I tried to kill him, but Emilio Rinaldi didn’t reach for his gun. He just took off his belt.
Any other mob boss would’ve put a bullet in me. Emilio spanked my bare bottom and tied me to the bed instead. He says I’ve been a naughty little girl and now I’m going to be treated like one, but he doesn’t just bathe me, dress me, and punish me in the most shameful ways imaginable.
He makes me call him daddy.
But he isn’t a gentle daddy, and I’m sent to bed every night well-used, sore, and soaking wet, knowing he will be even rougher with me tomorrow. That’s what it means to be daddy’s captive.
Author: Stella Moore
eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$3.95
Length: 37,200 words
Bound, helpless, hopelessly aroused, she watched him stalk the room. Removing his gun holster, opening a cabinet and removing items she couldn’t quite make out from her position on the bed. Making preparations for whatever it was he had planned for her.
“Our first order of business is your lack of respect when speaking to me, piccolina.” As he spoke, he laid the items out on a table beside the bed. “How should you address me?”
Licking her lips, she eyed the long piece of leather he still held. “Daddy.”
“That’s right.” Slipping an arm under her legs, he lifted them into the air. The awkward position stretched the skin on her thighs and buttocks uncomfortably tight, and left her feeling more exposed than ever. “A dozen with the strap, and you’ll count them. ‘One, Daddy. Two, Daddy.’ Perhaps by twelve my proper title will be imprinted in your mind.”
She was wholly unprepared for the sting of the strap when he whipped it across her exposed flesh. Her bottom cheeks clenched in response, the involuntary movement giving her a sharp reminder of the plug she still held in her ass.
“Oh, shit! Fuck, that hurts!”
“That isn’t the count, piccolina. Try again.” The unforgiving leather connected with her thighs and she clenched her teeth to keep the scream from escaping.
“One, Daddy,” she forced out between panting breaths.
Two was delivered to that particularly sensitive spot where her thighs and ass met, where she knew she would feel his chastisement long after the strapping stopped. Three brought tears to her eyes. Four won him a screech of pain, and by five she was begging for mercy.
“Daddy, please. I’m sorry, I won’t ever use your name again. Please, please stop.”
“I’m glad you’re learning your lesson.”
Six was met with a sob, and Daddy quietly reminded her they were halfway done. Seven layered over two and she wondered if she’d ever sit comfortably again. Eight caught her mid-thigh, and she jerked her hips away, desperately trying to twist from his grasp. But his hold on her was iron-clad, and all her efforts won her were two extra strokes delivered to the same sensitive spot, which he warned her didn’t count. By nine she was back to begging, but she was careful not to miss her count.
“Three more, piccolina. And then Daddy will make it all better.”
Ten, eleven, and twelve were delivered so quickly she didn’t have a chance to count each one individually. Her voice trembled as she delivered the final count and her legs were lowered to the mattress. When her blistered skin made contact with the sheets, she hissed at the fresh wave of pain.
“Such a brave little girl,” Daddy cooed, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Are you going to be a good girl, now?”
“Spread your legs, then. Daddy has a treat for you.”
Hope fluttered in her chest that he might give her some relief from the burning ache between her thighs and she practically flung her legs open for him. Chuckling at her response, he picked up what looked like a back massager. It was a long white wand with a tapered end and a ball-looking thing attached to the top.
He flicked a switch and a soft vibrating sound began. “Do not close your legs or try to move away. If you do, I’ll be forced to punish you again.”