On My Knees For Daddy

The floor was cold beneath Vienna's knees.

She knelt in the center of the room, naked now except for the collar. The black lace was gone, tossed somewhere onto the floor. The silk ropes were coiled beside her on the bed, waiting. Ezra stood in front of her, still fully dressed, his charcoal mask hiding half his face.

The difference between them made her feel small. Exposed. His.

He circled her slowly, and she kept her eyes forward, the way he had taught her just minutes ago. Eyes forward. Back straight. Hands on your thighs. You kneel for me, not for the room.

She had never knelt for anyone before. She had never been told to hold her body in a certain way, to present herself like an offering. But as his footsteps moved behind her, she understood. This was not about humiliation. This was about surrender.

And she was learning that surrender felt like freedom.

"Your first orgasm," he said, stopping behind her. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. "How did it feel?"

"Like nothing I have ever felt before."

"Good nothing or bad nothing?"

She swallowed. The collar pressed against her throat. "Good nothing. Like my body finally woke up."

He moved to stand in front of her again. He lowered himself into the armchair, legs spread, elbows on the armrests. He looked like a king surveying his kingdom. And she was his throne.

"Come here," he said. "Crawl."

Vienna's face flushed. Crawl. Like an animal. Like something owned.

She hesitated for only a second. Then she lowered herself to her hands and knees and crawled across the cold floor to his feet.

When she reached him, he placed his hand on top of her head. Not rough. Just resting there, his palm warm through her hair.

"Good girl," he said. "Now sit back on your heels. Hands behind your back."

She obeyed. Her spine straightened. Her chin lifted. His hand slid from her head down to her jaw, tilting her face up to look at him.

"You are beautiful like this," he said. "On your knees. Waiting. Do you know what I am going to do to you now?"

"No, Sir."

"I am going to make you use your mouth. Not on me. Not yet. First, you are going to tell me something."

"Anything."

His thumb traced her lower lip. "You said you wanted to be ruined. Choked. Marked. Tell me what that means to you. Not what you read in a book. Not what you think I want to hear. What does ruined mean to Vienna?"

She had to think about it. The word had felt safe when she typed it into her profile at 2 a.m., half drunk and half desperate. Now, with his thumb on her lip and his eyes on her face, it felt like a confession.

"It means being taken apart," she said slowly. "Piece by piece. Until there is nothing left of the girl who is always in control. Until I am just need. Just want. Just please and more and do not stop."

His eyes darkened. "And choked?"

"I want to feel your hand on my throat and know that you could stop my breath. But you will not. Because you want to hear me moan more than you want to hear me silent."

"Marked?"

"I want to wake up tomorrow and see you on my skin. Bruises. Bite marks. The outline of your fingers. I want to press on them in the morning and remember that for one night, I was not alone."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, soft and almost tender.

"You are going to be the death of me, princess."

He stood and walked to the table. When he turned back, he was holding a small leather paddle. Black. Smooth. Small enough to fit in his palm.

Vienna's breath caught.

"Stand up," he said. "Bend over the bed. Hands on the sheets."

She stood on shaky legs. She walked to the bed and bent over, pressing her palms flat against the dark gray sheets. Her back was curved. Her ass was bare and raised toward him. She could not see him anymore, but she heard his footsteps approach.

"Count," he said.

The first strike landed on her right cheek.

It was not as hard as she expected. A sharp sting that bloomed into warmth, spreading through her skin like slow fire. She gasped.

"One," she said.

The second strike landed on her left cheek. Harder this time.

"Two."

The third strike landed in the center, directly over her most sensitive spot. Vienna cried out.

"Three."

He paused. His hand smoothed over her heated skin, palm cool against the sting. She shivered.

"Color?" he asked.

"Green," she whispered. Green for go. Green for more. Green for please do not stop.

He struck again. Harder. Four. Five. Six. Each one landed in a different place, painting her skin with heat. By the seventh, tears were streaming down her face again, but she was not sad. She was not scared. She was floating somewhere outside her body, somewhere safe and warm and owned.

"Nine," she sobbed.

One more. The hardest yet. Her knees buckled slightly, and she caught herself on her elbows.

"Ten," she breathed.

The paddle clattered onto the bed. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the fresh marks, and she hissed at the contact.

"You took that so well," he murmured behind her. "So well, princess. Look at you. Crying on my sheets, marked by my hand, and still begging for more with your body."

She had not realized she was arching her back. Pushing her ass back toward him. Begging without words.

"I want more," she admitted.

"I know." His hand slid between her legs from behind. She was soaking wet again, embarrassingly wet, and he groaned when he felt it. "You are dripping down your thighs. All from a few strikes of a paddle. Do you know how rare you are, Vienna?"

"Rare?"

"A woman who takes pain and turns it into pleasure. That is rare. That is precious." He pushed two fingers inside her without warning, and she cried out, her elbows buckling completely. Her cheek pressed against the sheets. "And that is mine."

"Yes," she gasped. "Yours. All yours."

He fucked her with his fingers, rough and fast, while his other hand pressed down on the small of her back, holding her in place. The sound was wet and obscene. She moaned into the sheets, her bound wrists a memory, her collar a promise.

"I want you to say something for me," he said, his voice strained.

"Anything."

"I want you to call me Daddy."

Her heart stopped. Then it raced.

Daddy. The word had felt forbidden even in her private journals. She had typed it and deleted it and typed it again. She had never said it out loud. Never thought she would.

But now, with his fingers deep inside her and his hand on her marked skin, the word rose in her throat like a prayer.

"Daddy," she whispered.

"Louder."

"Daddy," she said, stronger.

"Again."

"Daddy. Daddy. Please, Daddy, do not stop."

He pulled his fingers out. She whimpered at the loss. But then she heard his belt unbuckling, his zipper lowering, and her whole body trembled with anticipation.

"Turn over," he ordered.

She flipped onto her back, legs still hanging off the bed, and looked up at him.

He was still masked. Still dressed except for his pants, which hung open. His cock was hard and thick and intimidating, and she had never wanted anything more in her life.

"Spread your legs," he said. "Show me how wet you are for Daddy."

She spread her legs wide. The cool air hit her flushed skin. His gaze dropped to where she was open and wet and ready, and he cursed under his breath.

"You are going to take all of me," he said, positioning himself between her thighs. "And you are going to cry. And you are going to beg. And when I tell you to come, you are going to come so hard you forget your own name. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy."

He pushed inside her.

Vienna screamed.

Not from pain. From fullness. From the impossible stretch of him filling her completely. No man had ever felt like this. No man had ever reached this deep. He paused when he was fully seated, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot on her lips.

"Look at me," he said.

She looked into his masked eyes.

"You are mine now," he said. "Every part of you. Every orgasm. Every tear. Every whispered Daddy. You belong to me."

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, Daddy. I belong to you."

He began to move.

And Vienna Cross, for the first time in her life, understood what it meant to be truly, completely, beautifully ruined.