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.

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.

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 onto 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 where 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.

“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.