AUTHOR: T. A. BEAU

TITLE: Servicing Major Master Dad In Our Sex Dungeon

SUBTITLE: A Dad/Daughter Short Story with BDSM (leash, toys, whipping) and pussy fisting.

Copyright © 2024 T. A. BEAU

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the writer and the publisher.

WORD COUNT: 5200 words

The flashing lights of the arcade blur around me as my boyfriend, Jake, grins and slaps another token into my hand. “One more round?” he asks, his voice warm and playful. I nod, forcing a smile even though my mind is already drifting. This date has been nice-sweet, even-but it’s not where I want to be right now. Not really.

Jake wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close as we walk toward the next game. His fingers brush against the nape of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. It’s a familiar gesture, one that makes my stomach flutter with the kind of nervous excitement only he can evoke. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

“You okay?” he asks, tipping my chin up so I meet his eyes. His gaze is soft, caring, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it-something I’ve come to recognize too well. Doubt. He’s always wondering if I’m really here with him or if my thoughts are somewhere else entirely.

I’m sorry, I want to say, but the words never leave my lips. Instead, I press a quick kiss to his cheek and pull away, focusing on the game in front of us. “Let’s just play,” I tell him, my tone light but firm.

He doesn’t push it. Not yet.

We spend the next hour laughing, teasing each other, and sharing small touches that make our affection obvious to anyone watching. Jake cups my face when I laugh too hard at his terrible score, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. My breath catches for a moment, and I feel that flutter again-the one that reminds me why I keep coming back to him, even though... even though what?

My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me out of the moment. I glance down instinctively, my heart rate spiking as I see the familiar number flash across the screen. Three rings. A pause. Hung up.

Master.

I freeze, my entire body going cold despite the warmth of Jake’s arm still draped around me. My mind races, calculating the time. I need to get home. Now.

“Angel?” Jake’s voice pulls me back to reality, and I realize I’ve gone completely silent. He looks at me curiously, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t answer. Can’t. My focus is already shifting, preparing for what comes next. The thought of disappointing my Master sends a jolt of fear through me, stronger than anything Jake could ever elicit.

“Take me home,” I say abruptly, pushing away from him. My voice is colder than I intended, but I don’t care. I need to go.

Jake stares at me, clearly taken aback. “What? Why? We’re having fun-”

“Now,” I interrupt, cutting him off. My hand tightens on his wrist, pulling him toward the exit. “Please.”

He hesitates, glancing back at the arcade, then sighs and follows me outside. The cool night air hits my skin as we step into the parking lot, and I shiver involuntarily. Jake notices, pressing his jacket against my shoulders. “Angel, talk to me,” he pleads softly. “This always happens. You get quiet, you pull away... What’s going on?”

I don’t respond, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. My mind is racing, ticking through the steps I need to take once I’m home. Strip. Hair in a bun. Position. Collar. Leash.

Twenty minutes, I remind myself. I have twenty minutes to be ready.

Jake’s frustration grows as we drive, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You’re never fully with me, Angel,” he mutters under his breath. “There’s always something... something you’re hiding.”

If only you knew, I think bitterly, staring out the window at the dark houses rushing by. But I can’t tell him. I won’t. Some secrets aren’t meant to be shared.

The car slows as we approach my house, and I feel a rush of relief. I don’t wait for Jake to park. The moment he stops, I open the door and practically jump out.

“Angel-” he starts, reaching for me, but I dodge his touch and shut the door behind me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I call over my shoulder, already hurrying toward the back of the house.

“Wait!” Jake shouts, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Every second counts.

The air grows colder as I step into the backyard, the faint scent of grass and damp earth filling my nostrils. My footsteps echo lightly on the ground as I move toward the small shed hidden beneath the trees.

Inside, it’s dark and eerily quiet. I flick on the light, wincing at the harsh brightness that floods the room. My eyes scan the space quickly, taking in the familiar items laid out on the workbench: the collar, the leash, the harness... and the dildo.

Master’s tools.

My heart pounds as I strip off my clothes, tossing them aside without a second thought. The cool air bites at my skin, making my nipples tighten into hard peaks. I ignore the discomfort, focusing instead on tying my hair into a neat bun at the base of my neck.

When I’m done, I kneel on the cold concrete floor, reaching for the dildo. It’s thick, heavier than I remember, and my stomach clenches nervously as I grip it. Slowly, deliberately, I position myself on the edge of the workbench, spreading my legs wide.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath as I lower myself onto the toy, groaning softly as it stretches me open. Inch by inch, I sink down, letting the cold material fill me completely.

Once it’s buried inside me, I shift slightly, adjusting to its size. My thighs tremble as I slide up and down, riding it slowly, methodically. I need to be prepared. Ready.

Reaching over, I grab the collar first, fastening it snugly around my neck. The metal clicks into place, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through my veins. Next comes the leash, which I drape over my outstretched palm.

“H-Here, Master,” I murmur softly, lowering my head in submission. My heart pounds in my chest, louder than the crickets chirping outside.

And then I wait.

The minutes feel like hours as I sit there, riding the dildo, my body aching with need. My muscles tense as I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel path leading to the shed.

He’s here.

The door creaks open, flooding the room with dim light from the yard. I don’t look up. Can’t.

The boots stop in front of me, and I can’t help but preen when the deep voice rumbles, “Good girl.” The leash in my hand trembles slightly, not from fear, but from anticipation. I keep riding the dildo, slow and steady, stretching myself open with every deliberate movement. It’s cold inside, but I don’t care. My body is too focused to register anything but the task at hand.

I hear the rustle of fabric as he begins to strip, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Each sound sends a shiver down my spine-the clink of his dog tags, the snap of his belt buckle, the soft thud of his clothes hitting the floor. His pace is maddening, but I know better than to rush him. What Master wants, Master gets, and right now, he wants to watch me squirm.

Finally, I feel the tug of the leash and lift my face. His cock is already hard, jutting out just inches from my mouth. It’s unyielding, throbbing with power, and I swallow hard, my throat instinctively preparing itself.

Dad pulls the leash tighter, forcing my chin up higher, and growls, “Milk me.”

I obey instantly, leaning forward until the tip brushes my lips. Without hesitation, I take him in, sinking all the way down until my nose presses into his pubes. I place my hands on my thighs, as instructed, and let my throat do the work. The gag reflex has been trained out of me long ago, but the burn still lingers, sharp and thrilling. I stay like this, perfectly still, only moving to swallow around him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, and I thrum with pleasure at the praise. His grip on the leash tightens, and then suddenly, he starts to move. His hips thrust forward, slamming into my throat with brutal force. I choke, tears welling in my eyes as I try to breathe through my nose. His thighs are unrelenting, muscles flexing as he uses my mouth like it’s nothing more than a toy.

I match his rhythm with the dildo, grinding against it as he fucks my throat. The combination of sensations is overwhelming-his dick pulsing deep in my throat, the dildo stretching me wide, the leash cutting into my skin. But I love it. I live for this. Being used, being controlled, being his.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he grunts, his fingers tightening in my hair. “Such a good little slut.” His words are filthy, but they make me wetter, if that’s even possible. I feel my insides tighten, ready to burst, but I hold back. I know better than to cum without permission.

His thrusts become slower, more deliberate, and I feel his cock twitch as he nears his climax. “Drink it all,” he commands, and I nod vigorously, my throat working to keep up. He groans deeply, the sound vibrating through my skull, and then he’s filling my mouth with his seed. I swallow quickly, greedily, not missing a single drop.

When he finally pulls out, I collapse back onto my haunches, gasping for air. My whole body is trembling, but I don’t have time to recover. He steps back, watching me with that piercing gaze, and orders, “Ride it.”

I scramble to obey, positioning myself over the dildo. Squatting, I lower myself slowly, taking the full length deep inside me. The stretch is excruciating, but I push through it, rising up until only the tip remains, then sinking back down. Over and over, I repeat the motion, each thrust deliberate and controlled.

“Look at me,” he says, and I meet his gaze immediately. His eyes are dark, filled with dominance and satisfaction. “You’re such a good slut,” he murmurs, his voice low and approving. “Doing exactly as you’re told.”

My breath hitches at his words, and I feel a surge of pride. But then he smirks, stepping closer to trail a finger along my sweaty skin. “Where were you tonight?” he asks casually as if we’re having a normal conversation. His tone is calm but commanding, the kind of tone that demands honesty without ever needing to raise a question of loyalty.

“With Jake,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “On a date.”

He hums thoughtfully, his finger moving lower to tease my clit. “Does he make you feel this good?”

“No, master,” I reply, quivering at his touches.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “And he dropped you off?”