My Daddy

I strained to listen for feet pursuing me along the pathways of the shadowy, underground chamber, but my footfalls were the only ones I heard. My pursuer was a big man, but didn’t move like one. He was graceful and cat-like. A sheer black fright tore through me, pondering what he had in store if I lost the bet. Only VIP members of the exclusive b**m club where I worked as operations manager were allowed access to this below-ground labyrinth. As an employee, Mr. Taylor, the owner, granted me the privilege. The smooth partition that snapped into place at the ceiling and floor was cool under my palm, and reminded me I was trapped between its walls. It creeped me out to be stuck in the elaborate network of paths beneath the building when The Ranch was closed. Entering a competition during business hours was one thing. Same with working alongside other employees while setting up a new maze for the sexy games of chase. Laboring side by side, we’d joke around, and pondered who’d be the first member of the day to get lost within the many passages and secret chambers we constructed anew. The “SIPs” or structurally insulated panels insured competitors couldn’t hear each other during the hunt, and presently I lamented that design quality. This was the stupidest thing I’d done in a long while. Maybe ever. I wasn’t a fan of exploring the tunnels dimly lit by candlelight alone, nor of the earthen floors which further muffled sound. Most especially, I hated the fact that I already took this route three times and kept winding up in the same place beneath the candles on a cast iron chandelier which swung, nearly imperceptibly, from the ceiling. A wave of heebie-jeebies swept through me as I darted my gaze left and right, looking for the proper path to pursue in this mystifying warren of subterranean passages where the prey for the day was me. This is what you get for thinking you’re so tough. Pretending nothing phases you, when you have more demons than the abyss. Your independent streak can be a real pain in the ass you know that? This is what you get for thinking you’re so tough. Pretending nothing phases you, when you have more demons than the abyss. Your independent streak can be a real pain in the ass you know that?My hands shook as fearful images built in my mind, and the crackle and sputter of the burning wax overhead tricked me into thinking someone was sneaking up on me. Up to now, I’d never lost a round of Entanglement which is what we called this game of pursuit at The Ranch. The title had a double meaning because the victorious stalker got to have their way with his or her prey after catching them in the labyrinth. My unbroken reign of victory up to now made me cocky. I never took part in anything s****l when I won. Rather, I reveled in coffee served to me daily, my car detailed for free, even leading my little pet on a leash around the club and using him or her as a footrest was something I enjoyed. But the spoils of my triumph never involved passion. I loved to win. The vindication of doing so almost made the risk of losing to Doc worth it. I wasn’t in this current game to be defiled. We had a special arrangement. If I lost, I’d go away with him for the weekend and allow him to bring out my Little, and show me once and for all what it was like to be dominated. What the f**k was I thinking? My sneakers were the perfect footwear for this sport, and I trotted towards what I judged to be the back wall, following a trail I hadn’t explored yet. My lungs protested as I was woefully out of shape. No matter. I wouldn’t let such a thing as my unhealthy habits and below par athleticism slow me down. What the f**k was I thinking? I was a fan of denial. All day long. I denied I was forty-two every time I saw a mirror and expected to catch my twenty something year old reflection staring back at me. Denied the way my jowls had drooped under gravity"s weight, so that my chin was no longer a chiseled line below my cheek, but a marbled object that appeared stuffed full of cotton, Marlon Brando’s middle aged grand daughter. I rejected the fact that any more of the people I loved were going to die some day, or that smoking would ever kill me. And I refuted the way my traitorous body responded to Doc every damn day of my life, such that he stayed in my mind worse than an annoying tune you cannot forget. What I had for him were definitely more than friendly feelings, but I refused them. More than anything, I hated that the biggest source of my denial started at age fifteen. The one I barely acknowledged, but couldn"t ignore. To this day, my natural tendency was to glance away each time I passed a mirror. It was the only remnant of my anorexic era, which came to a halt during the latter half of my twenties. The period when I woke up every morning and lacked the strength to get up out of bed. Sleeping escaped me because of hunger pains. When I finally woke up, it took ages to dress because I had no energy. I hated to see my reflection back then but was obsessed with my appearance and couldn’t look away. The image of myself always made me feel sick. Sometimes it still made me ill, but at least I didn’t throw up on purpose anymore. Ever since getting released from the hospital at age twenty six, with a diagnosis of anorexia and orders for follow up treatment, denial got me through the day. Denial was underrated. I was its biggest fan. Except now, hiding in these tunnels built specially for people who wanted to pursue each other, get lost together, and do bad things to each other… I was reconsidering my original assumption. Instead of being hunted by a minotaur, I sought escape from a man who made my n*****s stand at attention whenever he was around. This hunter was craftier than any other contender I’d gone up against and I should have known better. It was a childish, compulsive thing to do, accepting his bet, but my competitive nature had gotten the best of me. My kick pleat skirt hampered my speed, and I had a thought. Maybe you wore it because you wanted to get caught, like a damsel in distress, captured by the big scary monster? Admit it, you knew darn well he was the only challenger who could best you. . Maybe you wore it because you wanted to get caught, like a damsel in distress, captured by the big scary monster?Admit it, you knew darn well he was the only challenger who could best you.I came slowly to a halt in a chamber that opened up to four different tunnels. The room was eerily silent. If I were honest, Doc was the one thing I couldn’t deny myself. The only man I trusted enough to be my friend, and lately, every time we said goodbye, I felt a certain sadness. It had been three years since my last unsatisfying s****l encounter. “And my p***y has been on strike for longer than that.” I mumbled aloud. Less than several paces away, he stepped out of the shadows and mused, “I can help you with that.” As my heart fluttered in my breast, I realized a frightened feeling bore much resemblance to an excited one. Panic struck, and I bolted down one of the empty hallways, in the opposite direction, but he was faster. His Doc Martin boots propelled him almost silently after me, elusive in the torch lit pathways, as I huffed and puffed to escape. His ruggedness and vital power always attracted me, but I cursed them now as he shot a brawny arm forward, wrapping it about my waist and tugging me to him, choke-holding his hand around my throat with effortlessness, and yanking me back hard against his huge frame. Any attempts to wrestle away from him were futile, and he tightened his grip on my windpipe, squeezing as I struggled wildly against him, coming to an abrupt halt when I brushed against the rigid evidence of his arousal and realized my efforts to escape were exciting him. He said with the certainty of a man who could never be satisfied with only a weekend, “Consider me your very own strikebreaker. I caught you. You’re mine now.”Deftly, he spun me ‘round and put my back up against the wall. My voice was more quivery than I would have liked. “Only for a couple of days. That’s the deal.” Entirely seized by my emotions, he was the center of my focus. We could have been anywhere, but all I saw was him. His burning eyes held me still and a delicious shudder of excitement went through me as I wondered what he would do next. His voice was uncompromising, yet oddly gentle. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same instant. This dynamic was new between us, and I worried giving in our attraction would ruin everything. “You deserve someone who values you.” He wrapped his hands around my wrists, restraining me and dragged my arms up over my head. My heart jolted at being controlled by him this way, something I’d let no other guy do. But Doc wasn’t just any man. “Someone like me.” It was the first time he’d ever said anything so flirtatious, and it was unclear if it was lust or panic that made my blood slam at my pulse points. I’d built my entire existence on a carefully crafted regime of control, and Doc was a man who could make me lose it if I weren’t careful. He knew all about my struggle with my eating disorder, something I never liked to talk about. The past was history. He’d bring me dinner after my shift at The Ranch, sit and eat with me to ensure I didn’t forget. Our meals together were about spending time with each other, and he helped me actually enjoy food again without feeling guilty about it. His gaze landed on my lips, staring in a way that was new between us. “My god, Priscilla. I think yours must be the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen.” Then his eyes dropped from my face to my shoulders and my breasts, and it felt as if his look stroked me, and it made me hunger for him. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what I’d do to you if I won. Losing was never an option.” My reputation at the club preceded me. Heck, some employees were afraid of me. It kept them in line without me having to try too hard, so I could avoid the compulsions that so naturally shaped my actions and routine. There was a part of me inside that so badly wanted to relax and let go. To allow someone else to take over. When I was with Doc, I didn’t have to be the strong one. The organizer. The person in charge. He let me be just me. Doc knew he was a daddy. He didn’t have to be convinced of it, or taught how. The question remained, was I his baby girl? If I gave into that temptation, would it mean losing him as a friend forever?