“Thorn!” gasped Laney. “Oh god, oh god, come on!”
Wriggling, she tried to get herself free, but that pretty asshole was jammed tight on my huge cock.
“Stop,” I rasped in her ear. “Stop, you’ll just make it worse.”
The girl ceased moving, perfectly still except for her trembling, heaving curves.
“Please Daddy, hurry,” she begged. “I don’t want people to see us like this.”
Like what? Totally nude, her hands bound to the pull-up bar, with my fat cock stuck tight in her back end? I didn’t give a fuck, I was proud to be in this position. Those mommies would die to see my six pack, the abs, and of course, my dick coated in cream.
But Laney’s got a shy side, and to accommodate her I pulled out. Oh shit, my dick glistened with a mixture of fluids, probably ass sweat and jizz. But then Laney did something that made me stop in my tracks. Because breathing in slowly, she exhaled then, leaning forwards and a huge gush of white cum rushed out her bottom hole. That’s right, my baby had sperm dripping out of her anus, and it never looked so good.
I stared, transfixed, dick jerking alive again. Sure, dirtiness is natural to me, I live for depravity. But still, this took things to another level, those ass cheeks so white, the brownie coated with superglue.
But Laney was begging me now, panting breathlessly.
“Please Daddy,” she said, jerking futilely at the ties. “Please hurry.”
Slowly, I reached up, unfastening her.
“Come on!” she squeaked the moment she was free. “Come on Thorn, come on!”
But did I rush? Did I do as she did, scrambling into my clothes and smoothing my hair so that it looked normal? Fuck no, I’d just had the best fuck session of my life, and I wanted people to know. The scent of sex was heavy in the air, white droplets of cum spattered on the floor. Even if we looked normal, anyone with any two eyes and a brain would know what we’d been up to. And slowly stepping into my shorts, I stood once again, tall and proud before the gaggle of women.
“Oh my god,” whispered one middle-aged chick. “He’s gorgeous.”
I smirked internally. Of course. I was wearing nothing but loose gym shorts, my chest bare and bronzed, abs toned.
“Is that…?” gasped another chick, eyeing a streak of gooey semen on the ground. “Is that what I think it is?”
But before I could confirm anything, Laney rushed me out of there. Grabbing my arm, she dragged me away, refusing to look in the direction of the yoga ladies.
And once we were in back, hidden from view, she turned to me.
“Mr. Channing, you didn’t even try,” she accused, brown eyes wide, that voluptuous form so well-fucked. “You didn’t even try.”
I looked at her amused.
“Try what?”
“You know,” she accused again, gesturing wildly. “We needed to get out of there! You didn’t even try to hide!”
I chuckled deep in my chest then.
“Baby girl, you know me. You know I own that ass, I own that pussy. So why shouldn’t the world know? Because you’re mine,” I ground out roughly. “That sweet body belongs to me one hundred percent, might as well shout it out from the rooftops.”
At that, Laney stopped, eyes wide. Because we’ve been hiding our relationship from everyone, we’ve been carrying on in secret. But you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m fucking this sweet virgin, and I want the world to know, rules and reputation be damned. Because Laney’s gotten under my skin. I’d brought her here, to the gym, which is usually off-limits to my fuckbuddies. But somehow, with Laney it was right. The brunette deserved to know where I spent time, how I relaxed after a long day.
And besides, my words were true. The innocent ballerina is mine. My semen’s in her twenty four / seven, that pussy and ass are curved to the shape of my cock. What’s more, I wake with her face before my eyes, and when I can’t focus, it’s because she’s distracting me. So yeah, Laney Jones belongs to me … and she’ll never belong to anyone else.
CHAPTER SIX
Laney
What in the world is wrong with me? It’s like old Laney has completely disappeared and a new me is walking in her shoes. Because old Laney was shy, self-conscious, quiet and reserved, only coming to life when I danced.
But the new Laney’s here now, and she’s not going away. The new Laney is outspoken and sassy with a big smile for everyone, and a special look for her man. And that male is Thorn Channing, the one behind the transformation.
Because Mr. Channing has changed my life, completely turned it upside down. We’d been hiding our relationship, but Thorn wanted to get out into the open.
“What’s the point?” he said carelessly, shrugging those wide shoulders. “People probably already know.”
I looked at him, eyes wide.
“No, they don’t,” I replied, shaking my head. “We’ve been careful.”
That was true, I only went to his apartment after hours, alone, making sure no one saw me. But Thorn shrugged carelessly again.
“This is a small community, people probably already know,” he rumbled. “Besides, who the fuck cares? I want people to know I’m fucking you, I want them to know you dance on my dick.”
The air disappeared from my lungs. His words were so nasty but they made me cream slightly inside. But his words couldn’t be true.
“I don’t think anyone knows,” I said firmly again, trying to contain my spinning brain. “I don’t think anyone knows.”
Thorn shot me a wry half-smile.
“Let’s just see then,” he rumbled, eyes flashing. “Now get up here, honey, and show me that sweet spot.”
I colored remembering. Because oh god, I knew exactly what the alpha male wanted. He wanted to touch, to taste, to caress both my holes and I always let him. I always let him pull my panties to the side, showing him everything, dancing for his eyes only. So yeah, thoughts of who knew and who didn’t flew from my mind, dissolving into a long sigh of bliss.
And now, at practice, there was a sweet reminder of our session. Because stretching at the barre, I felt it happen. Thorn’s cum came seeping out, wetting my leotard, even drenching my tights at the crotch. Oh shit, oh shit! I had to change, I needed to get to a restroom stat to strip off this wet cotton and get into something fresh and clean. Thank god not many people had shown up yet, no one would notice if I grabbed my warm-up bag and disappeared for five minutes.
But suddenly, a narrow shadow materialized at my side.
“Um hi, Miss Lane,” I muttered, looking down. “I just have to change really quick.”
Our taskmistress is about forty, with graying hair pulled back into a painfully tight bun, her frame sinewy and ripcord thin. It’s scary actually because you can see a lot of arteries at the surface of her skin, like her entire body consists of varicose veins. Not to mention her pursed and wrinkly mouth, liked she’d sucked a lemon.
“And why do you need to change?” the woman asked, voice frigid, cold as ice. “Didn’t you just get here?”
I bit my lip. She was right. Practice hadn’t started yet, why would I need to change when I was already in a perfectly good warm-up outfit? God, why hadn’t I said I needed to go to the bathroom? Cursing internally, my mind fumbled for more excuses.
But then Miss Lane’s nose wrinkled. She’s got one of those small, thin noses like the woman’s always smelling something sour. But in this case it was true because her eyes squinted as she sniffed again, turning her head this way and that like a bloodhound.
“Is that …?” she glared at me. “Is that what I think it is?”
I held perfectly still, Thorn’s cum still dripping down my thigh. Oh god, my cunt was drenched with it, his aroma surrounding me, seeping into my skin. But I pretended not to know.
“Is that what?” I asked in an innocent voice. “Is what what?”
Miss Lane sniffed again, eyes squinty and suspicious. But then her head snapped up and the woman barked. “Plié!” she commanded. “Plié and the
n arabesque!”
Oh god, why oh why? I fidgeted, trying to stall.
“But Miss Lane,” I stammered. “I need to change, and besides practice hasn’t started yet,” I gestured to the few folks milling around, strapping on their shoes.
Those pale blue eyes stared at me, cold and piercing.
“Plié!” she barked again. “And then arabesque!”
My cheeks flushed, body going stiff. But looking quickly around the room, the choice was clear. It was better just to get it over with rather than prolong this torture. Maybe the cranky lady wouldn’t notice the stain at my crotch, the telltale proof that I’d been with a man. Maybe I could get it over so fast that she’d go away and leave me alone.
So breathing deep, I assumed the position, toes apart, heels together. And then as quickly as possible, I bent my knees so that my legs formed a diamond, the wet fabric visible only for a second, before leaping up into the air, one leg behind, both arms outstretched.
It was frankly the best arabesque I’ve ever done. Because this particular move requires full extension as you raise one thigh, legs parting, stretched almost at a ninety degree angle all the way from the tip of one finger to the back of one toe.
But the problem was that it was too good. Because as my form lifted, poised gracefully into the air, the spot at my crotch became obvious. The wet pink material and corresponding streaks on my thigh were out in the open for anyone to see, the answer to her sniffing nose.
And when I came back to earth, gracefully resuming first position, there was a smirk on Miss Lane’s face.
“So that’s why you have to change,” she sneered. “You’ve got cum smeared all over that slutty body.”
I blushed. Those words were so nasty! How could she say them in public, here in the practice room? Did anyone overhear? But there was no sense in pretending to be dumb.
“I’m so sorry,” I rushed, head down, biting my lip. “I’m sorry.”
But this was never going to do because after all, I was the new Laney. Besides it was Thorn’s semen leaking from my snatch, and I loved every ounce of juice he’d deposited. So I lifted my head and looked Miss Lane straight in the eye.
“It is,” I said with a deep breath, voice trembling but firm. “I was with a man this morning and we had a good time. If I’d known there was going to be so much, I would have taken precautions.”
Although what precautions weren’t exactly clear. Because thinking back to my early session with Mr. Channing, it’d been so good, so thorough, that I couldn’t have stopped that big male body if I tried. He’d pushed me down, cheek smashed against the coverlet, pumping into my pussy with that fat dick.
“Aw FUCK!” came the male roar. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
And I’d cried out, eyes closed, heavy boobs dragging on the bed, fists gripping at the sheets. Because Thorn was spurting in me again, filling me up, giving me my daily dose of cum, hot, thick, and virile.
So how could I say no? How could I turn down a snatch full of bubbly jism, the stuff of life? I couldn’t and I wouldn’t, because his semen is my personal boom-boom juice, the spinach to my Popeye, and I need as much as I can get, as often as I can get.
So I looked Miss Lane in the eye again.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, voice even. “But if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll change and everything will be fine.”
Smiling confidently, I bent to pick up my bag, swinging it over my shoulder. Thank god I had an extra practice outfit stashed. But then Miss Lane’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Don’t think you’re the first,” she said, voice like nails on chalkboard. “You’re not anything special or unique.”
I stopped, turning slowly to face her.
“I’m sorry?” I said, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me,” she hissed, coming up close, expression like a nasty viper. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear.”
I shook my head, silent for a moment.
“No, I don’t think I did,” I said firmly. But inside, my belly was churning, liquid splashing about. “What did you say?”
She leaned in close, the garbage smell of her breath hot on my cheek. And smiling evilly again, the words came like bullets.
“You’re not the first ballerina Thorn Channing has fucked. You think you’re special? Guess again.”
I couldn’t breathe for a moment, the air evaporated from my lungs. But then I forced myself to inhale. Of course I’m not the first woman Thorn’s ever slept with. The man’s forty-five for crying out loud, and handsome as sin, with a body to die for. I never expected him to live like a monk.
I shot her a frigid look.
“I didn’t think Mr. Channing was a virgin,” came my voice tightly. “I never thought that.”
But the woman hissed like a cobra tracking its prey, invading my personal space.
“Of course, the girls never think he’s a virgin,” she cackled. “It’s just they don’t realize this is his schtick, either.”
I frowned. Shtick?
“I’m sorry, I don’t get what you mean,” came my voice, trembling and low. “What are you talking about?”
Miss Lane skinny nose wrinkled again.
“Oh please,” she spat. “Don’t make like you’re so fucking naïve. I hate these girls from the Midwest, they’re full of “family values” and “godly behavior,” but it’s all bullshit,” she snarled. “You’re a bunch of hos, fucking whores.”
My blood ran cold in my veins. What in the world? I was frozen in place, unable to believe my ears.
“I’m sorry?” I whispered again, mouth dry. “Wh- what?”
“Please, stop!” Miss Lane hissed, eyes like daggers. “Stop with the innocent act. You’ve been fucking Thorn Channing, everyone knows.”
I nodded stiffly, frozen with shock. But even if everyone knew, where was this evil coming from? Why now, of all times?
Miss Lane was only too happy to clarify.
“Don’t you get it?” she rasped nastily. “You’re just the latest in the long line. He fucks a new girl every year, plucks one out from the recent class and has her “dance” for him in that secret studio. Let me guess, that was your first time together right? It was so special that somehow your clothes came off and you danced just for him?”
All the blood drained from my body. Because yes, that had happened. I’d been called to Mr. Channing’s office unexpectedly, he’d revealed the special sliding door, and then yes, we’d made love for the first time. It’d been crazy and unexpected, passionate and hot, but somehow, hearing Miss Lane tell it, it just sounded dirty. It sounded like I was pawn in a chess game, sent out for sacrifice with no idea what the bigger picture was.
And the ballet instructor cackled again, sharp chin jutting, narrow shoulders painfully rigid under a practice leotard.
“That’s right,” she snapped. “Last year it was Natalie, and then the year before that, Lucy Jane. And then before that, who was it?” she tapped her head, pretending to think. “Oh right, there were two that year, there was Mary first, and then Marie. It was hard to keep the names straight,” she whispered harshly, garbage breath blowing on my face again. “I heard he kept mixing them up.”
And at that point, I couldn’t take it anymore. Because I thought Thorn and I had something special, but evidently, this was just business for him. This was his way of life, what he did every year, seducing the newest, ripest ballerina, making her love him, making her worship at his feet.
And the worst part was that I’d fallen for it. I was a dumb, naïve chick from Kansas, without any idea how the big world really worked, and I’d tumbled down the well. Hell, more than that. I’d swum out deep into the ocean, and now water filled my lungs, drowning me, with no hope of being saved.
Miss Lane’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Got it?” cracked that whip-like voice. “It’s always hard for the new girls, they think he’s such a hero,” she added with a mean smile. “But you’ll get over
it, they always do.”
My lip trembled, feet still rooted in place.
“Bu- but what happened to Natalie?” I stammered, sweating heavily now. Oh god, oh god, I had to get out of here, but I had to know as well. “What happened to Lucy Jane?”
The names were unfamiliar, but in passing, I’d heard them whispered, always with furtive looks behind raised hands.
And at that, Miss Lane threw her head back and cackled, drawing a couple startled glances.
“What do you think?” she cried out. “They were fired of course! The ladies did their year-long stint here, and then bye-bye! Your pussy’s used and abused, it’s no good anymore. There’s a fresh crop of girls coming, so sayonara!” she sang, turning away.
And with that, Miss Lane stalked off, narrow back twitching, bending low to talk with a group of dancers before bursting out into painful rat-a-tat laughter again. I stood in place, unable to move for a moment. Because what if it was true? Was I really just the latest in a long line of ingénues? Was I really that dumb girl who’d fallen head over heels with her powerful, charismatic boss?
And walking blindly to the changing room, my head whirled. Oh my god, oh my god. Dorothy had left Kansas, but there was no Tin Man or Scarecrow to show her the way. She’d gone solo and look what had happened. I’d been taken, I’d been used as the latest in a long line of nubile ballerinas, ready to fall at Thorn Channing’s feet.
Alone now, my shoulders slumped. I dropped onto the bench, my bag landing on the floor with a thunk. Because it was true. Miss Lane had guessed the scene of my seduction like she’d seen it herself, like she’d been a witness to the whole thing. And suddenly, I realized that my ballet career was over. Lucy Jane and Natalie had been run off. They’d danced their solos, they’d done their arabesques, kicked their feet high in the air, and now it was all over. Thorn was no longer interested, the girls were just dead weight to the troupe. Why let them stay when there was a newer, younger girl dying to join the Academy?
A short, painful sob burst from my chest, body doubling over in agony. Oh god, I’d been so dumb. I’d been so stupid and naïve, and my limbs twisted in a frenzy, ripping the dirty leotard from my body. The pink material drooped in my fingers, nylon still wet. Oh god, oh god, this was his spunk. This was his dirty cum that was leaking from me still, the river seemingly endless.
Tie Me Up Daddy Page 8
