Dark Star, The Thirty-Ninth Chapter – Serenading

His fingers move like the beating wings of a butterfly, making music twice as beautiful. The notes flow over me in waves, capturing my very being and taking me along with the melody; I close my eyes and lose myself to his songs, to the magical sounds that he’s weaving.

In the darkness of my closed eyelids, in this emptying square, he could be playing just for me.

The fading sunlight warms my face. I am cocooned in the warmth and the rhythm; voice and instrument as one. I drink in his extraordinary talent so ignored by foolish passers-by, scurrying past in a rush for their pathetic lives. I feel sorry for them, for what they miss, the pleasure of being in the moment with the music. It burns strong. It consumes me.

“More please Daddy.” I turn with my request to catch Daddy looking at me, like he does when he thinks I don’t know. Pure adoration mixed with more than a little amusement at my latest fixation.

I hold out my palm and plead with him to place a coin or two, for me to pass them on, chinking in his open guitar lid in a most satisfying way. Now he will play for me some more.

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My movements become unconscious, allowing my body to flow in whatever way this new song moves me, this song, my song.

“Come now.” Daddy says gently, as the final note rings out, encouraging me to move away from the busker who has solely played for the small change Daddy has provided over the past hour…or maybe it was two? Each time thanking me with a smile and playing on. The covers have come in a variation of styles; the pop classics that made me bounce from foot to foot and sing with all the gusto of a full choir and the moody blues numbers that pull me into dark stories, connecting with the struggles portrayed in the lyrics.

“Thank you.” The guitarist speaks, directing his gratitude to Daddy and settling his guitar into the stand. He begins to scoop up the shiny coins, coppers, silvers and golds sparkling in the light of the setting sun, packing away his equipment into their cases ready to leave.

“No.” I pout internally, I hadn’t finished, I paid, I gave him Daddy’s shiny monies and now he is mine. I turn back to Daddy, careful to control my sulking for fear of a teaching fist.

“Good girl,” Daddy’s praise accompanies the action that will see me earn it, taking my hand and beginning to lead me away. My stubborn feet complying but not without a little fuss, dragging my heels and looking back to the man, his wild hair lit golden in the sunset. I want him; I want him to keep playing for me.

“She really likes music huh…?” He asks, speaking of me but directing his question to Daddy.

Daddy’s reply is casual, “Yes, thank you for your time.” Barely giving him a look before moving on, making our way over the cobbled square.

“Yeah, I know it’s good for, like…” he drops his voice “…when they’re a bit special, you know? Music helps them…” Daddy stops in his tracks to allow the man to finish, “…because they’re not normal.”

The man continues to ramble as Daddy slowly turns back to him, increasing his grip on my hand and taking me with him, walking uncomfortably close to the man. “I know normal people like music too, obviously, but for like, retarded people or whatever, special needs, yeah, it’s especially good and helps them.”

I look up at Daddy with confusion. The man’s still talking but he seems less beautiful now. Is he talking about me? Why is he talking about me and not to me?

His question continues in the same vein, completely ignoring the eye contact I attempt to make, he asks Daddy bluntly, “What is it that’s wrong with her?”

I feel Daddy tense but his words stay controlled, very controlled, “There’s. Nothing. Wrong. With. Her.”

The man’s words are baiting Daddy’s beast inside. I can sense it. I feel myself clench.

“Oh,” the man’s eyebrows raise. He looks confused when he would do well to be apologetic, “Errr….but, the dancing? When she…you know….” Those hushed tones return, “touched herself… And the red all over her clothes, I thought she’d like, spilled her food.” He looks closer at the dark stains covering my dress unable to disguise the disgust in his expression.

“And she called you Daddy. But?… I’m not judging man, no harm.”

Flustering he aims to distract, thrusting a handful of leaflets at Daddy who eyes him carefully. “Here, I’m playing again tonight, she’ll like it, I mean, you both might like it. No hard feelings, yeah? I didn’t mean nothing by it. I just thought… I mean… I assumed… and she did really like the music”

Finally directing his words to me he asks, “You’d like some more, wouldn’t you?” Reaching to pat me on the head but recoiling at my bestest super wide smile, the one with extra teeth. Silly man, I just want to be friends.

“Oh Daddy,” I squeal at the prospect of more playing, playing his music for me. It cuts through my confusion at the meaning of his words. “More? Can we? More? Please Daddy.”

“We’ll be there.” Daddy promises with a hint of menace, whipping the pile of leaflets away from the man but holding just one, letting the others flutter to the floor before marching me away.

“Daddy… Daddy!” I bounce along beside him. “That man will play for me again, won’t he? All for me. All mine. I like his songs, they make my heart happy. I want him to play always Daddy. When I wake up and when I go to bed and when we’re having our special play times and teaching lessons and when you give me a bath and…”

“Whatever makes you happy my darkling,” Daddy squeezes my hand tightly with his promise. “I will get him for you.”

Daddy changes me before we leave to see the man, stripping off the soiled dress the guitarist had taken such objection to. The source of the stain whimpers softly in the corner of the room. “Shhh… kitten, we’ll play with you again soon.” I promise, waving at the ball of fuzz who quickly quiets at my words. I wonder if she’d like the pretty songs the music man plays.

“Ooooh Daddy, can we take her?” I ask excitedly, “To the Duck and waa, wee…what’s that word Daddy?” I point to the pub name on the flier.

“Duck and Whistle.” Daddy confirms, “and no, they won’t allow cats, and she’s a cat. Aren’t you?” The question directed to our feline friend who barely lifts her head in response, having wedged herself tight into the corner, quiet now.

“Ready, steady…” Daddy starts.

“Go!” I reply, bouncing off the bed and pulling him towards the door. My enthusiasm doesn’t waver for the whole journey, excitedly telling Daddy of the songs I’d enjoyed earlier and brimming with anticipation for might follow.

Regulars mill around the pub, families enjoying food, the familiar faces in their usual places. The stage is barely a stage but more of a corner to set himself up in, the only act playing tonight.

We’re not the only ones there to enjoy the musical treat. A stream of fans make themselves known to him after the show, the dedicated and the newly converted. They avoid us, that suits me. No one came to dance when I did. I cheered the loudest, appreciated the most, losing myself in his music, in his melody that speaks to me.

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The man packs up quickly and tries to make a quiet exit, passing by the bar for a brown envelope before slipping out the back door. In brief flash I catch his nervous glance towards Daddy and I, the same look he tried to suppress through the whole set.

“Where’s he going?” I look at Daddy with some confusion. “I thought he was going to be mine?”

Daddy flashes a stern look at me, which makes all my muscles tighten.

“Sorry.” I blurt out and look down at my hands that are fiddling with themselves in my lap.

“We’re leaving.” Daddy says firmly. I swallow my disappointment and hurry quickly after him as he strides out on to the dark streets. I expect him to turn right and take us home and so stumble as he turns left.

I have to break into a little jog to keep up with Daddy’s great pace. I dare not ask him were we are going. Without warning Daddy turns abruptly off down a side street. Panting a little I swerve to keep up. That’s when I see him, the music man, packing up his van.

The musician gawps before managing, “Oh hey…,” his words trailing off as Daddy swoops in quickly and strikes that stupid expression off his face. A firm fist to the jaw and he slumps into Daddy’s arms.

“Now,” Daddy says with some point, “he is ours.” He looks at me in that way that makes my heart pound and adrenaline pump through my veins, teaching me a lesson in trust. “Home.” His command is simple and I obey, following his footsteps all the way home.

The kitten squeals as Daddy drags the drowsy musician through the door. She is so pleased to see us, clearly bored left all on her own. “Mummy’s home!” I chime with delight and skip over to her corner. “We bought back a new present too!” I scritch under my kitten’s chin, just how they like it. I scritch extra hard until she bleeds. Good kittens desire extra good scritches.

Daddy begins working on our new friend. He drags him over to the work bench, the one where we make teddies and princesses and my special harness. Hours drift by as I play with my kitten. She’s so exhausted, playing with the ball of string. It’s funny how kittens like to get themselves all tied up. It’s fun, trapping her in the web of wires.

I look over to Daddy, he’s still hard at work. I watch his strong arms weave their magic with needle and thread. I wonder what he’s making for me. I remember the day he made my special harness and my girl parts start to ache. I want to feel what it felt like, again, I want to put my boy parts inside something alive and feel it squirm and move against me.

Not disturbing Daddy, like a good girl, I fetch my harness with its steel boy parts. It’s cold to the touch. It makes me ache. I want Daddy inside.

The kitten murmurs and brings my attention back to my new game. Good kitten. I slip on the harness and tighten the straps. I pull extra hard until I feel the beautiful pain of the spikes pierce my skin – spikes to keep it in place. Clever Daddy.

“Good kitten.” I say with a smile, stroking her sunken face. She’s become so beautifully skinny now that I feed her the right number of meals for a cat. She was fussy about the food at first, but soon learned that fussy kittens get no treats, fussy kittens get nothing at all.

She struggles a little. Trying to present for me. “You want it, don’t you? Such a good kitten.” Stalking behind her I push her face down so that I can watch Daddy at work.

He’s drenched in blood. The smell permeates the air, it’s intoxicating. I’ve been so good to not interrupt him, not to give into the beast that’s been awoken by the smell and wants to drink, no matter how much I ache to feel him.

“Aren’t you lucky?” I whisper into her ear. “I’m going to show you what Daddy treats feel like.” She whimpers quietly, tears rolling down her sobbing face. “I know. It’s so exciting.” I encourage her and bite hard on her ear as I force myself inside. Her thankful screams are echoed by an immediate rumbling growl. Her gratitude catches Daddy’s attention.

I beam at him, thrusting back and forth as he showed me. Good girls practice for their Daddies.

“Now you will play for my girl, always!” He barks at the music man. Grabbing his new creation, Daddy walks swiftly over to my play corner.

“What is it?” I ask with great enthusiasm.

“This is your very own harp, for you to learn to play.” Daddy says with a warm smile. “So the music man will give you beautiful music. All of the time. He will never stop playing for you, not anymore.”

“Oh Daddy!” Gratitude overwhelms me and my hips buck harder and faster, forcing the girl wide open. My steel cock becomes red with her blood as I force myself in deeper and deeper.

Stepping out of his clothes with ease he kneels down in front of the kitten. “Aren’t you a lucky little creature?” He ventures, feeding her some of the musicians blood. She savours it in her mouth, not wanting to swallow.

Next he feeds me, my hunger obvious from my panting thrusts. He smears the thick red blood across my face, shovelling it into my desperate mouth. “Thank you. Thank you.” I pant as I grip harder on kitten’s hips, drawing more blood. The scent from the two playthings mingles in the room, exciting me more.

“Good girl.” Daddy smiles as he plucks the first note on the instrument. A beautiful high pitched scream follows. Daddy plucks a few more strings to elicit so many other notes. He is so clever. The musician is fixed together with steel rods. Daddy snapped his bones so he could arrange the limbs as he wishes. The man’s legs now creating triangles over his chest. His feet exquisitely sewn to his neck. His tendons are peeled from deep within his flesh and run tight and tied to his rips. Each tendon making a single string in our human harp.

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“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you. It’s just so beautiful” I praise him as I thrust my last thrust and let the dead kitten slide off my blood drenched boy parts.

“You deserve the best of everything!” Daddy tells me as he sweeps me into his arms, placing me in front of the harp with an encouraging nod. “Here, my little darkling, I’ll help you keep time.” Daddy places himself inside me, rubbing me first with the ruby liquid dripping from the end of my steel cock, growling at the sight of my girl parts covered in blood. Daddy moves slowly, at first, helping me pluck each chord, listening to the music man’s magic reverberate around the room.

Once again, I lose myself to the melody, to the songs that speak to me, as Daddy’s hands close around my neck all I hear is the repeated sound of music, my fingers hitting each string and the sounds that follows, music for me, music that is all mine.

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Dark Star, The Thirty-Eighth Chapter – Rambling

The rainbow is beautiful. It rises high into the sky over the nearby fields. The rain is barely a mist now and the sun shines bright, it illuminates all the colours, it draws me in.

“Daddy, Daddy I want to see the rainbow. I want to see if there’s a pot of gold at the end. Can we go and see? Can we Daddy?”

“Sure sweetling,” he chuckles at my enthusiasm, “… let’s do that!”

He helps me into my bright pink wellies, one foot then the other before tapping on my toes. “There we go… now let’s find us some puddles to splash in!” He beams at me with a child-like excitement. One I share as we skip hand in hand towards the fields and the wooded areas beyond.

The woods are damp and feel alive. The clouds have made way to bright sunshine and it pours through gaps in the canopy. Leaves and sticks crunch under our feet. Today there’s no prey for us to stalk so we can be as noisy as we like.

I jump and splash around. Climbing up on the nearest fallen log and holding my Daddy’s hand to walk along it “Look Daddy,” I squeal as the angle grows and I find myself a full head higher than him “I can do it, look how high I am… look!”

“I see you. You’re such a brave girl, climbing so high.” The pride in his eyes is genuine.

“However will you get down though?” he asks me, gently mocking.“You might get stuck forever! Then the baddies in the woods will come and eat you all up!” his teasing doesn’t faze me, Daddy’s just being silly, there are no baddies.

“You’ll get me down, silly Daddy!” I giggle at him, holding my arms out wide when I reach the end of the log, waiting to jump into his arms.

But Daddy doesn’t turn to face me as expected. He doesn’t reach up to save me, to pluck me down into his embrace. He doesn’t even look at me at all.

Without the safety of his arms to fall into I’m suddenly aware of just how high I am. He still has my hand, his own lifted way over his head in order to reach. His grip is limp, barely there. I teeter on the edge of the log, unsure of my own feet and their ability to stay rooted firm onto the slippery surface.

I crouch down for safety. Oh why did I climb so high? What if Daddy doesn’t save me?

I try to overcome the swirling fear that rises with nauseating speed and focus on Daddy’s face, whispering, “Please Daddy,” but he’s stopped engaging. Tears spring to my eyes.

Blinking away the wetness I look again. I look closely and realise he is listening. He’s just not listening to me. He’s very carefully tuning into noises in the distance. All his energy pointing in that direction, like a hunting dog that can smell the fox.

He’s hyper focussed on the activity afar, sounds that I can just about make out if I hold my breath and strain really hard.

He turns to me ever so slowly and places a finger to his lips, a well-rehearsed signal for me to stay quiet.

I creep backwards on the log until I’m at the right height for Daddy to effortlessly lift me into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He frowns slightly at the wetness on my face, a flicker of concern that I dismiss with a quick shake of my head and a smile to assure Daddy that I’m fine, I’m a big girl. I wasn’t crying.

Held firm by a strong arm I stick to Daddy’s side as he makes his way stealthily through the trees towards the source of the noise. The rabble that has his interest. He’s careful not to make a sound or draw any attention to us, dropping down to hide behind foliage when we get close enough to see. I lower onto to the forest floor beside him.

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The group give no indication that they know they are being watched, four teenage boys standing around a bundle on the floor. A screaming crying bundle that is getting louder despite their violent insistence that she should, “Shut the fuck up, stupid bitch.” Their kicks only amplifying her objections.

Flicking my eyes to the side I watch Daddy watching them. He’s assessing the situation, drinking it in, deciding on his approach.

There’s one that’s clearly standing out as the leader. The one with the knife. The only one that isn’t radiating equal parts fear with his arousal. He’s strutting like the alpha of the pack, goading them on. “Shut her up. Fucking do it or we’ll get caught. Don’t let the bitch ruin it.”

Not doing the dirty work himself but instead encouraging one of the boys to secure and gag the writhing bloodied blonde; he nods in appreciation as it muffles her instantly. They all look to him expectant. Now what? Now what do we do? Practically panting with anticipation they pace, a pack of hungry hyenas waiting to devour an easy food source.

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I look at her. She’s tiny really. Made to look even smaller under the ropes that have bent her double with legs and arms hog-tied. She struggles to keep her pretty face out of the mud. Her eyes, wide with fear, look pleadingly at each of her captors. Is she looking for signs of compassion, a brief glimmer of hope? She’ll find none, just debased desire and sick excitement.

I look at her and I imagine the potential in the situation. How good she could be for these boys, like I am for Daddy. I imagine all the possible ways she could please them and it makes my girl parts ache. So many opportunities if she would just seize them.

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But she really is very tiny and she really does seem to be objecting quite genuinely. My arousal is confused with an anxiety that I don’t like. I feel slightly sick as I watch the boys salivate over her. A cold dread soaks me and I’m afraid to see what comes next, yet strangely compelled to continue to watch, wishing that Daddy would be inside of me as I do.

One of the braver boys holds her up by the hair and spits obscenities into her face. Each one makes my cunt twitch. Her arms and legs must be aching now, the hard floor digging into her ribs. There will be a tapestry of beautiful bruises underneath her torn clothes, sore spots from each time they strike her. The pain is etched on her face and resonates in her muffled moans.

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Daddy doesn’t look at me as he reaches over for my hand. He keeps his eyes trained on them. His hardness gives away the impact of the boys’ game. Freed from his jeans with his other hand and ready for my tight grip, Daddy’s cock pulses as I grasp it with smooth practised movements.

His low growl is inaudible above the sounds of the boys, now finding their confidence in the situation and battling an emerging rivalry, each becoming more vocal in their desires. They’re arguing about who will go first.

“I fucking got her. I’ll do it.” the scruffiest of the hyenas attempts to stake his claim.

“Nah. I tied her up. None of you fucks could do that.” another brags.

“Yeah cause you’re a pussy scout. Dib dib.” the third one mocks, “besides, you fucked your sister like yesterday. I aint even got laid yet. It should be me.”

The scout retreats mumbling, “She only sucked my cock… she likes it…,” making way for the ringleader to step up make his decree. Placing his muddy foot on the girl’s back he lifts his arm, aiming a pointing finger like a gun, using it to scan over each of the pack with their pleading eyes.

I don’t see where he pulls the trigger, I only hear the words. “You. You do it.” as I’m forced down by my hair to wrap my lips around Daddy’s engorged shaft.

My gurgled choking sounds are well timed by Daddy to fall in line with the ruckus from the clearing. The sounds of heaving her bound body into an accessible position, the squeals as she prepares herself. I imagine the girl, finally getting her opportunity, to please them as I please my Daddy.

I imagine how loud those thrusts and grunts must be in her ear, and how they must make her cunt as wet as they’re making mine. I imagine the feel of the boy pushing inside and my empty cunt clenches with unfulfilled longing. I wonder if it hurts, as my Daddy hurts me now, painfully forcing his way deep into my throat with a more frantic pace.

A pace I hear mirrored in the boy, the exertion evident in his heavy breathing, in his moans. The cheerleading of his pack akin to the snarls of hungry animals; self-serving encouragement for the sooner he finishes, the sooner they get their fangs and claws into the girl.

“Fuck, that looks good, yeah? Yeah.”

“Come on man, I wan’ a go.”

The voice of the ring leader cuts them off. “If you can’t wait just take her mouth.” clearly pulling the gag away, allowing the desperate pleas of the girl to penetrate the air. “No, no, please stop, no.” Screams soon muffled, her choking sounds so familiar, so similar to mine. Such a lucky girl.

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I yearn to be desired by so many.

A thought that barely forms before Daddy’s desire pours into my throat. Hot spurts that remind me that I am desired, violently, passionately, often. I feel it in the aching reminder of Daddy’s brutal love only this morning, blood still gently flowing into my underwear.

My throat continues to ache with Daddy’s desire even after he pulls out, placing a gentle kiss on my head without averting his eyes from the boys and their plaything. He gestures again for me to shh with a finger to his lips and begins to creep away, slowly backwards through the brush, pulling me with him.

I look at Daddy quizzically, non-verbally conveying my question with wrinkled brow and a turn of my head, are we leaving?

It is my turn to plead now, pressing my hands together in prayer position and gesturing back to where we came from. Where the boys are still vying for their turn with increased desperation, voices raising, tempers fraying. They’re turning on each other, the sounds of scuffles and fists against flesh, too many to simply be their appreciation of the girl.

Daddy understands, I can tell. I can see it in the way he looks at me with beaming pride, hands clutched to his heart. He shows me in the way he leads me back, in the way he takes charge, easily dispatching of the used up girl and rounding up the scattering snarling pack, bleeding from their brawl.

Daddy understands in the way he lays me out, shows me off, makes me the prize this time.

Daddy understands in the way he gives his instructions, the way he invites them, all at once if they choose. I have hands and holes for using. They can hurt me if they wish. I won’t fight, I will please them.

They must be shy, or perhaps exhausted, having exerted themselves, wasted energy on an ungrateful girl; the memory of her objections still sitting uneasy in my mind. They don’t fight for me, no squabbles, hardly any response at all, rigid on the spot, eyes rooted to Daddy’s movements.

Overwhelmed perhaps with the opportunity Daddy is presenting.

“We… we weren’t gonna kill her,” sputters the ringleader. “She’s… I had to take her home. Her brother’s gonna kill me.”

“Oh her…” Daddy shrugs in the direction of the now peacefully quiet used meat. “Disgracefully ungrateful girl. Blade won’t give you the same kind of trouble… look, you don’t even have to restrain her.” I casually waggle my free limbs in demonstration, never moving from my spot, splayed and ready on the floor. “Come on boys, I saw everything. I know it’s what you want. Now come and take it.”

The colour has drained from each of their faces; it took their speech with it. Each one mute, standing shaking like a frightened rabbit. I like them less like this, where is the passion, the intensity? Where is the pack ripping me apart? Why does that girl get it and I don’t? I try not to pout. Sulky girls get nothing.

Maybe they’re just intimidated because my Daddy is so strong, because it barely took any effort for him to snap the neck of the scout when he was rounding them up. Because my Daddy found it so easy to pick the scrawny boy and use him like a bowling ball, knocking them down like pins to drag them back to this spot.

Maybe it’s because the smell of the girl’s blood quickly pooling on the ground is clearly having an effect on my Daddy, teeth bared and growling. Maybe they don’t realise that it’s OK to drink it like Daddy’s doing, it’s nice, like the sweetest juice. People often don’t understand that but Daddy showed me. He slurps it enthusiastically, bringing it up to his mouth not at all minding the splashes decorating his jacket,

Daddy mimics the ringleaders gun gesture, the pointing finger that determines the lucky winner, the first to ride, the first to taste, the first to pound with fist or cock. My hips buck at the thought. Yes Daddy, take charge, show them it’s OK. “You,” he points at the boy in the middle, who begins to blub, liquid pouring from his face and staining his jeans with a dark patch from his crotch. “You, take her…”

I lay back and wait; wait to give the boys special treat. So grateful that Daddy is sharing me. So grateful that he can help those boys get what they want. So grateful that we came rambling today.

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One Hot Night

And as he took me….I felt him fly…


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Dark Star, The Thirty-Seventh Chapter – Playing

I barely notice the collar after a while. It sits comfortably around my neck, almost reassuring, like the grip of Daddy’s strong hand. It speaks to me with sharp teeth of pain. A yelp inducing jolt that delivers a clear message, his message.

“Be a good girl,” he tells me, clipping it in place, “and you won’t need to be punished.”

I nod to show I understand, heart racing at the prospect of getting in trouble, of disappointing him. I won’t, I won’t, I’ll be good, I promise.

“Good girls play nicely, they share their toys and they’re soft and gentle with each other. You remember how I showed you? How to be nice to the little girl?

“Yes Daddy.” I look up at him with sincerity, reaching over to stroke the girl, running my hand up her thigh, over the crusty patches of dried blood. She flinches at my touch but doesn’t move away. The chains that hold her jangle slightly against the stone floor, it’s a pleasurable sound to my ears, reminds me of summer days and finding new friends.

Daddy must remember too because we smile fondly at each other. “My little darkling…,” his eyes full of love, “play now, have a wonderful time with your friend. Daddy will be just over here. I’m watching you, remember. I catch his wink before he bounces up and over to his busy grown up work in the corner of the room.

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“Here you go,” I say brightly, pouring high from the teapot into the pink plastic cup. “Help Teddy with his tea. He likes it…,” encouraging her to pick up the empty vessel and hold it to the inanimate lips of the bear next to her.

She shakes slightly, rocking the cup against the saucer. She eyes me nervously, waiting for my reaction to the sound. The exertion of controlling her hands is evident from the strain in her face.

She speaks quickly to mask the sound, forced enthusiasm making the words sound too brash from her tiny mouth. “Here you go Teddy. Oh yes, look, he likes it.” Her movements are over-exaggerated, nodding furiously in agreement with her own fake pretend, her eyes so wide I imagine them dislodged from her pretty little head and into my lap.

The shock bolts down my body before my nails even touch her eyelids. It’s a little one, a warning. Enough to draw my hungry hands away from their desire.

Warning one.

“No, my darkling.” Daddy orders, “…play nicely, no eye gouging.” He almost looks amused at his own words. I pout.

It’s not my fault; she’s the one who inspired the idea. Sitting there with eyes all pretty, practically popping them out of their sockets and into my claws. It’s like she wants it.

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I am careful to keep the words inside. I so want to play nicely and make Daddy proud but it’s quite hard when so many things aren’t allowed.

“Why are you stopping?” I ask the girl, “Teddy isn’t finished. He’s a big boy and likes to eat lots of cake.” The girl is slow to respond so I take her hand and guide it back to Teddy’s mouth, shovelling imaginary cake into his blood stained blue lips. “He prefers chocolate pudding really, but that’s a special treat, isn’t it Daddy?” Turning my head I see he’s concentrating on work, my question hangs unanswered.

The girl lets out a little whimper as my nails dig into her wrists. The shock is immediate and strong. I groan slightly as pretty little sparks flash in my eyes. Regaining focus I see Daddy gently shaking his head.

Warning two.

We continue to feed Teddy as I tell my new friend all about him, all about how Daddy made him for me. Teddy was a silly boy once that Daddy brought home for dinner. He was so ungrateful that he didn’t finish his dessert, even though he’d told Daddy how much he loved chocolate pudding.

Because Daddy is so kind he said he could help the boy; but the boy didn’t like it when Daddy gave him all that pudding. Daddy was angry then, he taught the boy how to be grateful in the most beautiful way I have ever seen.

Now the boy is Teddy. My Teddy. And teddies like tea. I drift off into a dream of a memory of watching my Daddy teach the boy a lesson. A well deserved lesson on gratitude.

Daddy is perfect. I love Daddy. He is my Daddy.

The words, “…my Daddy,” murmur out of my mouth before I am able to hold them in. My friend stares at me, stricken with fear.  Silly girl is making me feel uncomfortable. My face turns into a snarl as my little hand connects with her face in a cracking slap.

Instantaneous red flashes streak across my vision. A burning pain deep in my neck flushes up and makes me feel dizzy.

Warning three.

“Sorry Daddy,” I say weakly, returning to tea. I calm myself by stroking Teddy’s patches of fur, a patchwork I so carefully stapled to him. Teddy is good now. Stroking his arm, it slides limp out of his lap. The boy now a boneless sack of fluff and fur for me cuddle.

Sometimes, when Daddy is out and I get really bad aches in my special place, I play with Teddy in a special way. He is a good Teddy and takes my special metal toy without complaining.

I think I liked it more when he complained.

“Stroke Teddy,” I tell the girl. “Isn’t he lovely and soft?”

Whimpering the girl does as she’s told and, with jangling chains, she strokes his ears. Her strokes are clumsy and too light though so I show her how to stroke properly. Gripping her hand in mine, making sure she doesn’t disturb Daddy with a silent, “Shhhh…”

Her clammy hands in mine, I make her stroke Teddy proper and hard – just how he likes it. She strokes too hard and knocks Teddy’s ear off tearing away some of the flesh. Stupid clumsy girl.

“Oh no!” I grumble as I pick up Teddy’s fluffy brown ear. Frantically I try to stick the ear back on Teddy’s leathered fleshy head, forcing the nail back through the skull.

Watching it fall off again, I turn in anger to the girl. “You broke him you stupid bitch.” This time it’s my fist that connects with her face.

Warning four.

I come to, laid out in my special sleeping position. The last shock knocked me out cold. I touch between my thighs and feel the wet sticky juice of Daddy treats. Carefully scraping it up with my fingers, I take the precious gift in my hungry mouth.

“Thank you Daddy.” I say automatically as I devour the white salt and red iron.

The beast inside stirs and I let out a little growl.

“Please.” The girl starts to plead. She knows my growl. “Oh god…” Her words trail off as I fix my glare on her.

“Didn’t you enjoy watching Daddy give me his special treat?” I ask accusingly. “Is it because you wish he’d give his gift to you?” I spit my words, crawling towards her across the floor, my legs still limp from the electric shock.

“Well he won’t give it to you.” I growl, nose to nose with the trembling girl. “They’re mine. My Daddy treats!” I take her eyes out with two sharp thumbnails.

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The shocks come fast and relentlessly. The pain is exquisite. I pant and let out a moan of pleasure as I try so very hard to stay awake. “They are…” I force the words out, “…mine!” Scooping the white gooey eyeballs into my mouth.

I feel Daddy’s fist impact on my head as he pulls me away from the friend that is now a corpse. My claws frantically ripping at her stupid pretty face. The stars return and eventually I pass out again with Daddy’s big hand around my mouth and his thrusts deep inside me.

Lesson learned. Pretty girls have tasty eyes…

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“Go on.” I encourage the fat boy. “Princess likes tea.” Lifting the cup in his chubby fingers up to the girl’s blue lips. She’s a pretty princess now with porcelain white skin in her beautiful gown. A princess like Sleeping Beauty, with sewn-shut eyes. I like her better like this; silently sat next to Teddy, my dear friends, waiting and obedient, ready to play with me always.

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Dark Star, The Thirty-Sixth Chapter – Taking

Words. Evasive words.

Daddy had clearly told me what to do. I had my instructions but the cursed things just would not come. Jumping around my brain like tiny rabbits in a maze, hopping round the corner and out of sight before I could catch them. Naughty rabbits, I’m making a stew and I need you. A stew of words, a delicious feast of writing to be served for my Daddy as promised.

I can’t keep my promise if I can’t write and if I can’t keep my promise I’m not a good girl.

I stamp my foot with a pout. Not that you can hear it, the pile in the luxurious carpet underfoot muffles the sound. Still I peer carefully around the corner to determine if Daddy witnessed my miniature tantrum.

“Stay here. Get it done.” He’d told me before marching out of the room and onto the next task.

Daddy has outdone himself this time. Choosing a very fancy home indeed. Each room is decorated impeccably, attention to detail in fixtures and finishing. Their choices speak of the money to cater to their extravagant tastes, flocked wallpaper features walls with heavy velvet curtains and solid wood furniture with statement decorative pieces. Each room is adorned with a chandelier, lights twinkling in the high ceilings.

It suits them, a fancy house for fancy people. An overtly fancy house to make a statement about the fanciness of the people. They care about their appearance, the pearls she pairs with her velour sportswear and permanently fixed Botox expression are designed to keep her looking “young and fabulous daaarhling” her yummy mummy drawl in keeping with the company she keeps. Company that has become the audience for my creative writing skills.

Skills currently abandoning me. I blink back tears of frustration.

Daddy taught me how to write letters, how to carve them out perfectly. This is a whole new test. “Make it sounds like she wrote it.” Daddy insisted. I wonder if I can get her to talk a little, just for a minute, just for inspiration. I know I’m supposed to leave them alone because Daddy has a plan but it won’t hurt if it’s for a good reason. I need to, I persuade myself. I’ll be quick.

I tiptoe into the wide hallway lined with uniform doors; each with pristine white woodwork; each representing a new treasure trove to explore. I marvel at how many rooms they have for just four people. They must have many things. Daddy says love is more important than having things. Love and lessons.

I peek inside as I pass each one, the first an expansive bathroom, select hampers of beauty products on shiny glass shelves and a bathtub with feet. It looks like a catalogue. Then a child’s room filled with more toys than I’ve ever seen plus another separate room for even bigger toys, the electronic gizmos and gadgets that seem so popular. My eyes wide with wonder I resist being drawn in and focus on the job at hand. Daddy’s task.

The final large master bedroom is at the end of the hall, the woodwork marked with a single smear of blood. Tentatively I push the door, careful not to give away my position with an errant squeak. The brash décor, more ostentatious than the previous rooms, manages to offend my eyes despite being in a state of disarray. Flamboyantly decorated in garish clashing animal prints in a variety of colours, it overwhelms my senses.

Closing my eyes to get relief heightens my awareness of the aroma of the room.

Blood. Fresh and abundant.

The heavy drapes around the four poster bed have been partially ripped down. My clever Daddy has used them to secure these perpetrators of bad taste.

She’s secured to the foot of the bed, thick wads of material affixed around the frame in a complex pattern that weaves around her limbs, holding her secure, sat with her back against the wood, arms stretched out.

He sits on the chair in front of the dressing table, the mirror smashed, shiny shards liberally sprinkled over the mess of broken lotions and potions scattered across the top. Thick orange tinged make-up runs over the edge, staining the patterned carpet.

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Daddy used the ropes for the man. The new ropes that we bought together the day we had cake in the little café in the hardware store and I was ever so clever at making up a story about why we were there. The nice worker man had given me a big smile when I said we were making a rope swing. He swung nicely from the rope we wrapped around his neck that night; I think he would have liked that.

Daddy won’t be pleased that the ropes are all stained with the man’s blood now. The front of his face is a mush, his nose shattered. He must have been rude to Daddy, that’s what he does when you don’t say please and thank you properly. Silly man, I learnt that one quickly, he should know better.

I’m still studying his face when he starts to make noises from behind the gag. “Shhh….” I implore him. “I don’t want Daddy to hear. Please.” He quickly shuts up at the mention of Daddy. Good. That means he learnt his lesson and will now be quiet. I silently thank Daddy for the progress he’s made so far.

I whisper loud enough for them both to hear. “I just need to ask her a little question… But I need you to both be quiet, OK? Because if you don’t Daddy will come back in and he’ll be mad. I just need to find out a teeny tiny little thing.” I creep over to her, close enough to place my fingers against her gag.

“Shhhh. OK?” I wait, hand poised, for her to nod, to confirm she’ll behave when I free her mouth.

“Now, if you were going on holiday for a really, really long time, what would you tell your friends? What would you say? Now just answer me quickly and then Daddy won’t have to come up and we won’t get in trouble. OK?”

She doesn’t nod. She just looks at me blankly. Stupid woman. It’s nice here and we don’t want nosey people coming to see so I need to know what to say to make them stay away.

“Would you say ummmm `I’m OK, I’m having a nice time and…’ ummm.”

Oh this is hard.

“What would you say?” I demand in a louder whisper, getting frustrated now.

She just shakes her head, tears springing up into her fearful eyes.

Again from behind me the man is making muffled sound. The material shoved into his mouth only permitting vowel sounds. I whip round and glare at him, “What?” I bark in hushed tones, pointing a finger at him with a warning.

He uses his head to beckon me, gesturing that I should come closer. I cautiously follow his directive; stealthy in my movements across the room. He nods furiously, even more so when I venture to pull the suffocating wedge of material out of his mouth.

He addresses his wife first, “Fucking stupid bitch, just answer her, tell them fucking anything. Do you want to die?” His words turn her tears into full blown sobs.

I growl low, warning them both to be quieter. Fuck, oh please don’t let Daddy hear me in here.

“We’d say we’re going away and probably say where and ummm… Fuck… I don’t know…. Talk about the weather. Is that what you want? Are you happy now? Just let us go, please…” His words are frantic, all annunciation lost because of his broken nose, smooshed beautifully across his face.

He’s quite attractive, despite being broken and covered in thick drying blood. Or maybe because of it. His suit is clearly expensive, and that’s the point. He’s taken care with his appearance too. His nails suggest manicure, his complexion clear, hair an even shade of grey. I suspect he visits a tanning bed, probably after the gym visits that keep his body so tight. The evidence hard under my hand as I run it over his stomach, feeling the muscles through his shirt.

He starts trying to talk again, far too loud for my liking and quickly muted by the gag I force back into his bloody maw. I catch my nails on his cheek, deep enough to draw blood, quickly slurped with an eager tongue.

Securing the material at the back of his head brings me close to his eyes, deep in there I see a flicker of something. Does he…? Does he think I’m attractive too? I find myself blushing automatically. Daddy says I’m pretty and I know how to seduce the boys but this is different. He’s a man, a family man, a married man, and he’s looking at me like that. He should look at me like he looks at his own daughters, not with the lustful wanting I see in his expression now.

I pull myself back to standing straight, inadvertently allowing the strap of my dress to fall. There. This time I know I saw it. The sinful look in his eyes that says he desires me. That’s what that look is, it must be, he can’t be scared of me. I’m just a little girl.

I test it further, allowing the other strap to fall. Daddy dressed me today; this dress is one of his favourites, and just enough to cover my panties: Daddy makes sure I’m decent in public.

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The response is remarkable; he must be getting really turned on now because he looks almost panicked. That’s the usual reaction from the silly boys that Daddy has me practice my skills on, when I use them to learn how to please him. They like it, Daddy tells me, that’s why they stay so hard. That means they like me. They wouldn’t be hard unless they liked me. One day Daddy gave me the special blue medicines that they have too. It’s for their tummies Daddy said. It didn’t do anything to my tummy but I did love them extra hard that day. I broke one or two, but Daddy forgave me because I’m just his passionate girl.

Passion that I show the man now, dropping my dress to the floor and opening his fly, rolling my body up against his.

I quash down the disappointment that bites at me when I find he’s not hard. That’s OK. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like me… does it? I feel the stirrings of the bad voices, the ones that Daddy has to quiet. They are fuelled by the annoyance of his stupid wife making noises behind me, thrashing at her restraints.

Hush. Stupid bitch.

I stride across the room and kick her square in the cunt. Pushing my face close to hers and warning her, in no uncertain terms, that she should “Shut up now, bitch!” It works, shocked into quiet she obeys. That’s better.

I turn my attention back to the man and his confusing soft response. Maybe it’s because he’s so old? I help him with my mouth. Sucking and using my strong tongue wrapping up and down his shaft. Slowly, it begins to work, very slowly. Maybe it’s because his wife is here? He’s afraid of getting in trouble. That she’ll be jealous because he wants me so much. Glancing up at him I see a struggle in his eyes, yes that’s it. He’s trying to be good to his wife so he doesn’t upset her.

“That’s lovely.” I say, reaching up and patting his cheek. He looks confused for a moment so I explain, “You don’t want to upset her, because Daddy says I’m beautiful and she’s all old. You’re just trying to be a good husband.” He doesn’t respond, I must have it completely correct but he doesn’t want to say so. I think he’s quite sweet really.

“It’s OK,” I reassure him. “I’ll make it OK. She won’t be upset if she can’t see. I only need her mouth anyway. I’ll make it ok shall I?” I plant a big kiss on the outside of his gag. He really is quite lovely. I’m glad I came to see them now, although I’ll need to be quick. Daddy’s task nags at me.

I select two of the larger shards of broken mirror from the catastrophe of a dressing table. They slide easily into her eyeballs, straight through the closed lids. The sockets explode in a fountain of blood drenched pus.

The gratitude in his eyes confirms that was the best thing to do. I smile at him, “Now we can have our fun. Shhhh…” I hold a finger to my lips, I can be a quiet girl. She’ll never hear anyway over the racket she’s making. I wonder if another swift kick to the cunt would quiet her, it’s accompanied by that worry of alerting Daddy.

Both the unwelcome thoughts pale into insignificance when I look into his eyes and read the unrelenting desire. He wants me. I take his cock deep into my mouth, pulling on it with my lips, using my tongue and my hands. My enthusiasm increases as I feel the stir of stiffening under my tongue, soon I am making a sloppy mess, drooling down around his balls. All good lubricant for the fingers I force into his tight hole. I push against the magic spot, the one Daddy taught me.

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It works. He is gloriously hard. Gloriously obviously yearning for me.

I give him what he wants, climbing on top of him and pushing him inside. My girl parts already wet from having my mouth full with his engorged cock. It feels even better inside of me.

I ride the man the way Daddy likes. Feeling my girl parts respond, the waves of pleasure that build and pulse around his cock. I stroke his face and his grey hair. He’s so different to Daddy. He has his eyes squeezed closed now; he must be so overwhelmed with how good this feels. I must be a fantasy come true for him. That thought spurs me on, pumping my hips with force. I take him. I take all the pleasure his hardness has to give and I cum, pulsing around him.

The sweet release comes with a revelation. Orgasm is a blinding hit, the impact felt in my entire body. In the quiet moments that follow as I feel my heart pounding in my chest I realise the words I need. “Thank you,” I whisper in breathless pants. “Thank you, thank you.”

I slip off of him, delighting that his cock still remains standing to attention. Ready to take again. “I’ll come back,” I promise him. Slipping out of the room and back to the waiting computer, back to the his now visually challenged wife’s message to the world, easy when given such powerful inspiration.

“Dear friends,” I wrote on her behalf. “I need some work done to my eyes. I won’t be able to see anyone for some time. Please respect my need for time to recover. Hope to see you all again soon.” Perfect and also entirely true.

Daddy will be proud.

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