He makes me do it.
Pacing behind me, I feel him, heightened to his movements, listening for his instructions over the pounding of my heart.
He makes me do it.
Knelt before me, the beautiful boy waits. Arms folded behind his back. Calm, unmoving, willing.
He makes me do it.
Fearful apprehension makes my skin prickle. The room feels too warm, filling with a suffocating dread.
What am I afraid of?
The boy’s patient eyes meet mine. Our unspoken communication at odds; my expression repentant, seeking to beg forgiveness for the violent suggestions, yet it’s met with…a gentle smile. A smirk that swirls confusion into my fear.
My hands uncontrollably contract, a subtle movement that requests his comfort. My empty palm seeking the familiar warmth of his. Hold my hand please Daddy, make me brave.
He makes me do it.
“That’s right, little one… Punch him nice and firm. Nice and hard right on his soft cheek…”
He moves behind the boy to stroke his face, cradling his head in his arms and demonstrating the right spot to aim for. The boy nuzzles against his hand, closing his eyes briefly before turning his gaze back to me.
The boy’s eyes sparkle, a flash of defiant dare.
Daddy continues his pacing, calm circles around us. I don’t look at him, focussing on his words and stilling my anxiety. Can he tell I’m afraid? There’s no indication of doubt in his voice as he continues to tell me what I will do.
“Make him cry for me…make him bleed…”
His whisper is hot against my neck, moving in fast my body responds to his closeness, the buck of my hips betraying my fear. My panting breath evidencing my arousal, inspired by his words, his brutal demands, his control.
“…punch him until he has to smile. A twisted bleeding and bruised smile. Just for me”
He makes me do it. Holding me against him, he places a hand on my chest. We breathe together, slow deep breaths that bring single-minded focus. Drawing my arm back and stepping away I am his weapon, deployed with words.
I barely realise I’ve obeyed until I see the boy rock backwards. The crack of my fist connecting with his cheek is audible and gut wrenching.
Conscience stricken I clutch my hands to my chest, the traitors to my instinct. What have I done?
I watch as he registers the pain. A brief grimace, a slight hint of discomfort, a suggestion of a sneer. Expressions that flit across his face too quickly, soon replaced with that smile, the calm challenging confident smile. Is that stubbornness? Or foolishness?
I reappraise the boy. Kneeling at my feet he’s the right height for me to grip his face, sliding a hand under his chin and tipping it up towards me. I move in close, uncomfortably close, to drink him in. Looking deep into his eyes and watching his expression change. What does he see in me that makes him start to squirm?
I force his legs further apart with a kick, keeping his head held high. It’s a struggle for him now; I see it reflected in his eyes. His calm has vanished; what has replaced it is making him sweat, his fear is palpable, it’s written across his face and feeds my desire. He’s so beautiful. I want to break him.
Daddy says I can.
I want to do it.
I want this.
I let go…
My fists connect, right and left repeated strikes onto his perfect face. Satisfying pleasure from making solid connection, flesh on flesh, spurred on by the boy’s moans.
Primal noises mix with girlish glee and fill the room. They’re coming from me, uncontrollable squeals of sadistic delight. Quietly in the background of my mind a gentle voice reminds me…”This, this is what you are afraid of.”
That voice is silenced with two magic words. “Good girl.”
Daddy’s words of encouragement.
The boy looks at him with a panic in his eyes, shaking his head violently. That moment where they realise the truth, you can see it wash over them like a waterfall, drowning their illusions. He tries to sputter, to find his voice “but…but…” the words are lost to breathless sobs as he’s winded by a punch.
The exhilaration of the violence is met only with the thrill of watching him break. I pound his pretty little face, throwing my weight into the punches. Blood smears across my knuckles from his split lip and spatters on the ground. It’s heady scent acting as accelerant to my assault.
“You make Daddy so proud.” I see the pride in his face as he holds the boy still; locking his arms behind him to give me an open target. I remind the boy that he should have kept them there himself, naughty boy…”look what Daddy’s having to do, that will teach you for trying to put them in the way…”
I dance from foot to foot, a sadists bounce. A left hook, a giggle and a jibe. A right hook, a growl and a deserved mocking. “Is this not what you expected?” Words pour out of me, evil stabs of meanness that wound his pride and break his spirit, matched by the beating to his body.
Jabbing at his swollen face with my eager fists I am relentless until he’s unrecognisable, until he’s a bloody mess of blackened skin, swollen eyes and pitiful whimper.
I am thorough in his devastation….He shouldn’t have been so beautiful, what did he expect?
Daddy releases him to the floor. The boy is a crumpled heap of beaten defiance gasping for air. The blood pools around him, dark against the stone.
Gently dropping to my knees for closer observation I watch the boy curl himself into a ball, his body heaving with silent sobs. I like it when they’re quiet, it means they really learned.
Daddy strokes my hair lovingly as he joins me on the floor. ”You did so well, I have a special treat for you…” Trailing his hand in the blood it coats his skin, gently dripping onto my pretty dress as he brings his fingers up to my face. It fills my senses, deep red and metallic, consumes me until I’m panting, desperate to have in my mouth, to drink.
I lick the blood from his fingers, savouring the rich taste and the freshness. This one tastes better than the others, sweeter, perhaps as sweet as he thought I was, silly foolish boy.
With increased passion I force more and more of his fingers into my mouth. I want more. I need more. Daddy calls this my blood lust; he says it makes me special. It means one day I won’t be afraid anymore when we need to teach the boys a lesson. “Soon you won’t be scared….soon I’ll have to hold you back…”
He tells me now, as he lays me back into the warm sticky puddle, the blood seeping into my cotton dress.
“My beautiful Blade and you’re learning so well…Daddy’s very proud of you.” His fingers linger on the bruises dark over my cheekbones, pushing into the tender spots. “Remember how I showed you? How good you were?” My answer swallowed by his mouth on mine, the boy’s blood flowing from Daddy’s lips.
The boy’s good now too. Still by our sides, even as Daddy’s movements inside me reach a blood fuelled frenzy. The ruby puddle splashing into the boy’s face, mingling with silent tears from blackened eyes. Still, even as I scream in pained pleasure, Daddy’s special kisses biting down on my shoulder. Still, quiet, obedient, just as I taught him to be.