The Institute:Mishka's Spanking: Age Play Discipline Romance (4 page)

“You are,” I promised her. At that moment I finally felt myself bottom out inside her, felt the head of my shaft pressing hard against the end of her channel. “Feel that, Babygirl?” I growled softly, leaning down to kiss her gently on the mouth. “That’s Papa’s cock all the way inside you. Deep in your tight little cunt. What a good girl you are to open yourself for Papa—what a good girl to spread your pussy and let Papa fill you up.”

She moaned and writhed against me, working herself shamelessly on my shaft. I knew that my words as much as my actions were making her wild. She loves to hear my dirty talk mixed with words of love and praise and approval. And I love to give her what she needs.

“Papa’s going to fuck you now,” I told her, thrusting a little deeper into her tight cunt. “Papa’s going to fuck his Babygirl and fill her sweet pussy with his cream. Is that what you want?”

She nodded and moaned, unable to talk. Still looking into her eyes I began the slow slide in and out of her pussy, fucking her long and hard and deep just as I had promised.

Andi cried and moaned, wiggling under me and thrusting up to try and get more of my shaft inside her. I knew how she needed to be loved so I held her close as I continued to press deep inside her, filling her pussy to the limit.

She was so tight around me but I wanted to hold off, wanted to make it last. I stroked her hair and looked into her eyes, holding her gaze with mine as I filled her. Her pussy was tight and hot and wet—perfect but I knew she needed a little extra stimulation to come again.

Licking my thumb, I pressed it down between us, where we were joined. I found her throbbing clit and began to circle it, moving in time to my thrusts inside her.

The effect on Andi was immediate.

“Oh…
Oh!”
She jumped as though she’d been shocked and then seemed to go wild under me. I could feel her inner walls clenching hard around my shaft and I knew she was coming again—coming all over my cock this time. But I wanted to hear her say it.

“Tell me,
mishka,”
I ordered her in a low voice. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“I…I’m coming, Papa,” she gasped, writhing under me, her big eyes wide with pleasure. “Coming so hard on your big cock—coming so hard while you
fuck
me! While you fuck your Babygirl!”

I growled in approval, feeling my shaft surge inside her. Andi is not the only one who likes “dirty talk.”

“It’s time, Babygirl,” I told her in a hoarse growl. “Time for Papa to fill your pussy with his cum. Is that what you want? Do you want Papa to come inside you,
mishka?”

“Yes…
yes.”
She bucked against me again, trying to get more, trying to take me deeper. “Come inside me—I
want
you to, Papa!”

Her soft moans in my ear and the feel of her tight little cunt squeezing me was more than I could take. With a low roar, I plowed deep inside her and finally let myself go, flooding her sweet pussy with my cum—claming her again as my
mishka…
my Andi.

“Papa…
Papa!”
she moaned under me, bucking up to get more. Locking her slim ankles around my waist, she pressed up to meet me as I filled her with myself, her sharp little nails digging into my back and shoulders, urging me on, letting me know she needed this as much as I needed to give it to her. I kissed her desperately, swallowing her cries, loving the feel of her inner walls milking every last drop of me seed into her hungry pussy.

God she was so beautiful, so perfect, my little
mishka!
I knew I would never stop wanting her…never stop loving her.

Afterwards we lay panting together, me still on top of her and inside her, filling her for just a little while longer. There were tears in Andi’s eyes as sometimes happens when our lovemaking is intense. I knew what she needed from me, what she needed to hear. I held her even closer, hugging her tight.

“Papa loves you, Babygirl,” I whispered in her ear. “Papa loves his sweet
mishka
so much.”

“I…I love you too, Salt…Papa.” Her voice was a soft, broken little whisper and I felt something wet against my cheek.

“Andi,” I said softly. I kissed her gently—first her eyelids and then her mouth.

“Salt.” She gave a little sob and kissed me back. I rolled us over so that we were on our sides and let her snuggle against my chest. Stroking her hair, I leaned down to kiss her forehead and she sighed contentedly. She curled up in my arms and I felt a surge of protective tenderness and love at the feel of her slight body pressed to mine. She was so beautiful…so perfect. A treasure I would never let go of.

Others might not understand how we play but for Andi, it is the best way to make her feel safe and loved and protected. The best way to help her open herself to me and let me love her the way she needs to be loved.

And for me—well I love to give her what she needs. Love to protect her and hold her close and pleasure her. It is all I have ever wanted from the moment I first met her and now she is mine—completely and utterly mine. I could not be happier.

Smoothing the hair away from her face, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and held her tight. She was my
mishka
and, for as long as she needed me to be, I would be her Papa.

For us, this is right.

The End

Read on for the first part of Abducted: Book 1 of the Alien Mate Index series.

Part one: Through the Looking Glass (No, seriously, I’m not kidding. I actually went through a freaking looking glass.)

Zoe

All the hottest Mail order brides come from Russia.

Russian or somewhere over in the Ukraine. At least, that’s what it looks like if you’re surfing the Internet late at night and you run across one of those awful Bride sites.

All those women are tall and thin with sleek, perfect hair and sexy smiles. Oh,
and
they’re all willing to travel halfway around the world to get out of the crappy place they’re living and start a new life.

Of course, they might change their minds if they found out they’d have to travel halfway across the freaking
universe
. That might be a deal breaker. I know it would have been for me—if anyone had given me a choice.

I didn’t get a choice though. In fact, I didn’t even know I was
in
the AMI. That’s the Alien Mate Index—which is the site full of women that Alien males with a taste for Earth girl coochie can choose from. Hell, I didn’t even know there
was
an Alien Mate Index at all!

Until I got abducted.

Now, lest you go thinking that I’m some six-foot tall, hot, blonde supermodel, let me set the record straight. I’m not. I’m
so
not.

I’m five four in my stocking feet and I have curly auburn hair that tends to frizz on a humid day. And since I live in Florida,
every
day is a humid day.

In addition to not being tall with sleek blonde hair, I am also
not
thin. That’s okay though—I’m not afraid to admit I’m plus sized. I own my curves and I love them. I spent too many years at Weight Watchers counting points until I felt like a freaking adding machine. Finally I decided, you know what? Forget it. Me getting skinny just isn’t going to happen.

Now I live my life by the 80/20 rule. Eighty percent of the time I eat healthy and the other twenty percent I eat a damn donut if I want it. So what if I’m a size sixteen the rest of my life? I can deal with that as long as I don’t have to live on nothing but kale and quinoa. Krispy Kreme is more my style anyway.

I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m not exactly mail-order bride material. I’m just an ordinary girl with a little more junk in the trunk than usual, flyaway red hair, and too many freckles. I’m
not
the kind of girl a guy would point to on a website and go—“Her—oh my God, I’ve got to have
her.”

At least, I didn’t think so.

Again, until I got abducted.

But let me tell you about that—and you might want to take some notes. You might want to know what or
who
might be coming for you. That’s because you never can tell who might be watching you, even when you’re having the most boring, awful, ordinary day of your life…

“Oh my God, he’s being an asshole again. I’m telling you, Leah, I can’t take much more,” I muttered into my phone as I sat huddled in a stall of the employee bathroom at Lauder, Lauder and Associates. I worked as a paralegal there and the lawyer I was assigned to, Dayton Lauder the third, was a real piece of work.

Dayton always spoke in this booming voice, as though he was addressing a crowd of admirers and he wanted the ones in the back to be able to hear him. Unfortunately, most days it was just him and me and I was most definitely
not
an admirer. That didn’t stop him from “yell-talking”—as my friend Charlotte called it—all the time, though. I ended most work days with a pounding headache.

If poor voice modulation was the worst thing I had to put up with, I might not have minded so much. Unfortunately, Dayton had other problems that put the “yell-talking” one in the shade.

One problem was his personal hygiene—or lack thereof. When most people think of a lawyer, they imagine some sexy associate from The Good Wife with an immaculate, pressed, tailored suit, neatly clipped hair, and manicured hands.

Not Dayton Lauder the third.

As a tax lawyer, he didn’t really go to court much. He just sat in his office and did paperwork so I guess he thought it didn’t matter how he came to work.

Well, it mattered to me. Or
anybody
that got too close to him.

My boss had a love affair with brown, polyester suits. I say “suits” but in fact, I was convinced he only owned one of them which he wore every single day and never cleaned. It was rumpled and wrinkled and he wore it with a stained white shirt that had dirt marks on the collar and sleeves. Every time he waved his arms—he did this a lot while he was “yell-talking”—a huge cloud of nauseating BO would waft out, nearly knocking me over if I stood too close.

He had coffee breath too—not too surprising since he had me brew him several pots a day. Of course, I’m a paralegal,
not
a freaking barista but the economy sucked and I needed the job. So I brewed the damn coffee and even fixed it just the way he liked it—three creams and four sugars.

Now, people can be socially awkward and not be horrible. But again, not my boss. He shouted at me a lot and just that morning he’d actually thrown a stapler at my head because I had stapled his papers in the
top
left hand corner instead of putting the staple right in the
middle
where he preferred it.

What an ass.

After the stapler incident, I had run to the bathroom where I was pouring out my heart to Leah, one of my two best friends.

“Oh, Zoe, I’m so sorry.” Leah had a soft, sweet voice—everything about her was soft and sweet actually—that I normally found soothing. But today, I was too upset to be soothed.

“He threw a
stapler
at my freaking
head,”
I emphasized.

“That’s
awful,”
she exclaimed. And then I heard her say, “All right, sweetheart, I’ll help you find your pony in just a minute. Right now, though, Miss Heidi is in charge. Okay?”

Leah works in a private daycare center that specializes in mildly autistic children and she’s better with kids than I could ever be. Talk about the patience of a saint.

“Kids sneaking into the break room again?” I asked.

She sighed. “Yes, I’m sorry. Heidi is supposed to be in charge but they always seem to want me. Makes it hard to take a break.”

“I shouldn’t be taking up your time then,” I said. “Let me let you go.”

“No—keep talking. You need to get it off your chest.” Leah would make an awesome therapist, I swear, which is what she really wanted to be if she could ever get back to school.

There was a clicking on the line that I recognized.

“Oh, no. Hang on,” Leah said, her soft voice suddenly filled with dread. There was a pause and I wondered if it was Gerald, her overprotective fiancée calling. Leah always claimed he had her best interest at heart but over time he had become more and more controlling until Charlotte, my other best friend, and I, were really worried about her.

A moment later, Leah came back on.

“It’s just Charlotte,” she said, her voice filled with relief. “Should I put her on too?”

“Of course. She must have gotten my message—I called her before I called you.” I cleared my throat. “I, uh, thought it might be Gerald calling you again,” I said as she merged the calls.

“Nope. He’s off on a business trip this weekend.” Leah’s voice sounded light and happy—I wondered if she had any idea that she sounded that way when her fiancée was gone.

“Who’s on a business trip? Gerald?” Charlotte’s no-nonsense voice came on the line, filled with disbelief. “And he trusts you to be in the house alone all weekend?”

“Of
course
he trusts me.” There was a note of defensiveness in Leah’s voice that worried me. I had never liked her fiancée and lately his nasty attitude seemed to be getting worse. But now wasn’t the time to stage a “your boyfriend is a controlling asshole” intervention. Taking pity on her, I decided to turn the conversation back to my current situation.