Aidan

Six years later…

My two-year-old daughter, Amelia, sighs in her sleep.

I pet her silken hair, the same shade of blonde as her mother’s golden mane.

“Goodnight, sweet pea,” I whisper. “Mommy and I will see you in the morning.”

I kiss her forehead and stroke her chubby cheek. Turning away from Amelia’s crib, I spot my assistant in the doorway, gazing at me with the all too familiar expression of aww.

“Stop that,” I say.

Jen chuckles, moving aside so I can step into the hall.

“I can’t help it,” she says. “Watching you dote on that darling girl gets me every time.”

I glance back into Amelia’s room. For a long time after Liam’s death, I wasn’t sure if I had it in me to become a father for the second time. Not that I’d had a chance to be a father to Liam until it was too late. I knew Grace wanted a child. I never would have asked her to marry me if I didn’t think I could give her the life she deserved. But the fear that I would fuck up again was a constant presence in my mind.

Finding out that Grace was pregnant forced me to do a lot of soul searching. I’m pleased to say that as soon as Amelia came into the world, all of my doubt dissolved, replaced by an unwavering flow of unconditional love.

There’s no question that I’m going to get it right this time. I have to. It’s as simple as that.

“Is Grace still in the shower?” I ask.

“I believe so,” Jen says.

My wife and I have plans to attend Matthew’s play party tonight. Between Amelia and our demanding work schedules, we haven’t had the opportunity to assume our roles as Sir and little one in weeks.

I thank Jen for offering to watch Amelia for us tonight and head into the main bedroom to check on my wife. The shower in our bathroom is essentially a separate stone-and-tile chamber attached to the ensuite. I can stand at the entrance without getting sprayed, and watch as my little one rinses the suds from her body—and what a body it is. I drink in her long, lean frame, her toned dancer’s legs. I didn’t think it was possible, but she’s in even better shape now than she was when we first met.

After graduating from the Jost Academy of Performing Arts, Grace pliéd her way into a principal position in the New York City ballet, her dream job since she was child. But life apparently saw fit to make all her dreams come true at once, because less than a year later, we learned she was pregnant. At first, Grace was worried that the pregnancy would spell the end of her ballet career. However, with time and patience and the help of a physical therapist, she returned to the company an even stronger dancer, more in tune with her body’s abilities.

Recently, she’s taken on the immense task of curating and starring in a program that will feature over a dozen performance pieces, ranging from classical ballet to modern routines combining ballet with hip-hop and tap. It’s a staggering amount of work, but she loves it, and I love the sense of confidence all that responsibility instils in her.

She glances up and catches me staring, then smiles. “Is Amelia asleep?”

I nod. “Out like a light.”

She squirts a handful of shaving cream into her palm and spreads it between her legs. I instructed her to shave her pussy in preparation for tonight’s scene. Heat rolls through me as I watch my wife run the razer over her intimate parts, getting them ready for me.

While Grace is busy getting dressed, I pack a bag with my sweatpants and a few of our favorite floggers.

The drive to Matthew’s apartment is short and taut with anticipation. I can sense Grace’s excitement in the way she squeezes my hand as we approach the building.

“Ready, little one?” I ask.

“Yes, Sir.” She beams. My little one has been looking forward to this party all week, eager for the chance to hand over control, if only for a few hours.

I hook two fingers into her collar and press a possessive kiss to her lips. Looking back, it’s crazy to think there was a time when I didn’t kiss my submissive. But seeing my collar around Grace’s neck for the first time, all those years ago, lit a fire inside me. A relentless need to claim some small part of her—and her pouty pink mouth was just begging to be tasted.

We pull up to the entrance of Matthew’s building. I hand the valet my keys and rest my hand on Grace’s lower back as we enter the lobby and take the elevator up to the penthouse.

A young male submissive named Ari welcomes us to the party as soon as we step off the elevator. Grace’s short backless dress, paired with her long, blonde braid, draws stares from Doms and subs alike. We make our rounds, saying hello to old friends and seeing what everyone is up to.

Matthew eventually finds us in the living room.

“Glad you could make it,” he says. “It’s always lovely to see your little one.”

Grace bows her head respectfully.

“You’ll see a whole lot more of her soon,” I tell him. “Assuming our scene is ready.”

While Grace and I enjoy playing in our own bedroom, both of us have come to appreciate the thrill of playing before an audience. I would never share my little one with another Dominant—I learned that lesson the hard way. But the thought of another Dom wanting what’s mine and not being able to have her is fuel for my inner sadist.

Matthew snaps his fingers, summoning one of the dungeon aids to his side. “Show Master Aidan to the dining room.”

“Yes, sir,” the young woman says.

My friend shoots me a meaningful smile. “Enjoy yourselves. That’s an order.”

Grace and I follow the dungeon aid to the dining room, which has been roped off specifically for our use. I’m pleased to find the table arranged to my specifications, covered with a black tablecloth and topped with a variety of paraffin candles and bottles of massage oil.

“Take off your dress and your shoes, little one.”

As I change into a pair of black sweatpants, Grace slips out of her dress, leaving her beige lacy underwear in place. She stands before me with her hands clasped behind her and her head bowed, the way I’ve trained her to wait. She’s exquisite, a perfect canvas for the wax I plan to paint her with.

I skim my hands along her sides before lifting her onto the dining table.

“Lie back,” I tell her.

She lowers herself to the tabletop, allowing her calves to hang over the edge.

I strike a match and touch the flame to the wick of a long, tapered candle. It’s the wrong type of candle for wax play, but I only intend to use it as a continuous flame source. I uncap a bottle of sweet almond oil, as a handful of guests filter quietly into the room to watch.

My little one’s breathing grows labored. It’s time for the performance to begin.

I drip oil down the center of her chest, stopping a few inches above her underwear. She hums softly as I smooth the oil over her stomach and across her chest. Her breasts look mouthwatering, sheened with oil, and feel smooth as silk beneath my hands. The last time we played for a crowd, I flogged them until they glowed a brilliant sunset pink.

Tonight, I intend to paint them every color in the rainbow.

Grace whimpers as I rub massage oil onto her nipples, her eyelids heavy with arousal. My groin tightens. I smooth my palms down her torso, all the way to her thighs, spreading oil between her legs.

My little one hums with pleasure. I can already see a small patch of wet forming on her underwear.

I select a red paraffin candle, touching the wick to the tapered candle’s flame. I rotate the candle so that the wax melts evenly, creating a bowl of melted wax around the wick. Resting my hand on Grace’s knee, I wait until there’s a good amount of wax pooled in the center.

“Tell me if it’s too hot,” I say. The higher I hold the candle, the cooler the wax will feel when it reaches her skin. This isn’t our first time playing with wax, but it has been a while since our last effort.

Tipping the candle, I let a few drops fall onto her stomach. She inhales sharply.

“Too hot?” I ask.

“No, Sir,” she says. “Just…startling.”

I trail drops between her breasts, onto her upper chest, and finally, over her nipples. She bites her bottom lip and moans. My cock throbs; I’m sure it’s not the only dick in the room to react to the sound. I lower the candle by a few inches, letting a warmer drop of wax hit her breast.

She whines. “That was intense.”

“Pain or pleasure?”

Her mouth slants into a smile. “Both, Sir.”

I glide my hand up the inside of her thigh, skimming my fingers over her underwear. She’s nearly soaked through the fabric. I find it impossible to tear my eyes from the strip of cloth separating my gaze from what belongs to me.

Grace trembles as I trickle wax across her abdomen. I treasure her body’s reactions, from her breathy cries to the way her skin reddens along the edges of the wax. I switch out the red candle for a purple one that burns a bit hotter, which I drip along her thighs. She whimpers as a drop of hot paraffin slides down into her thigh crease. My attention follows the purple trail. We’ve only been playing a short while, but I’m more than ready to claim her.

Holding the candle at a short distance, I drop a small pool of wax onto her underwear.

“Oh, God… Sir…” She humps the air, fingers flexing at her sides. I bet she’s dying to touch her clit.

A surge of desire courses through me. I could come just from watching her body beg for relief. I pick up a blue candle and light the wick with the purple candle still burning in my hand.

Her legs tremble as I drip more hot wax onto her underwear, warming her pussy through the cloth.

Sweat beads on her brow. The size of the crowd along the perimeter of the room has nearly doubled. Men and women, Doms and subs, watching intently as I torment my little one.

I blow out the candles and set them aside.

“Lift your ass, little one.”

She scans the room, taking in the gazes of the rapt crowd.

“Don’t make me ask again,” I growl.

She raises her hips off the table so I can slide her underwear down and off. I wet my lips at the sight of her smooth folds, glistening like ripe forbidden fruit.

My mouth waters. I pour far too much oil into my palm.

Grace moans as I smooth almond oil all over her mound, sliding my center finger through her folds. Just that slight amount of pressure is enough to make her hips buck, chasing my touch even as it leaves her. She watches attentively as I relight the blue and red candles and begin dripping wax onto the areas I’ve just massaged.

“Spread your legs wider, little one,” I rasp. She opens herself to me. I let out a groan reminiscent of something that spends most of its time in a cave.

A drop of wax lands on her clit.

Her head falls back. “Oh… Please, Sir. I need…”

I know exactly what she needs. It’s the same thing I’m dying to see her do.

“Touch yourself,” I tell her.

Her hand all but teleports to her pussy.

I drip wax onto her breasts, holding the candle close to her skin. She gasps. It’s hotter at this short distance, but she takes the heat like the natural-born masochist she is. I attempt to paint stars and hearts all over her breasts and stomach, but I eventually give up on drawing anything coherent.

The rest of the room and everyone in it fades away, as I watch Grace’s delicate fingers dance over her clit. Her pussy glistens from all the oil, as well as her own wetness. The ebb and flow of her heavy breathing fills my head.

My cock aches like it’s been bruised, and my balls couldn’t be tighter.

I can’t handle the fucking pressure anymore.

I blow out the candles, set them aside, and pull out my cock. My little one’s doe eyes lock on my stiff dick. Her own movements slow as she watches me fist my cock inches from her clit.

“Don’t you dare stop, little one. You’re going to rub that precious little bud until you come for me. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Hooking my hand behind her knee, I hold her thighs open and continue to stroke my dick directly over her pussy. The massage oil allows me to be rough with myself. I fuck into my own fist as if it were Grace’s body, which is where I want to be. Buried inside her, with my thumb on her clit, balls deep in ecstasy.

Grace moans, long and loud, as she shudders, face and neck reddening. Tits jiggling. Hips rocking to meet her own fingers.

She’s coming, and she’s more beautiful than anything my imagination could conjure.

At the back of my mind, I recall that we still have an audience. I’ll flog my little one for hours in front of onlookers, but I only fuck my wife in private. However, I passed the point of no return somewhere between yanking off her panties and grabbing my cock.

I slide two fingers inside her just as the final echoes of her orgasm cause her muscles to contract. I suck air through my teeth as my shaft throbs and goes taut.

Grace gasps as the first shot of translucent white lands on her belly. The rest soon follows in streams and spurts that mingle with the cooling drops of wax. I stroke until my balls are empty, ‘til I have nothing left to give.

Bracing myself above my little one, I cup the back of her head and claim her mouth in a kiss that demands her tongue’s submission. Her openness and eagerness to offer up her mouth to me is all the evidence I need to know she’s satisfied.

The collar around Grace’s neck. These nights immersed in pain and pleasure. The freedom to slip into subspace without having to worry about suddenly being called upon. This is how she reminds herself of who she is, in addition to being a dancer and a mom.

I eye the dried rivulets of wax on her body, the splashes of color glossed with the mark of my ownership.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now, little one.”

She sighs contentedly. “Thank you, Sir.”

I stroke the side of her face. Our life together changed irrevocably when we became parents, but that doesn’t mean we have to change who and what we are to each other. We can pledge to carve out moments for setting aside the titles we’ve been given—daddy, mommy, boss, dancer—in favor of the titles we chose for ourselves a long time ago.

♥ ♥ ♥

Later, in the dark, in our own bed, I pin Grace’s hands above her head and bury my cock inside her. I’m not surprised when she comes again, so soon after the last orgasm my tongue demanded from her clit.

“You’re mine, little one,” I rasp, punctuating each statement with a thrust. “And you’ll always be mine. Say it.”

She gasps as I drive deeper, her muscles flexing around me and her slickness rousing me to fuck her faster.

“I’ll always be your little one, Aidan,” she says. “Forever.”

I kiss her sweet lips, still swollen from sucking my cock like a good girl. After four years of marriage and nearly nine years together in all, I still want my Grace as badly as I wanted her the night she knelt at my feet at a play party she wasn’t invited to.

To me, she’s still that wide-eyed tenacious girl with the sunshine smile and a proposal I couldn’t say no to. I will never desire or love anyone more than I desire and love that girl. My wife. My ward. My little one.