Page 82 of Unthinkable

A whimper leaves Immie, and I stride in her direction and drop to my knees to comfort her. “Shhh, Little Nightmare, Daddy is here. Daddy is going to make it all better,” I croon, slipping the hooded mask from her head.

Her tear-streaked face greets me, and her eyes soften as they land on mine. A sob releases from her as I unhook the ball gag.

“Shhh,” I whisper into her ear. “Let Daddy take care of you.”

“M-My wrists hurt,” she cries.

“Give me the fucking key!” I demand Amanda. I hold my hand out, and she huffs before dropping it into my palm.

“She’s always been dramatic. I was only going to scare her into behaving.”

“Shut the fuck up!” I bellow, and she flinches. I work the key into the lock and release Immie’s torn wrists. The bastards locked them so tight she has cuts; cuts I’m going to make them pay for. One by one.

I take a hold of Immie’s chin between my fingers. “I’m going to do things you’re not going to like, Little Nightmare,” I say, my voice lowered, and her eyes flash with intrigue. I tilt her head to the side, surveying the damage on her cheek. “Would you like to leave the room?”

She shakes her head.

“Are you going to be Daddy’s brave girl?” I rasp.

She nods, but I don’t miss the way she trembles against my touch. “What do you need?”

She licks her dry lips and scans my face. “Can you soothe me?”

Amanda studies her nails, as if she’s done nothing wrong.

“I’m going to tie her up.”

Then I bend and deliver a soft kiss to Immie’s forehead before I lift her into my arms and place her on the bed.

When I turn back to Amanda, she takes a step back, almost stumbling on her heels. “Jensen?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Her back hits the wall, and I grab the spreader bar attached to the ceiling. She scans the ceiling frantically. Although, I’m sure this location only added to her delight in her intentions of torturing my poor girl.

I snap my hand out and push her hands above her head and click her in place with the metal cuffs. Then I grab the black hood from the floor.

“Jensen?” Immie whispers. “Could you leave the mask off?” Holy shit. She wants her to watch while I soothe her. Rapture races up my spine, and my cock thickens in my slacks.

I’m unsure whether this is purely revenge motivated on Immie’s part or my little nightmare has a kink for voyeurism, but I’m down with either.

“Jensen. Jensen, what are you doing?” Amanda splutters.

Jesus, I’ve heard enough of her shrill voice already, and she makes it easy for me to decide to gag her. Only this time, I don’t grab the ball gag. I head straight for a set of drawers that house the variety of gags. I lift the most extreme one out—the silicone cock gag. I push the plastic cock into her mouth, and she chokes, then I wrap the leather around her head and turn on the settings. Every minute, she will be delivered a sharp thrust of the cock, followed by vibrations so hard she’ll feel like her teeth are about to shatter.

Once it’s secure, I step away from her and smile at her terror-filled eyes.

Then I stride toward Immie, and the moment I slide onto the bed, she scoots toward me. I lean against the headboard, and her eyes seek permission to take what she needs from me. “Take what you need from me, Little Nightmare. Use Daddy how you like.”

A strangled choke erupts from Amanda’s chest, but I pay her no attention, choosing to bask in the way Immie’s small hand unbuckles my belt and slides my zipper down.

My palm smooths over her wayward strands before resting on the back of her head, and when her soft hand takes my thick cock in her grasp, I hiss through my teeth.

“Put it in your mouth, baby. Suck on Daddy. Play with him until I come for you.”

“Please,” she pants, her eyes full of hunger.

I brush her hair from her face, giving me the perfect view of her beautiful eyes, then I press my thumb on her chin. “Make Daddy come in your little mouth. Show me how you like to taste me.”