The Boss

He had made her cry. Work sucked, and the mistake was not hers. He’d squandered her hard-earned self esteem to buy an excuse for his incompetence. He was a fraction of a man and she had always handled him with grace, but today he had broken her.

Inside this room, and out, she’s a warrior: Boudicca in skirt or panties. She’s above him. Her every atom a rebuke to his mundane masculinity. Her appetites a “fuck you” to his four stale weekly wanks. But he had made her cry. Daddy is going to need to do something about that.

Her past lovers would have handled it differently. Some would have said her boss was a schoolboy pulling her hair because he liked her. Some would spew impotent fury, drawing a sketch of violence they wouldn’t paint. Her last would have taken his side. But I know what she needs.

She stands before me, straight backed as I always insist, despite the weight of her unjust frustrations. Today had been tough, but it will not be the day when she lets me down. With my thumb I push a tear from the corner of her eye and smooth it into her cheek.

“Please Daddy” she says. She has so many “Please Daddy’s”. Each a plea for a different ritual. I know what every “Please Daddy” means. Her breath gives each a new meaning, her eyes filled with craving and context. I love each one, but this “Please Daddy” is my favourite.

I strip her of the day, her body soft above her steel. She looks at me, eyes wide, vulnerable, brave. I take a breath and hold it. She holds her breath too. As I see her expectation peak I take my hand from her cheek and grab at her throat hard. I breath out, but she can’t.

I squeeze just enough for her to taste her fear, that bitter flavour. I push her onto the bed and she gasps for breath as she falls. I hold her down by the neck and with my thumb still wet, I push a first drop of juice from the opening of her pussy and smooth it into her clit.

Still holding her throat I pull her face closer to mine. Her breath is needy, warm. “Who do you cry for?” I say, and for the first time this evening she smiles. “Nobody” she lies, and her cunt drips onto my fingers. She’s becoming defiant. That’s just what she needs.

I push my full weight onto her as I grab the straps from the floor. She struggles as I tie her arms down with her head hanging back over the foot of the bed. She tries to kick out at me so I strap her legs open wide. She is helpless. She is mine. I take off my belt.

“Who do you cry for?” I say, and she glowers. “Nobody” she dares me. I stand with her face looking up at me, her body stretched out before me, her legs spread. I lift the belt above her pussy. I take a breath and hold it. She holds her breath too. She gulps down the tension and…

I bring the belt down on her cunt. She screams out in pain, but she doesn’t cry. I whip her cunt once more. She screams louder, the impact adding pain to pain. Her agony has me hard and I take out my cock. Forgetting herself she tries to reach it with her mouth.

I hold her throat as I push my cock in, she gasps for breath. I reach down to touch her pussy, forcing my cock further down her throat as I go, rubbing hard on her raw clit with my fingers, friction cutting against the subsiding sensation from the impact of material against skin.

“Who do you cry for?” I say, and she catches her breath. “Nobody” she tries to convince herself, and I thrust my cock down her throat further, her neck still soft in my grip, her spit spilling out onto my shaft and over her face. No tears yet.

I grab at her tits, pulling up hard on her nipples, fucking her throat still. Her clit is swollen and sore but she still lifts her pelvis. It’s an invitation she can’t help but offer. I lift the belt above my head and bring it down hard as I whip her pussy again and again and again.

Her pussy weeps with need. “Please” she screams around my cock, and we both start to cum, the belt still raining down on her clit. “Please, please, please” she screams, choking out my cock and cum, but even she doesn’t know what the word means now.

She’s a warm hole and a cluster of nerve endings. She’s a knot of need and pain and ecstasy. She screams once more, a timeless sound beyond feeling. Beyond shame and frustration. For a moment she jolts uncontrollably. She is still shaking as I untie her.

A joy that stings, that’s what she’d been pleading for. A pain to dull the disappointment of a world that does not deserve her. A fuck to fuse her broken pieces and make her whole again.

“Who do you cry for?” I say and her eyes stream. “You Daddy.” And she throws her arms around me and starts to sob uncontrollably – the corners of her mouth curled up as her tears flow down.

She won’t feel anything for him again. Tonight’s an inoculation, a vaccine against the tedious suits who would dare try and make her feel subservience without consent, submission without reward. The pain was medicine. A reminder of how trivial the world beyond us is.

I’d fucked out the frustration and the sadness and the doubt, and I’d filled her head with me instead. Tears, spit and cum cascaded down her face. Cream dripping from her spent pussy. She loves it when I make her cry.