Chapter 113: The Morning Ritual
The ache was what woke her, a low, throbbing pulse between her legs that felt both empty and swollen. The bedroom was pearly with pre-dawn light, the city silent below. Elise shifted on the crimson silk, a soft whimper escaping her. The other emptiness was in her mouth, a dry, hollow feeling. She needed the silicone, the smooth comfort, the rhythmic suck.
Julian was asleep beside her, or so she thought. His breathing was even, his face relaxed in the dimness. She pushed herself up on her elbows, hair tumbling over her shoulders, and crawled the short distance to his side of the bed. She nuzzled his bare shoulder, her nose cold.
“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice scratchy with sleep. “Paci.”
He didn’t open his eyes, but a slow smile touched his lips. One hand came up, his fingers weaving into her hair. “It’s right here, baby.”
But he didn’t reach for the nightstand. Instead, he guided her head down, under the silk sheet. The smell of him, sleep-warm and musky, enveloped her. Her cheek brushed against the coarse hair of his lower belly, then the heavy, soft weight of his cock, already half-hard. He nudged her lips with the head, slick with precome.
“Here’s your paci,” he murmured, his voice gravelly.
Understanding, need, and a deep, submissive hunger washed through her. She opened her mouth willingly, letting him slide the thick crown past her lips. She closed her eyes, a low hum of contentment vibrating in her throat as she began to suckle. It was different from the plastic—warmer, living, salty on her tongue. She hollowed her cheeks, nursing gently at first, her hands coming up to rest on his hips.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his hips giving a tiny upward jerk. “Just like that. Nice and slow for Daddy. Warm my cock with that pretty little mouth.”
She lost herself in the rhythm. Suck, swallow, breathe. Her other ache intensified, a wet heat gathering that had nothing to do with the dawn. She could feel him growing harder, fuller, stretching her lips. A string of saliva escaped the corner of her mouth. One of his hands remained in her hair, not forcing, just holding, a possessive anchor.
After what felt like an eternity of warm, wet suction, he tightened his grip. “Enough, baby. Up.”
He pulled himself from her mouth with a soft, wet pop. She made a sound of loss, her lips feeling suddenly cold and empty. He sat up, the sheet falling away, and looked at her. Her eyes were glazed, her lips bee-stung and glistening. He laid her back against the pillows, her body pliant. He hooked his hands under her knees, spreading her wide, exposing her completely to the grey light. She was soaked, her folds glistening and pink, swollen from the humping of the day before and the arousal of the morning.
“Look at this mess,” he said, his green eyes dark. He rubbed the head of his cock through her slickness, coating himself in her. “This is all for me, isn’t it? This dumb, hungry little cunt.”
“Yours, Daddy,” she breathed, her back arching off the bed, seeking pressure.
He notched himself at her entrance and pushed in, not with a thrust, but with a slow, inexorable press that stole the air from her lungs. He filled the ache perfectly, stretching her to a sweet, burning point. He sank all the way in, until his hips were flush against hers, and paused, letting her adjust, letting her feel the totality of his possession.
“My little baby,” he whispered, bending to kiss her forehead as he began to move. “My perfect, fucked-out baby.”
His pace was agonizingly slow, each withdrawal and penetration a deep, grinding conquest. She could feel every ridge, every vein. Her nails scrabbled at the silk sheets. Her legs locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. The room filled with the sound of their bodies connecting, a wet, rhythmic slap, and her high, gasping cries.
“Daddy… it’s… it’s so deep…”
“It’s supposed to be deep,” he grunted, his composure fracturing. “I’m supposed to be all you can feel. All you can think about. This cock. This bed. This room. Nothing else exists.”
He sped up, the slow, deep rolls becoming harder, more punitive drives. The bedframe tapped a soft, persistent rhythm against the wall. He fucked her with a focused intensity, his eyes locked on hers, watching every flicker of pleasure and overwhelm cross her face.
“You’re going to come just from this, aren’t you?” he said, his voice tight. “Just from your Daddy fucking this tight, stupid pussy. Come on. Squirt all over my cock. Show me.”
The coil inside her, wound so tight for days, snapped. Her vision whited out. A silent, open-mouthed scream as her cunt clamped around him in violent, fluttering waves, drenching him, the sheets beneath them. He swore, the sensation pushing him over the edge.
He pulled out of her suddenly, her body convulsing around nothing. In one fluid motion, he straddled her chest, his cock, shiny with her release and his own, positioned at her lips.
“Open. Now.”
She obeyed, tongue out, eyes dazed. He gripped himself and came, thick, hot pulses of cum painting her tongue, filling her mouth, dripping down her chin. He groaned, a raw, animal sound, as he emptied himself into her.
“Swallow it. Every drop. That’s your milkies. Your reward.”
She gulped, her throat working, taking him in. When the last shudder passed through him, she leaned forward, her tongue lapping at his sensitive tip, cleaning him with kittenish swipes until he was soft and clean.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her into his side. Her body was boneless, humming with spent pleasure. He plucked a real pacifier from the nightstand and slipped it between her lips. She began to suckle immediately, her eyes drifting shut, one small hand splayed over his heartbeat.
He stared at the ceiling, the first true rays of sun striking the windows. She was curled into him, utterly conquered, fed, and pacified. The empty, throbbing ache was gone, replaced by a profound, sated fullness. She was his creation, his patient, his baby. He had not just entered her body; he had replaced her world. The art history graduate student was a ghost. This, here, was all that remained.
Her sucking slowed as she fell back into sleep. He knew the cycle would begin again soon enough—the ache, the whimper, the need for her paci. And he would be there, ready to provide, ready to own the next moment, and the next, until the end of the line.