me?" Her words are slurred.

"What was that, babe?"

"I want...I want to dance," she says. She loses her balance. She stumbles forward into their arms.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

Madeline wakes up to the feeling of her sex being ravaged.

She tries to scream. To struggle. To open her eyes. But she can't. Something's covering her mouth. Something's covering her eyes. Her arms are tied behind her back. Her ankles are bound. She's flattened against a hard floor, face down. Someone is taking her from behind.

"Oh, fuck yes," she hears. She panics harder. It's not Dave's voice.

She screams into the cloth. Her screams are muffled. Her body rebounds again and again from the man's thrusting. Her sex is throbbing with sensation.

"Where's your boyfriend now?" he says.

She feels the man lean down against her body. She hears his panting. His tongue swirls into her ear. She screams a muffled scream.

She feels a hand pull the cloth down from her mouth. She screams with all her might. She sobs.

His lips assault her lips. He nips the side of her chin with his teeth.

The man sits back up. He lifts her hips so she's kneeling. Her cheek is pressed to the floor. He pounds into her exposed sex. She sobs hysterically. The blindfold is wet with her tears.

He slaps her bottom. Another slap. The pain intensifies everything else she's feeling.

"Come on my cock, you fucking slut," the man says.

She can't help it. She comes. This is what her body responds to. Being used. Being raped.

Her orgasm is sharp and charged. Violent. Fiery. Her sobs become moans.

"Fuck!" She hears the man come. A moan. Another moan. A sigh.

Her head spins with pleasure, intoxication, and now confusion. The man sounds like Dave now.

The man turns her onto her side. She hears him laugh. It's Dave's laugh. The blindfold is torn from her face. She looks up at him. It is Dave. She's on the floor of his apartment.

She sobs in relief. "Oh, Dave," she sniffles. "I thought..."

He keeps laughing. "You really thought you were being raped?"

She nods. Tears keep dripping from her eyes.

"Thought you'd get that lucky, huh?" he grins. "Which one did you hope it was? The one with the nose piercing?"

He starts untying her arms and ankles.

"That's the one I got to record the lines," he says. He holds up his phone. "Such a helpful guy."

She doesn't say anything. She's still trembling from the intensity of it all.

He picks her up from the floor. He carries her to his bedroom. He lays her in his bed.

He kisses her forehead. Then he leaves the room. For a moment, she feels terrified. Alone. But he's only going to turn off all the lights. He comes back right after. He crawls into bed next to her and cuddles her under the blankets. He strokes her hair.

A tiny part of him is worried at how fast she came from being fucked by a stranger, even a pretend one. He chalks it up to how well he cocked her up.

"How are you feeling, love?" he asks.

She doesn't know how to answer. She really thought she was being raped.

And it made her come so hard. It was more thrilling than she ever could have imagined. More satisfying than she ever could have asked for. She's more of a sinner than she knew. What if it really had been one of the men from the club? What if all of his friends had been there, too? The thought makes her shiver with fear. And not just fear.

"Madeline?"

"I'm so glad it was you," she says. But would she have been even more glad if it wasn't? She pushes the question away and buries her face into his neck.

He smiles and holds her. "Tell me who owns you."

"You, Daddy. I'm yours only."

He kisses her forehead again. Yeah, the other thirty-one were fun. But she's the one he can count on.

She draws in a shaky breath. Her own depravity isn't the only thing disturbing her. She knew that the Playeur liked to play pranks, but this wasn't just a prank. He tricked her. How could anyone do something so cruel to another person? No—how could he do something so cruel to her?

What he did was so far from act of love that there's no doubt in her mind: He has no love for you.

The realization hurts. But it should. She's a sinner. She deserves to be punished.

She prays to God. She tells Him how sorry she is.

Her tears keep falling.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

Last night, Madeline awoke to her sex being pounded. This morning, she awakes to her hair being pet.

She opens her eyes. She sees Dave looking at her.

He kisses her forehead. "Good morning, my little Madeline."

"Good morning, Daddy," she says quietly. Her body feels lazy. Her mind feels heavy, and the aftereffect of the alcohol isn't the only weight on it.

She looks into his eyes. In them, she sees a kind of soft warmth. She's never noticed that look from him. If she didn't know better, she'd call it love. She smiles. When she smiles, his look only gets softer and warmer.

"What time is it?" she asks.

He picks his phone up from the nightstand. "Eleven," he says.

"Oh, no! I missed Mass!" she says.

She quickly gets out of bed. Too quickly. Her head was already muddled, but now the blood rushes out of it. She loses her balance. She starts to fall back onto the bed. In a flash, he sits up and catches her.

"Careful, baby girl," he says.

"Sorry," she says. "But I need to go so I can make the noon service."

He pulls her back against him, back to bed. The blankets are tangled between the two of them. He wraps his arms around her waist.

"No," she whines.

"Any chance I can convince you to skip church for one day?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Any chance I can convince you to come to church with me?"

"What's in it for me? And don't say salvation."

She laughs. "You don't have to come. But I have to go." She starts to move his arms off her waist. He lets her pull his wrists a little bit away. But then he takes hold of her arms. He folds them across her chest in an X, then folds his arms over hers. When she pushes against his arms, he abruptly tightens his hold. She gasps. He makes her feel powerless, and that makes her core clench.

"You're too little to fight me," he murmurs.

He trails his right hand down her stomach. Her eyes flutter closed.

She feels her sex getting wet, her skin getting hot, her breath getting sparse. She wants this right now. But that's exactly why she can't have this right now. After all her sins, Mass is pretty much her only saving grace, and she's already missed the one she was supposed to be at.

"No—Daddy, I need to go," she breathes.

She squirms, but he holds her tight against his body. His hand touches her clit. She gasps.

"Dave, I mean it," she breathes. "Red."

His hand freezes. Then he pulls it away and lets go of her.

"It's really that important to you, huh?" he says.

He abruptly gets out of bed.

"Dave," she says. She sits up. She didn't mean to make him mad.

"Shower's that way, your clothes are there," he points. He doesn't look at her.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," she pleads.

"Go on, you're late," he says.

"I'll come back right after," she says.

"Don't bother."

He pulls on some boxers and walks out of the room.

She just sits there. Alone. A minute ago, she was reveling in his compassion. Now all she's sensing is revulsion. He doesn't want her here. He doesn't want her.

He doesn't love you, the reminder echoes. And now you've gone and made him angry. It's all your fault. She starts to cry, but she's quiet. She gets out of bed and quickly gets dressed. Every article of clothing feels tainted.

She goes to the kitchen. He's there. She doesn't look at him as she walks to the door. She wonders if he's going to say something. She wants him to say something. She wants him to say anything. He's silent.

She looks down. She mumbles through her tears, "It's okay if you never want to see me again. This has still been the most fun I've ever had."

She opens the door and closes it quietly behind her.

She follows pathways familiar enough that she can navigate them through blurry tears. Over to the elevator. Down the thirty-two floors. Lobby to sidewalk, sidewalk to cab, cab to home.

The whole time, she wonders if he's going to chase after her, but he doesn't. The whole time, she wonders if he's going to text her, but he doesn't. She agonizes over where she went wrong. Sleeping there overnight? Sleeping with him at all? Reaching out to him on his website in the first place? Being weak against temptation? Having those temptations in the first place?

Maybe it's a good thing he doesn't want to see her again. She wouldn't have the willpower to stop herself from sinning with him more. So much more. So many more times.

She goes into her apartment and takes off her corrupted clothes. She quickly showers, not even waiting for the water to get warm first. She needs to repent. A cold shower is the least she can do.

The water flows, the crying stops. She thoroughly washes her hair and scrubs herself down. She even rinses her sex with her hand. She feels between the folds. They're very sensitive. They tingle at her touch.

She dries off and throws on her clothes. She looks at the time. She can still make it to twelve o'clock Mass. New time, same sanctuary. She's starting to feel better. She heads back out the door.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

She walks up to the church.

"Madeline!" a cheerful voice says.

She turns to look. It's her coworker Ted.

"Ted," she says. "What a nice surprise." She didn't know he was Catholic.

"Is it your first time here?" he asks. "I haven't seen you here before."

"Oh, I usually go to the 10:15 Mass," she says. "I was...running late."

"Well, this is great," he says. "Now we can sit together."

They go in and make their holy-water signs of the cross.

"I usually sit here," he whispers to her as he leads her to a pew near the front.

"Me, too," she smiles.

"I knew I liked you for a reason," he says.

They genuflect and enter the pew. The priest begins the service. Madeline feels the weights lifting from her mind. They might return later, but for now, it's a relief to feel safe in God's house and have the comfort of His grace.

She doesn't want Mass to end. She doesn't want to have to carry her heart out of this shelter and into the lonely reality of the world.

When Mass ends, she thinks about going to confession. But Ted is still here, so she'll at least walk with him as he leaves.

They go to the doors of the church. More holy water. They step out onto the sidewalk.

Her stomach drops. Dave is waiting for her. The weights crash down again.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

Dave's in his kitchen watching Madeline walk out his door.

It's not the first time a girl has walked out that door. In fact, it's the thirty-second time. No big deal.

So why does he want to run after her? Why does he want to call her name and hear his name on her lips? Why does he want to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to his bed and never let her leave?

Is it because this is the first time he's seen a girl walk away crying?

Is it because this is the first time he's had a sub use her safeword?

Is it because this is the first time he's ever been in—

No. Don't even say it. Don't even think it.

He's a player. He's the Playeur. He's the one who does the playing. He's not going to let love play him. Damn it, he said it. Love.

There's nothing funny about love. Nothing light or laughable about it. Love is a trap. A weight. A burden. He's seen it destroy all his friends. And then what do they do? They go chasing after it again. Suckers. He's not making that mistake even once.

Besides, there's definitely no point in loving someone who obviously doesn't love him. "It's okay if you never want to see me again." What kind of person who ever wants to see someone again says something like that? She doesn't see him the way he sees her. That is, the way he almost sees her. It's not actually a way he sees her. There is no way.

Now that that's settled, he opens the maps app on his phone. Church of the Sacred Heart, she'd said.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

Dave strides up to them.

"Who's this?" he says. He's smiling, but it's a challenging smile. A hostile smile.

"Dave, this is my coworker Ted. Ted, this is my—my friend Dave," she says.

"Boyfriend," Dave says.

Madeline's heart jumps at the word.

Dave extends his hand. Ted shakes it.

"So you're the lucky guy," Ted says. He's nothing but friendly.

Dave hides his surprise. Madeline talked about him?

Ted says, "Madeline's been head over heels for weeks. Right, Madeline?"

She blushes and looks away.

"You two have a good day. See tomorrow, Madeline," Ted says. He walks away.

Dave stares at Madeline. His eyes burn into her. She can't tell if their fire is of passion or anger. She guesses anger. "Head over heels?" he says quietly. "You haven't broken my third rule, have you, love?"

She shakes her head. If she ever wants to sleep with him again, she needs to play the part.

Dave hides his disappointment. Of course she hasn't broken the rule. She doesn't love you.

"You're not in love with him, are you?" He nods in the direction Ted left.

She shakes her head very surely this time.

"Because when I said you could ask someone to dance, I didn't mean you could flirt with men you actually wanted to date," he warns.

"I don't want to date Ted," she reassures him.

"Why not? He's good-looking. He's Catholic. He's probably thought about fucking you in a conference room or two."

She gasps and shakes her head.

He takes her hand. He starts walking away with her.

She's happy but confused. Telling her not to bother coming back, but then introducing himself as her boyfriend. Letting her believe he never wanted to see her again, but then holding her hand in broad daylight. What's he playing at?

"Why did you tell Ted that you were my boyfriend?" she asks.

"So he knew he couldn't have you." A voice in the pit of his heart says, And because I want to be. His head tells his heart to shut the fuck up.

"Oh," she says. "Does that—does that mean we're still engaged? I mean—" she falters.

He smirks at her.

"That's not what I meant," she flounders. "I mean, are we still..."

"Still fucking?" he supplies.

She nods sheepishly.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he grins.

It's like he was never mad.

They enter a parking garage. They reach his car. It's in a far corner. He opens the passenger door for her, she gets in, and he closes it. He goes around to the driver's seat and gets in.

She asks, "Where are we—"

Suddenly, his hand is in her hair. She gasps. He steers her face towards him. He kisses her. Tongue on tongue, teeth on lips. She whimpers.

Emotions burn and surge inside him. Power. Anger. Need. He needs to reclaim her. To control her. To be more important to her than church or sex or any other man. But it'll never happen. She doesn't love him. She just loves getting fucked by him. Fine. He'll fuck her hard. He'll fuck her with all his power and anger and need. He'll fuck her better than anyone else will ever fuck her.

He leans over her. His hand goes to her right side, and she thinks he's going to touch her, but he does something with the seat. He lets go of her hair and pushes her shoulder. Her whole seat leans back. A thrill shakes her. Is he really going to take her right here?

He is. He opens his pants. He climbs over her. She sees his hard cock.

"No! Dave, no—"

He grabs her chin. "Uh uh," he scolds. "It's not 'Dave' to you."

She gasps. "Daddy..." Saying the word makes her mind melt. She didn't think she'd get to say it again. "Daddy, please don't rape me—"

He silences her with a kiss. It's rough, urgent. It makes her whimper.

He lets go of her chin. He lifts up her legs. Her feet press against the dashboard. The fabric of her skirt falls to reveal her panties. He reaches down and rips her panties apart with two yanks. She yelps when the elastic digs into her hips.

"Daddy—mmf!" Her torn panties get stuffed into her mouth. She burns with embarrassment. She breathes in the scent of her arousal. So much arousal.

Her hands automatically go to her mouth to take out the panties, but he grabs her wrists. He puts her arms above her head and pins her wrists against the top of the seat's headrest, elbows pointed outwards. He holds them there with his left hand. He moves his right hand down to grip her waist.

Her sex is exposed and open towards his swollen cock. He rubs his cock on the outside of it.

"Mm—!" she tries to protest.

"Keep fighting, little girl," he croons. "Keep pretending you can stop me."

His cock is abrading her clit. Her eyes roll back in her head. She hums and moans.

"You're so wet, little girl," he breathes. "Are you wet for me?"

She whimpers.

"Or are you wet for him?"

He reads the confusion on her face as guilt.

"You were lusting after that pretty boy's cock, weren't you? Is that what you were praying for when you got on your knees next to him? Huh?"