TW: Bondage, Sadism, Noncon, Enforced daddy kinks, Choking
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He finishes tying her hands with a bow.
"You know," Olaf purrs, "as much as I was against the idea, your things have turned out quite useful. Who knew a scarf could be so versatile?"
"Yeah, okay, just hurry up," she grumbles, shifting her weight.
"Why the rush?" He leans down, kisses her forehead. Disgusted, she pulls away. Or, she tries to pull away. The knot about her wrists doesn't allow for much movement, holding her arms firmly above her head, and her shoulders strain at the attempt. He chuckles as she flattens herself against the wall, the back of the stiff wooden chair digging into her spine. He steps back to inspect his work. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he begins to trace his fingers down her body, perusing her inch by inch. When he reaches her bust, she looks away, doesn't want to see the concentration on his face. He lets his fingers pause at the seam between skin and cloth, tucking beneath the lace for only a moment before continuing, slowly mapping the contours of her body like goddamn Mercator.
She hadn't asked where he got the top from, doesn't want to know. It bites into her sides, just small enough that though she managed to get into it, it took a lot of coaxing to get her body into the intended shape. She wonders if that is part of the appeal for him; the discomfort. Probably. He certainly doesn't seem to mind it, at any rate,
He moves his fingers slowly along her hips, pausing to readjust the waist of her panties. The silence is what terrifies her, she thinks. No questions, no explanations, not even a lewd comment as he touches her freely, makes her his property. He doesn't deign to acknowledge the person inside the body. She is nothing to him.
Slipping down her thighs, he pauses again, traces the seam where the elastic of her stockings dimple the skin. "Stockings were never meant to be sexy clothes," she thinks as he tugs at her left leg.
"There we go." He steps back, examines his work with a smile. "Almost finished."
In theory, this incessant prolonging oughtn't bother her. Anything that gives her time where he is not inside her should be a blessing, but she is viscerally aware of the fact that he knows this, is toying with her just to see the fear in her eyes. He wants her to beg for mercy, to give him an excuse to punish her. And so, she says nothing, glowers sullenly as he pulls a tube of lipstick from his pocket.
"Where'd you get that?" she pulls her head back as he comes closer. It isn't hers.
"Quiet." He grabs her chin, tilting her face upwards as he smears her lips red. "Don't ask nosy questions." He is careful, intent upon his work. He is quiet again, calculating, and so she doesn't fight.
When he steps back, what he is looking at is nothing short of a masterpiece. "Perfect," he whispers, adjusting the angle of her arm. "Stay just like that." For the first time in her life, she listens, doesn't immediately disobey him. He's been gracious with that; she's broken their agreement so many times, he'd have killed her if her fight wasn't so much fun. Looking over her again, he pauses. Something isn't right yet. She glares at him, cold and silent, red lips pursed indignantly. Always putting on a brave face, this one.
With a snap of his fingers, he throws open his closet door.
"What are you doing?" she calls, irritation in her voice.
"Patience, brat." He pulls out a black tie.
"What are you-" she stops talking, leaning away as he holds the fabric taut. "No."
"No isn't an option. Now be a good girl and daddy won't have to hurt you."
Smug, he ties the fabric behind her head, blindfolding her. Her face is still held tight in a scowl, but without her cold eyes, it becomes laughable, a child throwing a tantrum. "Much, much better," he sucks in through his teeth, rearranges her arms, fixing her hair so that it drapes more becomingly. "Good. Chest out," he arches her back with his hands, shifts her knee to the left so that her legs are opened. "Very good." Turning around, he goes to the table.
Her heart races. She can see her knees if she looks down and doesn't move her head, but everything else is darkness. His footsteps walk away from her, and then there is the sound of things being shuffled. Instinctually, she turns her head, tries to hear better.
"Such a pretty little Orphan," he mutters and then there is the distinct click of a camera lens.
"Hey!" she jumps up, forgetting she is tied. Her knees smack together, a shock of pain running through them.
"Don't get shy now." There is laughter in his voice as another click sounds. She covers her face with her arms, adrenaline surging.
"Stop!" She tucks her head down, calculates her best chances of attack. He laughs again, and she tries to locate the sound, figure out exactly where in the room he is. But before she knows it, his hands are on her calves and he is re-positioning her legs.
"What's wrong, Orphan? I thought you weren't going to fight."
"You can't do this!" she snaps in the general direction of where she thinks he is.
"Oh, but I can." He stands, shifting her hips forward on the chair, roughly pushing her legs back into place when she pulls them shut. "Matter of fact, I just did."
"Olaf, please!" she begs, winces as he gropes her chest, pushing her breasts upwards.
"Come now. Don't tell me you don't think I deserve a keepsake after everything you've put me through. I've cherished our time together, brat, and I intend to remember it." He forces her elbows apart, exposing her face. There is another click. "Besides, it could be much worse. You always seem to forget that." She doesn't ask how he could make it worse, but when he re-arches her back, she lets him. "Good brat," he whispers, pleased. She hopes the blindfold catches her tears. She doesn't want him to see.
"What are you going to do with the pictures?" she asks, resigned. He's right; it's already too late.
"Is that really a question you're asking?" he laughs. "Violet. Has no one told you about porn yet?"
"No, I mean," she hesitates. "Where are they going? Who are they going to?"
He makes a non-committal sound and she can imagine him shrugging. "That depends. You know, sometimes you make it easy to forget that you're not an idiot. But every once in a while-"
"Depends on what?"
His hands press into her thighs and she flinches backwards. She hates herself for that. "Here's the problem, Orphan," his voice is low, a whispered growl. "As far as fathers go, I have been extraordinarily kind. Why, I've even held off on giving the orders to murder your siblings. I've honored our deal, but you, tricky little slut, seem intent on breaking it every chance you get. Now, I am very much inclined to keep these photos to myself, but if you were to, oh, I don't know, get it into your head that you might have some semblance of control here, I might have to accidently mail these out. And who knows where they'd end up?"
"You're blackmailing me?"
"I absolutely am. This is your last chance, Violet. Now spread those legs for me."
There is a moment where she considers that he might be bluffing. She might be doing all this for nothing. He doesn't really want her dead. If he did, she'd be at the bottom of the ocean by now. But then again… What if he isn't?
She opens her legs slowly.
"Perfect," he whispers, lines up the shot. "Good girl." Her lip quivers but she doesn't speak. "Now one where you're facing forward." He considers tying her ankles to the chair but decides against it, putting down the camera to make her straddle the seat himself. Her hands tuck behind her head as he reaches into the cups of her bra thing, pushing her tits up. Damn girl really wants to look like a hostage. "Stay there," he commands, and she silently obeys. As he watches her through the lens, his arousal strains in his pants. "Very good, baby girl. So pretty. Can you open your mouth for Daddy?"
She does, her pink tongue pressed to the back of her teeth, fighting whatever it is she wants to say. With a click, he captures the moment forever.
"Olaf-"
"Bring your left leg up onto the chair. Head a bit more to the right." He presses the shutter, imagines how much more fun it would be if he could record the delicate movements. What he wouldn't give for a film of her choking on his cock… "Both legs on the chair now. Knees to the right. Your other right. Cross the ankles." Fumbling, she tries to obey the directions as he gives them, hands shaking. He smiles. "Good, Orphan. Don't be so nervous; you're a natural."
She rests her head against her arm. The way her body hangs makes her look like a slab of meat in a butchery. He takes the picture.
For the first time since she met the man, she wishes he would keep talking; she doesn't like not knowing where he is. Grabbing her arm, he stands her up, kicking her chair to the side. "Here. Keep your foot there," he pivots her, arranging her body. "Arms up. I want a nice shot of that cute little ass."
Clenching her teeth, she keeps silent. Anything she says will only make things worse.
"Really? Nothing to say to that, Orphan?" He chuckles. "Wow. Who knew you'd be so easy to break in?"
"Is it important to you that I'm in pain?" She turns her head to where his voice had been coming from. The camera clicks in the opposite direction.
"I wouldn't say it's my first priority."
"That's a surprise."
"Watch that tongue. I am very skilled at cutting them out."
"You won't kill me."
"Who says I'd be so kind? Spread your legs." He takes another picture. "No, lean forward more. Chest out. Now look at me."
"Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"Tilt your head back." He takes another picture. "Very good. Very nice. These are excellent before shots."
"Before?"
"You didn't think I'd let your hard work go unrewarded, did you?" Grabbing her hip, he pushes her knee onto the seat of the chair by the back of her thigh. "No no no. I am a good father, Violet. I take care of my baby girl. Now look this way," the shutter clicks. "Lean forward. I want a nice slope to your back, understand?"
"You fucking pervert," she growls, balancing herself. And then his hands are grabbing her, yanking her back against him. She yelps, arms snapped forward against their binding as he grinds his clothed erection against her.
"What was that?"
"I'm sorry! I-" she freezes as he holds her by the throat, his stubble scratching the side of her face as he continues to run himself on her.
"What did I say about misbehaving? Do I need to bypass threats and jump right to murder?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cries, gasping for air.
"Sorry, what?"
"I'm sorry, daddy!"
"Good brat," he drops her suddenly. She coughs, tries to catch her balance. The camera clicks. "Now stand up for me."
There is a moment of silence as she tearfully obeys. Every inch of her body becomes an electric fence as she tries to pinpoint where exactly he is. A click comes from behind her.
"Don't move yet," his voice growls, tugging at the bust of her top. Shaking, she obeys, tries to keep her face from twisting as he pulls at her breasts, exposing them over the black lace. There is another click. "Sit down again." Still trembling, she is grateful she can at least hide the shaking of her knees. The camera clicks.
He likes the way she jumps every time he speaks, the fear in her face at every movement. Silent, he walks close to her, his face inches from hers. He can hear her breath pull in, jagged, parted lips framing her white teeth. Slowly, he touches her thighs, lets his nails drag along them. She flinches, quickly righting herself, afraid of what he will do. He smiles.
"Good little Orphan," he rubs between her legs with the pads of his fingers. "So good for daddy."
She swallows hard, strains against her bindings, but does not respond.
"Yes, you're a pretty little whore, aren't you? Fucking cock tease." He spits on her chest, adores the way she pulls back, hides behind her arms. He snaps another picture.
"Olaf-"
"Daddy."
"Daddy, can't you-"
"Can't I what?" He grabs her throat, relishes the way she gasps and twists. "Can't I make things much more difficult? Why, yes, Orphan, I can."
"I'm sorry, I only meant-" she coughs, and he releases the pressure just enough to let her keep breathing. "I only meant to ask-"
"You and your constant demands!" He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Really. Who do you think you are, princess?"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Then shut up and behave."
"Yes, daddy! Whatever you want! You're in charge!"
She tries to remember what she has read about psychopaths. If she is going to survive, she needs to get smarter, needs to placate him.
"Damn right, little girl." She feels him fumbling at her hands, and then her arms are dropping, though still bound. He laughs. "I should have thought of giving you a leash sooner." With a tug, he pulls her off the chair. Her knees hit the floor, arms yanked upwards. She cries out, breath hissing between her teeth as she tries to process the pain. He laughs. "Good." The camera clicks. "Now. Lets see about that carrot, shall we?"
Pulling her hands up, he presses them to his groin. She can feel his arousal beneath her fingers as she, shaking, searches for his belt.
"Good girl," he purrs, petting her hair as she opens the fly of his pants. She tucks her fingers beneath the waistband, tugs it down. He groans and she is just about to ask him to take off the blindfold when his erection hits her chin. The camera clicks. "Do you want to give me a reason to keep that tongue in your mouth, Violet?"
"Yes, daddy," she whimpers. He pulls at the scarf around her wrists until his penis is between her hands. The camera clicks. Slowly, she lets her fingers tighten around him. This is not what it seems like, she tells herself. It is not his penis and she is not Violet. She is somebody else and this is nothing more than a lead pipe wrapped in velvet. Violet is far away, in her room two decks up. She is sleeping in her bed. This is not something that would happen to Violet Baudelaire, and therefore, she must not be Violet Baudelaire. Tentatively, she begins to stroke him.
"Christ, Orphan. Don't tell me you've never given a handjob before. First rule is nobody like a dry handjob." Tightening his hand in her hair, he pulls her face forward until his erection touches her lips. She swallows the gag rising inside her.
"Sorry," she mutters, winching.
"I'm sure you are. Now show me."
Opening her mouth, she shakily leans forward until she can feel the tip of his penis in her mouth. No, it is a glass bottle, she tells herself. An unnaturally warm glass bottle.
"Good girl," he moans, bucking against her. There is another click. She tries not to cough, reminds herself to breathe through her nose. She can feel her mouth watering but she cannot swallow. Pulling back, she closes her lips again, lets her hands work the newly lubricated shaft. Not a shaft, she tells herself. He groans, breath hissing as she takes him back into her mouth. Maybe, she thinks, just maybe, if he finishes quick it can be over. It is hard to ignore the fact that he is right next to her teeth. (Not his body, not her teeth.)
She's a pretty little thing when she's obedient. Her cherry red lips open over his cock, tongue cushioning him as she sucks him off.
"Good girl," he grunts, takes another picture. "You like making daddy happy?"
"Yes daddy," she whimpers, fingers sliding up and down his length.
"Do you like being my little whore?"
"Yes daddy." Her voice cracks. She is crying. Gently, he strokes his hand down her face. She actually leans into his kind touch, but only for a moment. Watching her expression, he moves his fingers to the back of her neck, waiting for her to take him into her mouth again before thrusting.
He can feel her try to fight, can feel the warm wetness of her suctioned mouth as she gags. Sternly, he shushes her, continues fucking those pretty little lips.
"Easy, brat. Relax," he grunts, holding her head in place. Even after he drops her hands, they stay in front of her face, trying to protect her throat. Shakily, he lifts the camera, makes sure he's in as far as he can go before taking the picture. She tries to pull back but he won't let her, fingers tight on her neck. He slides in and out a few more times before deciding she has earned a break.
Coughing, she doubles over, gasping. "Olaf, please-" He can hear the tears in her voice.
"Please what?" He lifts her chin, yanks her hands back up again. "You want me to face-fuck you again so soon?"
"No! I can't-" her words are silenced into a muffled sound as he pinches her jaw, slides his cock back onto her tongue.
"Sure you can. We just need to practice, don't we?" Again, he thrusts against her, pumping himself in and out, groaning as her tongue presses up against him. Still whining, she grips him, hands running over his length as she leans away, tries to catch her breath. A spot of drool runs down her chin. He lines up the camera, takes another picture. "Now give me one where the tip is on your tongue."
Shaking, she obeys, opens her mouth wide, holds his dick as the tip rests on that talented pink tongue of hers. He snaps the picture. Almost all of his shaft has been stained by her now smudged lipstick. It's a good look on both of them.
Every time he thrusts into her mouth she is certain he is trying to kill her. Calculating, she catches him in her hand, busies her tongue with working over the tip, hopes he can be persuaded to leave her to her own rhythm. Moaning, he rocks his hips forward, hand twisting in her hair. That's okay. So long as he is touching her with both hands, he isn't taking pictures. Speeding up, she bobs her head over him, fingers pumping at his shaft (This is not him, she is not her).
Moaning, he tightens his grip. "Fuck, brat, keep doing that-" Seeing a light at the end of this tunnel, she obeys, furiously working. He groans, letting go of her hands to grip the other side of her face. Faking a moan of her own, she flicks her tongue against him. If she can just stroke his ego, maybe it will be over sooner. "Damn, you like sucking cock don't you?" he hisses, breath heavy.
"Yes, daddy." If she's going to survive, he needs to have a reason not to kill her. Had he been joking the other night when he'd threatened to keep her alive? Even if he was, there might have been some truth in it. She can survive, she only has to play the game right. She needs to get smart, to not take a shot until she is certain she can make it.
"Good to know," he chuckles humorlessly, groans loudly. "Shit- Fuck-"
"Is that good, daddy?" She pours ever ounce of sweetness she has into her voice.
"You're very talented, Orphan. Now shut up and finish your job." He's frustrated, close.
"Yes, daddy." She takes him back into her mouth, resists the urge to spit out the taste. It isn't him, she reminds herself. With this blindfold on, he can be anybody she wants. He lets go of her again, and she can hear him gasping over the click of the camera.
"Keep going, keep going, I'm- Fuck!" He grunts loudly, the sound melting into a groan as she feels him spill onto her tongue. Unable to stop herself, she pulls back, doesn't want to give him that satisfaction. He pushes her hands out of the way, groaning as he strokes his own erection, and then she is flinching back as he lets himself cum on her naked chest. Anger boils inside her but she refuses to move until after he is done, spitting out the bitter liquid silently. She has to play the game.
"Good girls are supposed to swallow," he groans, sentiment punctuated by the click of the camera.
"Sorry, daddy," she tries not to pull back in revulsion as he wipes the semen from her chin, tucks his finger into her mouth.
Sighing, he pulls her to her feet, lifts her arms again, retying them to the hook. She can hear the rustle of fabric as she sits, silent. "Open your legs." The camera clicks again.
He watches her, silent and still before him. Has she finally given up? Even a brat as stupid as a Baudelaire has to realize when they're beat. Standing before her, he cradles her cheek, waits for her to lean into his touch. Gentle, hesitant, she raises her face, somehow manages to stare straight at him despite the blindfold. He regards her for another second before slapping her, hard.
Shoulders drawn in, she winces, cries out a staccato shriek. He forces her arms to the side, snaps a picture while the handprint is still setting in. "Next time, you swallow."
"Yes, daddy," she whimpers. She is crying again; he can hear it in her quivering voice.
"Now stand up for me."
Quick, she obeys, flinching when he puts his hands on her, tugging off her panties.
"I want you on the edge of the seat, legs spread."
Terrified, she sits, knees only a few inches apart.
"Is that spread, whore?"
Shaking, she opens her legs to the width of the chair.
Putting down the camera, he grips her thighs, forcing them open. She cries out, afraid, pulling her face away from his as she continues crying. Pinching her jaw, he forces her face forward. "When I say spread your legs, you spread your legs."
"Yes, daddy," she keeps crying.
"Now don't move." He steps back far enough to get all of her into the photo before taking the picture, and then another for good measure. "Chest out." Trembling, she complies, arching her back so that her abused little tits were nice and centered. "Very good." He takes a few more.
Walking back over to her, he can see her body hitch with each breath. She jumps when he touches her, turns her face away.
"Calm down," he pets her hair, pulls the long tresses down to better frame her chest. "You know daddy only hurts you when you make him." Silent, she purses her lips together, still crying. With a sigh, he kneels before her, massages her breasts in his hands. "If you'd only be a good girl, I wouldn't have to hit you."
"I'm sorry," she whimpers, knees closing against him.
"I forgive you, brat, but don't think my patience is infinite." He squeezes her nipple between his fingers, smiles when she gasps. "Perfect. Keep that mouth open." Lifting the camera, he takes another picture. "All I want is to take care of you; is that so awful?"
"No, daddy," she whispers, shifting her weight uneasily.
"Do you want to be my good girl?"
"Yes, daddy."
"Say it, Violet."
"I want to be your good girl."
"Do you know what I do to good girls?"
"What?"
She gasps again, shuddering as he slides his fingers against her, "I use their cute little pussies until they beg. Do you want to beg for me, baby girl?"
"Yes, daddy," there is still terror in her voice, but even she cannot stop her hips from bucking against him. He smiles, wishes he had brought some toys. That would make a darling photo.
Through the darkness she can feel him lean against her, and then his mouth is on her breast, tongue teasing her before he pinches her with his teeth.
"You look so pretty bruised," he murmurs against her skin, fingers rubbing her clit as he leaves marks all over her. For a moment he pulls back and she thinks he is done, but then the camera clicks and she realizes he is still getting started. Firmly, he tilts her head to the side so that the most-likely bruised cheek is facing him and takes another picture. Shame floods her belly, makes her wish she could curl into a ball, but she has to live, has to play his game. She has an obligation to survive, damn the consequences.
His hands hook under and around her thighs, holding onto her. So long as he is holding her in both hands, he cannot take pictures. She forces herself to moan when he licks her, tongue teasing her clit. He needs to let his guard down. She will survive.
"You like that?" he whispers between her legs.
"Yes, daddy." Silently, she prays that whatever god may be watching can read thoughts, knows she is a liar.
Holding her tight, he runs his tongue along her in alternating patterns of depth and speed, and as much as she wants to be dead, she doesn't have to fake the tremor in her thighs. She is in the bath, she tells herself. That is a washcloth, and she is in a warm bath. She is alone and no one is touching her. He sucks at her clit between his teeth, makes her whole body tense with the sensation. Laughing, he resumes his work.
She's so cute, struggling against her bonds as he plays with her, her legs curling over his shoulders. Eager, he pumps a finger inside her, savoring the moan she gives in reply.
"Good girl," he smiles, hungry. "Such a good little girl, aren't you?"
"Yes, daddy." She strains at her tied wrists, fidgeting as he keeps her on the brink of real pleasure.
"No, you're not," he clicks his tongue. "Not yet. But you can be. You just need to learn to behave, isn't that right?"
"I'm sorry," she whimpers again, pressing herself down onto his slow pumping finger.
"Do you like it when I fuck you?"
"Yes."
"Do you like it when I play with your pussy?"
"Yes, daddy."
"Say it."
"I like it when you play with my pussy."
"Wrong," leaning in, he runs his tongue over her, shoving a second finger in. "This is mine, not yours."
She gasps, arching her back as he flicks his tongue over and around her clit, not giving her any rest from the constant attention. Trembling, she tries to pull away, gasping for air. Feeling generous, he pauses, focuses instead on how nicely his fingers fit inside her.
"It's so easy to get you wet. Did you know that?"
Biting her lip, she shakes her head, though he isn't sure if that's in response to his question or touch.
"Yes, I could tell as soon as I saw you. You were one of the ones born to be a whore. Would you like that, Violet? Living the rest of your short life as my whore?"
To his complete and utter shock, she sighs, arching forward towards him, "Yes, daddy."
"Really?" There is delighted disbelief in his voice as he laughs. "My, my, my. You'll agree to anything so long as you get to cum, won't you?"
"No," she whispers, breath catching. Kneeling, he situates his face just in front of hers, hammers at her quickly with his hand. She cries out.
"No? Do you think you're allowed to tell me no?"
"No," she insists, breathy. "No, I agreed because I want you."
"You want me, little brat?" he chuckles.
"Yes," she nods, serious.
"You want to be my good girl?"
"I want to be yours," she leans forward as if to touch him, but her hands are still bound.
"That's hard work, little girl," he kisses her neck, amused. Damn brat really will say anything for the chance to finish. Slowing down, he pulls his fingers from her, leans back just far enough to get the shot. She's lovely when breathless. "Pretty little brat. Now, do you want to cum for me?"
"Yes, daddy."
"Good girl." Situating his face between her legs again, he presses his tongue inside her. She gasps, moaning in a high pitch, legs crossing behind his back. Digging his fingers into her thighs, he works fast, egged on by her increasingly needy sounds.
All too soon she is gasping, hands pulling at her restraints as she shakes, cries out. He focuses on keeping a steady rhythm, watches her as she cums, hard and fast.
Her body flexes, breasts thrust forward as her back becomes a sundae spoon, curving beautifully towards him. Her legs open, calves sliding as she tries to maintain her balance, tries not to fall off the chair. Holding her thighs up, he makes her finish against his tongue, pulling at her clit with his lips, forcing her through her climax.
With a sigh, she falls backwards, held aloft by her wrists. Slow, he stands, looking over her again before pulling the blindfold down. She blinks into the light, shaking her head as her eyes adjust. Chuckling, he resituates her legs, moves backwards to get a better view of her ruin.
"Good girl," he smirks. The camera clicks.