Page 71 of Bartholomew
“Good girl.” His hands cupped my breasts, feeling their weight, those thumbs teasing my nipples and making the lace rub roughly against the tips. “Arms up, hands clasped behind your head.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command, and I immediately obeyed.
“Fuck, you look good like this.” He adjusted my position, making my breasts jut out and into his hands. “On display for me. I could just sit back in a chair and watch you like this. Watch your delicious body, all ready for me. I wonder how ready you are, little firefly.”
His hand moved down my body, up under the skirt of the chemise. He slipped the gusset to the side, his fingers feeling the wet fabric and sliding into my folds deftly.
“Ollie,” I whimpered.
“Ah, ah. Try again,” he corrected me. I inwardly cursed.
“Daddy,” I rectified, doing my best to quiet those voices.
“That’s my girl.” Mercy, the way he praised, made me clench in need.
“It feels like you like my words, firefly. Your pussy is nearly drenching itself every time I speak,” he teased.
“Fuck.” The word slipped past my lips without thought.
“Fuck is absolutely right, baby. Use all those new words. It makes me hard for you.” I couldn’t handle his words. I could, but I couldn’t. They made my brain turn to mush, unable to think of anything but him. His touch, his effect on my body. Those words. Those lips. Unbidden, the image of his head between my thighs, his lips wrapped around my clit, came into my mind.
“Mercy,” I breathed out, wanting so badly to close my legs and rub them together. Anything to ease the ache that was building in my core. My hips rocked against his hand of their own volition.
“You’ll be begging for mercy by the time this night is through.” His promise only strengthened my arousal. “Come with me, firefly.”
I lowered my arms, but with a quick snap of his fingers; he stopped their descent.
“Arms stay up. Think of it as a kinky version of Simon Says,” he teased, that smile of his flooding my panties once again. With his hand on my lower back, he guided me into the bathroom and in front of the mirror.
“Here’s what you’re going to do for me,” he began, kissing the top of my shoulder, his eyes fixed on mine through the mirror’s reflection. “You are going to tell me three things about your body that you love.”
His words shocked me. I wracked my brain, trying to come up with anything about my physical form that I truly loved. And coming up completely empty.
“It’s not a hard question, love,” he whispered against my skin. Every time he used that word, I felt butterflies explode in the depths of my stomach. “Maybe you need a little inspiration.”
His hand was suddenly between my thighs again, moving my panties to the side, his fingers teasing and toying with my slick folds.
“Oh God,” I groaned.
“No God here, love. Just Daddy.” His voice vibrated over my skin, goose pimples marking my flesh in its wake.
“Yes, Daddy.” I looked in the mirror, watching his lips touch my skin, watching his arm move behind me as his fingers delved deeper within my folds. With a tug of his opposite hand, he pulled my hips back, giving him more room to play.
“Three things, firefly,” he gently reminded me, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of my neck, nearly distracting me again.
“I like my eyes,” I shuddered out breathlessly. His fingers found my clit, circling and tickling the nub into full arousal. My head dropped in pleasure.
Smack!
I cried out in shock as his hand disappeared from my warmth and smacked solidly against my folds in reprimand.
“Eyes on the mirror, firefly. If you look away again, you’ll receive ten smacks to that swollen little clit of yours.” His words should have scared me, but they only heightened my arousal, my need, for him. “And you can do better that I like my eyes.”
“My eyes are a beautiful blue color. I do truly like them,” I answered again, my eyes focused on the mirror.
“Beautifully done, love. Another,” he commanded, his fingers twirling and toying with my little nub.
“I have an hourglass figure, just as you said. When I wear the clothes given to me at home, it’s hard to tell, but in something like this…” I trailed off, my eyes roving over my form in the lacy garment. “It highlights my figure, showing my curves. It makes me feel feminine and soft.”
“Absolutely lovely. Your figure is so soft and so inviting. It makes it hard for me to keep my hands off of you,” he murmured, kissing along the back of my neck now.
