Page 55 of Pay the Piper

“Hi, little one,” he says gently. “I think I see your Daddy behind you.”

As he points to the not-as-tall, not-nearly-as-handsome version of Misha who’s jogging toward us, clearly relieved to have found his daughter, the girl regains her confidence and turns her gaze back to Misha.

“You must be a prince! Daddy, I found a prince!”

With an apologetic wave, the man scoops up the little girl and kisses her cheek.

“I don’t think he’s a prince, sweetheart. And you know you can’t run away from Daddy like that!” Before turning to leave, he thanks us for keeping her calm. They head back to their table, with the little girl waving bye to Misha and blowing him a kiss.

“Looks like I have some competition, Daddy,” I tease, but as he tenses beneath me, I worry I’ve made a mistake. Twisting so that I can see his expression, I realize two things at once. The look on his face is anything but displeasure at my teasing. Heat, intensity, longing…but not anger. And…he’s growing harder beneath me by the second, clenching the spoon in his hand so tightly that I fear he’s going to bend it in half.

Neither of us speaks for a moment until the arm he’s had loosely around my waist for the meal tightens, then moves lower on my stomach. With a hand on my lower abdomen, he leans down to speak directly into my ear, his beard scratching my neck and making goose bumps pepper my skin.

“One day you’re going to call me that,” he growls, low and soft, “and you’re going to mean it, Abby. I long for that day.”

Fuck me. The whimper that escapes is barely audible, but it’s enough to earn me a shush and a reminder that I haven’t finished my breakfast. Slowly, both of us emerge from the intensity-induced fog of the moment, and other than the wetness between my legs and the ache in my core, I’m ready to get back out and have more fun.

“I have another gift for you, lesnaya, before we return to our fun. It’s something that I think you’ll enjoy, and something I know I will.”

He lifts me effortlessly from his lap to my feet, with my back to the rest of the patrons, and reaches down into the backpack he brought with all my creature comforts. Period supplies just in case, sunscreen, lip balm, fresh socks for later in the day, gum, my favorite water flavor packets…the man thought of it all. As he pulls out a little velvet bag and places it in my palm, the object inside is heavier than I anticipated, and I move immediately to open it.

The velvet-soft cone falls from the bag into my hand with ease, a pretty green gem at the end confirming what I already know it to be.

“A butt plug.”

“Mmm.”

“Your gift to me, in the middle of this theme park, is an emerald-green butt plug?”

“You know it’s my favorite color, darling.”

The giggle that escapes turns into slightly manic, silly laughter, and Misha joins in until my stomach hurts and I have tears in my eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny. It’s just…I was not expecting this.”

His laughter has faded back into the quiet intensity he never quite lost after I called him daddy earlier.

“I’d like for you to wear it.”

“Okay.”

“Today.”

“Today?”

“Now.”

“Now?”

My brain has completely short-circuited, and his wry, patient smile crinkles the corners of his eyes with amusement.

“I want you to put your custom plug bag into its bag, take this little tube of lube with you, and go into that single-stall restroom on the far wall. It’s clean, of course. I would never put anything inside your body that hadn’t been sterilized. I want you to put one foot on the toilet, pour more lube than you think you’ll need onto this cute little thing, and push it slowly into your sweet ass. Can you do that for me, Abby?”

Well, when he puts it like that.

Nodding dumbly, I take my little trinket and head for the restroom. This isn’t the first time I’ve had something in my ass, although in the past it’s always been painful. When Misha asked me days ago if I’d like to eventually try this, I agreed, as long as we started slow. There’s no way his pierced monstrosity is ever going to fit inside me, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that.

When I’m done, I worry that I look obvious walking back out to Misha. Unlike other men who are sitting around scrolling on their phones, his gaze was locked on the bathroom door the moment I emerged, and I have a feeling he was watching the entire time. I try not to waddle as the plug settles into place. It’s less noticeable, a dull stoking of my arousal instead of a sharp pressure.