Page 52 of For Her Own Good

He nuzzles at my shoulder, his beard tickling the sensitive skin, and I’m trying to breathe. Which is harder than it sounds. Lucky for my prospects of not passing out, he pauses and looks up at me.

“I want to touch your beautiful tits. Kiss them, maybe suck on them. Is that okay?”

Jesus. Is thatokay? There is a very short list of things I would like better than that, and I suspect many of those are on his list of Things to Do to Drive Starla Mad.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I don’t know whether to hate him for this, or love him, but I think it’s the latter. It’s just difficult. Will it get easier or will there always be this delicious sense of taboo that has me squirming? I’m not totally sure what to hope for.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“What a good girl you are, and how I’m going to enjoy eating you all up.”

He puts his weight onto one elbow and leans to the side, cupping my breast in his hand and giving it a squeeze that takes my breath away. I wasn’t expecting it to be so hard, but I’m not sorry at all. And then he’s dipping his head and taking my nipple in his mouth, tonguing the stiff peak and then, holy Mary mother of god, suckling. Drawing on me as though he might actually get something out of me if he tries hard enough. It feels fucking phenomenal and sends a burst of want straight to my pussy. And I nearly orgasm when he closes his teeth around the taut little bud.

“Ah!”

He lets up the slightest bit and strokes my ribcage. He’s waiting, I think for me to object if I want to, but I don’t want to. I actually wish he had two heads or at least two mouths so he could do the same thing to the other breast simultaneously. But maybe it’s best he’s only got the one since my brain is practically melting out my ears as things are.

He squeezes my neck softly, rubbing his thumb below my ear, and it makes me purr. Also makes me feel pliable and supple, more so when his hand that’s been cupping my breast circles my wrist and pins it to the bed.

I’m being held and cradled, but also controlled and turned on. It’s about as perfect as I could ask for. He bites me once more and I gasp. As much as I’d like it, he doesn’t switch immediately to the other breast, but studies my expression. Can he see how turned on I am? What he’s done to me? Or do I merely feel as though “Daddy’s Horny Little Slut” is written across my forehead?

“Do you like this, little girl? Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

He raises his brows expectantly, and I choke on a half laugh, half cry.

“Yes, Daddy. That feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you suck on my tits and bite my nipples.”

Oh god, my face is going to burn off. And then I won’t have a face. That would be really unfortunate. Because I kinda like my face. Lowry also seems to like my face. He’s smiling into it now, like I’m the best, prettiest, and most important thing he’s ever seen. It’s kind of embarrassing, but also an incredible feeling. Like maybe that could actually be true?

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He kisses me then, pressing his lips to mine, first softly and then not as softly, but still gentle, seeking permission to lick into my mouth, and I open for him because what else could I possibly do? I want to give myself over to him. I want to be as good as he thinks I am, as special, as remarkable, as precious.

I take his kiss, receive it like an offering, and sacrifice myself to it. He can set me on fire, burn me all up, but I don’t think he will. I’m not a candle, I’m a phoenix.

His fingers tighten on my wrist and I groan into his mouth, feeling almost delirious with it. Feeling out of sorts and like this is a fever dream, like it can’t possibly be real because it’s too perfect.

When he finally sees fit to draw away from me, he looks a bit dazed himself.

“Have you ever played with yourself, Star? Rubbed your clit, pushed a finger or two inside yourself? Made yourself come?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s good. A girl should know her own body, what makes her feel good. Would you like it if I touched you like that too?”

My response this time is more of a whine than a sentence, but he lets me get away with it, perhaps sensing that there’s not much left in my head besides wanting and feeling.

“Then spread your legs, pretty girl. Let your daddy make you feel good.”

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