Donovan. Donovan Graves.
WhoamI, Camilla?
D-Donovan. Doctor D.
My throat is raw and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve answered that same question with some variation of his name when he sighs. “When did you get so stubborn?”
I’m not sure. I’ve always been a good girl, willing and eager to please. But ever since I put in my notice, that desire seems to have disappeared, at least where he’s concerned.
Actually, if I’m being honest, it started happening long before I put my notice in. Every day with him over the past year has chipped away at my innate people-pleasing tendencies. Putting my notice in simply gave me a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt before. What did I care if he wrote me up or punished me orsent me away? I was leaving anyway. And now, even though I’m trapped here, I can’t seem to find the girl I was before him, the sweet, willing-to-do-anything-for-anyone Millie I was when I first came to the island.
“Guess you just bring it out in me,” I answer, my voice rough from his abuse of my mouth and throat.
To my surprise, he chuckles at my response. “Well, unfortunately for you, I’m much more stubborn than you could ever dream of being, my naughty little Camilla. And I have no problem punishing you for every single act of defiance until you’re ready to be my sweet, obedient girl again.” Leaning down, he drops his voice to a low whisper. “In fact, I’m very much looking forward to it. You know how I enjoy hurting sweet Little girls like yourself.”
With that, he grips my hair, bending my head back at an even more unnatural angle as he drives into my mouth again. Only this time, he doesn’t bother to pause to ask his question. He simply fucks my throat without mercy, ignoring my struggles as I gag and fight for breath with every stroke. Until, at last, he goes still, his heavy ball sac resting against my nose as his cock swells in my mouth. Hot cum pours down my throat and I have no choice but to swallow, still gagging around the length of him.
When he’s done and I’ve swallowed what I can, he pulls a pacifier gag from his pocket and slips it between my lips before buckling the strap around my head. Instinctively, I suck at the rubber tip, and though I don’t want to be comforted by anything he does or anything he gives me, my entire body relaxes. I’ve always loved a pacifier, and even having it forced on me does nothing to change that.
His hands are surprisingly gentle as he lifts me from the changing table, once again shocking me with how strong he is. Sniffling against the tears streaming unbidden down my face, I fight the urge to curl into him as he carries me into thebathroom. He sets me on the closed toilet lid and I watch as he moves around the room with that same lethal grace I’ve tried not to notice when I’ve observed him at the office.
Everything hurts. My throat from the thorough face-fucking he gave me. My limbs from struggling against the straps holding me to the changing table.
My chest, from so many emotions I can’t give names to all of them. But there is one that stands out from the rest, possibly because I’m so familiar with it. And it’s that emotion I’m certain is responsible for the majority of the pain sitting squarely in my chest.
Longing.
For what, I’m still not sure. Not forhim, I’m positive of that. But maybe for what he represents. A Daddy who is not only willing but eager to care for me, even my most intimate needs. If I squint, I can almost picture someone else in his place, can almost pretend this is the life I’ve always dreamed of.
With the bath running, Donovan returns to where I’m sitting on the closed toilet lid. He tugs my onesie up over my head, tossing it into the waiting hamper before lifting me back into his arms and lowering me into the tub.
The water isn’t nearly warm enough. Leaning forward, I reach for the knob to turn the heat up, but a sharp smack to my hand has me jerking backward in shock. To my horror, fresh tears well in my eyes as I stare up at his fierce expression. Lips trembling around the pacifier in my mouth, I hold my hand close to my chest. Just like back on the plane and in the hotel, it isn’t even that the swat hurts all that much, but that it makes me feel impossibly small and naughty.
“Little girls don’t touch the temperature of their baths. What if you accidentally made it too hot and burned yourself?”
I’ve been bathing myself for years without issue, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. And with the pacifier strapped into my mouth, I can’t even ask him to warm it up.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I give an exaggerated shiver, and he surprises me by laughing. Not his usual cruel chuckle, but a deep, from-the-belly kind of laugh that warms me from the inside out. I can’t remember if I’ve ever heard him laugh like that, and I hate how much I love the sound.
“All right, little one. Daddy will turn it up a little for you.”
He turns the knob a fraction to the right and I shiver again, even more exaggerated this time. It takes several tries to get the water even close to what I consider warm enough, and even though I would have liked it even hotter, Donovan puts his foot down and refuses to turn it up any further.
Resigned to a lukewarm bath, I sit back and sink down into the water, closing my eyes and floating for a bit. With my eyes shut, I can pretend, at least for a little while, that I’m just enjoying a bath on my own instead of being forced into it by a man I loathe.
All too soon, my relaxing floating time comes to an end as Donovan goes to work scrubbing every inch of my body. No matter how hard I try, I can’t fully separate myself from the feel of his hands gripping various parts of me so he can rub the soap-laden washcloth over my skin.
And I really,reallycan’t separate myself from his finger, slick with soap, pushing insistently into my asshole. Humiliation burns along my skin as he cleans every inch of me with the same thoroughness he shows in everything else he does.
But I don’t fight him. He loves it when Little girls fight and cry and whine. I think he loves the fight more than he enjoys their eventual surrender.
So I refuse to give him the one thing he wants, silently bearing my humiliation until he’s finally satisfied I’m cleanenough for the bath to be over. Opening the plug to drain the tub, he lifts me from the water and sets me on my feet, wrapping me up in the fluffiest bath towel I’ve ever felt.
“Are you ready to be a good girl for me, Camilla?” he asks, his voice so soft and tender it’s hard to reconcile the man in front of me with the cold, sadistic doctor I used to work for.
I’m not, but I am ready to get rid of the pacifier gag, so I nod. The smile he flashes me as he reaches for the buckle on the gag is so bright, so approving, my heart trips in my chest.
Again, I canalmostimagine he’s someone else, someone who actually loves me and cares for me as he pulls the gag from my mouth and hoists me up into his arms to carry me back into the nursery.
