Chapter Text
Perpetua stirred at the sound of his daughter's soft snores, and a fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was so precious... when unconscious. He had a feeling it would be quite some time before he agreed to babysit again.
He pushed himself out of bed, and the first thing he noticed was that his back no longer ached. Can it be? Am I healed?
Just to prove it to himself, he broke into a few jumping jacks, laughing under his breath as his body moved without complaint.
He bolted for the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The lines beneath his eyes had softened, as had the creases around his mouth. Perpetua touched his cheek, and the skin bounced back, elastic and smug with collagen.
His lips were full again, no longer thinned by age, and every strand of gray had darkened to the rich, pitch-black hair he remembered. He looked thirty-five again, perhaps even younger.
He turned around and watched his sleeping daughter's chest rise and fall. Her mother had taken years from him, but she had given them back.
He was young again, not just that desperate pretense of middle age, but actually young. The only thing that would make this moment better is some private time in the shower.
He twisted the faucet and steam began to rise. God, how he wished Tempest was here. She would push him against these tiles without a second thought. He'd kneel for her, bend over for her and spread himself open without any qualms. The degradation would be a sweet gift—her dominance being the only thing that could match the inferno of vigor coursing through him right now.
Or Anna. Sweet, devoted Anna with her hesitant touch and her desperate enthusiasm. She would take direction like a prayer, adjusting her angle, her position, her tone with wide-eyed eagerness to please.
Even Elizabeth would suffice. That delicious friction of her resistance, the way she'd tense and protest, eventually yielding with pride finally surrendering to pleasure. Taking her was a conquest; feeling her finally break and beg was sweeter for the struggle.
He wrapped his fingers around himself and let the fantasies blur together in the steam. Right now, his hand would have to be all of them.
He already had a semi before he stepped into the shower but he was nowhere near his maximum length. He yanked it a few times and shook it in his hands, watching himself grow exponentially as blood rapidly filled the spongy tissue in his hand. The water worked as a lubricant, making it easy for him to rocket his hand back and forth.
His movements grew frenzied, and he clenched his jaws tightly as if bracing for an impact. Ten more quick strokes would have gotten him there—nine, eight, seven—but a loud crash killed the momentum.
His rhythm faltered and then died altogether. "Fuck. Fuck!" He hissed through gritted teeth. His arousal throbbed in protest, denied its finale, leaving him furious. He seized the shower curtain and ripped it back with unnecessary strength. The plastic hooks broke against the metal rod, the whole damned thing tearing away in his fist.
He snatched the nearest towel and scrubbed it across his dripping skin before binding it around his hips. The fabric did nothing to disguise what still strained beneath it. Someone was going to pay for this interruption.
The first thing he noticed as he walked through his bedroom was that the bed was minus one vampire.
"Shit," he breathed, already moving. He bolted from the bedroom, following his daughter's gleeful shrieks, followed by the high-pitched whistles that could only come from a capybara in distress.
He flew toward the kitchen and froze in the doorway. There was broken glass sprayed all over the floor where a honey pot had met its end and his poor Patata covered with its contents, her fur matted and sticky, and her wide, brown eyes rolling with panic.
Persephone, wild-haired, in her pajamas, pursued the animal with a fly swatter raised like a weapon, cackling with manic glee each time the plastic connected with its haunches.
"Persephone!"
Patata spotted salvation and barreled toward the man, ducking behind his bare legs with a final pitiful squeak. His daughter, with momentum carrying her forward, swung the swatter again—right at his shin.
He caught her wrist mid-arc and snatched the swatter from her.
"Give it back, Daddy! Now!"
He lifted the flimsy tool and brought it down across the backs of her thighs—thwack, thwack, thwack—three times before hurling it across the tile. "I don't have words," he growled. "What—what possessed you to douse my pet in bee syrup and chase her like she's some feral cat?"
He popped her hand then and she yelped, more shocked than hurt. "I am tired of your foolishness. Touch that animal again and I'll turn your little bottom red. Do you understand me?”
Persephone's lower lip trembled, then curled. Tears welled in her eyes, fat and shimmering, before spilling down her round cheeks."
"No need to cry now, young lady. And if you yell, I'll thwart you once more!"
"I... I... I'm s-s-sorry D-Daddy—"
"That's alright," he sighed, the anger draining as quickly as it had flared. He gathered her properly into his arms, adjusting his grip to keep the towel secured. She buried her sticky face against his bare shoulder.
Behind him, Patata licked her paws with indignant slowness, forgiving nothing.
He carried Persephone on one hip, still sniffling, but subdued now, and trudged toward the front doors. Patata waddled behind them with the desperate persistence of the recently traumatized.
The swamp spread before them, the air already hellish despite it being just morning. Golden light filtered through the cypress canopy, glinting off water the color of steeped tea as mist lingered over the cattails.
Patata needed no invitation. She lumbered past them and made a splash, hitting the water with the grace of a thrown baby elephant.
Gone was the panicked creature from the kitchen. The capybara's body elongated and her webbed feet paddled beneath the surface. She glided like a russet torpedo with her ears and nostrils perched on top her head like a submarine's periscope. Only her eyes and chocolate-brown crown broke the waterline as a satisfied bark escaped her.
Persephone clapped her hands as Patata dove under the water. The surface rippled, then stilled for five seconds before she resurfaced near the lily pads, shaking her entire head. The honey was forgotten and her dignity was restored. She paddled lazy circles, occasionally dipping to nip at duckweed, utterly at peace in her element.
"You like that, do you?"
"Yes! She's silly!"
"She is. Much better than a wolf cub, eh?" Pepe leaned against the doorframe with his daughter’s weight growing heavy and warm against his chest. “Foolish women... trying to keep such a majestic beast in a tiny condo.”
“What’s a condom, daddy?”
“Con-doe! Don’t ever say con-dom again.”
She laughed and kissed his cheek, "I'm hungry."
"I bet you are. Let me put some clothes on first and then you can feed, little bat.”
*
Odette noticed a Sister of sin in the corridor, balancing a lunch tray destined for Frater’s office. She intercepted the woman, letting her fingers brush against the ceramic as she relieved her of the burden.
"I've got it, Sister. Thank you."
The woman bowed, retreating without a word. Odette continued down the hall alone with the tray steady in her hands. She paused at Frater's door, then struck the wood twice with the toe of her boot.
"That had better be my lunch!"
"It is, Papa," she called through the barrier. "Special delivery."
The door swung open, and Frater's gaze swept both directions of the hallway before he stepped aside, granting her entry. Odette crossed the threshold and set the tray on the nearest nightstand. Before she could straighten, his arms were around her from behind, pulling her against the weight of his chest.
"Get those panties off," he whispered against her throat, letting his mustache graze the spot where her pulse beat. "Unless you'd prefer I take them off with my teeth?"
She laughed, the sound catching in her throat as her eyes lifted to the ceiling. Something there caught her eye—a metal hook protruding from the plaster there.
"Papa... what's that?"
He followed her gaze upward. "That," he said, "is a strappado."
She already knew, of course. "I see. And do you ever use it?"
Not since..." He paused, and something almost sad passed behind his eyes. "Not since my first wife.”
“Addeline?”
He didn’t answer that question. He only changed the subject quickly, “Are you familiar with it?"
"Very much so, Papa."
The admission transformed him and she watched desire rewrite his features. He never thought tainted goods would appeal to him, and it was obvious that Odette was no virgin. Yet, here he was, already leaking from his tip at the thought of stringing her up in that device.
"Would you like to try it?" he asked.
"I would. But first—Do you have a dildo?"
He recovered quickly, that familiar arrogance settling back into place as he moved toward his bureau. "What size, my dear? Something close to mine, or something that would challenge you?"
"Something bigger, Papa. If you can manage it."
His brows rose. "Bigger? Ambitious, aren't we?" He rummaged through his private drawer, producing something substantial, thick and veined, along with a small bottle of oil. Then he crossed to the closet, retrieving a wooden step stool and leather straps that had gathered dust for decades.
"Do you need help with that?" she asked, watching him work the hardware through the ceiling hook.
"Oh, no. I've got it, Odette. You save your strength."
"If you insist."
She observed him in silence as he secured the bindings, testing the weight capacity, preparing the apparatus for occupancy. When he finished, he stepped back with a nod of satisfaction.
"Alright," he said. "Turn around."
She didn't move. "Me turn around?"
"Yes, you. Come now, don't be shy—"
"Oh, no, Papa." She laughed. "That strap isn't for me."
His expression faltered, and confusion replaced certainty. "I don't understand."
"That strap is for you."
His eyes widened. "Me? You want—" He looked at the dildo still in his hand, then back at her, the pieces refusing to align. "And this? What of this?"
"The cock is for you as well, Papa."
"Odette, I don't think—"
Her palm met his cheek with a crack that shattered the air, and his head snapped sideways so hard the tray on the nightstand rattled. He turned back to face her, his hand hovering near his reddening face while his mouth remained open in shock.
"Don't talk back to Mama," she said softly. "Now. Put the toy down and turn around like a good boy."
His body obeyed as his mind raced to catch up. She watched the war play out across his face—indignation battling curiosity; his authority collapsing before the thrill of surrender.
As he presented his back to her, she noted the evidence of his true feelings. His erection had grown significantly, even as his pride resisted.
"Drop those pants.”
His fingers fumbled with his belt before he finally managed to undo it. He let his pants fall to the floor, then stepped out of them, kicking them aside with a petulance that made her smile.
"The shirt too."
He glanced back, catching her smirk, then faced forward again. Button by button, he dismantled his own authority, shrugging the fabric from his shoulders until he stood bare before her.
"Hands behind your back."
The leather creaked as she approached, the dildo cool in her palm and the evening's true sacrament about to begin.
He complied, crossing his wrists at the small of his back. His shoulders rolled forward, and his muscles tensed with anticipation as he exposed himself completely to her mercy.
The exposed position sent a shiver racing down his spine. —here he was, the formidable Frater, naked and bound by his own device, about to be taken by a woman half his age who had somehow completely inverted their power dynamic.
The rig hung ready, but Odette adjusted the height, the tension, the angle. She fastened his cuffs and threaded the line through her fingers, creating a cruel suspension that would soon hoist him into helplessness.
Satisfied, she crossed to the nightstand without hurry and selected an apple from his untouched tray. Then, she turned it in her hand before returning to where he stood. She didn't warn him. Her foot connected with the back of his knee and his legs buckled, causing him to fall to his knees.
He started to rise, swear words gathering, but she was already there. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she wrenched his head back until his throat exposed itself.
"Open."
She wedged the apple between his teeth before he could say anything. It filled his mouth completely, sweet and obstructive, slicking his lips with juice. She knocked his jaw shut with the heel of her hand.
"Bite down. Don't you dare spit it out."
Odette released his hair and then pitched him forward. He grunted as she seized the leather straps. His arms lifted with the pull, muscles bunching, wrists crossing as she buckled him tight. He tried to object, but the apple muffled his protests into wet, indistinct sounds.
"Hush now."
She stepped back and kicked his ankles apart, watching him sway in the restraints. His eyes found hers—wide now. He hadn’t given her a safe word. How was she going to know whether or not he had had enough?
"Comfortable, Papa?"
He grunted around the apple, his jaw already aching from the strain of biting down on the firm fruit.
"Good," she whispered, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now, let's get you ready."
She grabbed the oil and poured a generous amount into her palm, working it between her fingers until they glistened.
"Spread," she commanded, kicking his ankles wider apart.
Next, she crouched behind him, and he felt her slick fingers trace down his spine, over the cleft of his ass, and finally circle his tight, virgin hole. Frater instantly went rigid.
"Relax, Papa. Haven't you ever had anything in your ass before?”
She pressed one finger against his ring, slowly working it past the resistant muscle as he groaned around the fruit. She was insistent, twisting her finger, stretching him, preparing him for what was to come.
"You're so tight," she observed, adding more oil, working a second finger in alongside the first. "I bet you never thought you'd be in this position. Hmm? Being fingered like a novice.”
She scissored her fingers, and he gasped while his hips rocked helplessly. The sensation was overwhelming—the burning, the stretching. It was humiliating, and yet his cock betrayed him, thickening and rising despite his mortification.
"Oh, you're enjoying this more than you want to admit," she laughed, withdrawing her fingers and wiping them on his bare thigh. Odette picked up the dildo, coating it with oil until it shone obscenely. "Now, brace yourself, Papa. Here it comes."
The woman positioned the blunt head against his entrance. He tried to pull away, but the straps held him too firmly. Odette gripped his hip with one hand and the base of the toy with the other, then began to push.
"Nnngh—" he tried to scream as his body resisted the intrusion.
"There, there. Take it for Mama."
She didn't stop. She kept pushing the thick silicone, stretching him wide until his eyes watered, until his nose ran, until he bit down so hard on the apple he feared he might crack his teeth.
"That's it," she encouraged. "Let it in. Good boy."
With a final, firm thrust, she seated the dildo fully inside him. He was panting heavily through his nose, sweat already breaking out across his shoulders and back.
But she wasn’t done yet.
Odette stood and grabbed the straps where they connected to the ceiling hook. She pulled, hard, and Frater felt his arms jerk upward behind him. The leather cut into his wrists as his body was forced to rise.
He lurched forward on trembling limbs, balancing on the balls of his feet with the dildo still firmly embedded.
"Perfect.” She moved around to his front, leaned in, and bit into the apple without pulling it from between his teeth. She chewed it in front of him and then she circled back behind him.
The thought of whether the door was locked suddenly crossed his mind. What if someone walked in and found him like this? What if Elizabeth did? He'd never hear the end of it. Worse, Odette might lose her job. The possibility sent a nervous thrill through him, somehow making the pain feel sharper—and far more exhilarating.
The woman gripped the base of the dildo once more and began to move it, small thrusts at first, pulling it out an inch, and then pushing it back in, gradually building a rhythm.
"Look at you," she taunted, feeling him tremble as her free hand traced up his spine. “You look so beautiful like this, Papa. Mama loves a submissive boy."
She began to fuck him hard, pulling the dildo nearly all the way out before driving it back in, setting a pace that made his whole body sway in the restraints. The straps creaked overhead and his shoulders screamed in their sockets, and yet—dear Satan—his cock was hard, throbbing and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum onto the floor beneath him.
"Aww, look who's rising to the occasion," Odette cooed, noticing his arousal. She reached around his hip, letting her hand close around his shaft. "You like being Mama's little fucktoy, don't you?"
She jerked him in time with her thrusts, and his surroundings lost all clarity. He was being milked like an animal, and he shamefully loved it. He grunted and thrashed, and she could tell he was close.
"That's it," her hand worked him faster now, her other hand gripping the dildo and pounding it into him with increasing ferocity. "You're going to come for Mama like a good little slut, aren't you?"
He shook his head, trying to deny it, but his body had other plans. She felt him swell in her hand, his balls drawing up tight against his body. She angled the dildo, pressing against that spot inside him, and twisted her wrist on his cock.
"Come," she ordered. "Come for me now."
He couldn't hold back. The first spurt shot out with wild force, arcing through the air and landing feet away on the floor. She kept stroking, kept fucking him, milking every drop as he spasmed and jerked.
He came until he was empty, until his cock was merely twitching in her hand, dribbling the last of his seed onto the floor. Frater’s body went limp in the straps, hanging there with sweat dripping from his chin onto his chest.
Odette slowly withdrew the dildo and let it fall to the floor with a wet thud. She removed the apple from his mouth, and he gasped, sucking in lungfuls of air, his face streaked with tears and saliva.
"Good boy," she whispered, stroking his hair as he hung there, utterly broken and blissful. "Very good boy."
Odette released the straps slowly, letting gravity return to him in increments rather than a sudden collapse. His arms descended, allowing blood to rush back into starving muscles, and she caught him as his knees buckled—this time bracing her body against his, taking his weight rather than forcing it.
"Easy." She guided him to the floor, unbuckling the cuffs carefully. The leather left angry red marks on his wrists that she traced with her thumb, checking circulation, watching his fingers for color.
"Back with me?" she asked, softly.
"I'm with you, Odette. My ass is unconscious, but I'm here."
She eased him onto his side, propping his head with her thigh. She allowed her fingers to find the knots in his shoulders, and she worked them gently. "You did well, Papa. Are you ready to please me now?"
"I think I might need a moment to recover. Or twenty-four hours."
She laughed until the jingle of "Rats" cut through the room.
"That's my cell, dear. Can you grab it?"
Odette rose and followed the sound to his discarded trousers. She fished the phone from the pocket and passed it to him. As soon as he answered, his commanding tone returned as though it had never left.
"Hello?"
He pushed himself upright despite the tremor in his arms, and she knew immediately that something was wrong. Within seconds, the excitement was gone from his eyes, replaced by something that would have alarmed Odette's, had she been paid to care.
"What? Where are you?” He rose and snatched his trousers. “I'll be right there!"
As he worked the button of his trousers, Odette rose too, already holding out his shirt without being told to.
"What is it, Papa?" she asked, guiding him into the sleeves one arm at a time. She stepped in front of him to button the shirt from the bottom up, finishing by smoothing his collar with fingers that smelled of oil, leather and him.
"Addeline’s gone to the hospital."
"Is it the baby?"
"I'm afraid so." He didn't look at her. "I'll have to run. Please finish those reports—the tour cost projections."
“I wouldn’t run if I were you, Papa,” she advised, watching him limp toward the door.
“Have them on my desk by the time I get home if you can.”
"Yes, I," But he was already through the door, and she spoke the rest to the empty room, "...will."
*
Frater drove like a madman, gritting his teeth as every pothole sent another bolt of pain through his hips.
The hospital rose ahead—the same one, the same emergency entrance where they'd rushed her months ago. He parked crooked and ran, limping through the automatic doors. The fluorescent lights buzzed like wasps as he made his way to the Maternity ward. He could still smell the waiting room coffee.
Swiss quickly stood when he saw Cardi round the corner. He walked over to the man and blocked the hallway as if he owned it.
"Is she alright? Tell me!"
"Listen." Swiss's voice was flat, not because he was trying to sound rude but he was exhausted. "I only called you because she refused to come otherwise."
"Never mind that! How is she?"
Swiss rolled his eyes and temporarily let go of his grievances. "She started having contractions. They stopped them but she's staying overnight. We’ll go home tomorrow morning, and then—"
"Bed rest? No intimacy?"
The man's eyes snapped to Frater's. "Not that my sex life is any of your damn business. But yeah. Nothing that could trigger labor."
Cardi felt the hallway tilt, and his knees, still wrecked from the strapado, nearly buckled.
“You good, man?”
"Never better," he replied tightly. "Can I see her?"
"You can see her, but don't upset her. You got that? She's upset enough. In fact..." He hesitated. "Maybe you can calm her down."
"I cannot make any promises, but certainly. I'll see what I can do."
He turned and headed toward Addeline's room, doing his best to hide the limp in his gait. Swiss watched him disappear down the corridor, shaking his head. Between the limp, the trembling legs, and the look on his face, he didn't even care to know what the man had been up to.
Addy sat upright in the hospital bed, staring blankly ahead. This had to be punishment. Punishment for every selfish decision she'd ever made, for every person she'd ever hurt.
The memory of her suicide attempt haunted her. Now, with premature contractions threatening the child she'd nearly taken from the world herself, she couldn't shake the feeling that the universe was collecting a debt.
Despite being the one who asked for him, she turned her head when Frater walked in. It was as though she couldn't bear to look at him. Shame settled heavily in her chest, along with the irrational certainty that he would tell her this was somehow her fault—that her body had always been too stubborn, too broken to carry a pregnancy without something going wrong.
He pulled a chair up beside the bed like he had done countless times before. "Hello, Addeline."
She finally turned to meet his eyes. "Hi." It came out with a hollow sort of irony, as though it was absurd that she’d be in this bed for any other reason.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded. Then her face crumpled and she shook her head as tears spilled fast.
He jumped up from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his arms. She collapsed against his chest, sobbing.
"I'm so stupid! So stupid to think I could have a healthy baby."
"Amore." He stroked her back. "You've had many healthy babies, my sweet."
"I just thought it would be different this time, ya know?"
She pulled away, wiping her nose with her wrist. He reached for the tissue box on the nightstand and held it out. She took a handful, blew her nose, and dabbed at her eyes.
"Addeline, don't be scared. This is nothing you haven't survived. You're in the home stretch now. A few more weeks and this little girl might not even need the NICU, eh?"
She nodded, sniffling. Not convinced, but listening. "But what if—"
"Huh-uh-uh. No what-ifs." He took her chin gently and made her look at him. "You will both be fine. Just, do as you're told. Rest. Behave yourself, eh?"
She blushed, a faint pink rising through the tear tracks. "Yes, Papa. Of course."
"Good girl. No more tears." He stood, fixing his hair. "I must take my leave, but if you need me, you can always reach me. Don’t let that husband of yours tell you any different."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and walked out. He didn't want to leave, but it wasn't his place anymore. He knew that, no matter how much it hurt to admit. Whatever he had once been to her, that role belonged to someone else now, even if his presence still brought her a strange, familiar comfort.