Daddy's Kitten

The cold of the handcuffs bit into Katherine Smith’s wrists, a stark contrast to the heat spreading through her body. Her legs were fastened with ropes, leaving her legs wide open to grant him easy access to her pussy. At nineteen, she had never felt so vulnerable.

Vincent Morris, thirty-six and commanding, with his broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes that always made her knees weak. His shadow fell over her as he stood beside the bed, his gaze a physical weight tracing the lines of her restrained form.

“Answer me,” he commanded, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in the charged air. “How many fucking men have taken pleasure from this body?”

Her chest rose sharply as his hand traced a slow path downward. His touch was calculated, patient in a way that made her skin prickle and her thoughts scatter. She shuddered, her lips parting on a breath she hadn’t planned to give.

“Breasts.” His thumb brushed a pebbled nipple, making her gasp. “Nipples.” His palm smoothed over the flat plane of her torso. “Torso.” Then his fingers hovered, a breath away from her core. “And this pretty, wet pussy.”

A helpless moan tore from Katherine’s throat. 

“Katherine,” he murmured, lifting her chin until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Look at me when I speak to you and I asked you a question.”

He locked onto her gaze as he feathered a single, maddening touch over her swollen clit. The sensation was so acute her vision blurred.

“Speak up,” he demanded, his finger circling with agonizing slowness. “How many have touched this clit? Made it swell, made it ache, made it horny for them? Tell me.”

“N-no one,” her voice trembled when she answered. “Not like this… never like this.”

His thumb brushed the sensitive hollow of her throat, lingered there, then drifted away. The absence of his touch felt sharper than its presence. Both of her wrists were bound, her submission complete. 

Vincent smiled with a predatory look. He admired how tightly she was held, how every twitch of desire was magnified by her inability to act on it. 

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please, Daddy… fuck me. I can’t hold it any longer.”

Her eyes dropped to the bulge straining against his trousers. The fabric threatened to tear from the throbbing hardness beneath. 

He watched her intense yearning and a smile forging deeper at the corners of his mouth as she pleaded. He was savoring her squirming, her begging, the proof that it was his touch that could unravel her, the desire to be filled by him was a physical ache, a hollow need pounding in time with her heartbeat. 

He adored her like this, a beautiful, but desperate mess. He moved closer, dipping a finger into his own mouth, soaking it thoroughly. When he pulled it out, he brought the glistening digit to one of her taut nipples, flicking and circling the peak.

“Ah! Daddy!”

That simple touch was a promise of the pleasure to come, a glimpse that made her crave the brutal invasion of his cock, a need to be stretched and claimed.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he growled, his voice rough with his own need. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll remember me every time you take a step next time. You’ll forget every name but mine.”

He then dipped a single finger into her soaking entrance. Without warning, he added two more fingers, curling them deep inside her.

Katherine’s back arched off the bed, a strangled cry on her lips as her eyes rolled back. He fingered her with ruthless precision, scissoring and stroking, finding a rhythm that had her straining against her bonds.

Suddenly, he withdrew. Her hands formed helpless fists above her head as he used his wet fingers to apply firm pressure on her screaming clit. Then he moved away. She watched, panting as he swiftly pulled the belt from his trousers and his hand came down in a sharp, stinging slap on her upturned ass.

She screamed and a grin of pure masculine satisfaction spread across his face, contented by her visceral reaction. She gasped for air, her back a tense bow as the delicious sting settled into a warm, radiating heat. Her eyes widened, pools of dark lust as he finally shoved his trousers and boxers down. His cock sprang free, huge, veiny and fully erect.

“This is what it’s like to be taken by him, to be pleasured by daddy.”

It was Katherine's last thought before she dissolved into the overwhelming sensation by her dear step uncle. 

ALL OF THIS BEGAN AROUND THREE MONTHS BACK……

Rain soaked Katherine to the bone as she walked the lonely path home, her arms wrapped around herself as though they could keep her heart from splintering further. Water cascaded down her neck, tracing icy trails between her full breasts, making her nipples harden into tight peaks against the wet fabric, making her wet in a way her boyfriend could never. 

Well, ex-boyfriend, she corrected herself bitterly.

The memory of this afternoon was a fresh wound in her mind. 

Ben, her now ex-boyfriend, had been too busy for weeks. So, she’d planned a surprise. She'd arrived with ingredients for his favorite pasta, a bottle of wine and the silky lingerie beneath her dress. She’d entered his apartment with her spare key.

The first wrong note was the shoes, his and a pair of white stilettos that weren't hers tossed carelessly by the door. Ben was compulsively neat. Her pulse thundered as she moved forward.

A voice in her head screamed at her to leave, to spare herself, but a stubborn curiosity propelled her forward on silent feet. As she neared the half-open bedroom door, the sounds became unmistakable, the slick slap of skin on skin, ragged breaths and low greedy moans.

Ben was sprawled on the bed, naked and glistening, his thick cock buried deep inside Bekka, her best friend since high school who was surely not as beautiful and tempting as she. Her world didn’t just crack, it exploded.

She was straddling him, her hips grinding down in a rhythm that made Katherine's core clench involuntarily. Bekka's breasts bounced with each thrust, her back arched as she rode him hard, her pussy lips stretched wide around his shaft.

"Fuck! you're so deep," Bekka moaned, her voice husky and laced with fake innocence, the word twisting like a knife in Katherine's gut. 

Ben's hands gripped Bekka's ass, spreading her cheeks as he bucked upward, his balls slapping against her with wet smacks. Then his voice twisted with a lust he’d never shown her: “God! you’re so hot. Fucking ride me, baby.”

Katherine's breath hitched. She watched, transfixed as Bekka leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to tease Ben's nipple while she clenched around him. She turned to flee, but then Bekka’s voice cut through the haze.

“You like that? Tell me no one makes you feel like I do, no one rides you like I do. Feel how wet I am for you? Soaking your dick.”

Ben groaned, his hips snapping harder, the bed creaking under their frenzy. "God, yes, you're dripping all over me. Keep going, make me cum inside that pussy."

Katherine's hand trembled on the doorknob, she shoved the door open. The bang it made against the wall was louder than their sin.

Ben's eyes widened in shock, his cock slipping free from Bekka with a lewd pop, glistening with her juices. Bekka yelped, yanking the sheet up and he scrambled, tripping over his own pants.

“Kat, wait, it’s not……” he began, but the words died in the frozen silence.

Bekka clutched the sheet to her chest tighter, her cheeks flushed not just from orgasm but embarrassment. "Katherine, oh my God, this……"

"Isn't what?" Katherine's voice cracked. "My best friend bouncing on my boyfriend's dick, screaming like a whore!" Her gaze flicked to Ben, hurt and hunger warring in her eyes.

Ben stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. "Baby, listen, it's not like that. Bekka... she just..."

"Just what? Fucks you better?" Katherine laughed bitterly, wiping her eyes.

The breakup speech that followed was a blur of cruel clarity. “You’re frigid, Kat. You never get wet for me. You never responded to my touches the way you should. You don’t even let me touch you enough.” They had sex only once and he had commented, “You’re dry as a desert. It’s like fucking sandpaper.”

The rain hit her like a punishment as Ben's words echoed all the while. 

Katherine pushed the heavy front door open and stepped inside. The house greeted her with a hollow stillness. Water dripped from her hair onto the polished floor, breathing in air that smelled faintly of polish and something floral. Crystal lights glowed softly overhead, casting long reflections across marble floors that were always too clean, too perfect.

The mansion never felt like home. No matter how long they had lived here, it still felt borrowed like a place they were only allowed to exist in, not belong to.

Her father had been dead for three years now.

James Smith had died when Katherine was sixteen. The memory hit her the same way it always did. After the funeral, life had shattered all at once with bills piled up, responsibilities multiplied.

Her mother, Sophia, tried to carry everything on her shoulders, the house, the expenses, the expectations, Katherine and everything else. Slowly, the weight became too much.

Katherine remembered the nights her mother stayed awake with spreadsheets glowing on her laptop, the whispered phone calls behind closed doors, the way stress hollowed her eyes. It didn’t take long before reality caught up with them. They had sold what they could, cut back wherever possible, but it was never enough.

A few months later, everything changed. They moved into this mansion. Sophia had told her it belonged to her stepbrother, a man Katherine had never met, never seen, never even spoken to.  All she knew was his name and the fact that he was obscenely wealthy. 

Now, standing in the quiet hallway, Katherine heard her mother’s voice drifting from the living room.

“Yes, I understand,” her mother said excitedly. “I still can’t believe you pulled this off. You have no idea what this means for us.”

Katherine frowned.

She didn’t understand what could possibly inspire that kind of excitement. Curiosity flickered briefly, but it died just as quickly, she didn’t have the strength to absorb it tonight. 

Quietly, she turned toward the staircase, ready to disappear into her room and shut the world out.

“Katherine,” her mother called from behind.

The single word stopped her.

Sophia’s voice carried something unfamiliar, excitement edged with urgency, almost trembling. Katherine hesitated, then turned slowly.

“Yes, mom?”