The liquid chocolate comes back up and gushes thickly out of the boy’s mouth, sliding down his pale shivering body. It doesn’t stop Daddy feeding him extra portions.
“Daddy says good girls and boys always eat all their food so that they grow up to be big and strong just like him. Aren’t you lucky he’s treating us with pudding tonight?”
I frown at the boy’s lack of appreciation as he rejects it again.
Clamouring for Daddy’s attention I show the boy how it’s done, slurping the chocolatey goodness from my special little spoon and licking my lips. “Hmmm, nom, thank you Daddy. I will eat it all like a good girl,” pretentious undertones designed to highlight the boy’s bad behaviour.
Good girls get treats, bad boys get punished.
The idea of Daddy punishing the boy makes my tummy flutter and my heart pound a little. He deserves it, look at him rejecting the food Daddy has worked so hard to provide and it’s chocolate too!
Once again the boy convulses and forces the chocolate pudding back up, after so many portions there’s simply no room. It runs in thick streams, down his front and over the ropes that secure him to the dining chair, pooling heavily in his lap.
It must hurt being that ungrateful because the boy moans, the pitiful caw of an animal in pain. This wretched sound offends my ears each time his body spasms.
“You said you wanted it.” Daddy reminds him. “You said you loved chocolate pudding. I’m just giving you what you love. I’m just giving you what you asked for.” With one hand he strokes the boy’s hair tenderly; with the other he forces another overloaded ladle of chocolatey goodness past resistant lips.
I smirk in the boy’s face, up from my chair and dancing in front of him with a mocking wiggle “You’re just getting what you deserve. Exactly what you wanted… silly boy.” Pleased with myself I giggle my way through a silly sing-song rhyme. “You wanted it, you wanted it, silly boy you wanted it….”
The hard concrete cracking against my spine brings tears to my eyes. Daddy’s fingers dig painfully into my throat. I’m reminded of how small I am, how easily he scooped me up to throw me down, how easily he could crush my windpipe as he pins me to the floor.
“I did not raise you talk to people like that.” the disappointment in his voice makes me more nervous than his anger ever could. Cold anxiety stabs in my stomach and spreads outwards, freezing me in place after he drags me upwards onto to my feet and releases his vice grip.
“Do you think it’s funny?” his voice is low and even though he’s still facing the boy I know Daddy means me. I panic and squeak an incoherent answer, my throat instantly sore from the pressure of his fingers.
“Do you know what YOU asked for? Do you remember?” he whips around to face me. Nose to nose I can practically smell his anger. I feel the saliva flying from his lips as he spits at me “You asked be a big girl, didn’t you? That’s what you said you wanted. You want to be Daddy’s big girl?”
I nod furiously. I’ve made Daddy so angry. I want to sob, to throw myself at his feet and wail for forgiveness but the fury in his face has me rooted to the spot with fear.
“Yes Daddy, I do.” I manage, desperately trying to enunciate, to please him, to do anything to quell the beast that has risen.
“Show me then… Let’s see what happens when you get what you want.” he gestures towards the boy. “Show Daddy how big girls please the boys. Show me how you make him hard and happy. Pleasure him… if you can.” he sits back and waits with folded arms, a sneer tugging at his lips.
Panic grips me. I must do as Daddy has requested, I want to please him and I desperately don’t want to make him more angry but I don’t understand; what do I do? I open my mouth to begin the question but think better of it. I search in his expression for some clue but the longer I delay, feeling increasingly tiny standing before him, the more the air around him seems to boil with anger.
A tiny movement, a twitch in Daddy’s hand prompts me into action. This is a Daddy lesson and the threat of a hand primed as a catalyst to my learning is enough to spur me on. That hand will stop at nothing to make sure I understand the class, even if I end up broken like before. I will learn.
I quickly move towards the boy, he’s filthy with chocolate pudding, slopped all down his front and across his pained face. He shakes his head as I come towards him, still gently groaning from the pain. His fingers splay out in the most effective “keep away” gesture he can manage under the restraints.
The boy’s face is green with sickness; the ropes have cut into his wrists and his hands are tinged blue. He barely resembles a boy at all. He is a disgusting mess with an aroma of vomit and chocolate. I hope with all my heart that I’m not visibly shuddering at the thought of touching him.
I desperately try to think of all the things that make boys happy and hard. How I have enticed them before, whenever Daddy has sent me to bring a new friend home for him? What I can do to make my Daddy proud, to be his good girl, to be his big girl? Oh why did I say I wanted this? Why was I mean to the boy? Daddy is right, he raised me better than that.
My remorse does nothing to save me. I force myself into action.
My dress slips easily over my head, I take care to throw it out of the way of the mess. I want to keep my pretty things pretty.
Now just in my panties I swirl my hips around, dancing to a silent beat. I wait for the boy to react, for his jaw to drop, mouth agape, the shift in his posture when his cock responds to my naked breasts as I run my hands over them, pulling on my nipples, making them hard. Aiming to make him hard.
But the boy doesn’t respond like that. He just moans again, closes his eyes and sobs.
I can’t make him hard like this, not if he won’t look at me. I teeter on the edge of a tantrum, a panicked response to my desperation to please and my frustration at how the boy is too consumed with his own predicament to realise his part in mine. “Look at me!” I demand, stamping my foot and extending the last word with a whinge.
The impact of the boot in my back propels me forwards, down onto my knees right in front of the boy. My hands, ready to brace the fall, land in his lap, splashing the reservoir of bile laced chocolate up over us both. Droplets of thick liquid raining down, slicking my fringe to my forehead. “Make him.” Daddy insists.
I hear Daddy continue his lesson over the sound of my dry heaving. “Big girls don’t whine Blade. You want to be a big girl, show Daddy how. Please him.”
I look up desperately at the creature before me. His eyes screwed tight. A torrent of thoughts rush through my mind in a blind panic. I could cut his eyelids off. He’d have to look at me then. The boy whimpers pathetically. No, that would probably make him pass out. He couldn’t get hard then.
Memories of Daddy’s lessons swell and make me dizzy. So many ways to make a boy pant and grope hungrily for my body but this boy is broken. I taunted him so viciously. He won’t respond to me so easily.
I sit back and cry. I can feel Daddy rise up behind me. Ready to push me on in his lesson. At that moment the boy opens his eyes. He looks for the source of the sobbing and he finds me.
For a moment we connect, eye to eye. He sees me, covered in his chocolate vomit. He sees me as I am, a little thing at Daddy’s feet. He sees me and mistakes my distress as the same as his. He sees what he wants to see.
I am not the same as him. I know my Daddy. I want to be my Daddy’s special girl. I cherish his lessons.
Lessons that rain down hard and blossom in waves of pain across my body. I do not struggle as Daddy lifts me from the dirt by my hair and rips away my panties. I do not wail like him as Daddy’s handsome fists impact on my back. I cry with pain and love and desire and a deep hatred of my inability to please him. My Daddy.
The boy is transfixed as Daddy breaks me. Slow and deliberately Daddy beats his lesson in to me. His silence a greater pain than any words he could say.
“Disappoint me,” He whispers in my ear, “and I will discard you like the rest.”
Any words but those.
Those words hurt more than I can bear.
The fear in my face must radiate because the boy goes white with fear and throws up another sluce of chocolate.
“Please be a good boy.” I beg him as Daddy drops me to my knees. His hook made clear to me. The boy has an opening, a weakness, and I am quick to exploit it.
Crawling up to him I place a firm grip on his thigh. “Please. Please play along.” I whisper at him. “Please, it’s the only way.”
My disgust at his revolting form is nothing compared to the cold dread of disappointing Daddy. It’s all the motivation I need to overcome the physical repulsion. This is Daddy’s lesson. Teaching me how to always please him, to find a way. To use the stupid girls and boys, too distracted with their own desires and despairs; use them to my advantage and be his good girl.
I slide my naked body up the boy’s slick chocolate oiled form. Gently I wipe away some of the filth from his face and around his eyes. I smile a pathetic smile at him. I look straight into his eyes, forcing a connection. Breathing softly I lean in and whisper in his ear. “Play along and we will live. I want you to live. I will help you, please help me.”
The promise of survival delivered. A promise that can motivate a boy to do almost anything, even to endure the worst of punishments. A promise I know I will never keep.
He nods almost imperceptibly.
“Good boy,” I whisper. He lets out a breath. His walls beginning to come down. “Work together and we can make it out of here.” I press on.
The game is on. The filthy little creature that disgusted me before is now a fat prize. Please him and I please my precious Daddy. I would do anything to please him.
I lick the chocolate from his ear and feel his response immediately. “It could be worse.” I whisper, “I’ve always wanted to bathe in chocolate and take my first boy swimming in it.” My hand slides up his cold arm as I weave my words.
He breathes more heavily. The short sharp intakes of panic subside.
“Pretend it’s just us.” I whisper. “You and me as it should have been.” I slip into his lap. “Us in a room alone. Dark and warm and wet. That’s right, close your eyes now…imagine us, just me and you.”
I paint a picture for him. A fantasy rich with taste and sensation. I gently slide the chocolate across his skin, reaching under his shirt. My hands in rhythm with my words.
Mesmerised, the boy loses grip on the here and now and slides effortlessly into the beautiful delusion I created for him.
I hear Daddy move as I untie his waist. Before he is able to act I turn and smile at him. My dark secret smile that only we know. It speaks of how I have learnt, urging him to wait and watch.
The intrigue on his face excites me and fans the flames of desire growing in my groin.
“Good boy.” I encourage as I take the boys cock in my hands. “Good boy. Let me taste your sweetness.”
I take him in my mouth and within seconds he is pulsing hard. My tongue lapping up the filth that covers him. My hands sweeping more over his shaft and balls. He moans in pleasure and I know I have won.
“Good girl.” Daddy’s voice cuts the fantasy down. Proud words that make me wash with relief. Exhilarated at passing Daddy’s test I let go of the crushing fear; it makes way to desire, anticipation of Daddy’s rewards.
The sound of his knife being unsheathed is almost at one with the whistle of the blade as it thrusts into the boy’s chest. Bones crunch as Daddy twists and releases a fountain of red that seeps through the brown.
“See what happens to spoiled boys who don’t appreciate it when they get everything they want? Now you want her too but you don’t deserve her… so you get nothing.” Daddy reprimands the corpse.
“Drink up my Blade.” He commands as he takes me from behind, slipping easily into my cunt, so filthy wet for him already, aroused by his pride. “You did very well.”
I lap up the sweet chocolate treat to the sound of the boys last gurgled breath and the slapping beats of Daddy’s treats.
I passed the test and it tastes good.