Page 5 of Daddy’s Hunted Bride

How adorable is it that she’s focusing on me calling her by the wrong name rather than how much trouble she’s in? “I took a shot in the dark,” I explain with a shrug. “You can tell me your real middle name after your punishment.”

“I’m not telling you shit.”

“Have it your way.” Hooking my hands beneath her armpits, I lift her back onto the vanity while she resumes kicking and fighting me with everything she’s got.

It occurs to me then that if I try to simply shove the bar of soap in her mouth, she’s likely to choke on it with as hard as she’s fighting. My friend Evander has a very specific method for washing his Little girl’s mouth out, but I’m leery of getting my dick anywhere near my little fox’s teeth at the moment.

Sighing quietly, I wrap my right hand around her throat, squeezing until she goes still. “Stop.”

A quiet whimper escapes her before she rolls her lips together to smother it. She doesn’t answer, but she also doesn’t resume fighting, so I take that as all the acquiescence I’m going to get for the time being. With my hand still wrapped around her neck, I grab the bar of soap in my left hand and lather my fingers as much as I’m able.

Shifting my hold to her face, I squeeze her cheeks until she’s forced to open her mouth nice and wide. I hold up my soap-covered digits and meet her terrified gaze.

“If you bite me, I will bend you over this sink and whip your bare bottom with my belt. Blink twice if you understand me.”

It takes several long seconds, but eventually she gives me two slow blinks.

“Good girl. Daddy’s going to get that mouth nice and clean now.”

Vanessa

Horror and confusion grip me in equal measure as my captor lifts three soap-covered fingers to my lips. Surely he can’t mean to⁠—

Before I can even finish that thought, he pushes his fingers into my mouth. The acrid taste of soap coats my tongue and I instinctively gag, jerking my head back to try and escape this horrific punishment. But his hold on me is too strong, and I am unable to shake myself free of him.

If he hadn’t already warned me about what would happen if I bit him, I would bite down with everything I have. I read once that human fingers aren’t any more difficult to bite through than a carrot, but we have a self-preservation mechanism in place that prevents us from doing so.

Surely that mechanism would be switched off at a time like this.

But I really, really do not want to risk being whipped with the thick belt circling his waist, so I resist the urge to clamp down on his fingers with my teeth.

Just barely, but I resist.

As I sit there, frozen, my brain scrambling desperately for some other form of escape, he begins to move his fingers. In and out of my mouth, an obscene mimicry of sex that has saliva and soap spilling from the corners of my lips, adding a healthy dose of humiliation to an already unspeakable situation.

Dark-brown eyes meet mine, and if I were a writer like Marjorie I might say they were devoid of anything that makes us human. There’s a madness there, though not the frantic kind you often see depicted in media. What’s in him is calm, almost detached, and that chills me to the bone more than any murderous fury ever could.

“Little girls do not use grown-up words,” he lectures as he scrubs the inside of my mouth with his fingers. “Every time you use one, Daddy will punish your naughty mouth. It’s Daddy’s job to make sure you’re a polite, well-behaved Little girl.”

Daddy. He’s been calling himself that ever since he captured me. It’s also what Marjorie called her captor, the one who spanked her for not asking this monster to put me down “politely”.

Maybe they’re a cult. Maybe it’s something in the water.

Or maybe they’re all just fucking crazy.

It feels like forever before my crazy-ass abductor pulls his fingers free of my mouth. Still holding my face in his iron-like grip, he rinses his hand of the lingering soap residue before filling up a cup and handing it to me.

“Rinse and spit. In the sink,” he adds with a stern glare. “Otherwise you can spend the rest of the day tasting soap.”

With a show of reluctance, I take the cup so I can fill my mouth with water.

And spit it right in his face.

CHAPTER 3

VANESSA

“Fuck!”