Daddy's Demands: Twenty-Five Steamy Daddy Dom Romance Novellas

by Madison Faye

  He picks the cane up again and I feel him press it against my bottom, just a fraction of an inch below where the first stroke landed.

  “I need total obedience from you, Marina,” he says. There’s a different quality to his voice now. He’s deadly serious. “If I tell you to stay in a room, you have to stay in a room. Your life could depend on it one day, little girl.”

  Dominic is a man who knows what it is to take lives. I think he probably knows what it is like to lose people as well. There’s a weight in his voice that sounds like old grief to me.

  This is why this twisted, fucked-up situation is working. This is why when our eyes met that first time in the restaurant, we knew we wanted one another. Dominic and I are very different people, but we share the same pain. This mansion seems to be empty aside from the men I see strolling the grounds from the window every now and then. They are not friends or family out for a casual walk. They are guards. Dominic lives in a fortress physically and emotionally, and the only way he can let anybody in, even me, is if he owns them completely.

  These revelations come to me a split second before the cane lands again and all thoughts are driven from my head, replaced with that searing agony that demands my full attention and turns me from a thinking woman to a crying little girl.

  “Daddy! I’m sorry!” Two strokes are enough. I don’t want more. I can’t take more. But I will if I have to because Dominic gives me no choice.

  “Good girl,” he says, laying the cane down again. “I know you don’t understand, Marina. There are so many things I will spend my life making sure you don’t understand, because that’s what a good daddy does. He protects his little girl from the worst of the world.”

  He strokes my hair and speaks to me softly as my ass burns with pain. There’s nothing I can do with my legs spread and my hands bound. I am utterly helpless to do anything but shed a few sore, sorrowful tears as Dominic leans over me and presses kisses to the back of my head.

  I hear the sound of his fly going down, and then the head of his cock presses against my pussy. I’m wet for my daddy, and it’s just as well because his desire is paramount. In one rough thrust, his cock plunges inside me, splits my lips apart and stretches my inner walls. I scream in ecstasy as he takes me roughly. He leaves me nothing to myself. He is inside me, so deep and completely.

  My pussy grips him desperately, made more tender and tight by the plug in my ass, a hard ridge that presses between the walls of my holes. Every thrust makes my ass clench and my pussy spasm. The spreader bar changes the way sex feels, the angle of my hips is different as he fucks me against the bed, my clit gliding over silk sheets in time with his thrusts.

  Daddy doesn’t want me to know about him, but I am getting to know him in the most primal, sensual way possible. He is filled with lust and the need to control. He is tender, but he cannot risk that becoming weakness. And he is evil. I can feel the darkness of his soul wrapping around me. It embraces me. I am cradled in the perversion of his desire, embracing it along with him.

  I come before he does, my quivering ass, pussy, and clit conspiring to throw me into an orgasm that makes my inner walls grip his cock so tight he can barely move inside me. My body wants him as much as he wants me. Our desire might be fucked up, but it is mutual.

  Daddy comes inside my pussy, as he has done each and every time we’ve been together. No protection. I feel him wrap his arms around me and hold me tight, his teeth grazing the back of my neck as he holds his thick cock inside me, pumping the final spurts of seed inside my well fucked hole.

  “Good girl,” he murmurs finally, leaving me dripping his cum as he removes the spreader bar and undoes the tie holding my hands. I lie there on the bed, moaning softly to myself as he works on me, my daddy’s strong, capable hands freeing me from the bonds that held me in place for him to fuck me.

  This is wrong; a little post-coital voice in my head tries to spoil everything. I know this is wrong. I also know it doesn’t really matter. Sometimes, when I am alone, I want to be free. But every time he looks at me I forget everything I want and I become his. He has cast a spell on me, he has found every wanting thing at the core of me and satisfied it completely. I never had a daddy of my own before.

  Dominic runs his fingers lightly over the marks on my ass, his fingers tracing the double welts of the cane.

  “These look good on you, little girl,” he purrs. “You might want to be more careful. I enjoy punishing disobedient little girls.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I whimper, knowing he could pick up that cane and this time it would be even worse. Dominic could do anything to me. My body is at his disposal, as is my life. Danger hangs in the air whenever he is near, and it is that danger that makes me fizz with excitement to my very core.

  Chapter Eight

  Dominic

  What am I going to do with her?

  I didn’t really have a plan when I took Marina. I just knew she had to be taken. You can’t let a witness to a murder hang around in the outside world. Eventually, they all talk. Even the ones who promise not to. Especially them, a lot of the time.

  The police would have interviewed her for sure. They’re no doubt looking for her now. My men have been in touch with the chef and the dish boy at the restaurant. They didn’t see anything, and they’ve been paid well to keep telling the police exactly what they didn’t see.

  She’s lying on the bed next to me, so utterly trusting, even though she shouldn’t trust me. Her nipples are erect, her ass still has my plug inside it, and she’s dripping my cum.

  Is this what love is? To look at a woman you just got done fucking and not immediately lose interest in her?

  “What is it, Daddy?” Her voice is high and soft. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, little girl,” I reassure her, rubbing her sore butt for her. “You’ve been a good girl.”

  She is such a fucking good girl. I could do almost anything to her and she’d take it. I could pound her little hole a dozen times a day. I could fuck her ass and then her mouth. I could punish and degrade her from now until forever and she would take it all because she’s mine and she fucking knows it.

  I am not a good man, and what I’ve done to her so far is only a fraction of the things I will do given enough time. She’s wearing those cane marks because I set her up to fail by leaving the door open. It was an important lesson for her. She has to know that even if she thinks I’ve fucked up… even if she thinks she can get away with something, she can’t. I need to condition my little girl to think that I am everywhere at all times.

  One day, she will be free, but when that time comes, I want her just as obedient then as she is now. I palm her sweet round ass and squeeze a cheek. She whimpers and squirms beneath me, the black base of the plug visible between those soft round curves.

  “Do you like being Daddy’s little girl, Marina?”

  She nods her head swiftly, looking at me under her dark lashes. It would be so easy to give in to this moment and think everything is just going to be perfect from here on out, but I know it won’t be. I have enemies on both sides of the law, and loving a girl is a risk I can’t really afford to take. Using women and dumping them afterward saves lives. At least, that’s what I used to tell myself, before I met Marina.

  “You seem sad,” she says softly, her fingers reaching out to me. She has such cute hands, so soft and so pretty. There are a few burn marks on them here and there, from handling hot plates, I guess. There are marks on other parts of her body too, a scar above her left knee, and another one on her right arm. They’re healed and old. The kind of old I recognize from having one or two myself. They’re the kind you get when you should be too young to have to ever have to bear anything so serious as a scar. We haven’t talked much about our respective pasts, but hers is written all over her body and in her eyes. When she calls me Daddy, she lights up, and when I hold her in my arms, she cuddles so damn close that I know for sure whatever son of a bitch fathered her, he was no daddy to her.
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br />   “I’m not sad, little girl,” I reassure her, stroking her hair.

  Maybe I am sad. Sad because whatever this is, I know it can’t last much longer. Nothing in my world lasts. Everything is lost.

  Chapter Nine

  Marina

  There are so many things Dominic isn’t telling me. Secrets weigh him down, and as the days go by, I sense them more and more. Asking will do no good, I can tell these are the sort of secrets a man locks inside himself and takes to the grave.

  How long have I been with him now? A week? Maybe more? Time has little meaning here. I used to tell what day it was by my shifts, and then later on, by when Dominic would come in to eat. Now I see him all the time and my life is one continuous blend of captivity and pleasure and pain, all rolled up together in an inescapable experience.

  There’s a desperation between us, a yearning. I think we both know this will have to end. He can’t stay home forever. I can’t be locked in a room forever. He says I am his until the end of the world, but I feel the lie in his kiss.

  Something is coming for him, and for us.

  I am tied up the day the door shatters. Daddy caught me playing with myself when he wasn’t there and punished me by plugging my bottom and tying my hands to the bed with a slow vibrator between my thighs, not so close that it touches me directly, but not so far away I can’t feel the constant tremors through my ass and pussy.

  My eyes are closed, my hips are arched. I have come three times already and I know I’ll come several more before Daddy returns. I don’t notice commotion outside, because unlike me, they have come in silence. The world could be ending and I would not hear it over the buzz of the vibrator and my own cries of climax.

  The door explodes open in a shower of shards just as I come for the fourth time. My pussy is spasming and clenching as a hard metal barrel bursts the door open and heavily armed police officers and federal agents pour through. I scream in shock, and then in anguish as I realize what is happening. They’ve come for him, and for me.

  “Oh, shit, here’s the girl! The waitress!”

  They know who I am. Oh, god. They know who I am and they are seeing me like this. Suddenly I am keenly aware of how fucked up and depraved this situation is. I had been floating in the bliss of my mind and the world Dominic and I created between one another, but with the arrival of law enforcement, the tissue-thin barrier between what is okay and what is not tears asunder. In their eyes, I am a prisoner.

  And finally, I am saved.

  Hands untie me, wrap a blanket around my shoulders, and I am ushered away. The last thing I see as I am escorted out of the house is Dominic being slammed up against a wall hard enough that his nose begins to bleed.

  I scream for my daddy, but nobody is listening. They don’t know I’m calling for Dominic, they think I’m calling for the man who abandoned me before I was even born. They don’t know me, and they don’t know Dominic.

  What haunts me is the fact that he is smiling as they arrest him. His laugh rings in my ears as they drag me out of the room. I’m being rescued.

  They take me to the hospital. I tell them I’m fine. They say I’m not. They tell me I can’t be. They tell me I’ve been held and hurt, used and abused. They tell me they can’t release me until they know I’m okay.

  I am no less a captive at the hospital than I was at Dominic’s house, except these people don’t like me or want me for who I am. They pity me, and they want to use me in their own way.

  A parade of professionals comes in to look at me and screw their faces up into expressions of what they think passes for sympathy. They tell me that my daddy is a monster and I’ll have to testify against him. They take my plug too. Even though I don’t want it out. Eventually a nurse holds me down while another one pulls the rubber from my ass. They need it for evidence, they say. It hurts more coming out by their unfeeling hands than it ever did going in.

  It’s soon clear to me that they need to hear me say I’m a victim before I can leave. They need me to tell the same story they do, so they can record it and use it against my daddy. I hate them for this, but I have to do it. There are several detectives who want Dominic Leone behind bars. I know, because they tell me that over and over. They hate him, so they assume I do too.

  The irony that Dominic took me with less force than they did is lost on them, and when I try to explain, I am offered the option of being charged as a conspirator. If I am not the victim they want me to be, then I am to blame.

  Bastards.

  They hold me for a few hours before they decide they believe the lies they forced me to tell and then they release me into the cool night. They don’t even call me an Uber. I’m standing on the street, watching cars pass me by and it hits me all at once.

  I’m free.

  I’m alone.

  I don’t know which is worse.

  Chapter Ten

  Marina

  One month later…

  “He made bail. The case isn’t going well.”

  Detective Swan is at my door, looking at me grimly. His heavy face is drooping lower than I’ve ever seen it, and I know he’s not happy, though he could hardly have expected any other result. Men like Dominic might go to jail for a bit but they don’t go to prison. Prison is for low-level patsies. Someone might catch some time for what happened to that guy in the restaurant, but it won’t be him, not unless…

  “We really need you to testify.”

  “It won’t do anything,” I say, trying to sound suitably sorrowful.

  “We saw the cage,” the detective says. “We can imagine what he put you through. We know you’re scared of him. But unless you get up on that stand, there’s no real evidence against him. You’re the only person who can tie Dominic to the restaurant.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  The detective looks disappointed. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. He doesn’t really understand what he’s asking me to do. There’s no way to testify against Dominic without being cross-examined, and I know what I’ll have to admit to under cross-examination. I know what Dominic has on me. There are videos. He told me about them once, after I’d gotten in trouble for something I insisted he couldn’t possibly have seen. If they bring me in, the entire courtroom will watch me debase myself willingly. They’ll see so many filthy things—but they won’t see him force me, because he never did. I surrendered willingly to Dominic Leone, and in court the whole world will know it.

  “If you change your mind, you’ve got my number,” the detective says. “I’ll check in on you in a few days. Mr. Leone has been instructed not to contact you, so you shouldn’t hear from him. If you do, let us know.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  I close the door and lean my forehead against it, slipping the chain back into place. This is tiring. I am racked with guilt and uncertainty—and more than that, I miss him. I shouldn’t miss Dominic. I should be glad to be free of him, but just hearing his name on the detective’s lips ignites a longing within me.

  I have tried to put Dominic behind me. I tried to put the whole ordeal behind me. After a while, I didn’t know who was right anymore. They had me see a counselor, who I didn’t trust, but who explained to me over and over again how nothing had been my fault, and how I was brave, and how Dominic had taken advantage of me and in the end… even though I didn’t want to, I agreed with her, just like I agreed with the people in the hospital, and just like I agreed with the cops.

  The world has one way of seeing Dominic Leone, and it will only permit one point of view. Without Dominic in my life, I started to doubt myself. I started to think of myself as the pathetic victim they painted me as being. I started to feel that my desire and longing for him were some kind of syndrome and that maybe I was sick, and maybe there was no cure.

  I have been made to question everything. My instincts, my feelings, my desires. All the professionals say they’re trying to help me, but now I am nothing but lost. There’s a hollowness inside me that I don’t think will ev
er be filled.

  “Good girl.”

  Two words. Behind me.

  I spin around to see Dominic standing in the middle of my apartment. The window to the fire escape is open. He must have come up while the detective was talking to me. It’s the sort of brazen act I’ve come to associate with him, a casual recklessness that is as impressive as it is frightening.

  “I’ve missed you, little girl,” he purrs, his eyes ever so slightly narrowed. I stare at him, hardly daring to believe he is really here. There is dark stubble around his jaw and his hair is more askew than he would normally tolerate outside the bedroom.

  Is it really him? Am I hallucinating? They’ve put me on a cocktail of pills to try to stop the sadness, but none of them work. Maybe I’ve finally lost it. Maybe I need him so much I’ve created him in my mind. No. That’s crazy. But not as crazy as Dominic actually being here with me.

  He strides across the room, wraps his long, strong arms around me, and draws me into a passionate kiss that drives all thought of everything besides him from my head. God. He is perfect in all the worst ways.

  His tongue massages any traces of resistance from me. I feel myself melting into his arms, my soft curves yielding to his hard body. It is always this way between us. His hands roam my body, cup my breasts, grab my ass. His hunger is evident in the hard rod pressing against my thigh.

  “What is this?” His hand slides around my hip and finds the holster that is hidden beneath my sweater, nestled at the small of my back. There’s a little P-09 in it, a 9mm pistol. It’s made me feel safer in my apartment—until now at least.

  “For me, little girl?” He smirks delightfully. “You were going to shoot me?”

  “I didn’t know who would come for me,” I explain. “I wanted to be able to defend myself.”

  “You’ll never be able to defend yourself against me,” he says, tapping my nose with his forefinger, as if I am a naughty puppy. “Guns require a willingness to pull the trigger. You don’t have that, Marina.”