We sit side by side on the couch, our laptops before us. He's brought work home, as is frequently the case, while I'm writing. We've passed plenty of evenings like this. Tonight, however, something about my demeanor captures his attention.

Feeling his stare on me, I look over at him. "What is it?" 

His gaze moves to my laptop screen, and I have the sudden urge to minimize the open document. Despite my best efforts, he senses my evasiveness. A half-smile forms on his lips as he strokes his dark beard, regarding me.

"What are you writing?" he asks.

Instead of answering, I merely squirm, which only serves to make me look guilty. "Why do you want to know?"

He's mildly exasperated by my responding to his question with a question. After closing his laptop and placing it on the nearby table, he turns to face me. "Because I thought you were working on a creative nonfiction piece, but that's obviously not the case." He doesn't look at my screen again; his stare remains fixed on me.

"How do you know that?" Yet another question, but this one pleases him.

"I heard you start breathing faster, and your face grew flushed." His smile widens, and his eyes, a pale blue, are bright with amusement. "You're aroused."

"I am not!" Even as I speak, I look down to make sure my body isn't betraying me in some way. I notice my nipples are hard beneath my tank top.

Of course, he notices, too. "Oh, you're not? Let me check for myself."

His request sends a current of lust directly to my pussy. Still, I roll my eyes and grin as I say, "You're being ridiculous."

He lifts an eyebrow, then leans even closer. "Are you telling Daddy no?"

I draw in a sharp breath, the sound easily audible in the otherwise quiet room. When have I ever told him no while he's playing the role of Daddy? Now, I am quick to shake my head. My hair, a little darker than his, sweeps over my shoulders from the force of my emphatic gesture.

"Good girl." When he starts to draw me to him, I hurriedly set the laptop aside. Then, I lean back against the couch, trying to control my rapid breathing. Lowering my eyes, I watch as he slips a hand into my shorts and panties. His fingers are teasing, inching toward my pussy. "Look at me, kitten," he murmurs.

The moment our eyes meet, he uses just one fingertip to caress me, but it's enough. With a sly smile, he says, "You certainly feel wet." He parts my outer lips to explore my inner folds. "Your sweet cunt is absolutely dripping!" 

I let out a sigh, silently praying he'll rub my clit. But he only withdraws his hand and holds it before me so I can see the evidence of my arousal. His fingers are coated with my juices. I watch him slip those two fingers into his mouth; he moans appreciatively at my taste on his tongue. Then he uses that same hand to grasp my chin.

In this role, he's dominant but never rough. I'll never feel the sting of a palm against my bare ass, or the bite of a rope restraining my wrists, for he exerts control over me not through pain but pleasure. His favorite method is giving me so much bliss that I feel weak and worn out from it, almost ill. And in his skillful, subtle way, Daddy always gets what he wants.

"What are you writing?" he asks again, his tone still mild. He's in his mid-forties, ten years my senior, but the age difference plays only a minor part in encouraging my submission. Far more important is the way he manages to sense my every desire. He's careful in this role, for he understands the power of it. Only when I'm aching to be controlled does he revel in the pleasure of bending me to his will.

And I'm aching for that tonight. He realized it even before I did. No longer able to resist, I say, "I'm writing an erotic story."

Of course, he already knows this, but he feigns surprise. "Ah, so that explains your sopping wet pussy. And what's inspired you to write this story?"

His hold on my chin is loose enough for me to turn my head away. Shrugging, I reply, "I just wanted to try something different."

We've been together for over a year, so he knows I explore a variety of genres in my writing. Yet I've never allowed him to read any of my erotic fiction. He's an insightful critic, and part of me fears he'll find my sex stories overwrought and silly.

He studies me in silence for a moment, then asks, "Are you going to share this story with anyone? Will you try to get it published?"

Again, I shrug a little helplessly. "Maybe."

"But you don't want to share it with me."

"Not right now," I rush to say. "Not until it's finished."

He returns to his quiet contemplation, almost convincing me he's ready to let the matter drop.

But I know better.

He sits up, resting a hand on my thigh. After dinner, he and I changed out of our office attire, and he now wears a T-shirt and cotton lounge pants. His feet are bare, like mine. Looking back over at me, he says in a casual tone, "I want you to write something just for me." Then he adds, far more firmly, "Right now."

My eyes widen. "I can't do that! You have to give me some time to come up with an idea, and—"

He shakes his head. "Don't be precious about it, angel. I'm not expecting excellence. And it can be short, just a few hundred words or so. Hell, I'll be happy with a prose poem." His hand is soft yet possessive on my bare skin. "But I want it tonight."

"Daddy." The word escapes my lips as a plea. How can he expect me to do this so quickly, especially when I'm in the middle of writing another story?

Seeing my reluctance, he offers a reassuring smile. "I'll give you some incentive. How does that sound?"

That sounds like I'm going to be in for a night of exquisite torment. I want to protest, to tell him I'll do as he says later, but before I can utter a word, he presses a finger to my lips.

"You want to please me, don't you?"

I do, so much. It's astonishing, the pull he has over me once I've slipped into this submissive headspace. "Yes, Daddy." Somehow, I'm getting even wetter when I've already saturated my panties.

"Very good." Before rising from the couch, he says, "You'll stay here." I don't have to nod my agreement, for he knows I'll obey.

It doesn't take long for him to return. When he strides back into the room, I can see the outline of his growing erection beneath his pants. I also see that he's carrying a fluffy towel, neatly folded. On top of it rests one of my favorite toys, a clitoral vibrator that also delivers a blissful sucking sensation. No other toy makes me come so hard. He's brought the nipple clamps as well, but they're more for my benefit than his. He knows I like rough breast play regardless of the erotic roles we've assumed.

He draws closer, and though I remain on the couch, I blurt out, "Aren't you tired? It's been a long day." I know he'd be suspicious, even disappointed, if I didn't try to talk my way out of this.

His smile makes it clear he's pleased by my attempt, but he only says, "Sweetheart, you know I can do this all night."

Daddy's almost brusque when telling me to stand up, and I hurry to comply. Silently, I watch him drape the towel over the cushion where I'd been sitting. Then he simply nods for me to sit back down. Moments later, I'm holding a notepad and pen he's retrieved from a drawer. He's placed a plush throw pillow at my side so I can rest the notepad upon it for more comfortable writing. I glance nervously at the vibrator he's kept within easy reach on his side of the couch.

With quick and efficient movements, he tugs down my shorts and panties. I lift my ass from the couch to make the process easier for him. "Such a good girl," he tells me. His gaze lingers on my pussy, but he doesn't touch me again. Once I'm stripped from the waist down, he sits next to me. His smile is full of affection as he strokes my cheek, then spreads my legs apart. The air is deliciously cool on my slick flesh.

Daddy places the vibrator between my thighs, nestling it against my folds. Its head gently tapers into a mouth-like O, which will simultaneously provide suction and vibration to my clit.

"While you're writing," he says, "I'll leave you be. But the moment you stop, even if it's just for a second, I'll turn on the vibrator. Do you understand?"

The pen visibly trembles in my grasp. How will I possibly write anything worth sharing with him? He'll only be disappointed in the results of this game. Yet I nod, swallowing hard.

"Start now," he commands.

The pen, poised over the notepad, doesn't move. I have no idea how to begin.

As promised, Daddy turns on the vibrator. I bite my lip, trying to maintain a neutral expression, but he knows the instant he has the toy in just the right place, for I let out a groan. My hips slacken a little, causing me to sink farther down on the couch.

"Oh, I can tell you like that!" His mouth is just inches from mine, and I ache for a kiss. Though I should be racking my brain for a good story idea, I'm tempted to keep my hand motionless. I've been turned on all evening while working on my other story, and my cunt is now like a needy creature, desperate for an orgasm.

But I know from past experience that I have to pace myself. Too much, too soon, and the pleasure will quickly become excruciating. I manage to write a sentence, followed by another. Daddy moves the vibrator from my clit but leaves it on; its hum, a warning that distracts me. Just a few hundred words, I tell myself. I can do that much.

Yet I falter after the first paragraph, my furious writing coming to an abrupt halt. Again, Daddy guides the vibrator back in place. My eyes roll as I release a cry.

"Come for me," he urges.

"Oh, my God!" I'm panting now, my legs shaking. The climax washes over me like a balmy wave, its warmth spreading to the very tips of my fingers. Seconds tick by, but they feel like an eternity while my body contracts again and again. 

"That's my girl!" Even when the spasms subside, Daddy keeps the vibrator against my clit. Knowing I'll soon be unbearably sensitive, I continue writing. My face is flushed and covered with a thin layer of sweat.

Finally, Daddy turns off the toy. I'm still scribbling when he lifts my tank top to reveal my breasts. With the pad of his thumb, he grazes my nipples, and it's all I can do to hold on to my train of thought. I'm so wet that I'm sure I've dampened the towel beneath me. Realizing that another orgasm will probably soon follow my first keeps my body on edge.

"Maybe these will give you some inspiration," Daddy says while reaching for the nipple clamps.

I keep my stare fixed on the page, trying to ignore the delicious pinch those clamps give my flesh. An involuntary whimper escapes me.

"I'm only trying to be helpful." The grin in Daddy's voice lets me know he's delighted by our game, and by the way I'm reacting to it.

I succeed in writing two more paragraphs before my mind draws another blank. The pen slows its journey over the paper but doesn't stop. Still, Daddy pulls the chain connecting the clamps, which in turn gives my nipples a tug.

"Don't try to deceive me," he says. "I can tell when you're writing and when you're only bluffing."

I let out a groan of frustration, but he gives me no chance to argue. Turning on the vibrator, he has it suckling my tender pearl almost immediately. The renewed stimulation forces me to plead. In response, he says, "Write, sweetheart."

I struggle through another sentence, and then another. Daddy grants me mercy, but my clit is throbbing, poised to send me spiraling into ecstasy for a second time. I write of Daddy and our games; I describe how he makes me crave my own defeat at his hands. Glancing over what I've already written, I know it's at least several hundred words. Still, I'm at a loss as to how to end the story. Again, I falter, and again, I'm punished with the vibrator.

Daddy's brutal now, pressing the toy hard against me. Tears spring into my eyes even while my hips rock. My tormenter is breathing fast, his erection tenting his pants. I know better than to stroke him. "Daddy, I can't!" I wail.

His gaze, locked with mine, is almost sympathetic. "Of course you can. You've already written so much!"

I'm shaking so hard that I can barely get the words out, but I manage to say, "Okay, okay, I'll try again!"

"I wish it were that simple, kitten." He makes a regrettable sound as I writhe. "I think you need to come again in order to clear your head. It'll help you concentrate better."

I surrender then, knowing he won't stop until I've given up an orgasm. My muscles go limp just before another round of fierce contractions seizes me. I know I'm dangerously close to squirting. "Please!" The plea escapes me as a choked cry.

Daddy eventually relents, turning off the vibrator. "Pen to paper," he reminds me. When I start to write again, he removes the clamps, his touch gentle. I gasp as sensation rushes back into my nipples. It's agony until he lowers his head and soothes me with his tongue. The feel of his mouth suckling my breasts makes me mewl, but I keep writing. Half-delirious, I drift into metaphor while describing my love, my abject need, for this man.

The story needs one more sentence, I know. I can't end it as it is. I want to break down weeping as I search for the right words.

Daddy notices that my hand has gone still. "Oh, baby." His tone borders on sorrowful. I shake my head, but of course, that does no good. My shoulders painfully tighten when he places the vibrator between my thighs again. The air is heavy with the smell of my sex.

"I'm going to make a mess if I come again!" My eyes fill with fresh tears.

"Don't fret about that. You know Daddy will clean you up."

As soon as the vibrator resumes its exquisite pleasuring, I writhe and thrash. All the while, I try to hold back my climax. Though Daddy assures me it's okay if I squirt, the act fills me with shame. I hate feeling so out of control of my body.

"Let go, angel," he coaxes. I don't bother trying to write; it's impossible when I'm in this state. Instead, I search his face for a sign of pity. In his stare, I find hot lust. My helplessness, and the way I hand over my autonomy like it's a burden I can no longer bear—these things only serve to excite him.

I release a sob. My third climax is so powerful that I feel as if I'm being taken apart in its grip. Finally, I stop resisting, and a gush of fluid escapes me. I hear Daddy's aroused moan, for he loves reducing me to this.

When the torment ceases, I feel filthy and exhausted. Daddy turns off the vibrator for the last time, then caresses my thigh while I continue to shake. He's right, I discover, for a clarity descends over me, and I'm able to write the final sentence of the story.

"I'm finished." The words tumble from my lips with a sigh.

Daddy takes my face in his hands and kisses my damp forehead. "I'm so proud of you."

I let him tend to me. He's gentle while using the towel to pat me dry, careful to avoid any contact with my clit. When he's finished, I tear the sheets from the notepad and offer them to him.

Instead of reading the story, Daddy sets it aside. I feel ridiculous fighting back more tears, but I have to wonder if this was nothing more than a game to him. Do the words I wrote not matter at all? Maybe he cares only that I obeyed.

Daddy's still fully hard. I don't speak while he lowers his pants and underwear. "Come here," he says, reaching for me, and I silently climb onto his lap. Despite my disappointment, I continue to crave his touch. His hands are soothing as he strokes my back. We share a kiss, his tongue almost teasing while it grazes mine. When I whine with need, his mouth grows more demanding, and my body immediately responds.

"Are you too tired?" Daddy asks. He knows I'm not, but he wants me to say it.

"No, Daddy." To prove my words, I gently grasp his cock and guide him inside me. His lust-filled groan feeds my excitement. Flashing a shy smile, I whisper, "Please don't touch my clit." That nub of flesh will be tender for days, I know. I'll be reminded of this evening every time I shift in my chair or cross my legs.

Daddy returns my smile and says, "I promise I won't, baby. We're just making each other feel good right now." He cups my breasts, fondling my nipples. "Does this feel good?"

"So good!" I begin moving with a languid rhythm. Resting his hands on my hips, Daddy looks down at where our bodies are joined. His breathing quickens while I ride him. I'm astonished at the way he can so easily resurrect my need.

Our eyes meet, and his gaze grows tender. "I love you, sweet girl."

"I love you, too, Daddy!" My voice is now edged with urgency, for the graceful rocking of my hips is quickly summoning yet another orgasm from deep in my core. Daddy senses me getting closer. His expression is twisted with his own lust.

"Come inside my pussy!" I beg.

He groans louder, and I feel his cock pulse while buried in my cunt. His hands roam all over me, caressing my tits and thighs. Then he cups my ass. I let him thrust upward, again and again. My arms circle around him as I cry out. 

"I'm close, baby," he tells me in a guttural voice. "Come for Daddy!"

I have no idea how the orgasmic contractions can still be so strong when I've already come three times, but I know Daddy can feel them from the way he gasps. He trembles beneath me, now the helpless one, as he struggles to last just a moment longer.

Finally, he lets out a roar, erupting inside me while I spasm around his cock. His grip on me tightens, becoming almost painful, yet I smile. This is what I love most: the moment when he surrenders to me, as I've surrendered to him so many times before.

Afterward, Daddy weaves his fingers through my hair, guiding my mouth to his for a kiss. We're both still breathing hard, and I rest against him while his cock slowly softens inside me.

With one arm holding me close, Daddy reaches for the story I wrote. I lift my head, watching his face as he reads. He makes no attempt to hide how much my words move him. When our eyes meet again, he says, "My love, this is perfect."

His smile is so tender that I feel I'll melt into a pool of bliss from its warmth. Slowly sitting up, I beam at his praise. Yet I ask, "Don't you want me to revise it? It's just a rough draft right now."

He presses the pages to his chest, safe behind his palm, as if he thinks I might try to take them.

As if I would ever.

Daddy gives me another kiss, then whispers, "I don't want you to change a word."