CHAPTER6
Briana
Slowly and gently, but with a stern resolve in his eyes, Papa Georg drove his cock deep into my mouth. My body shook on the metal chair with one thrust… two… three… four from Papa Nicolai—all before Papa Georg’s penis found the back of my throat.
I came: I couldn’t help it. What I could help was the way my body responded. If my Lumberjack daddies had been the ones fucking me now, I would never have gotten away with the concealment I managed; way back when they had decided to send me to bad girl prison, they had installed a sensor between my thighs.
From that point on, anyone in charge of me—even the guards in the detention facility—had known exactly how needy my pussy got, and exactly when whatever pleasure my daddies allowed me had pushed me over the edge into orgasm. The voice of authority had the power to keep my body from climax; I didn’t understand how, and my Advanced Guidance daddies’ explanation about limbic systems, amygdalae, and parasympathetic nervous responses made no sense to me. When I had asked Daddy Trevor, the smartest of my Lumberjack daddies, about it, he had laughed.
“Yeah,” he had said. “I’m actually not sure even Selecta understands how it works. I definitely don’t.”
Whatever: my daddies could keep me from coming. When they gave me the order in the voice—which they didn’t always do even when they decided to edge me as punishment or as a lesson in self-control—I didn’t have to worry about it.
I had a good deal more to worry about, from one point of view: the effect on my body didn’t resemble anything else I had ever felt in my life.
Tortured with pleasure: that always seemed the best way to describe it. Moaning, panting, screaming for release from the sensations of my daddies’ hands and cocks, the dominance in their eyes, mingled with love and care, that drove me wild, but never wild enough, my body obeying their firm purpose that I only feel real satisfaction when they decided. Then, coming like a freight train… like a cluster bomb… like a nuclear detonation… when at last they said—always in the voice—“Go ahead and come, good girl.”
Papa Nicolai undoubtedly wanted to do that to me, or at least something like it—as much of it as a crafty but ignorant criminal could imagine. Ignorant even of how a submissive bad girl actually got turned on… more crucial, ignorant of how my training and my conditioning actually worked.
And I had to keep him ignorant.
Thankfully the orgasms I had this way, utterly full, didn’t really show. Sometimes my daddies filled me with cock and told me I couldn’t touch my clit, and then a hard cock at just the correct angle slammed into my g-spot. Unable to obey their command, I climaxed, but it didn’t take a truly obvious form—definitely not the wild, cataclysmic ecstasy I had sometimes. When, say, Daddy John held a vibrator against my clit while he used his other hand to push my face into the mattress and filled me with his jackhammering manhood, I bucked under him like a bronco and screamed like a banshee.
Now, coming despite myself, I moaned around Papa Georg’s hardness, my eyes locked on his. My hips jerked hard, my hands clenching into tight claws on the cool metal back of the chair. Even I hardly noticed the extra spasm of my little orgasm, with Papa Nicolai’s hands holding me so tightly and his muscular lap slamming into my backside.
I almost kept it out of my eyes; I almost managed only to blink with the pleasure rocketing through my system and turning all the discomfort and the humiliation into ecstasy. Maybe I did, too: when Papa Georg narrowed his eyes and I knew in the marrow of my bones that he could tell I had just come, I couldn’t feel sure that my eyes had given me away.
But he did know—if the slight change in his gaze hadn’t told me, the secretive smile would have.
Fear raced up and down my body, electric in the wake of the pleasure from the rigid cock Papa Nicolai kept driving into me, and bringing on, to my astonishment, a second little climax even as the terror of what Papa Georg might do took hold.
When it became clear, a second or two later, even as a third orgasm made my hips jerk beneath Papa Nicolai’s hard fucking, that Papa Georg intended to keep his knowledge to himself, I gasped around the manhood he had been moving softly back and forth in my mouth. Emotion filled my chest, seeming to flow downward into my belly, into my thighs, not really bypassing my pussy but also not centering there.
I liked Papa Georg.
Who the fuck knows what ‘chemistry’ actually is. It’s not like I didn’t have chemistry with all my daddies—especially Daddy John, back in the Lumberjacks bunker. But what I felt about Papa Georg then, in spite of—no, to be honest, because of—the horrible, dangerous, degrading circumstances in which we had met… in that humiliating moment at least I felt like I had never liked anyone so much.
Met him? Is this what you would call meeting a guy… a daddy?
“Good girl,” he said, gently but also still with that belittling, superior edge that made a fire of shame and need seem to run along my skin, shooting out from his fingers into my nipples and my clit. “I’m going to come on your face while you get it from Papa Nicolai.”
He pulled his cock from my mouth and he pumped it quickly in his hand. I thought I could see it getting even harder as his climax neared. His eyes stayed locked on mine; I felt sure I could see in them the knowledge that I wanted the cock in my pussy to be his. The idea made me blush so hotly that I wanted to look away, but even though my conscious mind could hardly remember the command he had given a few minutes ago, to look at him, the voice of authority ensured that my body knew not to move my gaze from his face.
Papa Nicolai spoke to Ivan in Russian. His rhythm slowed inside me. I sobbed, taking my lower lip between my teeth and looking up at Papa Georg with my best submissive, pleading expression as I felt the warlord’s cock withdraw, because I knew what came next.
Papa Georg stroked the rigid length of his penis slowly. I saw his eyes dart over to Ivan, and then return to me as I heard Ivan do something that sounded like opening a drawer in a desk or a side table somewhere in the room. I knew what that meant, too.
“Ivan’s going to lube you up, sweetheart,” he said, and I realized he could do another thing my Lumberjack daddies could do—make a term of endearment like sweetheart sound like whore or slut… a degradation that sent heat to my cheeks and to my pussy in equal measure.
At the same time, strange as it always seemed to me, sweetheart still meant something sugary and candy-coated: it meant that the daddy who called me that thought I tasted good in some way, and made me think about how my mouth would taste to him—or, a bad girl thought, how I would taste if he decided to enjoy my shaven pussy with his lips and tongue.
Could Papa Georg see in my eyes how his good looks in that dark suit, his blond hair, and his icy blue gaze affected me when he called me sweetheart? I felt my pleading look get even more intense as I saw that he must, because his hand on his cock moved more quickly and I saw his hips thrust a little… I was turning him on with my submission… maybe even as much as Papa Georg turned me on.
I felt Ivan’s big, rough hands on my ass, one hand spreading my cheeks and the other, fingers slick with lube, against my anus, inside that tiny flower. I cried out, and I because I had to keep looking at him I imagined Papa Georg was the one doing it. Of my Lumberjacks Daddy Omar was best at getting me ready for that ultimate bad girl act… the final submission of my body’s most private place. Ivan probed roughly, distended my tight ring—not the way Daddy Omar did when he stretched me little by little. I sobbed, my hips moving forward despite myself, trying in vain to get away.
“Nyet,” Papa Nicolai said. Then, in English, in what he thought the voice of authority, “Keep that ass right where it is.”
I struggled to obey, desperate to avoid showing them that Papa Nicolai’s version of the voice didn’t actually work. I thought I could see in the way Papa Georg’s eyes flicked from what Ivan did behind me back to my face that he, my new papa, believed he could do it much better than the warlord’s lieutenant. I pushed back with my bottom, cried out in discomfort as I felt my anus prepared for the warlord’s cock.
I want to do it for Papa Georg, a wayward thought said.