Warm-Up

Daddy put the hood on me before he told me anything.

I felt it settle over my head, tight enough that the world disappeared almost immediately. He worked it down carefully, smoothing it into place before fastening it at the back. Sight vanished completely and sound became slightly muffled, though not enough to stop me hearing him move around me.

His hands settled on my shoulders.

“Bend forward.”

I obeyed, letting him guide me into position. One hand held my hip while the other moved between my cheeks, and a moment later something cold touched me. The plug was thicker than I expected. I breathed through the stretch as he worked it slowly into me, pausing whenever my body resisted before pressing again. The widest part seemed to take forever, pressure building steadily until suddenly my body yielded and it slipped fully inside.

I gasped.

“Good girl.”

That was all he gave me.

He straightened me, took my arm and began to walk me somewhere. With the hood on I had no sense of direction beyond the changing feel beneath my feet and the occasional brush of a doorway against my shoulder. Eventually he stopped me and told me to sit.

My legs found the edge of a chair and I lowered myself carefully. The restraints followed: wrists secured to the arms, ankles fixed apart, a strap across my waist and another higher up, holding me firmly against the back of the chair. I tested them once, more out of instinct than expectation.

Nothing useful moved.

Daddy checked each restraint, then rested his hand briefly against my cheek through the hood.

“Wait here.”

His footsteps moved away. A door closed.

For a while there was nothing except the pressure of the plug and the faint sounds of the house around me. Pipes. A distant car. The occasional creak of the chair when I shifted against the restraints.

Then someone knocked at the front door.

I went still.

Footsteps crossed the room somewhere beyond me. A door opened and voices drifted through the house, too muffled for me to make out the words. A moment later I heard footsteps on the stairs.

Two sets.

Daddy’s, and somebody else’s.

They came closer, then the second person entered the room.

There was a sharp feminine intake of breath.

I smiled beneath the hood.

Daddy said something quietly to her, then more clearly, “Strip.”

There was a pause, followed by the small sounds of clothing being removed: fabric whispering against skin, something soft landing on the floor, the faint sound of a zip or buckle. I strained to hear more, trying to build a picture from what little reached me.

“Kneel.”

More movement followed, then silence.

I had no idea what he was doing to her. I heard him move around the room, heard her shifting position, heard the occasional small sound that might have been a buckle or clasp. Eventually he said, “Very good.”

Something touched my thigh.

I jumped.

Hands worked around my leg, tightening a strap against the skin. Something firm was being attached to it, but from the angle and pressure I couldn’t work out what.

Daddy moved away.

“Reach out.”

Nothing happened for a second.

“Touch her.”

Fingertips brushed my shoulder.

They were tentative at first, moving down my arm before crossing my chest. The woman touched me cautiously, almost as if she was still trying to understand exactly what Daddy had placed in front of her.

“Stroke her.”

Her confidence grew. Hands passed over my breasts, my stomach and my sides. Fingers traced the edges of the hood.

“Kiss her.”

Warm lips pressed against my covered cheek, then my forehead, then the place where my mouth lay beneath the latex.

There was something strangely intimate about it despite the barrier. She could touch me anywhere Daddy allowed. She could stroke me, explore me and feel the shape of me beneath her hands, but the hood ensured that she still couldn’t quite reach me.

Daddy continued guiding her for a while, directing her from one part of my body to another. Then gradually his instructions stopped.

The woman kept touching me anyway.

That pleased me more than I expected.

Her hands moved with increasing curiosity, cupping my breasts, squeezing gently, tracing down over my stomach and back up again. Every so often she leaned in and kissed the hood.

I was beginning to relax into the attention when the plug inside me started to vibrate.

I gasped.

The woman’s hands stopped.

The vibration was low but deep, spreading through me in a way that immediately made my body tense. It was enough to wake every nerve ending around it, enough to make me want more, but nowhere near enough to give me what I wanted.

Daddy laughed softly.

“Stop touching her.”

The woman withdrew.

“Turn around and sit on her lap. Back towards her.”

A moment later I felt her weight settle onto my thighs. Her back pressed against my chest and I could feel the warmth of her body through every point of contact. I could feel her breathing too, slow at first.

Then someone moved between my legs.

Daddy, I assumed.

The woman shifted, then pushed backwards against me.

I heard a soft, wet sound.

She made a tiny noise.

I frowned beneath the hood, trying to understand what was happening.

She moved again and there was another wet sound. Her body tensed against mine and her breathing changed. Whatever Daddy was doing to her was happening close enough that I could feel every reaction travel through her body, but I still couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing.

The plug continued vibrating inside me.

The woman pushed back more insistently. A moan escaped her, then another. Her breathing became faster.

Then suddenly the person between my legs moved away.

The woman stayed on my lap, panting softly.

Daddy’s voice came from nearby.

“Turn around.”

She obeyed. Her weight lifted from me and then I felt movement against my thigh. The thing he had strapped there shifted.

For the first time, I began to understand.

“Mount it.”

There was a pause, followed by a soft moan.

Her body lowered back towards me until she was sitting partly on my leg and leaning against me. The strap pulled tight around my thigh.

Something fixed to it was inside her.

I understood completely now.

Daddy had turned me into a piece of furniture with a dildo attached.

The woman shifted experimentally and the strap tugged against my leg.

She breathed out.

“Fuck yourself.”

She started slowly, with a gentle rise and fall. Each movement pulled against my thigh, transmitting her rhythm through the strap and into my body. The plug inside me continued its patient vibration while the woman on my lap gradually found a pace that worked for her.

Her movements became firmer and her breathing grew louder. The chair creaked beneath both of us.

I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t move with her. I couldn’t do anything except feel her use the toy attached to me.

I wasn’t fucking her.

She was fucking herself on something strapped to my body.

That distinction mattered.

She leaned harder against me as the pace increased, her back pressing into my breasts. Every time she lifted, the pressure on my thigh eased; every time she sank again, the strap tightened.

Her moans became less restrained.

Daddy occasionally spoke to her.

“Good.”

“Again.”

“Use her.”

That one sent a sharp pulse of arousal through me.

The plug buzzed on.

Still not enough.

The woman on me was getting closer. I could tell from the way her movements shortened and sped up, from the tension in her body, from the little sounds she made each time she lowered herself.

Then Daddy stopped her.

“Enough.”

She froze.

A frustrated sound escaped her.

“Off.”

She dismounted and the weight disappeared from my lap.

I waited for Daddy to turn his attention to me.

Instead I heard footsteps moving away.

The woman followed.

A mattress shifted somewhere behind me.

I realised where they had gone.

There was a short silence, then the bed creaked. Her breathing changed again, but this time there was no weight against me, no strap pulling at my thigh, nothing connecting me to it.

Another creak.

A gasp.

Then Daddy’s voice, low and close to her.

The sounds became unmistakable.

I sat restrained in the chair and listened to him fuck her.

The plug continued vibrating inside me at exactly the same maddening level: enough to keep me aroused, never enough to let me finish.

At first I listened carefully, trying to work out what they were doing from every sound. Her moans. His breathing. The movement of the bed. The occasional slap of skin.

She came.

Daddy praised her.

I clenched around the plug, but the vibration didn’t change.

They continued.

Some time later she came again.

Then again.

I stopped counting.

Time became difficult. Minutes stretched into something larger. I couldn’t see a clock, couldn’t tell how long they had been on the bed or how long I had been sitting there beforehand.

Eventually I stopped trying to interpret the sounds.

They simply became part of the room: her pleasure, his attention, the bed, my restraint, the vibration inside me.

At some point I understood what my role had actually been.

I hadn’t been invited into their scene. I hadn’t been a third. I had been preparation.

A warm-up.

Something for her to touch. Something for her to use. Something to make her wet and needy before Daddy took her away and gave her what she actually wanted.

The plug continued its patient vibration inside me.

Somewhere behind the hood, she came again, and Daddy praised her.

I stopped trying to work out how long I’d been sitting there.

My part had ended hours ago.

Nobody had bothered to switch me off.