Yes Please, Daddy

Lia

I didn't even know his name until the papers were signed.

Alexandre Bernard.

He didn't speak to me when I first arrived. Just sat there, in this huge dark room, watching me like he was figuring out how to break me open. Like he already owned me.

Maybe he did.

"Take off your clothes."

That was the first thing he said to me. No introduction. No hello. Just that.

I stood there like an idiot, frozen, wearing this ridiculous thin black dress his men made me change into before bringing me to him. It wasn't even mine. Nothing about me belonged to me anymore.

"I said take it off."

His voice was low, calm. But it made something inside me clench. I don't know if it was fear or something worse.

I pulled the dress over my head slowly. My hands were shaking, but I tried not to let it show. Underneath, I was wearing black lace lingerie. Barely anything, really. Probably chosen by one of his assistants or whoever the hell dressed the girls here.

He stood then. Walked over to me so quietly, I didn't even hear him move.

Leather gloves. He was wearing leather gloves. His fingers reached out and hooked under my chin, lifting my face up so I had no choice but to look into his eyes.

"I don't like to repeat myself," he said.

"I didn't mean to-"

He pressed two fingers to my lips. "Shh. Speak only when I tell you to."

I nodded.

"Good. Turn around."

I turned, heart pounding so loud I could barely hear anything else. I felt him behind me, the warmth of his body, the slow drag of his fingers down my spine.

Then-click.

Cuffs.

Real ones. Thick leather around my wrists, tight but not painful. My arms locked behind me, chest pushed forward. I sucked in a breath, my stomach flipping.

"I don't like liars," he said. "Or brats."

His fingers moved to my neck, holding me there like he was testing how easily he could crush me. He didn't squeeze. Just held. Firm. Possessive.

"You'll serve me. That's your purpose now. You'll learn how to behave. How to listen. And you'll say thank you when I hurt you."

I gasped when something cold pressed against the inside of my thigh.

His hand.

He was touching me, just like that.

I jerked, but he only chuckled. "Ah, don't flinch now, little thing. You'll get used to it."

And then-snap. Something sharp hit the side of my thigh. I let out a noise I didn't even recognize. Not pain. Not quite.

Another snap. Then another.

He was using a crop. And I-

I was wet.

God.

What was wrong with me?

*******************

I didn't sleep.

How could I? My thighs still ached from the crop. My wrists had faint red marks where the cuffs held me too long. And my mind... it wouldn't shut up.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. The way he looked at me like I wasn't even human-just something he owned. A toy. A debt paid in flesh.

But the worst part?

My body liked it.

I hated that.

I could feel the crop on my skin, and I imagined it cutting sharply across my ass, my tits and my pussy. The thought alone sent a wave of heat down to my core, I could feel the warm liquid pooling in between my legs.

Subconsciously, I reached down, my slender fingers trailing down my skin, until they got to my clit, rubbing slowly, I felt the hairs on my skin rise and my nipples poking through my thin night wear.

Slipping carefully, I pushed a finger inside, gasping softly at the feel of it, pushing another finger in, I moaned, thrusting in and out, muttering Alexander's name as I do so.

"Fuck" I groaned, feeling the hot liquid spill into my fingers.

The door opened suddenly making me to pull my hand back and jerk up immediately. It wasn't him-it was a tall woman in all black. Cold face, tight bun. She didn't say a word, just dropped a folded outfit on the bed and left.

The dress was red. Tight. No bra. No panties.

I almost laughed. Almost.

I was taken back to him an hour later.

He was waiting in the same chair. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, tattoos on his forearms I hadn't noticed before. A scar on his neck. A different drink this time.

"You look better today," he said.

I swallowed. "I don't-"

"Take off the dress."

Always with the clothes. Always the same tone. Like he was bored. Like he was barely restraining himself from ruining me.

I didn't move fast enough.

He was in front of me in seconds, grabbing the front of the dress and ripping it down the middle like it was paper. I gasped, stumbling back, hands instinctively trying to cover myself.

He slapped them away.

"You don't cover anything from me. Ever."

He grabbed my chin, forced me to meet his eyes. They were cold. Icy. But something burned under the surface. Hunger. Possession. Obsession.

"You think you get to decide anything here?" His hand slipped between my legs so fast I didn't even get a second to process it. He found my heat, and his smile curved dark and mean.

"Wet again," he murmured. "You pretend to hate me, but your body tells the truth."

I whimpered.

"You'll learn not to lie to me. Even with your silence."

And then it began.

The ropes. The gag. The blindfold.

I couldn't see. Could barely move. Just feel. The sting of leather on my skin, his breath on my neck, the pressure between my legs, his voice in my ear-

"Cry if you want. Moan. Scream. It all belongs to me."

He pushed me to the edge and pulled me back over and over again. Never letting me come. Never letting me forget who was in control.

By the time he finally took me, I was broken open. Mindless. Shaking. Barely a girl anymore-just a thing.

His thing.

And when he finally let me finish, I didn't even recognize the sound I made.

He held me after. That was the part that scared me the most.

The way he wrapped his arms around me, dragged the blindfold off, and stroked my hair like I was his.

Like he was proud.

Like he'd just finished crafting something perfect.

"Good girl," he whispered against my temple. "You'll thank me someday."

I didn't say anything.

Because a part of me already wanted to.