CHAPTER14
Briana
I felt the tug of Papa Nicolai’s fingers on the tabs, and I heard the soft ripping sound of Velcro coming open. I saw the warlord’s face, but I filled my mind instead with the face of Papa Georg, his second lieutenant… my new papa… maybe an ally of my real daddies… the firm-handed man I…
My forehead creased very hard. Papa Nicolai had opened my diaper all the way, and he had bent his head to look at the smooth, pink places he had uncovered. I closed my eyes and squeezed them shut very tightly.
What a strange moment to discover you’re in love with someone, my brain said, seeming to hover above the bad girl on the bench, the little slut in the open diaper with all the Russians around her, ready to fuck her as hard and as long as they liked.
All the Russians and also the one who might be Russian, and might be German, and might be…
Papa Nicolai spoke in Russian, asking for something. I heard a kind of shuffling, as if someone were taking something out of a bag, and I thought I guessed what he had asked for. My cheeks burned with shame at the same moment I felt the baby wipe on my diaper area.
A whimper escaped my lips at the coldness of the alcohol as it went on and as it evaporated.
“Look at that,” Papa Nicolai said, in condescending English that made me feel like a naughty little girl, too old for diapers but put back in them to teach her a lesson after wetting herself. “So pretty. You almost can’t tell she’s such a dirty slut.”
“Oh, my God,” I whispered. Papa Nicolai had the daddy gene—I knew it for sure in that moment, though it made everything much more difficult. The daddy gene… I had heard another girl talk about it that way in bad girl prison. The daddies didn’t describe themselves that way, but my own experience seemed to correspond to what the daddy gene seemed to mean: you either had it or you didn’t. Ivan didn’t. Papa Nicolai, evil warlord, did.
Papa Georg did. Oh, did he ever. I felt tears leak out of the corners of my eyes as I struggled not against any new surge of defiance in my chest but against the overwhelming urge to look at my real papa. The way my body had responded to this evil daddy… the way I had just clenched right in front of his eyes as he cleaned my pussy and bottom-hole with a baby wipe… I wanted to make sure Papa Georg knew it only came from Papa Nicolai having the daddy gene… and from Papa Georg being right there, watching.
Because it was my new papa, my real papa, watching his evil boss toy with me, enjoy me the way a daddy enjoys a bad girl… that was the thing that made my pussy contract, made my breath come in little pants as I thought about how Papa Georg would now watch all these criminals fill me up with their big, hard penises.
“Nice and clean,” said Papa Nicolai. “Now let’s see how this tastes. Keep those knees spread, little whore.”
I felt the sob escape my chest and then I heard it in the room as if someone else had produced the sound… someone who liked it when her daddies tasted her pussy. I didn’t like it, because it made me feel out of control, like I didn’t know how to please the man who sampled me with his tongue. The pleasure that came from a daddy doing it… it felt almost like a punishment, like he wanted to show me exactly how utterly he could make my body betray me.
It felt good… I couldn’t help that it felt good. Papa Nicolai knew how to alternate gentle licks and kisses with flicks of his tongue… he knew how to put fingers deep inside a bad girl’s pussy to make her hips jerk upward, desperate to push her clit against his teasing tongue.
I cried out, clinging with my hands to the backs of my knees, trying to think not about the man tasting me down there but about the only man I might want to do that embarrassing thing. If anyone could help me enjoy a daddy’s exercising his right to taste his bad girl’s pussy, Papa Georg could.
But I knew I couldn’t hope for that, and the knowledge seemed to make the shame much greater: not only did I have to let this evil daddy use his lips and tongue down there, let him inspect me so minutely and comment to his henchman about how tight I would be on their cocks and how wet I had gotten for my gangbang… but I had to let them do it while my real papa looked on.
He wants it this way… Papa Georg needs me to obey them… to hold my knees so wide… to let them see my pussy and my bottom-hole…
That thought, whenever I managed to bring it back into my mind and hold it there, seemed to comfort me. As Papa Nicolai wrung moans and whimpers of forced pleasure from me, I opened my eyes and managed to catch a glimpse of Papa Georg, still standing behind the others. They all had their cocks out, and they pumped them in their hands as they watched their boss toy with his kidnapped American bad girl. I couldn’t see clearly, but I didn’t think Papa Georg had taken his own penis out.
Suddenly I wanted to see it… to see my papa’s hardness, and to kiss it and make it even harder, make it feel good. I sobbed with the need for my papa’s cock, knowing somewhere at the back of my mind that the idea had no logic to it, but still feeling that if only Papa Georg’s hardness could be one of the penises to fuck me, I would be able to obey.
Papa Nicolai stood up. Still shaking, my eyes wide, I looked at him between my raised knees. He began slowly to unbuckle his belt.
“We’ll take turns in her cunt first,” he said in English, a cruel smile curving his lips.
I gripped my knees so tightly. I tried not to look over at Papa Georg, but I couldn’t: I turned away from the sight of the warlord unzipping his fly and pulling down his pants and his black underwear to look beseechingly at my real papa. Two of the guards had moved aside a little as they stroked the hard lengths of their erections, so I could see all of Papa Georg. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and his blue eyes gazed straight back into mine.
For a moment I had a sense of terrible danger… that by turning my head so openly to look at the man who truly owned my obedience and my heart I had taken an awful risk that could kill us both. I could feel in the increasingly warm air of that bare room how all the Russians’ attention had turned from the newly uncovered cock of their criminal overlord to the calm frame of the second lieutenant—the man who I had realized very early on had made a practice of staying quiet and in the background.
Icy fear gripped my heart: for the first time I felt like my papa might not truly have the ability to save me. Then, with a single phrase, Papa Georg gave me a clue to the mystery that seemed to have engulfed my mind: why had I fallen in love with him this way?
He spoke in the voice of authority. “Don’t look at me, you dirty little whore. Put your eyes where they belong, on your papa’s cock.”
His voice cut through the momentary silence in the room like a knife of glass, and I felt all the Russians’ eyes go from Papa Georg’s face straight to mine, as I gasped, whimpered, and obeyed. My brain didn’t even try to quibble, to tell me that the place my gaze belonged had to be, could only be my real papa: no, he had told me, and he had decided, where I should look.
I did: I turned my head and lowered my eyes to see Papa Nicolai’s hard, heavy penis, brandished arrogantly in his left hand. I let out a sob of need at the sight, terribly glad that the Russians couldn’t look inside my head and see that while I looked at one cock I had a very different one in my head… that the need between my thighs, while I knew to my shame from my bad girl training that it could find satisfaction on anything that filled me up and fucked me dominantly, could never reach a real release without Papa Georg’s hardness inside me.