Don't Make a Sound

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for daddy

????your favorite distraction.

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????

Daddy is busy.

I know that.

He told me before he started his meeting--tilted my chin up, looked me right in the eyes, and said, "Be a good girl for me, okay?"

I meant to be.

I really did.

But now I'm curled up on the floor beside his desk, my head resting against his thigh, listening to his deep, steady voice as he speaks. His fingers are absently stroking through my hair, soothing and warm, but it's not enough.

I want more.

I shift, rubbing my cheek against his knee, letting my fingers trail up his leg just a little.

Nothing.

He keeps talking.

I pout.

My hand drifts higher, fingertips tracing along the inseam of his pants, barely brushing over the hard shape beneath.

His thigh tenses.

I bite my lip.

Oh.

Oh, I like that.

So I do it again--this time, palming him through the fabric, feeling the way his breath stutters ever so slightly.

I hear a soft click.

I freeze.

Then--his hand is suddenly in my hair, gripping tight.

Not to stop me.

To warn me.

Because now, I notice it--the little green light on his webcam.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

It's a video call.

I suck in a breath.

His fingers flex, just enough to make my scalp tingle.

It's a test.

A dare.

I can do whatever I want.

But I better not make a sound.

My entire body thrums with excitement.

I keep my eyes locked on his as I undo his belt, drag down his zipper, slip my fingers inside, freeing him from his slacks. He's already so hard, twitching against my palm, aching for me.

But he can't do anything about it.

Not yet.

I feel powerful.

I feel reckless.

So I do the most dangerous thing I can think of.

I take him in my mouth.

Slow. Wet. Deep.

His entire body shudders.

I flatten my tongue, hollow my cheeks, take him as deep as I can, feeling the way his fingers tighten in my hair--torn between pulling me away and pushing me down.

But he doesn't move.

Because he can't.

Because if he does--if he shifts too much, if he loses control for even a second--the camera will catch it.

I hum around him, taking him even deeper, watching the way his jaw tightens, the way his breath just barely stutters in the middle of his sentence.

No one notices.

No one but me.

And I love it.

I keep going. Sucking him slow, torturously soft, just enough to drive him insane.

Then--I swallow him down.

Hard.

Fast.

His hand slams down onto the desk.

I jerk.

Oh, fuck.

The movement is small, almost imperceptible--but someone on the call must have noticed.

Because suddenly--

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Oh.

Oh, I am so evil.

I squeeze my thighs together, my entire body on fire.

His fingers tangle tight in my hair, almost shaking.

Then--he exhales sharply.

"I'm fine." His voice is low, clipped. He clears his throat, nodding at the screen. "Continue."

I grin.

He thinks he can keep pretending?

That's cute.

So I hollow my cheeks and suck.

Hard.

His whole body jerks.

I swear I see his eyes flick to the camera for a split second, like he's praying no one noticed.

But I don't stop.

I get him even closer, working him slow, then fast, then slow again, pushing him to the edge over and over and over.

I know his tells.

The way his thighs tense.

The way his breath shakes.

The way his grip tightens.

Oh, he's going to lose it.

And then--

"You'll have to excuse for me a moment, gentlemen."

He mutes the call.

Fingers tighten in my hair.

And suddenly, I'm on my back.

Just out of view.

I squeak, gasping as he hauls me onto his desk, pressing my spine against the wood, eyes blazing.

His cock is still slick with my spit, still twitching, still aching.

And now--I am, too.

"Thought you could get away with that, sweetheart?"

I blink up at him, my breath shaky.

I try to smirk, to look smug, but he sees right through me.

Because he knows what I want.

What I need.

I shake my head, voice small.

"No, Daddy."

His eyes darken.

"No?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers up my inner thigh, feeling the heat.

Feeling the evidence of just how much I loved getting away with it.

"You sure about that?"

I swallow hard.

He presses his palm between my legs.

I whimper.

And the next thing I know--

I'm bent over the desk.

His hand is on my throat, his mouth at my ear, his voice so low and dark it makes my knees weak.

"You wanna act like a little slut during my meeting?"

I nod, my entire body trembling.

His hand tightens.

"Then you're gonna cum for me, right here--"

His fingers slip inside me, deep and perfect.

"--and you're not gonna make a sound."

I bite my lip.

I don't know if I can.

But I want to try.

He strokes me slow at first, teasing, circling my clit with his thumb in lazy, torturous patterns. I grip the desk, gasping against the wood, my whole body aching to rock back against him, to take more.

But I can't.

Because he has me pinned.

Because he isn't done with me yet.

Daddy sits down in his chair.

And then--he unmutes the call.

I freeze.

He doesn't stop.

He just keeps talking, his voice perfectly calm, perfectly steady, perfectly controlled.

I choke on a whimper, squeezing my eyes shut.

This is evil.

This is so much worse than before.

"Apologies, gentlemen," he says smoothly. His fingers curl inside me. I clench my teeth so hard I see stars. "Just had a little... family business to deal with."

He fucks me with his fingers, slow and deep, pressing against that spot that makes my knees weak, makes my breath hitch, makes my body tremble.

Oh, fuck.

He fucks me faster.

I shake my head frantically.

I can't.

I can't.

I'm so close, so fucking close--

"I assure you," he continues, voice dark and smooth and knowing, "you have my full attention now."

And then--

He presses his thumb to my clit.

I shatter.

Hard.

My whole body locks up, my breath stuttering, my thighs trembling as his fingers push me over the edge. I bite down on my own wrist, desperate, shaking, clenching around him, falling apart as quietly as I can.

But he doesn't stop.

Not yet.

Not while the call is still live.

Not while I'm still so sensitive, so wrecked, so fucking weak.

I gasp, body jerking, the aftershocks making my limbs twitch as he slowly, lazily, ruthlessly strokes me through it.

Still talking.

Still in complete control.

His fingers slip from me, soaked, and I almost collapse.

I barely register the sound of the call ending.

The chime of his laptop shutting down. His chair scrapes back.

And then--

I'm flipped onto my stomach, my body sprawled across the desk, his weight caging me in.

I squeak, whimpering when I feel the press of his cock--**hot, thick, hard--**sliding against the mess between my thighs.

I hear him chuckle.

"Look at you," he murmurs, dragging his fingers down my spine, coating me in what's left of my orgasm.

"So needy. So desperate for me. Do you even realize what you just did?"

I nod frantically.

I knew.

I just didn't care.

His hand clamps down on my hip.

And then--he pushes inside.

I wail.

It's deep, too deep, my body still so sensitive, still shivering from my last orgasm. My thighs try to snap shut, but his fingers dig into my skin, pinning me open.

He's so big, stretching me, filling me, claiming me all over again.

"Daddy--"

I try to move, try to squirm, try to do anything--

But he grabs my wrists, hauls them behind my back, holds me still.

"Thought you could tease me during my meeting?" he murmurs against my ear, voice dark and dangerous.

I whimper.

He thrusts.

I scream.

"You thought I wouldn't make you pay for that?"

I shake my head wildly, gasping, sobbing into the wood, melting into the bruising grip of his hands.

I didn't think.

I just wanted.

And now, he's going to ruin me for it.

His cock drives into me, hard, deep, ruthless, dragging wrecked little moans from my throat with every thrust. My legs shake, my wrists ache in his grip, my whole body reduced to nothing but heat and need.

"You were so fucking cocky," he growls, thrusting faster, deeper, filling me to the hilt, his other hand wrapping tight around my throat.

"You thought I wouldn't fuck you until you couldn't fucking move?"

I sob.

It's too much.

Too good.

Too perfect.

"Y-you--" I gasp. "You were t-talking to them--"

His grip tightens.

"And now," he breathes, "you're the only one I'm talking to."

I lose it.

I fall apart completely, my body shaking, clenching, trembling around him, pulling him so fucking deep I can barely breathe.

But he's not done.

Not until he's shaking, too.

Not until he's right there with me.

His hips slam into mine, rough, punishing, frantic, the sound of skin against skin filling the office until--

He groans.

His whole body locks up.

And then--he spills inside me, deep, claiming, filling, marking.

My stomach flutters.

I go boneless.

And he just stays there, panting, breath hot against my ear, cock still buried inside me.

Then--

A low chuckle.

"You're such a little brat," he murmurs, kissing the side of my neck.

I hum sleepily. "And you love it."

His fingers tighten in my hair.

"I tolerate it," he corrects.

But I smirk.

Because we both know--

He wouldn't have me any other way.