You’re Going To Call Me Daddy (DDlg, noncon) Part 1

“Sorry, I can’t make it tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

My friend Samantha cocked her head, peering at me with mischievous eyes. I knew that look well; she thought she had me on the ropes and she had no problem making a scene in a public place like this bar.

After working at the office next door, she convinced me to stay for a drink to catch up. I wanted to rush home and lock the door but her pleas were too irritating to withstand. Plus, pretending I was normal for a night was a nice thing to do once in awhile.

I just hoped that this whiskey glass was worth whatever could be waiting for me.

“Is it a boy? A man, perhaps?” She teased, flicking her vowels off her tongue, “Someone waiting for you at home?”

A shiver down my spine. God, I hope not. Not again. The last time there was a man at my home, I had to injure my wrist and hide in the bathroom while his cunning attempts to lure me out echoed through my brain.

“You can’t stay in there all night, babygirl. I can be a brute and blow this stick house down while you’re still hiding behind this door. Or you can come to me and be swallowed up on your own accord.”

The resistance had taken all of my mental capacity, thwarting his silver tongue and honeyed words before he gave up and left. The man had a life, after all, and he couldn’t spend his free time coaxing a girl out of her own safe haven.

At least, he couldn’t at that moment. If there was something I learned throughout this ordeal, men like him never stopped. Only learned and then delivered with rapid succession, like a predator surveying the new land for the first time.

“Alright, Princess. Daddy has to go take care of something. You can have this round. Perhaps Daddy was too rough with you this time. Made you frightened. Don’t worry. This won’t happen again next time.”

His threatening promise echoed in my mind as he vanished. I stayed in the bathroom all night with my full weight pressed against the door in case he popped back up again.

“You alright?” Samantha asked, peeking at my chipped exterior. I shrugged off my memories like a wool blanket, waving her good-bye.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The ghost of a smile traced across my lips, hopefully to deter from asking more questions. I didn’t need that right now; I just needed to get home and lock myself in my bedroom to circumvent any unwanted visitors.

I dug my key into my ignition and turned the car on. The car sputtered slightly, perhaps seriously annoyed with the rough handling, before settling into a groove that could get me where I needed to go.

My phone vibrated. I dreaded the number. He always managed to slip by me.

I flipped the face over, seeing an unknown contact. Without hesitation, I deleted it before rushing off onto the highway. I wasn’t going to invite the devil into my car just like that.

He’d probably convince me to pull over and do God-knows-what in God-knows-where.

The overpowering memory of his cologne came back to me. My head began to spin a little. The touch of the expensive threads of his suit. Swirling and swirling around. His sadistic, little chuckle in my ear.

Marcus Ingleside, the one and only thorn in my ass. While I never knew him to go by his first name nor would I stoop so low to call him that, he commanded the absolute respect of the entire city with his wealth and charm. His opinions were like the divine words of God and his numbers were Heaven-sent for investors.

For an older man, he was downright handsome. Dark hair, neat and tidy, combed back. Green eyes that stared through the soul. Athletic build and muscles for ages. Tall, imposing, and sexy in a way that turned the heads of women.

Ingleside was a manipulative, conniving, and terribly charismatic businessman who made a killing on property markets as well as other prominent opportunities. He only did business to ruin the lives of others as I was convinced.

He was married to a shrew of a woman and I was sure he still was. The marriage seemed convenient as she reportedly engaged in some extramarital affairs but he didn’t seem to care.

What he did care about was me. Specifically, me calling his sorry ass ‘Daddy’.

I brought this situation on myself. I knew I shouldn’t have taken the job but I needed the money so badly. I had to make rent that month and I didn’t want to face an eviction notice when I was so close to finishing university.

So I put on a tiny, little skirt, and waitressed at an upscale cigar and whiskey lounge that was entirely populated by old, rich men. A friend of a friend knew a friend who let me do the gig and I was all too eager to make some money.

The men were disgustingly ancient, demented, and drunk. Their bellies filled with smoke, tobacco, and expensive whiskey pairings.

Except Ingleside, the belle of the ball. The center of attention, even in a crowded room of cloud and immortal businessmen.

I never, ever should have taken his hundred dollar bill, even with his charming smile and purring vowels.

“Call me Daddy, babygirl. I’ll give you another hundred if you do it with a cute whine.”

Like a fool, I danced for his money as if I were a trained monkey. I felt the looming desperation of my unpaid obligations upon my neck, ready to decapitate me at moment’s notice.

He must have sensed my little side, sniffing out my needs like a wolf surveying his prey. And from what I could tell, that turned him on quite a bit.

“…Daddy…”

The rest went by too fast. I could barely stand on my heels as his hand groped my lower cheek, feeling his grubby paws all over me. My tip jar overflowed with fat, immoral cash. His cigar-scented breath curled against my ear as I sat on his lap.

“Attagirl. Why don’t you bounce on Daddy’s lap like a good little girl and have some fun?”

That phrase must have pulled me back to my senses as I felt fury ebb through my temples. Before I knew it, I had slapped him across the face and stormed out, taking my money with me. I didn’t even look back but I could sense a wicked smile burning through the back of my skull.

I’m not sure how he got my name or my address. All I knew was that he showed up on my apartment doorstep two days later and the war for my eternal soul had begun. His relentless actions waged war against my perseverance but I knew it wouldn’t be long until…

Ingleside had one goal in mind: to get me to accept him as Daddy. To him, the only answer that was acceptable was my surrender.

The cold, calculating personality was only enhanced by the spontaneous acts of compassion, forcing me to question his true nature. Was this merely a hunt that required chase or a need to fulfill?

I couldn’t think like that. If Ingleside knew that I cracked under his pressure, he’d never let up.

Pulling into my apartment building, I hopped out of the car and locked the door. Patting myself down to check my phone, I hurried into my lonely first-floor apartment. I had begged, begged, the landlord to give me a higher unit but he refused.

Shoving the door aside, I was relieved to see that nobody was waiting for me. Feeling the tension slide off my shoulders, I headed to the tiny bedroom to change my clothes.

This felt good. This felt right. I was alone, exactly what I wanted.

Pulling off my shirt, I tossed my old clothes into the wastebasket and felt my stomach churn a bit. Maybe I was just hungry; I hadn’t eaten dinner, after all. If I wasn’t in such a rush, I would have grabbed something on the way…

“Hungry, darling? Why, I have just the thing…”

The memory came too quickly for me to be disgusted. But I distinctly recalled the details well; Ingleside, standing in my living room, as he rolled up his sleeves. Undoing his belt and holding the leather restraint in his left hand…

Blushing, I felt a little tingly as the memory fizzed out. Instinctively, I brushed my fingertips against my pelvis as the warmth filled my lungs.

How did I get rid of him that time? I couldn’t recall. I just remembered his hand on my cheek, circling his thumb over my mouth as I tried to snap my jaw at him.

“Now, now, Princess. Be nice to your Daddy.”

Actually, upon reflection, I think I did get him good. He reared his hand back and put his thumb in his mouth, nursing it as I smirked victoriously. I thought he would give up for sure…

Then he threw me over his knee and…

My cheeks flushed again. The belt. Hard strikes against my bottom. My ankle is rigid with every swat laid against me. I refused to cry out, biting my tongue hard as he drove the whimpers and whines from my body.

I passed out and when I woke up, I’m tucked into bed with a stuffed animal and a snack waiting for me. When I investigated further, the miserable bastard made himself at home in my apartment and apparently, he didn’t know how to clean up after himself. I found a half-drunk cognac glass, cigarettes, and furniture moved around.

Ingleside apparently decided to make that a regular habit when he “shows up” at my home. So I changed the locks. He breaks in. I change the locks and add security. He overrides it. I called the police. He smooth-talked his way out of it.

As I said. Total nightmare.

Of course, the last time he broke into my apartment…

My face is red from humiliation. It was one thing to break into my apartment but a totally different thing to break in while I was…was…

Masturbating. Playing with my toys. Saying “Daddy” over and over again…

Ingleside loved every second of it. Filmed it on his phone. When I found out he was there, I tried to kick his butt out but he blackmailed me. Wanted to watch me up close.

He didn’t earn his business and wealth by playing fair.

“That’s right, babygirl…make yourself feel good with that toy…you want the video deleted, don’t you…?”

The hazy memory fleeting. Fucking blackmail. Hours of playing with different toys under his perverted eyes. Feeling my toes curl as he licked his lips at the very sight of me.

I refused to lose, even after that.

I don’t think he even deleted the video. Probably sat in behind some expensive, shiny desk and fondled himself as he watched the movie.

The thought of him rubbing one out to me turned me on a bit but I shoved those feelings down. I needed a way to get out from under his thumb! I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes before I heard the front door shut.

Did…did I lock the door?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! I scrambled out of bed, cursing at myself before grabbing a familiar, sleek, aluminum baseball bat and dragged it behind me. I pushed open my bedroom door before seeing a familiar yet unwanted face in my kitchen.

Ingleside. Holding a glass of strong, husky liquor. He had tossed his coat over my breakfast bar, leaning against the wall.

“Hello, darling.” Ingleside greeted, taking a sip of his cognac, “Daddy’s home.”

In seconds, I picked up my baseball bat and swung at him. Ingleside sidestepped easily, grabbing the handle of the bat and pulling the article from my hands.

“Bad girl.” He chided, as if the instance of violence was nothing, “You should greet your guests more kindly. Someone might not take a battery assault lightly, you know.”

“Get out of my apartment!” I shrilled, something I had screamed time and time again. I felt defenseless as he stared me down. Ingleside tongued his cheek as he smirked, hiding up his sadistic nature.

He stepped forward towards me and I hurled a spitwad directly at his eyesocket. Ingleside ducked a little, getting struck on the cheek.

My knees felt buckled as he grabbed me, dragging me towards my bedroom. I clawed, bit, and hollered as hard as I could.

“No, no, no! Let me go!” I feverishly cried out, almost weeping at his superior strength over me. He could overpower a raging bull, it felt like, “Fucking psychopath! Crazy loon!”

“If you keep throwing your tantrum, Daddy is going to give you a spanking.” Ingleside said, throwing me on my mattress, “I should anyway, considering your rude behavior to me.”

My teary eyes stared up at him, making him rub my cheek with his hand. A grin broke out over his face.

“So cute when you cry. Makes me a little hard, actually.” He confessed, watching my face turn to stone, “You’re the one making this difficult. Why, if you just accept, you can sit in my lap and play with your stuffies. And I get a cute Princess all to myself. Win for both of us.”

“I. Want. Nothing. To. Do. With. You.” I emphasized greatly, gnashing my teeth.

Ingleside made a dismissive wave, “You’ll come to your senses. Princesses like you can’t resist good Daddies like me.”

My fists clenched in anger, “Suck my dick, Ingleside.”

“Naughty girl!” He teased, “Should I go get the soap to wash that filthy mouth? Who taught you those awful little words?”

“Fuck you.” I snarled, getting up to fight him before he roped my left wrist with his belt. In quick work, I had my hands tied behind my back as I struggled to kick him.

“That’s good. Wear yourself out.” Ingleside encouraged me, his twisted smile almost lipped on my ear, “Tell Daddy about your day. Was it good or bad?”

I reared my head to bite but he was too fast. My teeth snapped so hard that tremors went through the jaw bones up to my temples.

“You. Are. Not. My. Daddy.” My voice was shaky from anger and fear, “Fuck off.”

Ingleside stroked my hair, keeping a short distance to avoid my bites as he had learned before, “I’m your Daddy whether you want me to be or not. Now. Are you going to give up and start acting like a proper girl or am I going to have to tie you up?”

My hard flash of rebellion must have answered for me as my intruder wasted no time tying my feet to the bed with his tie and shirt. The slender ankles began to ache uncomfortably as Ingleside leaned over to graze his lips on my mouth.

“I need to make coffee.” He announced rather casually, shoving a cloth gag in my throat as he secured the loose ends behind my head. I screamed as loud as I could through the taunt fabric but all my sounds were muffled into nothing but gibberish.

Minutes later, he came back with a cup of hot coffee. Ingleside sipped his drink lightly, smirking as he saw my wriggling body attempting to break free.

“Now, now, little girl. Why not put that energy to good use?” He suggested with a lilt in his voice, almost teasingly as he set down his mug, “Like spreading your legs open and taking Daddy’s girth. Wouldn’t that be more fun?”

I snarled in response, biting hard through the cloth. He chuckled, climbing on top of my restrained body. I tried to snap my jaw at him but he merely took my chin as he must have found the whole thing very amusing.

“I love a little fight. Just enough to put up a good challenge. But I like good little girls much more.” Ingleside stated, stroking my hair as I wormed under him, “Ah, ah, ah. Little girl. No. You’re all mine now.”

I struck my knee out to attempt to push him off but Ingleside squirmed his way to the side, finding himself between my legs. He laughed darkly, almost predatory, as he licked his canines like a hungry wolf.

“Don’t worry. I’m a patient man. I can wait as long as needed.” He purred, his tongue sliding over my cheek, “Daddy has all the time in the world to play with your body. What’s a little more resistance to shred apart?”

Ingleside ducked his head into my neck, placing his teeth on my artery as if he would sink into the very vein that held my life together. I froze, feeling my toes quiver in fear and agonizing anticipation as he chuckled at my sudden change in disposition.

I could feel my body temperature rise as he lifted my restraints with his forefinger, checking the taunt cloth that held me down.

“I’ll just take and take until there’s nothing left to take, dear,” He threatened casually, as if this entire situation was a light matter, “You’ll have mere scraps of dignity left. That’s when I’ll give you the whole damn world, Princess, for you to do what you want. You can keep fighting as much as you want, as long as you want. But I know you, as all Daddies know their Princesses.”

My throat quivered, hot and tight from anger and willfulness. How damn sure he was of himself! How he just knew he would have me as his own notch on his belt! I squirmed again but his weight kept me pinned down. I could finally feel his hard bulge through his slacks, making me recoil in discomfort.

Ingleside must have treasured my cringing away as much as he would have treasured the Holy Grail. His hand smoothly went over my bottom, slipping under my skirt and rubbing over my lacy panties. Two of his fingers must have pinched me because I felt a short, sharp pain as I instinctively squeaked out a yelp like a mouse caught in a trap.

“Such a tender little babygirl.” He teased again, pinching me harder, “Am I going to leave little bruises all over that cute tush?”

I glared at him again, pulling at the bondage as he watched carefully. Fucking bastard just seemed so amused!

“You know…” Ingleside commented, watching me toss and struggle under his muscled body, “You keep fighting and Daddy is going to have to bring in the reinforcements. Something to rein in that bratty little body with heavy discrimination. Not that I don’t mind, of course.”

Another flash of a sadistic smirk. I refused to speak to him, knowing that my violent cursing was just an aphrodisiac at this point for him. The bastard ran his hand across my bare thigh, trying to coax a damning retort from me so he could have an excuse to torment me further.

Fucking asshole. He definitely shook hands with the devil if he thought keeping an innocent woman like me tied up was fun.

Ingleside took a sip of his coffee before leaning back over, brushing his lips across my forehead. The act of compassion struck me to my feminine core, making me slightly weak in the knees for his protective and powerful nature. In the primitive traits passed down by my ancestors, I had believed for a single second that he was my protector. My alpha male, my leader, and my barbarian lover who spent his seed with me during the cold nights after he hunted for nourishment.

Of course, that was a fleeting moment before rationale kicked in. Fuck him. Fuck everything about him. I didn’t need his sorry, well-dressed ass to take care of me and I certainly didn’t need his arrogant grin plastered all over my apartment.

I had to fight him, even if he had the upper hand. He would have to crawl, claw, and scratch his way into my pants or so help me, I would kill the son of a bitch myself.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ingleside tutted softly, his hot breath on my cheek, “Look at me, babygirl. I want to see that conviction in your eyes. You really think I’m going to give up if you fight me hard enough, don’t you? If you spit, bite, and curse long enough, I’ll just mosey on out of here and forget about you? You’re so naive, babygirl. Real men fight long and hard for what they want, even if they have to roll around in the mud and muck with their captive brides to make their women obedient. You will know two pleasures tonight, my darling Princess; one for defeat and one for submission.”

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