Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

A my

I whimpered, unable to deny Daddy Victor’s accurate analysis of my response. The idea of Daddy Daniel’s eyes on me, seeing me used by his fellow daddies…

As Daddy Victor pulled the dildo from my pussy and replaced it with his cock, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Afterward, whenever the daddies punished me or fucked me, my mind went back to the irresistible idea.

To my surprise and often to my mortification, I started to imagine Daddy Daniel watching every time another daddy used me, and worse, I found it so intensely arousing I could hardly control myself.

I was getting better at keeping myself from coming until and unless I was told to climax, but every time I imagined Daddy Daniel watching from some luxurious mansion or hotel, it became exponentially more difficult.

The first time it happened after that session with Daddy Victor, I was bent over a spanking horse in one of the punishment rooms. Daddy Kwame, who had arrived the previous day, stood behind me, the leather strap in his hand whistling through the air before connecting with my upturned bottom. Each stinging blow sent shockwaves of pain radiating through my body, but beneath the burning ache, I felt an unmistakable heat building between my thighs.

As the strapping continued, my mind began to wander. I pictured Daddy Daniel lounging in a deep leather armchair, perhaps in some opulent penthouse suite overlooking a glittering cityscape. In my mind’s eye, I could see him leaning forward, his intelligent blue eyes fixed on a large screen before him. On that screen, displayed in high definition, was me—my pale skin flushed pink, my bottom growing redder with each strike of the strap, my face contorted in a mixture of pain and unwelcome pleasure.

The image was so vivid, so real, that I could almost hear Daddy Daniel’s low growl of approval as he watched me take my punishment. In my mind, I saw his hand moving to the fly of his tailored trousers, slowly unzipping them to free his hardening cock. My mouth watered at the thought, remembering the weight of him on my tongue, the salty taste of his skin.

As Daddy Kwame continued to rain blows down on my tender flesh, I imagined Daddy Daniel stroking himself, his large hand wrapping around his thick shaft. I pictured him leaning back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the screen as he pleasured himself to the sight of my degradation.

Oh, how I wished he were here instead of wherever he really was. I longed to feel his strong hands in my hair, guiding my mouth onto his cock as Daddy Kwame whipped me. The fantasy grew so powerful, so all-consuming, that I could almost taste Daddy Daniel’s pre-cum on my lips.

My hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against the padded leather of the spanking horse as I sought some relief for the burning need building within me. Each crack of the strap against my bottom sent jolts of electricity straight to my core, and I found myself teetering dangerously close to the edge of orgasm.

“Please,” I whimpered, though I didn’t know whether I meant to beg Daddy Kwame to stop or Daddy Daniel to be there.

“Please,” I breathed again, my voice barely audible over the rhythmic slap of leather against flesh.

Daddy Kwame paused, his hand resting on the small of my back. “What was that, little slut?” he asked, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

I bit my lip, unsure how to answer. How could I explain the vivid fantasy playing out in my mind? The image of Daddy Daniel watching me, stroking himself as he observed my punishment?

Before I could formulate a response, Daddy Kwame’s large hand gripped my hair, yanking my head back. “I asked you a question,” he growled, his breath hot against my ear.

“I… I was thinking about sucking cock, Daddy,” I confessed, my cheeks burning with shame.

Daddy Kwame chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that made my pussy clench with need. “Is that so?” he mused, his free hand trailing down my spine to cup my burning bottom. “Well, we can’t have you distracted during your punishment, can we?”

With that, he released my hair and moved around to the front of the spanking horse. I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of a zipper being lowered. My heart beat faster as I realized what was about to happen.

Daddy Kwame’s massive, dark-skinned cock sprang free, mere inches from my face. It was an impressive sight—thick and long, with prominent veins along its length, it loomed before me, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. My mouth watered at the sight, even as my heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

“Open wide, little slut,” Daddy Kwame commanded, his deep voice stern.

I parted my lips obediently, and he wasted no time in pushing forward, filling my mouth with his impressive girth. The taste of him exploded across my tongue—salty, musky, undeniably male. I moaned around his shaft, the vibrations making him groan in pleasure.

As Daddy Kwame began to thrust into my mouth, setting a steady rhythm, I felt the strap connect with my upturned bottom once again. The dual sensations—the stretch of my lips around his thick cock and the burning sting of leather against my tender flesh—almost overwhelmed me.

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the ordeal. But as I did, an image formed in my mind—not of Daddy Kwame, but of Daddy Daniel. In my fantasy, it was Daniel’s cock sliding between my lips, Daniel’s hand wielding the strap against my reddened ass.

The imaginary scenario grew more vivid with each passing moment. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself succumbing to pleasure without permission, crying out around Daddy Daniel’s shaft as an intense orgasm rocked through me. I pictured the disappointment in his eyes. The fantasy spun out of control as somehow Daddy Daniel whipped me and, from far away, watched me being whipped by another daddy.

Watching me punished, punishing me, Daniel had his huge cock in his hand, unable to keep himself from masturbating at the sight of his bad girl’s painful reward. I bucked atop the punishment horse, in desperate search of release, as Daddy Kwame used my mouth more and more brutally.

“That’s it, Amy,” his voice rumbled from above me. “That’s how you take it. I think your ass is sore enough, now. I’m going to finish in that tight little pussy.”

With his huge, strong hands holding me still on the padded leather surface, Daddy Kwame stretched my aching sheath on his enormous cock. He fucked me hard and fast, and to my huge relief he commanded me to come.

I screamed out climax after climax as I imagined Daddy Daniel’s hand flashing up and down his own hardness, his eyes glued to the screen as he followed every thrust of the rigid penis in my sopping pussy. I saw the seed spurt from the tip of the faraway cock, heard Daddy Daniel’s grunt of satisfaction, even as Daddy Kwame’s hips jerked out his orgasm against my whipped bottom.

Two days after that, on the fifteenth day since Daddy Daniel had left, three daddies—Daddy Kwame, Daddy William, and Daddy Tom—led me to the shower room. The cool tiles beneath my bare feet sent a shiver up my spine, or perhaps it was anticipation of what was to come. The air was heavy with steam and the scent of antiseptic soap, creating an oppressive atmosphere that made it hard to breathe.

I turned to look over my shoulder at the daddies, my tummy churning as I took in their imposing forms. Steam swirled around their legs, lending an otherworldly quality to the scene. My eyes were drawn inexorably to their exposed bodies, drinking in every detail.

Daddy Kwame stood tallest among them, his ebony skin glistening with a light sheen of moisture from the humid air. His robe hung open, revealing his chiseled abdomen and the impressive cock that had stretched me so thoroughly just days before. Even soft, it was a formidable sight, thick and long, nestled against his muscular thigh. As I watched, it twitched and began to swell, rising to attention under my gaze.

Beside him, Daddy William cut an equally imposing figure. His salt-and-pepper hair was slightly mussed, giving him a roguish air that contrasted sharply with his usual polished appearance. The rich fabric of his robe draped elegantly over his lean frame, parting to expose his toned chest and the trail of dark hair that led down to his groin. His cock, already half-hard, jutted proudly from a nest of silvery curls. It was long and slender, with a pronounced curve that I knew from experience could hit just the right spots inside me.

Daddy Tom’s cock was shorter than the others but impressively thick, with a bulbous head that I knew would stretch me deliciously. His chest was covered in a light dusting of reddish-brown hair that trailed down to his groin. As I watched, his hand moved to lazily stroke his hardening shaft.

“Eyes forward, slut,” Daddy Kwame’s deep voice rumbled behind me. Trembling, I obeyed, turning my gaze down to the white tiles as I moved forward.

Daddy Tom’s hand on the small of my back guided me into the open space in the middle of the communal showers, a little in back of the central drain. The other two daddies followed close behind, their presence looming and intimidating.

“Time to empty that bladder, little slut,” Daddy William commanded, his voice echoing off the tiled walls.

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I realized what they wanted me to do. My mind immediately conjured up the image of Daddy Daniel watching this degrading act on some far-off screen. Would he be disgusted? Aroused? The thought made my pussy clench with shameful need.

“Come on, Amy,” Daddy Kwame urged, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. “Show us your obedience.”

I whimpered softly as I stood there, acutely aware of the three pairs of eyes on me. The thought of relieving myself in front of them, knowing that cameras might be capturing every humiliating moment, made my cheeks burn with shame. But beneath that embarrassment, I felt an undeniable thrill of arousal.

Closing my eyes, I tried to relax my muscles. At first, nothing happened. My body seemed to rebel against the very idea of peeing in the shower—something I’d grown up thinking a terribly naughty thing to do—while these powerful men watched. But then I heard Daddy William’s stern voice behind me.

“We’re waiting, Amy. Don’t make us punish you for disobedience.”

The threat in his tone made me shudder. Taking a deep breath, I focused on relaxing. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I felt the first trickle escape. Once it started, I couldn’t stop the flow. The sound of my pee hitting the tiled floor seemed deafeningly loud in the quiet shower room.

As I emptied my bladder, I kept my eyes squeezed shut, unable to look at the daddies. But I could hear their reactions—low murmurs of approval, a chuckle from Daddy Tom.

“Good girl,” Daddy Kwame rumbled, his large hand coming to rest on the small of my back. “Now, let’s show you what happens to girls who pee in the shower.”

I bit my lip, my forehead creasing deeply. It seemed terribly unfair on the level of rational thought, but I had gotten used to the strange logic, and how it somehow worked for me. Daddies got to do whatever they wanted with bad girls, which included punishing them for things the daddies had commanded the bad girls to do.

But Daddy Kwame, Daddy Tom, and Daddy William didn’t punish me. Instead, they put me under a showerhead rushing with warm water, and started to wash me, beginning with my pussy and my bottom.

I let out a little cry at the touch of the washcloth between my legs. I sobbed as Daddy Tom rubbed gently there. This was awful: my bottom wasn’t sore at all… they weren’t going to fuck me, were they?