Chapter 2: Dominus of my Domain

Clara settled into my lap positioning her head on my thighs where she could continue to lick and tease my cock with her tongue. She was still bound by the chain attached to her collar, but she seemed to have forgotten it.

I absently stroked her hair, thinking about what I’d do now. “How do you feel?” I asked.

Clara looked up at me, her eyes uncertain. The only other man who’d ever fucked her was my father, and he’d never asked about her feelings. “I feel ... used,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “But ... good?” She bit her lower lip, considering. “It hurt a lot, and I know that’s what you wanted. But ... you also let me cum, Daddy, it felt amazing.” She gave me a shy smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

Clara leaned in and swept her tongue over the end of my cock, causing me to twitch and groan. “Your father was traditional, he didn’t believe in female orgasms. He thought they encouraged independent thought and led to disobedience.” Clara’s brow furrowed. “He’d beat me if he caught me touching myself.”

I tensed, my hand stilling in her hair. “He beat you?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.

Clara looked up at me, her eyes wide and frightened. “Not often,” she said, quickly. “Only when I deserved it.”

I took a deep breath, trying to control my anger. My father had been a monster, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him hurting Clara. But I also knew this behavior wasn’t so far removed from my own sadistic tendencies.

“It’s okay, cunt,” I said, my voice still gruff but softer now. I gently lifted Clara’s face to meet my gaze. “You belong to me now,” I added.

Clara looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Then she leaned forward, pressing her lips to my cock in a tender kiss that belied the roughness of everything I’d done to her.

I lay there for several minutes in silence, enjoying the way this cunt who I’d known for less than an hour would lick and kiss the tip of my penis. I could feel the wetness of her mouth, the warmth radiating from her body, and the softness of her breasts against my thighs. I brushed a few strands of hair from her face, marveling at the silky texture. “Why do you call me Daddy?” I asked.

I could feel the tension rise in her body, but I didn’t push her. I wanted Clara to trust me, to tell me how she truly felt. And if that meant we’d sit in silence for a little while, then so be it.

But as it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long. Clara pulled her mouth from my cockhead and looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine. I could see the raw vulnerability in them. “Because you own me,” she whispered. “Because saying it makes my insides feel gooey, and because it’s what your father always demanded.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, like a fog of truth thickening between us, wrapping us both in the same complicated blanket.

“Tell me about him,” I murmured, my thumb tracing her bottom lip, feeling it quiver slightly under my touch.

I felt Clara nod under my hand, then she looked up at me with those big green eyes of hers. “He called me cunt, and I called him Daddy,” she whispered.

“To be clear,” I interrupted. “He wasn’t...?”

“My actual father,” she said, reaching out to run a finger along the length of my cock. “No, he wasn’t. I’m not your sister, and you don’t have any siblings. Your father bought me from Peggoty’s, a pussy-farm on the coast. I never actually had a dad,” Clara continued, her fingers tracing the veins of my cock. “Just a Daddy.” Clara whispered, biting her bottom lip. “He was the only one who ever touched me, and he took my innocence when I was ripe.”

“I never really had a dad either,” I said, my thoughts drifting back to the dreamlike existence in the tank.

Clara’s delicate hand closed around my thickening cock, and she started to stroke me. “He wasn’t a good man,” she whispered. “He could be cruel, and he liked hurting me.”

My cock lurched in her hand as I remembered myself on top of her hurting her, fucking her hard and rough, pulling anguished screams from her tiny body. Like my father, I’d been cruel and I’d found pleasure in her pain.

She seemed okay now, stroking my cock slowly and gently as I contemplated the monstrous aspects of my personality.

Again it was Clara who broke the silence. “You’re a sadist,” she murmured, but she was smiling. “Still, you can be a better man than your father. A better Daddy.”

“I want to be,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. “But I don’t know if I’m ready. There’s a part of me that wants to use you just like he did, to take my anger and frustration out on you. To reduce you to nothing more than a collection of holes to be used for my pleasure.”

Clara looked up at me, her expression soft and understanding. “I know,” she said. “But I want to help you. I want to be here for you. And if that means getting fucked even when I’m not in the mood, or being slapped around every now and then, then so be it.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. But my cock had also twitched in her hand at the mention of me striking her. What had I done to deserve such devotion?

Clara seemed to sense my thoughts, giving my shaft a gentle squeeze. “You’re father never felt conflicted or remorseful for hurting me or anyone else,” she whispered. “He never questioned his actions. But you do, and that makes all the difference to me. He was a sadist, for sure, just like you, but he indulged his darker impulses without any thought of the consequences.”

As I lay there, my thoughts riffling through the muck of memory and desire, I contemplated Clara’s words. Was I truly capable of being a better man than my father? I’d inherited his dominant and sadistic tendencies, but when I looked at Clara, I also felt affection and concern. I stared at her beautiful face, flush with her recent orgasm, and felt a strange warmth in my chest. “Do you really mean that?” I asked, unsure of how to interpret her words.

“Of course, Daddy,” Clara replied, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. “I want to help you become the best man you can be.”

A silence fell between us as I pondered her words. I was a man without a past, and Clara was a fulcrum between my half-remembered life inside the tank and this new reality I’d inherited.

From my lessons in the tank, I knew that three hundred years had passed since the violent and sudden collapse of the old world. From its ashes had risen a harsher order, one where my father’s cruelty was well adapted—a world of property and position, where slavery was normalized and women were valued mostly for the comfort of their holes. The tank had given birth to a man with dangerous tendencies, but Clara seemed determined to help me find a path through the darkness.

My identity required both discovery and invention. I needed to understand where I stood in this ruined world, so vastly different from the sterile, confined environment of the tank. But before I could learn any of that, I needed to know my name.

“What’s my name?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Clara looked up at me with a soft smile. “Your father named you Dominus. Dominus Fields.” She paused and licked playfully at my cock, her pink tongue circling the tip of it. “That means ‘master’ in Latin,” she explained, looking up at me with those emerald eyes of hers. “You are the master of your father’s estate, the Dominus of your domain.”

Dominus, I repeated the name in my head. It was a name that carried my father’s expectations of dominance and control. It was a name that set me apart as a man, separate from Clara, the cunt who belonged to me, and all the cunts that would belong to me in the future. As much as I hated to admit it, I felt a surge of excitement as I contemplated the power and authority this name conveyed.

I looked down at Clara, her red hair fanned out across my lap like a halo, and her body tucked neatly between my legs. A fragment of life before the tank came unbidden to my mind, long red hair and emerald green eyes like Clara’s but belonging to a different woman. I heard a voice, soft and feminine calling me Dom, not Dominus.

I tried to hold on to the memory, but it slipped away like smoke, and when my mind tried to follow it was gone. Childhood was replaced with the unending hum of the tank, and a vacuum of isolation. A second memory surfaced as I focused on the red hair and those large green eyes—a memory of my final moments in the tank.

I remembered the world as it was then, only dimly lit and full of wet. In that world, I was held in place by fleshy umbilicals that snaked around my body. It was a strange existence, my consciousness floating in darkness alongside my body. The tank had a window, through which I could be observed, but in all my years I’d never looked out through that portal. My world was the tank, a fluid and formless space that had been both oppressive and comforting.

Only at the end, do I remember opening my eyes. The light that filtered through the glass was almost blinding, but I could see three people on the other side. One was a man. He was securing the second person, a young woman, to a wall opposite the tank. That would have been Clara.

The third person was also a woman. She was older than Clara, in her thirties at least. She had long red hair, similar to Clara’s, and wore a black dress. She watched me through the glass as I came to consciousness. Her green eyes held a sense of familiarity, as though I had once known her. I could imagine her smell, the softness of her skin, and the comforting warmth of her arms holding me.

She pressed a hand against the glass as if she could feel my presence. Her lips curved slightly and she mouthed a single syllable: my name? Dom? I gazed into her eyes, and at that moment, I felt affection twist and turn to rage. How dare she look at me with such familiarity and warmth?

A surge of energy rippled through me from my head to my toes, invigorating every inch of my body. The man, a technician or maybe a doctor, moved away from where he’d chained Clara to the wall and joined the woman in black. He pulled her away from the tank, dragging her out the door as my umbilicals detached and the tank’s fluids started to drain.

I broke away from the memory looking down at Clara. She’d taken the end of my cock into her mouth again, swirling her tongue around it gently. I could feel her breath on my skin as she looked up at me, her eyes full of trust. I tucked a stray hair behind her ear and gently stroked her cheek.

I thought back on the woman in black, she’d been grieving and I had a guess about her identity, but I set that aside. Clara had called herself my father’s slave, but she’d only spoken about him in the past tense. She’d also told me that I was the master of his estate. “He’s dead,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

Clara’s mouth came off my cock. “A little over five months ago,” she confirmed.

“And I’ve inherited his estate, including you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, although aside from my worn-out holes there’s little else.” Clara’s voice was tinged with sadness and resignation.

I raised my leg, pressing playfully up between Clara’s thighs. I ground myself against her swollen, mound, and the cunt groaned, her grip tightening on the base of my cock as she rubbed herself against my leg. “Your hole seemed plenty tight,” I said with a smirk.

Clara chuckled and continued to hump my thigh as she stroked my cock. “It’s the only hole you’ve ever fucked,” she reminded me. “And as big as you are, I’m just glad to still be in one piece. Once we get you home you’re going to start doing some serious damage to the girls in the neighborhood.”

My cock jumped as I imagined the havoc I could wreak with the monster between my legs. Clara noticed and grinned, her fingers working my shaft with renewed vigor. “Someone likes the idea of devouring the local pussy supply,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I groaned and leaned back against the wall, enjoying the feeling of her hand on my cock. “You have no idea,” I muttered, picturing myself unleashing my enormous cock on dozens of unsuspecting women. The woman in black popped in amongst them, but I pushed her away.

“You’ll destroy them,” Clara said, smiling up at me as she stroked my cock. “It’s been years since Blundstone’s had a proper lordling.”

“Lordling?” I asked.

“Lord Fields,” Clara said her voice filled with pride. “A title you’ve inherited from your father. Although, it’s only through marriage that he took the title. The Trotwood family had dominion of Blundstone for eleven generations but the late Lord Trotwood had no male heirs to carry on the legacy.

“Your father had success in his youth as a pussy-broker. This gave him the funds to pay the dowry on Lord Trotwood’s eldest daughter. After some negotiation, they were wed—a union that made him lord when the last Trotwood male died.”

“And with his death, I’ve now become Lord?”

Clara started to nod but then hesitated, her body slowing against my thigh. “The title is tied to the Trotwood bloodline,” she clarified. “With your father’s death, the title reverts to Lady Fields.”

“My mother,” I said my mind going to the redhead in black who’d been there just before I’d been brought out of the tank.

Clara frowned at the question. There had been a coldness in her tone when she’d mentioned Lady Fields. Now she paused, careful to choose her words. “Lady Fields is not your mother. At least not by blood.” She paused again and looked around as if suspecting eavesdroppers. When she continued it was in a whisper, “Lady Fields is your stepmother.”