One of his slick fingers traces higher, to the tight pucker of my ass and I feel my eyes go wide because no one’s ever touched me there.
“Sweetheart. Daddy wants to put a finger in your ass.”
I don’t know what it feels like to have anything in your ass but it’s supposed to feel good, doesn’t it? It feels good to be stroked there. Good but strange. I nod, my face sweaty against the sofa cushion, wondering what sort of punishment he has in mind. He presses firmly with his wet finger and I feel my flesh give against his, and he slides in just a little bit and I stretch around him. Oh, god that’s weird.
He hooks a finger into my gag and pulls it down. “Tell me how that feels.”
I pant for a moment, thinking. Bizarrely good. I don’t know if I want more or less. He presses deeper and I groan. More. Definitely more. “Strange, daddy.”
“Strange how?”
His voice is hard and demanding but I still feel too shy to speak how I feel out loud. “Good strange.”
He spreads me open and pushes his finger deeper, spitting again to ease the way. Then he slides a second finger into my ass, the one slick from my pussy, and my head rears up with a gasp. He fucks me with his fingers, working them deeper by slow increments, his other hand rubbing my clit, more intense now, no longer teasing. “How about that?”
I’m beyond words but manage something like oh, god yes, into the sofa cushion as I moan low and loud.
“Does it feel like you couldn’t move if you tried, and you really don’t want to? Like the only thing that exists for you in this moment is my two fingers deep inside you and the sound of my voice? That you’re more vulnerable than you’ve ever been in your life?”
How does he know so perfectly how I’m feeling? I swallow and manage to pant, “Yes. Yes, all that.”
“Good. Because I fucking crave that feeling from you like air.” He take his hand from my clit and strokes my hair back from my face. “Just look at you. Stretched so tight around my fingers and unable to move. Say, thank you, daddy.”
“Thank you, daddy.”
“You’re welcome, you little slut.”
My mouth drops open in surprise and I look round at him.
He gazes back, unapologetic, rubbing firm and fast on my clit in a way I know is going to make me come if he keeps it up. “What? You are my little slut, aren’t you? Asking me to fuck you on stage in front of thousands of people. Some of them saw you, you know, asking for this. I wish they could see you now, ass up with your underwear around your knees while I finger-fuck you right in the ass.”
I’ve never heard him talk like this before. I didn’t know he could talk like this, my kind, sweet, patient guardian.
“Beg me not to stop.” When I take longer than a second to answer his hand comes down hard on my ass and pain explodes across my flesh. “Do it.”
I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Please, please don’t stop. I’m so close, I’m so close.” I’m going to come any moment, hot and strong and tight around his fingers and I don’t even understand how.
“You don’t deserve to come, do you?”
“Please,” I half-whimper, half-sob.
“But you still hope I’ll be merciful. You want me to give into my panting, slutty girl who’s barely even able to think right now. But listen to this. Really fucking listen.” As his words get harder his touch on my clit grows more luxurious, drawing out and heightening the sensation. “My benevolence is given when I choose. I control when you get to come and when you don’t. Even if I give you that satisfaction, this is never over. My control. My praise. My punishment. My comfort. I bestow them, and always on my terms, little girl.” He drives his fingers deeper into my ass to illustrate his point.
This is how he wants me to feel. Completely vulnerable to him. At his mercy and on the precipice of something he can so easily withdraw.
“Do you understand now?” he growls.
I thought he was going to hurt me to show me he was in charge, but he doesn’t need to do anything so crude. I’ll be good for Laszlo out of fear, but I will walk to the ends of the earth over red hot coals and broken glass for his generosity.
I understand everything now. “Yes, daddy.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes what?”
But what else is there? Then I remember. “Yes, maestro.”
“There,” he says with a purr. “Good girl, Isabeau. All three. Daddy. Sir. Maestro. I rule you in all three parts of your life and don’t you fucking forget it.”