Touch of Trouble (Touch Series) (2 page)

"And right no
w, I don’t want to talk at all." He reaches up to cup my breasts. It makes me giggle and squirm. "Let's get back to the cabana."

Keeping my arms and legs locked around him, he carries me out of the water, and I feel his hardening cock the entire time. It's pressing against my pussy, exciting me in the best ways.

"Do you want to play Go Fish?" I ask innocently.

He laughs a little darkly as we enter the cabana and closes the white fabric behind us. "No. That’s not what I had in mind."
After lowering me to one side of the big sofa, he pulls down his trunks, exposing himself to me, but he doesn’t stay that way. From the other side of the sofa, he grabs a towel and wraps it around his hips. "You haven't forgotten your safeword, have you?"

My mouth forms an "o" as my cheeks heat up. I only need a safeword if we're going to play rough.

"N-no, Daddy." My voice is all shaky. Arousal rushes around in my tummy, and I get butterflies. Horny butterflies. "It's red." One of the first things I discovered with Daddy is that he likes reluctance sometimes. He wants me to fight him. Sort of like a rape fantasy, only a tad gentler and with no violent intentions.

Usually, he wants it when I've been a bad girl. He fucks me into a good little girl again, and it
always
works. But today…perhaps he wants to let off some steam? Because I haven't been bad, have I?

We do have a few trying days ahead of us, so we might need this. And I'll never back down from playtime that allows me to sink deeper into
the Little I really am. It cleanses me, in a way.

"Time for your nap, sweetheart." He sits down on the edge of the sofa and reaches around me to untie my bikini top. I can see in his eyes that he's started playing. He needs a reason now—a reason to go rough. "When you wake up, I'll order lunch."

I scowl as he tosses my bikini on the table. "I'm not sleepy." I fold my arms over my chest and jut out my chin. If he wants a brat, I'll give him one! I don’t exactly have to struggle to find the brat in me. She's very much alive and kicking, still mad about our going to Oregon tomorrow. "
Stop
." I whine when he pulls down my bikini bottoms. "Daddy, I can do it myself!" I shove at him petulantly.

"Be quiet," he snaps.

I stick out my tongue at him. "You dummy."

He raises a brow, then points to the floor in front of the table. "Get over there.
Now
."

Sulking, I make my
way to the floor and give him another scowl over my shoulder.

"Bend
over and hold on to your ankles." A command.

As I obey, I feel him coming up behind me. He strokes my bottom. He kneads it. He spanks it. I yelp and cringe, then whine as he rubs out the sting. He's being such a meanie!

"Stand still." His voice is gruff and quiet. "You've had this coming for days, Kayla."

I snarl. "I've done no
thing wrong." My wet hair gets in my face, so I try to blow it out of the way, but it doesn’t work. I give up with a huff. "I've been a good girl."

"Have you?" He
hmphs
and slides a finger down to my kitty. Wet already. I'm such a hussy. "If I remember correctly, you've been sneaky a few times." Uh-oh. "Or haven't you tried to get out of the trip to Oregon? Haven't you been a brat?"

Um. "No?" I squeak. In response, he spanks me again. "Ow! That hu
rts." I whimper and try to squirm away, though he holds me fast. The next thing I see is his towel being dropped to the floor. "Please, please, please, Daddy! I'll be good. I'll be good. You don’t have to—" Before I can even finish the sentence, he grabs my hips and rams his cock so deep inside my pussy that it steals my breath. My mouth pops open, but no sound escapes.

"Did Daddy's cock shut you up, baby girl?"

Unable to form a coherent response, I let out a breathless wail, my nails digging in to my ankles so I don’t lose my grip.

For several minutes, he fucks me like that. He has me at his mercy. Doubled over. His hard cock slamming and drilling deeper. His hands holding me in place, even pulling me back on his erection with some thrusts. There's my whining—and the few moans I can't hold back—Daddy's heavy breathing, the sound of skin slapping, and the wetness I can't hide.

"Remember your safeword?" He pants, abruptly withdrawing from my pussy. I nod pitifully and sag against him as he pulls me to a stand. "Good. Lie down on the couch again."

The seco
nd my back hits the cushions, he settles between my legs, places a hand near my head, guides his cock to my opening, and pushes forward.

"Too much!" I cry out, to which he clamps a hand over my mouth. "No, stop! Stop, Daddy!" My sounds are muffled, but he can still hear them.

I think he senses that I can handle a lot more—that my "reluctance" is too practiced—so he speeds up and goes harder. Wrapping his fingers around both my wrists, he gathers my restrained hands above my head. With his free hand, he begins to pinch my nipples, and he tells me that if I scream or become too loud, he'll bring out his belt when we get back to the hotel room.

I don’t want his belt. It
really
stings!

Each slide of his big cock inside me is like feeding me Viagra for girls; I'm soaking wet, and there's nothing I can do about it. But the pinches, the rough squeezes, and the sharp nips of his teeth…they always confuse me.
A part of me needs it, and even wants it, but another part doesn’t. I'm swimming in indecision, which leaves me vulnerable and easier for him to dominate. It's what ultimately makes me yield.

In a final effort, I try to push him away. I shove at his shoulders and claw at hi
s skin. He tries to kiss me, but I turn away and snarl at him.

"Feisty little
baby slut, aren't you?" He hisses in my ear, sending tingles down my spine. "I think I've let you be a brat for too long, Kayla." The hand that isn't restraining my own hands slides under me and cups my butt. "Haven't I told you that I will always take care of you? Haven't I told you that I'll do what's best for you?" He lets out a gritty moan as he continues to pump into me. "Yet, for the past few days…you've questioned me, begged me, been manipulative…"

A hard squeeze to one of my b
utt cheeks makes me cry out. Tears well up in my eyes. He sees it, but he remains ruthless and relentless.

"Handling a little brat can be fun," he whispers, "but I want my preci
ous sweetheart back now." With that, he takes me even harder.

Pain mingles with more pleasure as he begins to stroke my clit. Then more pain. Bites, harsh thrusts. More pleasure. He sucks on my nipples, his tongue swirling and teasing. Pain. His entire body presses down on me.

The brat in me whimpers in defeat and pulls back.

"Would I
ever let anyone hurt you?"

"No…" I suck my bottom lip into my mouth
. "But, Daddy—"

"N
o buts." He claims my mouth in a hard kiss and moans. "Trust me, Kayla. When we're in Oregon,
trust me
to take care of you and keep you happy." I flush with heat, and his reassurances finally settle in. "Work with me instead of against me. If you struggle…we both know Daddy will fuck the fight out of you."

"Oh,
God
." I gasp as a wildfire blazes through me.

His promises, his cock, his fingers on my clit—it's all too much. Too much, too much. Suddenly d
rowning in a big ocean of bliss and euphoria, I sink deeper and deeper into the darkness where I'm left totally free and unchained.

Tears and sweat dampen my skin.
Thoughts, worries, and distractions vanish; they fade away. It's unbelievably freeing to let go. As long as my Daddy is here, everything is perfect in the world. He will take care of me. He will make all those decisions that make my head ache. In return, I will worship him.

I cling to him, my orgasm still raging inside me.

"That’s it," I hear him murmur. "There’s my gorgeous little baby."

His praise leaves me feeling all glowy, and i
t's only a few seconds later that he jerks and starts coming, coating the inside of my pussy with his release.

"Christ, Kayla…"

Still pinned down by his body, there's nothing I can do but take it. Only, now I want it with every fiber of my being.

My skin, wherever he's pinched me and manipulated my limits, is red and burning hot. It feels like each inch of redness has its own pulse, and it makes me hyperaware of Daddy's touches right now. His labored breaths against my neck, his heaving chest against mine…

I r
ealize this wasn’t about "letting off some steam." I've behaved badly, and Daddy put a stop to it before I could take it further and
really
act out. It's overwhelming, the fact that someone else knows me better than I do. I hadn't even noticed just how unsettled the upcoming trip had made me. But I feel so much better now, and not because of a fuck, but because of how he simply made my leash shorter. Sometimes it's necessary.

"Do you feel better, baby girl?" He kisses me on the forehead and slowly pulls out of me, ending up next to me instead, propped up on his elbow.

Still overwhelmed, I just nod and give him a watery little smile. Then as whimpers bubble up and my eyes won't stop welling, I glue myself to his body and begin crying. My breaths come out all choppy and fast, as if I can't let go of the emotions quickly enough.

In my head, I try to think back on our vacation here; I want to recall what I've done to make Daddy notice the problem. I know I've been restless and a bit bratty, but
was that enough for him to draw the conclusion that I needed rougher play?

Evidently
.

"It's all right, my little love." He sooth
es me, shushes me gently, kisses my hair, and strokes my back. "I've got you."

"I'm sorry…" My bottom lip quivers
. "I didn’t realize."

"I kno
w." His eyes are gentle now. "But it's not your job. It's mine. Now, let's lie here for a bit. You're still trembling a little." He feels my forehead, then moves down to caress my cheek. "We'll rest, and then we'll shower before lunch. Does that sound good?"

I nod and burrow myself impossibly closer
into him, sucking my thumb into my mouth. "Yes, Daddy."

Our vacation is over too quickly, but I'm thankful for Nicholas's distracting me. On our way to LA—where we'll change flights—he asks me to go over the plans I have for the Lounge with him.

Before Nicholas bought the place next to Switch, it was a
big restaurant, and the kitchen and the staff room still haven't been dealt with. In the old dining area, however, we now have the Cave, a big space for scening.

With my tablet
between us, I open up the sketchpad software and show Nicholas how the space behind the Cave will look after a couple walls have been torn down.

First, we have the Cinema—what used to be the
break room for the restaurant's staff—and this will actually open a few days after New Year's.

Switch is closed over the holidays, so Nicholas paid a construction team lots of money to work on our very own movie theater.

It will be totally dark, with black-painted walls and floors, and instead of cushy recliners, there will be four big, round beds filling the room. And of course, a massive screen on one wall that will show either porn or erotic slideshows.

Then we have the Lounge…

"This looks wonderful." Nicholas zooms in on what used to be the kitchen, or mainly, the new arched entrance that leads to it. "How many stalls in the Cave will have to be removed?"

"
All of the ones on the eastern wall." Which means three stalls. A part of that wall will open up to the Lounge. "But I was thinking we could utilize the platform in the original club area a bit more. Right now, we only use it for public demos."

Nicholas nods thoughtfully. "That sounds like a good idea. There's enough space between the platform and our
private booth to keep equipment, too." Exactly. Like, the furniture we have in the three stalls that we need to eliminate. "And how are we on the name? You weren’t sure about calling it the Lounge?"

I shake my head and take a sip of my Sprite. "No, I don’t think it will fit."

I've explained my vision already, so he knows. It's going to be a harem-like room, with billowy fabrics, pillows and mattresses on the floor, sconces with lit candles, rich colors of gold, plum, moss green, and wine red. In the middle of the room, there will be two brass poles for dancing, and between those, everything you need for wax play. Candles in various colors—with different melting points—mineral oils and other options for protecting the skin, thermometers, and holders and cups for those who prefer to play with only the wax. All of which will be set up on an altar.

"I
've researched some options…" I tap my chin absently, thinking. "That kind of room is called Oda, but I'm not sure many people know that."