"Still with me?" His voice seemed to come from far away. "Your vitals are concerning. Should I end this? Make the choice for you?"
"No!" The thought of him stopping, of being denied even the option of relief, was worse than the torment.
"Then ask."
"I..." The words stuck like glass in my throat.
"Two words, baby. Two words and all of this ends. Or continues, depending on how you look at it." He leaned back. "But those are the only two words that will save you now."
The dam broke.
"Please, Daddy!"
The machine came to life instantly, thrusting deep and steady. The relief was so intense I screamed, convulsing against the restraints as it worked me with mechanical precision.
"Good girl," he said softly. "But we're not done. That was just to take the edge off. Now the real training begins."
The machine continued its rhythm, building me toward a peak I desperately needed. But just as I approached the edge, it slowed.
"Ask again."
"What?"
"You want to come? Ask nicely."
"Please, Daddy," I gasped immediately, pride thoroughly shattered.
The machine sped up, bringing me right to the precipice—and stopped.
"Again."
"Please, Daddy!"
This continued for another hour. Maybe more. Building and denying, each peak higher than the last, each denial more devastating. And through it all, those two words became my only vocabulary. My only thought. My only truth.
"Look at you," he murmured at some point. "So polite now. So eager to please. What happened to manipulation? To using my feelings against me?"
"Please, Daddy," I sobbed, past anything but need.
"That's all you can say now, isn't it? Just those two words, over and over. Like a prayer. Like a promise." He stood, moving close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with my desperation. "Do you want to come, baby?"
"Please, Daddy!"
"Do you promise to stop trying to manipulate me?"
"Please, Daddy!"
"Are you mine?"
"Please, Daddy! Please, please, please—"
"Come."
The machine thrust deep and held as my orgasm crashed through me like a tsunami. I screamed myself hoarse, convulsing against restraints that held me safe while I shattered. It went on and on, weeks of need compressed into moments of devastating release.
When I finally stilled, wrung out and trembling, he was there. Releasing the restraints, catching me as I collapsed. The machine withdrew and disappeared, but I barely noticed, too lost in the aftermath.
"There's my good girl," he murmured, carrying me to the bed. "See what happens when you stop fighting? When you ask for what you need?"
