Tie Me Up Daddy

by Cassandra Dee

  And I did something then that made me ashamed. Because despite knowing that I’d been used, I was still in love with Thorn Channing. I still craved that big body, hungered to feel his cock inside, owning me, possessing me. And like a woman in a trance, I lifted the dirty fabric to my nose and inhaled deeply. Oh god, it smelled good. The man juice was musky and aromatic, filling my senses, making me heady.

  What the fuck is wrong with you? screamed the voice in my head. You were USED! He USED you, don’t you get it? Don’t do this, you’re insane!

  But being with Thorn has changed me, and I really am a whore now. Because my heart ached, mind spinning, but deep inside, I still longed for him. I longed to hear that deep laughter once more, to feel his chest rumble as I laid my ear against broad curve. I longed for those clever fingers trailing over my hills and valleys, the knowing look in those blue eyes when I cried out.

  And realizing that I’d probably never feel that thick cock in me again made me sob incoherently, desperate, soul ripped into two. Was it true? Would I never dance for Mr. Channing again, wriggling on that hard thickness? Would I never feel his mouth on my breasts, sucking deep?

  Like a woman in a trance, I did the only thing that would make me feel better. Lifting the dirty leotard to my lips, I licked the crotch, sampling his wet cum, the white globs jelly-like and tantalizing. Inhaling, my eyes closed, savoring the taste on my tongue. Because this is my ambrosia, this is what gets me up in the morning, and I’d never have it again.

  Stop! screamed the voice in my head. Stop Laney! You’ve gone insane!

  But out of the frying pan and into the fire. Because if I was never going to see Thorn again, then I wanted to make the most out of this secret opportunity. Scrunching up that dirty material into a fist-sized ball, my leg lifted in a graceful split, the extension beautiful, and I rubbed that wet fabric against my cunt. Oh yeah, my hole pulsed hungrily, this was absolutely the right thing to do.

  And with slow, trembling fingers, I inserted that semen-stained material into my pussy, stuffing my hole tight. His hot jism electrified my frame, making me shudder, and delirious with pleasure, I gasped aloud.

  Thorn, Thorn, the name rang in my mind. Take me Thorn.

  And just like that, my body exploded into shudders. My pussy clamped down quick, dissolving into tremors as I screamed aloud, letting out the pain that seared my soul. Oh god, I’d been used, and yet all I wanted was more of the big man. All I wanted was to be taken again, to feel him in me, dancing on that thick dick for his eyes only.

  But it was all over. I was no different from the Natalies, Lucys and Marys that’d come before me. There was nothing to set me apart, not my amazing ballet moves or my scintillating personality. I was just the flavor of the month and as my pussy spasmed with the stained material inside, the tears started to flow for real. Yes, I was coming and crying at the same time, emotions rushing through my soul so fast and hard that I doubled over, both from pain and ecstasy.

  But a hard rap sounded on the door then.

  “Laney?” came an annoyed voice. “Laney? We’re waiting for you.”

  Immediately my mouth snapped shut, choking off my cries.

  “Be right out!” I called. “Be right out!”

  And scrambling, I forced my body to be calm. It was impossible with the dirty leotard stuck in my cunt, but I yanked it out and scrambled into a fresh one, staring at myself in the mirror. Thorn’s scent was all over me still, that musky, masculine dried cum scent. But smoothing my hair back into a prim bun, I set my lips into a grim twist. This wasn’t going to be easy, not by a long shot. The path before me was unclear, twisted and dark, overshadowed with misery. Because I’d done nothing wrong except to love … and although my heart was broken, I wanted Mr. Channing still.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Laney

  I didn’t go to Thorn’s apartment last night, instead choosing to stay in my tiny rented apartment. I’d left a message with Mr. Channing’s secretary, something about having to sort things out with my roomie. And that was the truth because as soon as the front door closed, Sarah was on me, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

  “Where’ve you been?” the blonde demanded, nose in a scrunch. The scrawny girl was some random chick I found off Craigslist, a student at a nearby school. “You haven’t paid your half of the bills,” came her accusatory glare.

  I nodded hastily, reaching into my bag.

  “I’m sorry, here, is this enough?” I mumbled, head down, holding out a fistful of cash. “Practice has been really busy and I’ve been sleeping at the studio, it’s easier that way.”

  Sarah gasped at the bills in my hand.

  “Where’d you get all that?” she eyed the money suspiciously. “That’s way more than what we need.”

  Because in my clenched fist, I was holding a rolled ball of hundreds. Oh shit. Hastily, I put my hand back in my purse and tried to count them on the downlow. Three hundred. Four hundred. Five, six, … Wait, two thousand dollars? Thorn has been giving me money over the last month, but I’d never stopped to see how much it was. And now in my hand, I held a pretty penny in greenbacks.

  I lifted my head, staring back at Sarah.

  “Sorry, I thought I forgot to pay rent too,” came my mumble. “Forgot that it comes straight out of my account.”

  But now that it was obvious I had the cash, Sarah relaxed, aggressive attitude gone.

  “No worries,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “But I wouldn’t go around with that much moolah on you, it’s crazy. Aren’t you afraid of being mugged?”

  I stood there, one hand still in my purse.

  “I guess not,” came my stammer. “I’ll be more careful.”

  “You should!” came Sarah’s voice as she sailed into the kitchen. “You never know what’ll happen.”

  And with that, my roommate disappeared. Taking a deep breath, I looked around the living room, or what passed for a living room. Because in NYC, they use every square foot of space, and in this case, we’d partitioned the common area to form another bedroom. So the common area wasn’t much more of a ten by ten windowless box, narrow and cramped.

  But still, it was my home, and I hadn’t been here for almost a month. Thorn’s apartment had been so nice, luxurious with every amenity, but I stopped myself with a jerk. THIS is where you live, came the voice in my head. This is what your salary pays for, and you can’t expect more.

  That was true. So slowly opening the door to my room, I stepped inside. Exactly how I’d left it. Warm-up outfits strewn about messily, with a saggy mattress on the floor and sad, water-stained walls. What I’d give to go back to the luxury of Mr. Channing’s apartment, to roll around on one of those king-size beds.

  Suddenly, my mind hiccupped, things coming into sharp focus. The billionaire had five bedrooms with five king-size beds. Why the hell would a single man need so much real estate? I’ve heard of guys who do up their apartments so that there’s an entertainment room, a movie theater, even a bowling alley sometimes. But five bedrooms? There was something weird, and suddenly, Miss Lane’s voice rang out in my head.

  “One year there were two,” came her nasty cackle. “Mary and Marie, it was tough to keep the names straight.”

  Oh god, oh god. There were other women, weren’t there? He was seeing other women right now, I was no one special. The blue bedroom was the one he used when I was around, but what about when I wasn’t? There was the red bedroom, another one done up in pale green, and still a third with a gray interior. Holy shit, there were other women. Those sheets had to be smeared with other women’s fluids, rumpled with traces of another female’s messy ecstasy. I gasped leaning over, lungs tight. No! God no! The revelation was like a tidal wave crashing down on my head, almost knocking me out. How could he?

  But the voice in my head took over again. That’s just your imagination, it tried to calm me down. That’s just your imagination running away with you. Thorn is a rich guy, and you don’t know how billionaires roll. Maybe he wants fiv
e bedrooms because that’s just how he is. You don’t know.

  But I could find out. So scrambling back into my jacket, I flew out the door, hailing a cab.

  “Central Park West,” was my gasped command, fingers trembling, face flushed. “Central Park West at Sixty-First Street.”

  “Right away, miss,” grunted the old cabbie as the car rocketed from the sidewalk. And we plowed uptown before screeching to a stop in front of the imposing stone building.

  I stepped out, looking up. The spires seemed to extend to the sky, lighting up the night like stars. But I was here on a mission, one that was crucial, and taking a deep breath, I braced my shoulders.

  “Hi Henry,” I said with a fake smile at the doorman. He was used to seeing me now. “Here to see Mr. Channing.”

  “Oh hi,” smiled the elderly man, dapper in a blue and green bellhop uniform. “Just give me one minute,” he said, holding a finger up while nodding into the phone.

  But I wasn’t gonna wait. When the elevator dinged, I slipped inside.

  “Miss, Miss!” called Henry, still stuck to his phone. “I should call up, I should let Mr. Channing know you’re here!”

  “No need,” I said. “I’m on my way!”

  And with that, the doors closed. My body felt weak, the air in my lungs coming fast. Because for the first time, I was gonna surprise Mr. Channing. I was going to burst into that apartment and confront him, seeing with my own eyes.

  But when the elevator dinged at the penthouse, my courage ebbed. Knees weak, I reconsidered. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to act the ferocious lioness, to attack like a madwoman. Maybe I should be nice, and give him the benefit of the doubt? Or at least try to be calm and solve our problems in a thoughtful way?

  So straightening my shoulders once more, I mentally collected myself, staring at the imposing door before me. There would be only one chance, and I needed to do it right. Marshalling my courage, I stepped forward and slipped the key into the door.

  It opened soundlessly, the hinges perfectly greased. Of course, this was a luxury high rise and everything always works perfectly. I poked my head inside.

  “Thorn?” came my quiet call. “Thorn?”

  But there were no sounds. Breathing deeply, I willed my heart to stop racing, and stepped into the apartment, shutting the big door silently behind me. Everything was the way I remembered with the beautifully upholstered low-slung couches, two giant flat screen TVs and priceless artwork strewn about. Even the coffee book on famous ballerinas was still open to the same page, the images glossy and perfect.

  “Thorn?” I called out again, slowly walking towards the kitchen. “Mr. Channing are you here?”

  It was pretty late, and as usual, the kitchen was immaculate, copper pots strung up over the island, the big sub-zero humming soundlessly. I took another deep breath. What if he wasn’t here? What if he was still at work, looking over numbers or doing whatever it was that CEOs do?

  Fine. I’d wait. There was still the big book on ballerinas to read, I could keep myself busy. But suddenly, a dull thump rang out.

  I started. What was that? Had something broken, like the washing machine or dryer? Standing silently, I got up to investigate before sitting back down again. This wasn’t my place. Even if I’d almost lived here for the last month, still, my name wasn’t on the lease and I was really nothing but a guest. So I dropped to the couch again, fingers reaching once more for the big coffee book.

  But then it came again, louder this time, a loud bump. What in the world? It was like there were movers struggling with a giant couch up the stairs, dropping the furniture, maybe banging into the walls. I got up again this time, determined to find an answer. Heck, there could be something really wrong. Maybe this beautiful building was having problems and a wall had caved, or a sprinkler had malfunctioned. It was my duty to find out.

  So my feet crept soundlessly down the carpeted hallway. There was the blue bedroom on the right, and stopping for a moment, I looked in that direction. But no, it was perfectly soundless, door tightly shut. So I kept moving, quiet as a mouse.

  And finally, at the end of the hallway, I paused. Passing by countless doors, my ears had prickled, listening for the sound again. But there’d been nothing. Had it been my imagination? Was I so wired from the day’s events that even the slightest boo made me jump? Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm down. Thorn would be back any second, and I had to keep it together. I had to appear calm and composed, even if I was a mess inside.

  But then it happened. The thunk came again, impossible to miss, and I whirled to look. What in the world? Staring at the door to the red bedroom, another thunk sounded out once more, relentless and loud. What was going on in there? The door was tightly shut and I bit my lip, unsure what to do.

  But then the blood ran cold in my veins, turning to ice. Because a long moan sounded through the door, an “Ahhhh” that meant only one thing. There was a woman in there. There was a woman having the time of her life, and it had to be with Thorn. It had to be with my man, he was fucking another woman right here, right now.

  A dagger lanced through my heart and I literally bent over in two, unable to breathe. Oh my god, how could this be happening? My head lowered automatically, trying to find oxygen but it was impossible. My lungs just wouldn’t inflate and I fell to the floor then, collapsing in a messy heap.

  Oh god, oh god, what was going on? Scrabbling at the carpet, I tried to come to terms with the situation. But even as my mind spun dizzily, it happened again. Another long, low, breathy “Ahhhhh,” sounded out, this time with the accompanying sound of rhythmic wet slaps. Oh god. They were fucking for sure, that was the sound of dick going in cunt.

  And as if on cue, a male grunt sounded out then, followed by a long and low, “Yeah baby.”

  With that, I was gone. All my resolve about behaving professionally, about confronting Thorn in a calm and balanced manner went out the door and I fled down the hallway, breath coming in gasps, brown curls flying. Oh my god, oh my god. I couldn’t believe it because this was worse than my worst nightmare. I’d thought that Thorn would fess up about some girls he’d banged in the past, he’d say that the bedrooms were just left over from his past life. I thought he’d have excuses and it’d be up to me to decide whether I wanted to believe them.

  But no, it was a thousand times worse and my stomach heaved. I bent over, insides churning painfully, a couple dry coughs sounding out as I got to the living room. Because it was a Twilight Zone scenario, Hell come to life. Even now, I could still hear the frantic gasps and the rhythmic pounds, hard dick shoved into juicy wet cunt again and again. And with that, my survival mechanism took over. I had to get away. I had to get myself away from this sordid mess, the disgusting cesspool my life had become.

  Sprinting to the elevator, my finger frantically pushed the button in the wall, desperate to escape. No luck. Like a madwoman, my hands scrabbled at the fire escape door instead, and down I clattered, half-sobbing and half-panting, for thirty-five stories. I was winded, hair flying, almost tripping a couple times, but adrenaline propelled my feet forward so that I didn’t feel the physical pain.

  Because it was the emotional pain that had me doubled over. Knowing that Thorn was fucking another woman ripped my heart apart. I’d seen the proof with my very own eyes. Here, in his apartment, in the red bedroom that was never used, Mr. Channing was banging another chick. I’d heard her gasps myself, heard the thumping sound, the unmistakable wet sucking noises of dick owning pussy, again and again, their cries rising to the heavens.

  And the worst part was that Thorn had just tasted me this morning. I’d woken in his bed, that fat cock in my mouth and given him a sloppy blow job, moaning with pleasure the entire time. And then I’d let him use my pussy, let him push it in, twisting and writhing, crying out his name the whole time. “Thorn, Thorn!” the words had burst from my lips like a prayer. “Mr. Channing, yes!”

  But it was all over now. Because no way could I look him in the eye again, n
o way could I see that big body and keep a straight face. If anything, I’d dissolve into a mess of tears, shoulders crumpling, dropping into a heap on the ground.

  And that was out of the question. No way would I let the alpha see me like that. Even if I was completely destroyed inside, Mr. Channing would never know. I’d disappear. I’d go back to Kansas, or hitchhike my way to somewhere remote. It didn’t matter. All I knew was that I needed to get away now … because all my dreams had collapsed, and I was a nobody once more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thorn

  “What the fuck, she left?” I growled, brows drawn. “Why?”

  Miss Lane simpered before me.

  “You know, the reason why the girls always do,” she said with a coy look. “Ballet’s tough. It takes a lot of discipline and practice, and I guess it just got to be too much for Laney.”

  I frowned. No way. My best girl was an extraordinary dancer, a diamond just waiting to leap to the big stage. And I was going to make that happen for her, I was going to make sure Laney was a bold-face prima ballerina, one who danced in all the best productions. So what the hell? What was with this disappearing act?

  “Listen, I don’t know what you said to her,” I growled. “But there’s no way this chick left on her own. She was all set to star in The Plumed Feather next week. Solo part and all.”

  Miss Lane shrugged, face gaunt and hollow.

  “Who knows? Maybe her back pain was bothering her too much and it got to be intolerable. You know how ballet takes a toll on your body,” she simpered again. “You know, Thorn.”

  I didn’t even look at her, mouth in a frown. There was no way Laney took off with no notice, but at the same time, the back ache thing was believable. Dance is hard on your body, a lot of folks perform in a state of constant injury, whether it’s a broken bone in your foot or a strained tendon in your leg. But still, she would have told me right? I spun to look at Miss Lane.