The Institute, Daddy Issues(84)

Then, just as I felt I was get­ting near the peak, Salt with­drew his fin­gers and re­placed them with the blunt, cold tip of the plug.

I froze at once, un­cer­tain of what to do. But Salt just kept lick­ing, teas­ing my clit with the tip of his tongue, tast­ing me as though he couldn’t get enough of my secret fla­vor. I moaned and bucked my hips up to meet him be­cause I couldn’t help it. When my pel­vis came back down again, I felt the head of the plug move in just a little fur­ther.

“Papa,” I moaned, press­ing to­wards him. “Papa, please…” I didn’t know what to do with my hands—they had been clenched into fists at my sides but now, some­how, they found their way into my part­ner’s thick, black hair. I tugged at him rest­lessly, un­able to help my­self.

Salt licked me even harder, suck­ing my clit into his mouth and lash­ing it mer­ci­lessly with his tongue. I felt the plug slide in even fur­ther but at this point I didn’t care. All I wanted was more of Salt’s mouth on my pussy, all I wanted was to come.

“Papa,” I cried, arch­ing my back. “I’m close…so close.”

Salt re­placed his tongue with his fin­gers, slid­ing lightly but rap­idly around and around my swollen but­ton as he pushed the plug even deeper into me.

“That’s right, my darling…my mishka,” he mur­mured, his deep voice hoarse and his pale eyes half-lid­ded with de­sire. “That’s right, open for your Papa. Open your­self and let me fill you.”

His hot words as well as the pleas­ure he was giv­ing me was driv­ing me to the peak. But there was some­thing more that was push­ing me there—it was the feel­ing of be­ing owned. The feel­ing of be­long­ing to my Papa so com­pletely that I would al­low any­thing—any­thing at all. Even this. Es­pe­cially this.

“Now, mishka, who do you be­long to?” Salt asked, echo­ing my thoughts and I felt the broad middle part of the plug—the widest part—slide into me.

“Ahh!” I gasped, arch­ing my back again. “Oh, Papa!”

“Tell me,” he in­sisted, rub­bing my swollen clit even faster, slid­ing lightly but firmly over my tender flesh. “Tell me, who do you be­long to?”

“You,” I gasped and began to come, my whole body clench­ing around the thick in­vader that Salt had slipped deep in­side me. “You, Papa—I only be­long to you!” The words were a moan—a cry from the cen­ter of my be­ing. At that mo­ment he owned me and I wanted to be owned. Wanted to be­long to him forever.

“Good girl,” Salt growled ap­prov­ingly. He never stopped strok­ing me as the or­gasm hit and rolled me un­der like a tidal wave at the beach, drench­ing me with pleas­ure and mak­ing me gasp for breath. “Such a good girl to open your­self to your Papa—to come so hard on my fin­gers and tongue.”

“Ahh…God!” I moaned, still shak­ing and al­most cry­ing. It was the most in­tense or­gasm I could ever re­mem­ber hav­ing and that in­cluded the one Salt had given me the night be­fore. “Please, oh please!”

When Berkley had first tied me down to this damn table, put­ting me into a very vul­ner­able po­s­i­tion, I had been hold­ing back tears. Even after Salt had made him leave and I had felt such in­tense re­lief that my part­ner—my Papa—was there to take care of me, I’d man­aged to hold my­self back and only let a few salty drops slip down my cheeks. But sud­denly, after the in­cred­ible or­gasm, I couldn’t hold back any more.

As the pleas­ure ebbed, the in­tens­ity of the situ­ation hit me like a ton of bricks. All of the emo­tions I’d been hold­ing back so des­per­ately, walled off in the part of me that was Andi—the every­day part—the strong part—sud­denly came rush­ing to the sur­face. The tears poured out of me and I wept even though I didn’t know why I was weep­ing.

“Mishka…darling.” Salt was quick to gather me in his arms. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered in my ear. “Are you hav­ing pain?”

“No…no, noth­ing like that.” I made an at­tempt to mas­ter my­self but it was hard to do, hard to pull my­self back from the spot I had al­lowed my­self to go in or­der to ac­cept this from him. In or­der to let him do what had to be done. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” I whispered at last, brokenly. “It was just…let­ting you do that was in­tense.”