A/N:
This story contains: Daddy Dom! Loki, Daddy Kink, Ageplay, DD/lg, D/s, spanking, fingering, sex, anal sex, and is NSFW.
If you're not interested in any of those things, please do not read it.
His mouth descends on yours as he holds you tightly to him, and as soon as your tongues touch, something changes drastically within you. You felt as if your blood has been replaced by champagne, bubbling through your body and awakening every cell you own, such that you would swear you could feel the very air around you.
"You put a spell on me!" you accuse the moment he raises his leonine head, immediately beginning to try to escape his hold. "Loki, I told you that I don't like you using magic on me!"
You could see that he was having a hard time suppressing a smile at your indignation, then that bit of amusement disappears as if it had never been and he raises an eyebrow at you.
"Sir," you correct belatedly, sneaking a look up at him to see that it hadn't mollified him much. He's looking entirely too stern for your comfort, which causes you to shift on a bottom that is – currently – and unusually – sting-free.
"It's a very small spell, nothing that will result in anything but enhanced pleasure for you, I promise," he murmurs softly, but with absolutely no trace of apology.
Enhanced pleasure?! Dear God, how were you possibly going to survive that? The man already damned nearly killed you with ecstasy every time he so much as touched you – how were you going to survive even more?!
"And for me, it has the added element of making you a bit more forthcoming about what you might like me to do for you, to enhance your overall experience." He leaves you there, on the couch, to sit in the chair nearest it, but keeping possession of your hand, confessing, "If I'm too close to you, I'll not be able to keep my hands off of you, and I won't get any answers to my questions. You see, dearest, I have a feeling that you haven't been completely honest with me when I've asked you what it is that you like."
You know you should be outraged at what he's done to you, but because of the strange way you're feeling, it's all you can do to muster an indignant look, making more of an attempt to reclaim your hand than you had before, although he's not allowing it. "I most certainly have so!"
"I'm not saying that you've lied to me," he soothes. "Just that I have a hunch that you're withholding something – something that's important to you – and I can't have that." He brings your palm to his lips, kissing it warmly, wetly. "I want to know everything about you – I want to fulfill your every last wish." Loki looks into your eyes hypnotically. "Tell me, my darling, what is your deepest, darkest desire?"
You squirm, wanting to look away from him, but unable to, somehow, actually feeling those mental barriers you'd spent a lifetime erecting against anyone really getting to see the part of you that you hid from virtually everyone else, feeling the stark panic that resulted from that excruciating vulnerability descending on you in waves.
"No, sweetness, let me see," he encourages, as if he knows what you're thinking and feeling, squeezing your hand then letting it go, his eyes never leaving yours.
If he lived another million years, Loki could never have predicted what happened next. He watches you struggle against his magic for a moment longer and couldn't help but feel a bit of pride that you have such strength of will – few had been able to resist him this long – then mentally giving you just the slightest nudge towards him, suffusing you with what he hopes is a feeling of warmth and safety and love, such that you would be comfortable telling him anything.
But when you then get up and come to fold yourself into a small bundle on his lap, tucking your head just beneath his chin, your free hand latching onto one of the lapels of his black suit like it was a lifeline, he is absolutely flabbergasted. He actually sits there for several long moments with you on his lap without touching you in any way, experiencing the highly unfamiliar sensation of not knowing exactly what he should do from here.
Operating purely on instinct, he puts his hand on your back in what he hopes is a comforting manner, surprised when you flinch a bit away from his touch.
"Are you all right, my darling?" he asks, insisting gently that you allow him to rub your back.
You nod slowly, but say nothing.
Suddenly, he tips you backwards a bit, so that he can look into your eyes again, truly amazed at what he sees there, but knowing it's nothing fake – that it's no lie.
And he recognizes immediately that it is truly your most precious secret.
As he has made you even more ultra sensitive than you usually are, one look at his expression makes your own eyes go wide with fear, your entire body stiffening as you try to climb off his lap, chanting, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," under your breath like a prayer.
He merely tightens his arms and you can go nowhere.
"Stay still now," he whispers.
"N-no, b-but you're angry about m-me," you whisper back. "This isn't- isn't right."
Had you been looking at Loki, you would have seen his entire expression change at not just your words, but, more importantly, how you said them – your voice much higher pitched than usual, and much, much more soft and tentative, as if you expect him to fling you off of him and fly into a rage at any moment because of your very existence.
Instead, the big man gathers you to him firmly, not allowing you to squirm away, which you desperately want to do.
"This is what you've been hiding from me all this time?"
You go quiet at his question, then shrug, answering hesitantly, still very stiff and wary in his arms. "She doesn't let me out much – she wouldnta let me out now, neither."
She is so like you, and yet so not in some ways - her speech, in particular, is much less precise than yours – even more wary than you had been of him in the beginning of your relationship, and more . . . diffident, somehow, as if she's deliberately – desperately - holding herself away from him - and he is utterly enchanted by her. How could he not be?
Loki strokes your hair, and although you're not at all sure you should like it, you definitely do, and it even makes you relax a little against your will.
"Ah, yes," he answers, actually sounding somewhat abashed. "Well, I am sorry for that, but I was right that she was hiding something from me, although I had no idea it was this."
Your eyes dart up to his, and he aches to see the stark fear there as you begin to struggle against his hold again. "I can dis'ppear. I'm good at it. I won't never bother you at all. You don't never have to see me again - "
"Stay still," he orders, in the same tone he would have used with your big - which achieves his goal, but sets you to shaking in his arms, which is the last thing he wants.
You immediately find yourself cuddled tightly against his chest, where you huddle in on yourself, not at all sure what is going to happen next, but quite sure that it's probably not going to be good.
"You're her little," he states softly.
You nod reluctantly after a moment.
Something that resembles a contented rumble meets the ear that's pressed to his chest.
"Well, I have to say that it's an unexpected – if not unwelcome – twist."
Tears you've been successfully holding at bay until this moment begin to leak out of your eyes, despite his tender tone. "But it d-doesn't have to be!" You manage to lift your head and meet his eyes while they stream down your cheeks. "That's what I was just try-try-tryna to say – Big didn't think you'd be interested in this so I p-promise - " You raise your hand as if taking a vow, " - I won't ever bother you again -"
"You're not bothering me now," he interrupts calmly. "I haven't asked you to leave or magicked you away, have I?"
Damp eyes skittering to his then nervously down, staring diligently at your entwined fingers.
"No."
"No what?" he prompts gently.
His eyes are surprisingly kind when yours meet them again, however briefly. "No, Sir."
"Good girl. You said you're not allowed out very much – but you've met some of your big's lo – uh, boyfriends - before, though?"
His question is greeted with a slow nod.
"How many?" he can't stop himself from asking.
"Two."
"Only two?"
More nodding, and less shaking, he's glad to note. "And not for very long, either one of them. Big said they really weren't D-daddy material – neither of them was very innerested in me, and that's fine, because we only want the right man to be my Daddy. Big says you gotta kiss some frogs to find your Prince."
Loki smiles, realizing that she doesn't really connect him with being a Prince, for some reason.
"So you've never had a proper Daddy?" he probes.
"Nope. S'okay, though. Big says better to be safe than sorry."
"I wholeheartedly agree, but your big didn't think that you'd be safe with me?"
Another shrug. "Guess not. I don't think she thinks I'd be safe with much of anyone. She's very protective of me."
"And so she should be," Loki declares firmly, running his hand over your hair as your gaze lingers on his a bit, and he realizes with a small sense of pride that you are no longer quivering at all.
"But that means that I'm not allowed out very much, 'specially when she has a boyfriend."
"Well, I want you to know that you are always welcome to be out with me, and also that you're completely safe with me."
You give him a distinct side eye at that, and he chuckles at your skepticism.
"You are as cautious as your big, and that's probably a good thing, but I mean it. I might have gone against Big's wishes and forced you to appear to me, but I think that's a good thing. I don't like there being secrets between us, especially not about things as important as this." He leans forward to whisper in your ear, "I love your big, you see, and that means all of her – including you."
You snort a bit. "You can't love me – you don't even know me! What if I'm a terrible brat who wants all of your attention and acts out alla the time to get it?"
Loki raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you're like? I should be very surprised if it is."
"No, but you still shouldn't say you love someone you don't know."
"That's a very wise statement for a little girl."
You blush at his compliment.
"And, just for your information, if you were that type of little girl, I would know exactly how to deal with you."
Your head shoots up and you lock eyes with him, asking a question you're not sure you want to know the answer to.
"You would?"
He nods solemnly, saying in a voice that makes your body contract against your will, "Yes. Little girls like that need a combination of lots of strict discipline and patient reassurance, along with more love than they can handle, so that they aren't constantly doubting in their heads that they are loved and cared for, which is what makes them misbehave."
At the words "strict discipline", you hide your face against his chest. "I think I'm very glad that I'm not like that."
He tips your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him again. "I'm afraid that that's what I think most big little girls need, too, to help them feel undeniably safe and loved."
You gnaw on your lower lip, on the edge of being afraid of him again at his bold statement, then he lets go of your chin and says, "What do you most like to do most of all, little one?"
"Color!" you answer excitedly, your response entirely unguarded for the first time, and he finds himself smiling softly because of it. "I have lots and lots and lots of coloring books and tons and tons of crayons – sparkly ones and even scented ones – and I have a kit that lets me make my own, too!"
"Not movies or ice cream parlors or amusement parks . . . ?"
You shake your head. "Those costs too much money so I don't get to go to those very often," you pause for a second, then blurt out, "but I do love Build-a-Bear!"
What you said sounds completely foreign to Loki. "Bill-the-Bear?" he repeats, confused.
"No – Build. A. Bear. It's a store where you can go and pick out a stuffed animal and they make him or her right there in front of you! And then you getta buy clothes and shoes and glasses and hats and stuff for 'em! Big lets me go there every once in a while and get a new toy – but not very often."
"Whyever not?"
"Costs too much monies."
He has been beaming down at you, loving unfettered, unfiltered excitement in your face and voice. "Well, then, I think we shall have to arrange a visit there sometime soon, don't you?"
Your reaction to his suggestion is not what he would have had it be. Instead of being excited, you fold yourself against him again, reaching for his lapel and squeezing it tight in your fist. When you speak, your voice is soft and wispy and wistful. "Maybe, if Big says it's okay, but she doesn't like anyone spending too much money on her –"
"Don't I know it," he interrupts ruefully.
"And she's never let no one spend money on me before."
Loki squeezes you to him. "Well, then you're overdue, aren't you?"
Your shyness abating quickly, you nod happily, excited at the idea of maybe getting a new stuffie sometime soon.
"You let me handle big, okay?"
"'kay. Good luck with that."
He chuckles a bit at your dig at yourself. "Would you like to color now, babygirl?"
You nod against his chest. "But I don't got any of my coloring things here -"
"Ah, but there are coloring things right here for you . . . "
You look up and turn to see him wave his hand over the coffee table, and it immediately nearly groaned with coloring books and crayons.
"Oh, wow!" You are amazed at what he's done, but still don't make a move towards the treasure trove before you.
"Do you not like them?" he asks after a bit, when you're still sitting on his lap.
"No, they're – I don't even have this many at home!"
"But?" Loki prompts.
You turn back to him, eyes settling on his. "They're mine?"
He tilts his head in surprise at your question. "Yes – I wouldn't have made them for anyone else."
Loki watches you biting your lip apprehensively, hating every minute of your reluctance to embrace his gift.
"Big wouldn't like this – this is a lot of money and bother and I'm not opposed to be a bother -"
One big hand, that had been rubbing your back gently most of the time, makes its way down to cup your bottom, and you yelp and stiffen at the contact, even though he certainly hasn't hurt you.
"Littlest, I do not want to hear you say you're a bother, nor do I want you to worry about me spending money on you. I have a feeling that you couldn't be a bother to me if you tried your hardest, and money isn't something someone who is as little as you are should ever have to worry about. And," his tone became firmer but no less loving, "I will have to give you a spanking if you disobey me and continue to do either of those things."
Your eyes go comically round. "No! You can't spank me – you don't know me!"
He looks down at you, his expression slightly stern. "I know your big, and she's not here right now. You are little, and I am an adult who loves your big, and to whom your big is submissive, and who is therefore – by the transitive property of littles who always need looking after - responsible for caring for you when your big is not around. So yes, I will spank you if I feel you need to be spanked."
With that, he solves the matter in the manner that is most pleasing to him, picking you up and plopping you down on the floor behind the coffee table, so that you can lean your back against the couch, then taking his place behind you, one of his long, muscular legs on either side of you, caging you in with his big body.
After a while, he peeps down over your shoulder at what you're doing, surprised to see that you have eschewed the coloring books in favor of the cache of blank paper that he also included in your gifts. "You didn't like any of the books?"
You stop coloring immediately and stiffen as if you think he's going to be angry at you. "I liked them a lot."
He does not like the return of your cautious, nervous tone, asking gently, "Well then, why aren't you coloring in them, little love?"
Loki waits a reasonable amount of time while you seem to be scrunching yourself into a smaller and smaller ball on the floor before him, but aren't answering him.
Laying his hand on your head, ruffling your hair a bit, and in a soft but implacable tone, he murmurs, "You must always tell me the truth, my darling, and you must always answer me when I ask you something. It's impolite not to, and I will not have you being impolite. It's perfectly fine if you don't like them -"
"But I do!" you sob, feeling yourself being lifted onto his lap and cuddled to him. "There's ponies and butterflies and even Tinkerbell . . ." you drift off.
"What is it then?"
You bury your face against his chest and weep piteously. "They're too hard for me!"
"Too hard?" How could coloring be too hard?
"The pitchers. They're too . . . busy and the lines are too thin and I hafta color in the lines and there are too many and I always end up going outside the lines and that's wrong!"
Still holding you, he leans forward and looked at one of the books, discovering that you were right. They're beautiful pictures, but much too elaborate for someone of her age – five or so, he guesses, if that.
"I like b-big blocks of space to color in, and thick lines, so I can stay in-in-in 'em and do it right," you sniffle, stuttering as you often do when you're little and overcome by strong emotions.
"Well, we can fix that very easily," Loki says, encouraging you to watch him work his magic over the table again – making what is a very simple spell into something more visually spectacular to make you smile, so that every book now contains lots of big – much less intricate – pictures of ponies and puppies and butterflies and such that would be perfect for you.
"Oh, thank you!" You impulsively throw your arms around his neck, and he hugs you tightly, then sets you back down.
"Would you like some cocoa while you're coloring?" he asks, stroking your hair.
"Yes, pease."
It appears to your right, in a pretty sparkling pink mug with a top on it – not quite a sippy cup, but one that wouldn't spill much if you accidentally knocked it onto the floor.
"Thank you."
You miss his brilliant smile because you're facing away from him, already coloring diligently. "You're very welcome, sweetest."
After a while, he leans forward again, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "May I see what you've been doing?"
Shyly, you hold up the butterfly picture you've been working on. It's a very big book and a big picture, and you've been doing the butterfly wings in shades of pink.
"Very, very pretty!" he praises. "But I want you to come sit on my lap for a moment, honey." He helps you up, patting his lap when you seem to hesitate, suddenly struck shier, like you were earlier with him. His low, gentle but nonetheless no-nonsense, "Do as I ask, please, baby," setting your heart and your tummy to fluttering.
You comply, finding the gumption from who knows where to mutter under your breath, ""M not a baby."
Luckily, he merely chuckles at your defiant tone, letting you arrange yourself on his lap in the position that is most comfortable to you, and you end up curled up against his chest, although you're not holding onto his lapel any longer.
"I have enjoyed meeting you immensely, love."
"Thank you for the coloring stuff," you say dutifully, not knowing where this is going.
"You are very welcome. They are yours to use any time you're with me."
"I - " you begin, then censor yourself.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Suddenly, you find yourself not on his lap as much as over it, his big hand on your jean covered bottom. "That is a behavior that will get you spanked very quickly, young lady. I want you to tell me what you started to say – and be forewarned, if you lie to me, I will know, and you will be punished. If you say 'nothing' to me again, you will be punished, because that is also a lie. If you remain quiet, you will be punished for disobeying me."
Horrified to find yourself in this position with him - more embarrassed than frightened, but there's definitely some of that, too - deliberately left with no option but to obey him, you say immediately, "I just w-wondered if I couldn't take-take them home with m-me, but I stopped myself."
"Why did you stop yourself from asking the question?"
You really, really didn't want to tell him, but the alternative seemed worse. "B-because they're not really mine, and they're probably expensive and I d-don't want to be a bother."
"Whose would they be if not yours? They're made to your specifications – of course they're yours. I only want to keep them here so you'll look forward to being with me again." He leans forward, cradling your jaw in his hands. "And what have I told you about those other two concepts?"
"That I couldn't bother you if I tried my hardest and that I'm . . ." you blush furiously, whispering, "I'm too little to worry about money."
"I want you to work on remembering those two things for me. I have a feeling we're going to be talking about them more in the future. I really should spank you for disobeying me about them . . . " he muses out loud as you stiffen beneath his hand, "but I think – just this once – I'll let it pass." Then he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Now, I need to speak to your big. But will you come back and see me soon?"
"Yes, Sir," you answer, just shy of enthusiastically.
"Good."
Loki gives you a very gentle, loving kiss, and when he lifts his head, the effects of the spell have abated a good bit, although not completely, and before he realizes it, you are up and off his lap, grabbing the purse you left on his dining room table on your way to the door.
All he has to utter is one word – completely magic-free.
"Stop."
Your intellect might tell you to ignore him, but your gut won't allow it. His dominance has become too deeply ingrained in you, even though you haven't been together for all that long, and you stop mid-step, but refuse to turn around to look at him.
"Come here."
He doesn't sound angry, but then he rarely does.
For a long moment, you resist obeying him, knowing he's watching you and thoroughly enjoying your struggle.
He could always simply flick a finger and bring you to him, but that's not what he wants, and he knows it's not what you want. Besides, magicking you like that had previously been a court of last resort he'd never used. Loki much prefers that you choose to obey him without any help from him – well, not that kind of help, anyway.
Or at least that was what you'd thought until his actions tonight.
You turn and stomp your way back to him, hating the slight grin on his face at your tiny act of rebellion.
He stretches out on the couch and pulls you down onto him, slipping you off to the side just a bit so that you are between intimidating length of him and the back of the couch.
"Thank you for letting me meet her."
"Like I had a choice," you return grumpily.
He hugs you. "I am sorry for going against your preference. And I admit she was a surprise, but I knew you were hiding something from me."
"I shudder to think what you expected . . ."
That got him chuckling. "Something much more blatantly sexual, although nothing in specific, truth be told."
His answer doesn't surprise you, yet you're only half joking when you answer, "Sorry to disappoint you."
He tips your chin up, those mystical green eyes capturing yours. "Ah, but you didn't, you see. I found her an absolute delight, and such an interesting, intriguing facet to your character."
You remain unconvinced, replying in a tone laced with doubt, "Uh huh."
Loki ignores your tone. "If I may, I have questions."
"Do I have a choice?"
He merely smiles, knowing that you already know the answer to that question. "How old is she, usually?"
"Five or six or so."
As if he is aware of the fact that you are only giving him the barest bits of information, he follows up with, "But she can be younger, yes? My guess would be that she is often much younger than that."
You nod, not meeting his eyes.
"And she's never had a Daddy?"
"No."
"Because no one fit your exacting requirements?"
You lean away from him in order to glare at him. "Are you saying I'm too choosey? Which is kind of a slap at you because I chose you to become involved with, you know."
"Not at all," he returns smoothly. "That is exactly how you should be with her. She's delightfully delicate and vulnerable, and I'm glad you've taken such good care to hide her from anyone who might do her harm – deliberately or unintentionally." His eyes narrow. "But no one has?"
"No, definitely not."
"Good," he growls, his vehemence surprising you. "I was wondering if I was going to have to pay someone a visit on her behalf."
He didn't comment about the fact that she'd been that way with herself in general – not having taken many lovers in her life, and allowing even fewer than that to assume the mantle of dom for her, guarding herself against hurt as best she could by being very selective about with whom she became involved.
And you didn't mention how painfully your heart contracted at just how protective of her he was obviously already feeling, which wasn't something you would necessarily have thought would happen in this situation.
"Well, I've not felt that many of the men I've become involved with were interested in taking her on – being a dom is a lot of responsibility in and of itself, but being a Daddy to an adult little girl is so much more than that - and I've been right about that - ."
"Until this evening," he finishes for you.
That doubtful look returns full force. "You can't possibly want to take care of my little. I bet you didn't even know littles existed until she crawled onto your lap."
His eyebrow rises imperiously. "Do not presume to know what I have encountered in my lifetime, young lady. I have seen and done many things – some well beyond your ken."
Instead of rising to that bait any further, he distracts you by drawing a finger down your front, your clothes disappearing in its wake, leaving you lying naked before him by the time that fingertip reaches your navel.
"Tell me, my love," he asked, leaning down to tug a nipple into the hot, dark recesses of his mouth, "exactly what you think would be involved in caring for your little? What does she want? What does she need?"
You can't help but squirm and writhe, already panting heavily at his attentions, but you are also aware of the fact that he nonetheless expects you to answer him, although he's making it harder and harder to marshal your thoughts into anything resembling coherence. "Oohh . . uh . . . she – she just wants to be taken care of. More so the younger she is, and she wants to be younger than she allows herself to be most of the time." You know you'll regret confiding that to him, somehow, sometime, but you can't help it. When he touches you like this – in all the ways he knows will drive you crazy – you can't control your body, mouth included.
"Taken care of how?" He pulls his mouth off one hard, aching nipple only long enough to latch onto the other one.
"I – I don't know."
His head snaps up. "That is a lie."
The back of the couch seems to conveniently disappear, and you find your poor, exposed behind subjected to a flurry of sharp, stinging swats.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Your words fall on deaf ears – he doesn't stop until he thinks you've learned your lesson – and he always makes damned sure that you have. Through tears, you answer, "She wants to be loved on and cuddled and cosseted and played games with, and be fed and put down for naps even though she'll always say she doesn't want one no matter how exhausted she is, and dressed and bathed and all of that kind of thing."
"And disciplined," he added.
You frown up at him. "I think you'd be hard pressed to get either of us to admit that."
Loki chuckles. "I'll remind you that I've already made you admit it."
"Yeah, but she's an even harder nut to crack than I am."
He caught your eye, looking pensive. "She's very concerned about things she oughtn't be."
"Like what?"
"How much things cost, for one."
It's your turn to laugh. "Of course she should be concerned with that! Not all of us have unlimited funds, and getting something for her is so far down the list of priorities as to be invisible most of the time."
He did not look at all happy at that pronouncement. "And she seems inordinately worried about being a bother. Who made her feel that way?"
You almost smile at how he practically spat out that last question. "That's leftover parts of the two men I did expose her to, along with the baggage of my own upbringing as the youngest of so many children. I was always the afterthought, and - whether this was true or not I don't know, it may well just be my own skewed perception – I always felt as if I was bothering my siblings – and especially my overworked parents – when I asked about or for something. Everyone kind of . . . assumed I knew things that I didn't, because no one bothered to teach me and I didn't want to ask."
Loki kisses you gently as he hugs you. "Oh, my darling girl. I'm sorry you felt that way, but you know better than to think that of me, I hope."
He actually waits for your nodded confirmation of his statement before moving on. "And I wish her to know that, too – that she is loved and safe in my presence, that she must always be honest with me and ask for what she wants or needs, and that she could never be a bother."
"You don't want much, do you, my Prince?"
His head inclines as he watches you carefully. "I don't expect all of that immediately, but I hope to achieve it over time."
"Oh you do, do you? And who says I'm going to let you see her again?" But your face falls quickly, your bravado deserting you when you ask him plaintively, "You won't force her out again, will you?" The effects of the spell are melting away more rapidly, leaving you feeling very out of sorts about his high-handedness.
He shakes his head. "No, my darling, I will not. But I am hoping that you will eventually come to realize that I might possibly be Daddy material for her. And I am formally telling you – right here, right now - that it is a position I would very highly covet."
Just as he was amazed to encounter her not long ago, so you are amazed to hear him make that very heartfelt statement now.
With that he kisses you deeply, not giving you the time or the opportunity to respond, his fingers roaming down, over your tummy to just above that most private place, his movements causing a resurgence of the sensual elements of the spell, rendering you helpless against the powerful urge to arch your hips, offering yourself to him in a terribly lewd manner, hips undulating, trying – unsuccessfully – to rub your most sensitive spot against those elegant fingers.
But he pays that part of you no further attention for the moment.
"I ask this question for my own information, and I shall make no judgment about your response at all – it will not change how much I want to assume that position for her – but is she sexual, or completely innocent?"
Those fingers still hover well above where you want them, and that's all you can think about, which only gets a million times worse with his next words.
"Part your legs for me, woman," he whisper-growls, and you do as he commands immediately, although his hand remains where it is.
"Sh-she's – I think – sexual, although she's never had a Daddy, so I'm not all that suuuuuuurrrrrrreeeeeee!" As you finished your sentence, he stakes his claim to every bit of you at once – his hand so big and fingers so long that he could cover all of you at once without much effort.
"Mmmmmm. You are deliciously wet, my darling, and I have a feeling that it's not such my touch that has brought you to this. It's talking about this subject – this very private, very personal subject - with you that has done this to you. Admit it."
"Lo – Sir, I – unnhhhhhhhhhhh - "
He rams his fingers into you, three abreast, fingertips always unerringly settling against the part of you that is most vulnerable to him, rubbing that spot demandingly as he plunges his hand in and out of you to the sounds of your intense pleasure.
"I'm sorry," he purrs. "I didn't quite get that."
Swallowing hard on a suddenly parched throat, you try again. "Yes, yes – it has. Is that what you want to hear?!"
Far from being angry at your passionate response, he grins, "Most definitely, because, as always, my own response to your arousal is to experience the same, only much, much more acutely." He brings your hands to him, the suit pants and the rest of his clothing dissolving at your touch, using both hands to hold him because you absolutely have to.
Tucking you beneath him, the sheer size of him – of his entire body in comparison to yours – always making you feel wonderfully overwhelmed as he brings your legs up around his waist, placing the broad head of his cock at your entrance, where it is constantly bathed in the honey you only ever produce for him.
As he takes you, he looks down into your eyes, watching them grow bigger even as he does within you, expanding and lengthening as he joins your bodies, reveling in the tightness of you around him as you wiggle slightly beneath him, breathlessly trying to come to grips with his occupation of you, which he is aware is still – even after all these months – just shy of painful, especially at first each time he takes you.
But he doesn't give you much time to adjust before he reaches between you to worry your little clit mercilessly – the same way he pounds himself into you, bringing you to violent peak after peak, whether you want to or not.
That choice – like so many others - is no longer your own. He will do with you what he wants, within the few limitations that you have set. You have long since granted him almost unrestricted power over you, and, despite the punishments – which are sometimes quite severe and also sometimes simply for his own pleasure – he has never once done anything that you found objectionable.
Until now.
As the pleasure ebbs and recedes, so do the last remaining threads of the spell, to be replaced with not inconsiderable amounts of both anger and resentment.
When he finally rolls away, keeping you tucked tightly against him, you give yourself time to recover within the circle of his arms, and then, as he has told you he expects you to be at all times, you are completely straight with him about how you are feeling about his actions this evening.
As deeply destroyed as he always is by your lovemaking, Loki sits up at the sound of your voice with a frown.
"I'm not happy, Loki. As a matter of fact, I'm very unhappy about how you manipulated me to get to her. That is something that should have been in my control, not yours. Maybe you would have met her eventually, maybe not. But that was my choice, and not one you should have taken away from me."
You sit up and start to put your clothes on.
Callused, masculine fingertips trail down your spine, and you can feel the real regret in his touch. He might be a largely omnipotent God, with all of the ego and pride that goes along with that, but – in your experience – he had also never hesitated to admit when he'd done something wrong. "I am sorry. I overstepped my bounds and I apologize wholeheartedly, although in my defense, you never specifically said that I was banned from using magic on you. But I knew your feelings about it and I did it anyway, which was wrong. Please forgive me."
Ignoring him as much as you can, you stand, stepping into your heels. "I didn't think I needed to include it as a hard limit, which is my own fault, I admit. But I don't think I can forgive you." At least, not right now, you think, but you don't say that out loud. "I'm going home. Don't call me, I'll call you."
"What does that mean?"
You're at the door, and have to yell back at him, "It means don't try to contact me – in any way. If I want to talk to you, I'll get in touch with you. And that includes my dreams, by the way . . . "
Suddenly, he is right next to you, completely naked and already half aroused again.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. And I am truly sorry."
You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and see it on his face.
"I know you are, and you haven't hurt me, exactly. I just . . . I'm having a hard time not feeling . . . violated, I guess. Our kind of relationship, in particular, is built on a lot of trust, Loki – it has to be, considering the amount of control over myself I've ceded to you - and what you did – even though it turned out okay in the end – broke some of the trust I have in you, and I need to think things out."
"I understand," he replies gravely. "Please be safe and be good to yourself, until – I hope – I can do that for you again myself. But I will never be more than a thought away, should you need me."
"I know."
"I love you," plainly, rawly and unhesitatingly offered.
Were those tears in his eyes?
"I love you, too," you reply, refusing to look up at him anymore, barely able to resist the urge to throw yourself into his arms, literally forcing yourself to step out the door, closing it behind you with a terrible finality.