Page 21 of Once Upon a Dream
She nodded eagerly, ready to move past whatever barriers were keeping him from possessing her right now, and he seemed to feel the same way, because he shifted and his hand abandoned her breast. She wanted to pout at the lack of contact, but all attempts at pouting fled the moment she saw what he was reaching for in his back pocket.
A small folding knife.
She stared at it in the dim light, at the nicks and scrapes along the painted handle, wondering if he carried this knife while on deployment. If he’d ever used it to hurt someone.
Cal flicked the knife open with the ease born of lots of practice. “Don’t,” he said, “move.”
She didn’t.
She held completely still as the knife moved between her legs and the tip pricked carefully at the sensitive sk
in where thigh met cunt. And then his fingers withdrew, wrapped around the crotch of her leotard, and with a swift cut, her leotard was cut open.
The knife was folded, put away, and then Cal’s fingers tugged her leotard up past her hips. She was fully exposed now, so exposed that all any stranger had to do was look at her and they’d see her nakedness. See the wet place where Cal’s fingers were once again buried. See the hard points of her nipples through her leotard and the flush on her face and the tense lines of her thighs where she strained to hold them open.
“Someone might see,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if it was in a tone of protest or wonder.
“I want them to see,” Cal answered. “I want them to see what a little deviant you are.”
She tried to think of a response to that and she couldn’t. His touch felt so good and the way he fingered her—slow curls inside coupled with the press of his palm on her clit—had her insensate. She was going to come soon. And hard.
“Let’s play a game,” he growled into her ear.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“The game is that you have to do what I say, when I say it. And if you don’t, I’ll tell your father where you’ve been sneaking off to all these nights.”
She shivered. It didn’t take much imagination to recall the feeling of her father’s blows. “Is…is the game real?”
Cal paused before answering. “Do you really want to know?”
No. It was fucked up for sure, but the very real threat of her father finding out made the whole thing feel so much more…delicious.
“No,” she said, feeling certain of this one thing at least. “Don’t tell me.”
His hand withdrew from her folds again, and when she looked over at her shoulder at him, he was sucking her taste off his fingers, his eyes hooded. “You taste sweet, princess. Just like a little ballerina should. Let’s see if you look that way too.” And before she could protest—not that she would have anyway—she was pushed unceremoniously forward between his legs. He pushed her just fast enough for her to gasp, just slow enough that she could easily get her arms out in front of her and catch her weight.
It was a ridiculous position, all things considered—her hands flat on the floor, head hanging down, ass still secure in his lap. Thank God she was flexible enough to be comfortable like this. But then she felt his fingers run glancingly up her cunt to her ass and she realized this position wasn’t ridiculous at all. It was decidedly and definitely humiliating—which made it perfect. Leaning all the way forward like this meant that her ass and pussy were open for Cal’s viewing, and view them he did.
“Oh, your pussy looks so sweet too,” he said. “Pink like your slippers.”
“Oh,” she breathed as he took his thumbs and spread her folds. It was so fucking degrading, the air so cool on flesh that was usually hidden and protected.
“Don’t squirm, sweetheart. You’re letting me do whatever I want, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” she managed from down by the floor.
A sharp smack on her ass. “Damn straight, you do.” Then the thumbs returned, spreading her even more. “Like a pretty pink butterfly,” Cal said with something between gruff wonder and lust. “I can’t wait to fuck it.”
“You’re…you’re going to fuck me?”
“Of course I am. I get to do anything I want with you. I’ve caught a little butterfly—I’ve caught you—and I’m not letting you go until I’m finished.”
She shuddered at his words, at the wrongness, at the sharp feelings of desire they stirred up in her.
“That’s right, sweetheart. You don’t have a choice, not if you want me to behave. You be good for me, I’ll be good for you, got it?”
And then a thumb moved up higher, kneading gently at the little rosebud between her cheeks. “This is such a very pretty pink too,” he murmured. “How good for me are you going to be tonight?”
