Instinct 4

Sometimes I just need to let it out of me.

It is the beast in me: the mongrel, the dog, the wolf. It is the monster that roams behind me at all times, seeking what it may devour. Freud would call it the Id - that primitive portion of the brain that cannot think beyond the needs to eat, sleep, and fuck. The beast does not have patience for planning ahead or forethought - it wants what it wants, and it wants it at that exact moment, not a second later. When the beast has to wait, even for a few moments, it scratches and claws around at the walls inside my head until eventually it must be let out to do its business.

The beast is there when I open the door and see Babydoll reclining across the bed, sporting nothing more substantial than her lounging around panties and one of my t-shirts, hair tied up as she snacks on something or other and watches TV.

The beast eyes her like meat. And the beast is always hungry.

Babydoll says I give her a certain look when I'm in no mood for games - when my patience is exhausted and I am in no mood to let her be cute. She knows that look when Daddy is done and the beast is in the driver's seat.

She loves that look.

She tries to get up the moment she sees that look in my eyes, to greet me properly, only to have me grab her ankles before she can scurry off the bed and drag her to the edge of it. I slap her ass and growl, a wordless command not to move until given express permission.

She heeds with a whimper and a bite of her lower lip, holding as still as she can. Eventually she can't help but wiggle her tush at me, giggling nervously. She always gets nervous when I don't talk as much - I'm usually quite the chatterbox.

I slap her ass again, harder. She arches her back and shivers, then goes still and holds position. Taunting the monster out is one thing but once it's out she knows better.

I grip a fistful of her hair and snatch her back from the edge of the bed. I make her stare up at me as I keep slapping her ass. She starts to speak, and I growl to silence her. All she can do is wiggle back against me when I stop slapping her ass, pouting and grinding and try to be as sexy and cute and innocent as possible. When in the hands of the Beast, she knows her best bet is to make herself appealing as possible. Mercy is beyond her reaches when I let this animal out, but at the least she can hope for something akin to affection.

I can smell the mix of fear and excitement on her skin as she groans and squirms in my grip. It mixes with the scents of coconut oil in her hair and the tantalizing wetness between her thighs. One hand keeps a firm grip on her hair, while the other slides into her panties and begins greedily rubbing at her clit.

She whispers my name into the air and I snarl her into silence again before biting the nape of her neck. Her breath catches in her throat and she goes limp against me, eyes slipping closed as she leans her head back to give me unfiltered access to her.

I don't need restraints, or a collar, or ropes to hold my little doll in my sway. All it takes it a bit of pressure applies just right and she knows she's owned - that she's mine - and instinctively falls into line. And of course, the more she gives, the more pressure I apply... and the more pressure I apply, the more she gives into me. We're in a bit of a vicious cycle, she and I... and neither of us wants off of it.

I drag my little fuckdoll to her knees and grind her face against my pants. She takes the hint and desperately frees my dick. I reward her by pinning the back of her head against the bed and putting her mouth to proper use as a second cunt. The bit of struggling she did do was instinctive, and stopped afted only a few seconds of token resistance. She knows at this point she's not my princess - she's my hole. She serves the purposes of dick receptacle, pain slut, and overall just something to use for my amusement. And not only is she aware of this... not only does she accept this with grace... she enjoys it. When I pin her hands above her head and fuck her throat, the only thing wetter and greedier than her mouth is her princess place. She takes the time to let me know this by grinding herself against my right boot through her panties like a good little wanton bitch in heat should.

I reward her depravity by hilting in her throat until her pretty brown eyes roll into the back of her head.

She struggles a bit at that, purely on instinct, but I let her breathe when she stops resisting. Eventually she gets the message and lets Daddy make her throat exactly what it was meant to be. She coughs and sputters out thick ropey trails of saliva all over herself, coating her face and tits with a layer of drool that makes them all sorts of pretty and shiny. Her eyes are watering and slight tears roll down her face... which only makes her look more like prey to the beast in me at this point.

Oh, pretty girl. Oh, helpless girl. Oh, my precious little princess.

Daddy's gonna hurt you like you deserve to be hurt.

I smear her own spit all over her face with one hand the other pinning her hands above her head, and marvel at the mess. Then, reader... well, then I do the one thing I've always wanted to do, or at least thought about doing...

I let her go. I get a good 4 feet away from her, leaving her unrestrained. I'm not physically holding her, nor is she cuffed or bound with anything that can be seen. At this point, she's technically free to do as she pleases.

She realizes this in a dazes state, still gasping in ragged breaths of air... and crawls back up to the edge of the bed, back arched and ass presented. She then places her hands delicately behind her back, gets up onto her tiptoes like a ballerina doing Pointe, and waits for Daddy's orders.

Nothing beats an obedient slut. Especially mine.