Page 92 of Bratva Daddy
"Stay in position," he reminded me when I started to close my legs slightly. "Present means completely open, completely available."
The first touch of lube made me gasp—cool and slick against sensitive skin I'd never imagined anyone touching. His finger circled slowly, spreading the wetness, letting me adjust to the foreign sensation. I was trembling constantly now, pulling against the silk ropes not to escape but to ground myself in their hold.
"Breathe, little one," he instructed, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. "That's it. Nice and deep. Let Daddy take care of you."
One finger pressed gently, barely breaching, and my whole body clenched in response. He stayed still, letting me adjust, whispering praise that made me relax despite the strangeness of the invasion. When I softened, he pressed deeper, working me open with patience I didn't know he possessed.
"You're doing so well," he murmured, adding more lube, making everything impossibly slick. "Such a good girl, letting Daddy prepare you properly."
A second finger joined the first, stretching me wider, and I moaned at the intensity of it. Not pain exactly, but overwhelming sensation that made every nerve ending fire at once. He worked me slowly, thoroughly, until my hips were moving without my permission, seeking more of the strange, intense feeling.
"I think you're ready," he said, withdrawing his fingers and leaving me empty and aching.
The plug was cool against my entrance, hard and unforgiving where his fingers had been warm and flexible. He pressed it forward slowly, letting me feel every inch as it opened me wider than his fingers had. Just when I thought I couldn't take more,it slipped fully inside, the base nestling against me exactly as designed.
"Oh God," I gasped, the fullness unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Every tiny movement made it shift inside me, sending sparks through my entire body.
"Good girl," he praised, moving to kneel at the foot of the bed. "Now Daddy's going to taste you. But you don't have permission to come. No matter how good it feels, no matter how much you need it, you wait for Daddy's permission."
His mouth started at my ankle, just the lightest brush of lips against skin. Then the inside of my calf, tongue tracing patterns that made me pull against the restraints. By the time he reached my knee, I was panting, the plug making every sensation ten times more intense than usual.
He worked his way up my thigh with excruciating slowness, sometimes using his tongue, sometimes just breathing against my skin until I whimpered. When he finally reached the apex of my thighs, I was shaking so hard the bed frame creaked.
"Please," I begged before he'd even touched me properly. "Please, Daddy, I need—"
"Shh," he soothed, and his breath against my soaked flesh made me cry out. "I know what you need. But did Daddy say you could have it?"
His tongue finally, finally made contact, just the lightest swipe across my swollen clit, and I screamed. The plug made everything more—more intense, more overwhelming, more impossible to control. I was already on the edge from that single touch, teetering on the precipice of an orgasm that would probably kill me.
Then he pulled away.
"No!" The word tore from my throat, desperate and raw. "Please, please, I was so close—"
"I know," he said, pressing kisses to my inner thigh while I writhed in my bonds. "That's the point. You get close, but you don't go over. Not until Daddy decides you've earned it."
He returned to my center, this time using his tongue in long, slow strokes that had me babbling incoherently. Pleas, promises, his name, Daddy, God—everything poured out of me in a stream of need. The plug shifted with every clench of my muscles, adding sensation that threatened to overwhelm me completely.
Again, he brought me right to the edge, tongue circling my clit with perfect pressure, and again he pulled away just as I was about to shatter.
"Did Daddy say you could move so much, baby girl?" he asked, and I realized I'd been thrashing against the restraints, trying to chase his mouth. "Did Daddy give you permission to feel this much?"
"No, Daddy," I sobbed, tears streaming down my face from the intensity of denied release. "I'm sorry, I can't help it, it's too much—"
"Tell me what you want," he commanded, hovering so close I could feel his breath but not his touch. "Use your words. Tell Daddy exactly what you need."
"I need to come," I begged, dignity abandoned entirely. "Please, Daddy, I need your mouth on me, need you to let me come, I'll do anything, be anything, just please—"
"Anything?" he asked, and danger colored that single word.
"Anything," I confirmed desperately.
"Then be still," he commanded. "Complete stillness while Daddy tastes you one more time. Move even slightly, and we start all over."
It was an impossible ask with the plug inside me, with his mouth returning to my oversensitized flesh, with orgasm coiled so tight in my belly I could taste it. But somehow I held myself frozen, every muscle locked in place while he tortured me withpleasure, while he used his tongue to map every fold, every ridge, every desperate inch of me.
"So good," he murmured against me, and the vibration nearly broke my control. "My perfect little girl, trying so hard to obey. But you still don't have permission to come."
I sobbed openly now, beyond words, beyond thought, existing only as nerve endings and need. The plug made everything impossibly intense, made every swipe of his tongue feel like it reached all the way through me. I was going to die like this, strung between ecstasy and denial, forever on the edge of a release he wouldn't grant.
