Page 55 of Enforcer Daddy
"Safewords," Clara said, creating a new section. "What system?"
"Red, yellow, green," I said. "Plus 'pause' for emotional overwhelm. She needs to know she can stop everything, always."
"Good," Alexei approved. "Clara, add a section about checking in when she's nonverbal."
Clara's pen moved across the page, adding protocols for when words became impossible. Tap signals, head shakes, predetermined gestures that meant stop or continue or need a break. Everything designed to ensure consent even when speech failed.
"Sexual provisions," Clara said, and despite everything, I felt heat rise in my face.
"You're blushing," Alexei observed, amused. "The man who once broke three ribs in a territory dispute is blushing about sex."
"It's different," I muttered. "This isn't just sex. It's responsibility for her pleasure, her needs, her—"
"Her orgasms," Clara supplied helpfully, grinning at my discomfort. "Let me guess—you want complete control."
I nodded, thinking of Eva coming during corner time, that defiant pleasure she'd taken without permission. "But with scheduled free time. Twice weekly where she can touch herself with permission. She needs some autonomy."
"That's actually very thoughtful," Clara said, adding it to the contract. "Most Doms want total control always.Scheduled freedom shows you understand she needs some self-determination."
The document was twelve pages when we finished, comprehensive but not overwhelming. Rules that protected rather than restricted. Punishments that taught rather than traumatized. Protocols that built trust rather than destroyed it.
"One more thing," Clara said, adding a final section in careful script. "Renegotiation clause. Either party can request adjustments after thirty days, then monthly thereafter. The contract evolves as you both do."
"She might not sign," I said again, holding the pages like they were made of spun glass.
"She will," Alexei said with the certainty that had built our empire. "If she's really yours, if you're really meant to be her Daddy, she'll sign. Maybe not immediately, maybe with protests and negotiations, but she'll sign."
I folded the contract carefully, tucking it into my jacket where the journal had been. Twelve pages that would change everything, that would make Eva officially mine to protect and guide and cherish.
Theapartmentdooropenedto the scent of female arousal and defiance, sweet and musky and wrong. I knew before I saw her that Eva had broken every aspect of her punishment, probably within minutes of my leaving. The security app on my phone had been pinging notifications I'd ignored during the meeting with Alexei—motion detected, unusual activity, sound levels exceeded. Each alert another confession of her disobedience.
She sat on my leather couch like a queen on her throne, legs curled under her, still wearing those obscene punishmentclothes that were now twisted, stretched, and thoroughly soaked with evidence of what she'd done. Bear lay at her feet, tail thumping against the floor in greeting, oblivious to the tension crackling between his humans.
The too-small shirt had ridden up completely, bunched under her breasts, cartoon character distorted beyond recognition. The shorts were so wet they'd gone transparent, showing the ruined panties beneath. Her hair was wild, cheeks flushed, and she glowed—actually glowed—with post-orgasm satisfaction.
No attempt to hide it. No scrambling to the corner where she should have been. No pretense of obedience or even regret.
Just Eva, eyes locked on mine, daring me to react.
"Welcome back, Daddy," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm and something else—challenge, anticipation, need barely concealed beneath bravado. "How was your meeting?"
I set my keys down with deliberate calm, though my blood burned hot at her casual defiance.
"Productive," I said, matching her casual tone. "I see you've been productive too."
She stretched, cat-like and deliberate, the movement making the ruined clothes shift in ways that revealed more skin. "I got bored. Corner time is stupid when you're not here to enforce it."
"So you decided to finger yourself instead?"
Color flooded her face, but she didn't look away. "Among other things."
Other things. I could see the evidence—the wet spot on my expensive couch where she'd been sitting, probably grinding against the leather. The way the punishment clothes were stretched suggested she'd pulled at them, tried to adjust them during her activities. Her nipples were still hard, visible through the thin, stretched fabric.
I moved closer, slow and controlled, watching her track my movement with those impossible eyes. She didn't shrink back,didn't apologize, didn't even pretend shame. If anything, she leaned forward slightly, eager for whatever came next.
“How long did you last?”
“Forty-five minutes,” she purred.
