Chapter 30: Olivia

14 November 2025

In the silence of the SUV, as it glided away from the park and back towards the amber glow of the motorway, Olivia sat quietly and rewound the last few hours.

In many ways, she had been a passenger in her body, having somehow been hijacked by Jenny in the library, and now having been completely conquered by Master. Master? Was that even the correct way to address him?

Who is the man sitting in front of me? she thought to herself. She ticked through the possibilities. Daddy. Dad. Father. Bob. Master.

They all fit, yet none of them did completely either. She would have to ask him. She was certain that he would know who he was, and she would happily obey whatever he said he wanted.

Obey.

That word was circling her brain, and every time it popped up, she felt new incredible sensations consuming her.

She was sitting in the back seat of his vehicle, and she was turned on like nothing she ever felt before. Why was she so hot, and so wet? He couldn’t possibly want to fuck her, could he?

Oh God, I hope he wants to fuck me.

Whoa.

Olivia had a few infatuations, and even some sex dreams. She’d experimented with masturbation, and she and Talia had that one embarrassingly cringe conversation after the two of them had taken their first - and only - hit off a joint. But no one, real or fantasy, had made her nipples this tight or left her soaking her knickers.

The fact that it was for her dad should have been shocking to her. But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t shocking or embarrassing or wrong.

It just was.

The bright dividing line had slithered through her mind since Jenny walked her out of Main Library. Before was when she was an anxious and unsure girl, not knowing what she should do or who she should talk to. After was when Master claimed her as his little girl, and made everything quiet.

The noises of before truly had been overwhelming. Life was a cacophony of jagged edges and unresolved chords. All of the voices at university shouted at her and pulled her in every direction at once. She felt crushed by the expectations.

Especially those of her mum. She demanded that Olivia fulfill her potential. That one word just dripped with dissatisfaction. Unless she achieved whatever unspoken goals Mary Edwards expected of her daughter, she could never be good enough.

The library turned into a fallout shelter. People weren’t allowed to shout at her there. If she turned off the ringer on her mobile, she could temporarily escape all the rest. But it was always there, waiting to rear up again. Her bag, always overflowing with half-read textbooks on sociology and literature, had become a physical manifestation of her mental state: heavy, disorganised, and loaded with the demands of others.

Sometimes, like earlier today, she didn’t even bother studying in the library. She just sat and existed among the theatre of humanity. Her thoughts were pulled away from the lines of text by her stolen glances at the boy three tables over, or her worries that her blue and green hair streaks were too "try-hard.”

The hair was a try to be noticed for something that wasn’t sexual. She knew she was attractive, even if not like Talia or Ginny.

Or Mum.

Olivia didn’t think she’d ever be able to match up with her mother. Her boobs were smaller, and her waist was wider, and her big eyes were a gift - or a curse - from her dad. She was cute, while her mum was sexy.

She was nice-looking, while Mary was hot.

So if she couldn’t be noticed for her body, at least people would notice the colourful hair.

But even that backfired. She had no idea how to colour her hair, and none of the girls in the halls were willing to help. As a result, rather than brilliant stripes of colour, she ended up with ragged slashes of green and blue.

The next morning, when she woke up, she wished she could have washed it out. But it was there to stay. Her only option would have been to cut it off. That would’ve been noticeable, she told herself.

When she admitted to her parents what she had done, her mother read her the riot act and never let her live it down.

Her dad, on the other hand, had been his version of supportive. She saw the look on his face, but he never said an unkind word, and he told her that he was proud of her courage.

As the London skyline, lit up late at night, drew closer, Olivia thought about when she was younger. He was the only person she wanted to be near. He was bigger than life for her. He was like Big Ben - huge, solid, and dependable.

When she reached puberty, things started to change. She felt different. She looked different. She couldn’t feel comfortable in her own skin, and nothing she tried would take away the growing sense of wrongness. And the worst part was how it pulled her away from her father. For no good reason, the father she loved felt more like a distant landmark.

So she retreated more deeply, pulling away from all but her few close connections. She didn’t bother to manage the exhausting effort of being social. It wasn’t worth scrolling through Instagram feeds to read about the curated lives of people possessing a clarity she lacked. She struggled socialising, since every party contained a gauntlet of social cues she misinterpreted.

Life at school involved trudging to class every morning, hiding in the library every day, and lying in her room in the halls at night. She felt like a tangled knot of yarn that no one - least of all herself - knew how to pull straight.

Which brought her full circle to tonight.

In the moments after Jenny kissed her, the constant tension in her shoulders let go. The exhaustion of being Olivia was gone.

She was directed where to go, and she went. And the going felt right.

She stopped asking who she was. The answer had been given to her. She was whoever she was told to be.

You’re my little girl, and you always will be.

The fear of being was gone. In its place was pure, raw purpose.

Her role had been decided by her Master, and her entire body hummed with joy. Every cell was lit up, and crying yes.

She was his little girl. Possessed. Claimed.

Owned.

For the first time in hours, Olivia noticed her body. She had been sitting so calmly in the back seat. Her legs felt heavy, as if her muscles were being replaced by a denser, more responsive substance. Every bump of the car on the road sent a ripple of pleasure through her thighs, a physical reward for the simple act of being near him.

Her senses were heightened as well. The scent of Jenny’s leather jacket was intoxicating, a sharp, clean smell that seemed to command her lungs to breathe deeper. The brush of her own baggy hoodie against her sensitised skin felt like a thousand tiny needles of electricity. Her nipples were hard, aching with a persistent, hollow throb that demanded a touch she didn't yet know how to ask for.

And the scent of his cologne, which had always been a sensory reminder of how close she was to him despite feeling so lonely and far away, was now an intoxicating aroma.

"Master," she whispered to the empty air, the syllables tasting like strawberries and cream at Wimbledon.

She thought back to the drive with Jenny to be delivered to him. When she called Ginny, and directed her. Told her to have an orgasm for Master.

At that moment, Olivia couldn’t understand why that command would matter. But then she heard the sudden, sharp intake of breath from the speakers, and the high-pitched gasps of a woman being remotely undone.

Will I do that if I am commanded? Would he want me to?

Olivia was sure that she would obey. And that she wants to be made to obey.

There was only one thing that stood in the way of her inexplicable urge to throw herself at him.

“I’ve got you, Livy. You’re my little girl, and you always will be.”

That statement - that command - was so laden with meaning. Her mind ran through a hundred scenarios during the drive back from the park. Dressing in cutesy knickers and pigtails. Colouring pictures for him. Piling up the cuddly toys still kept in the attic, and returning them to her bed.

No, none of those made sense to her. That’s not the sort of person or father he was.

She had always been his little girl, especially when she was growing up. When she finished her A-Levels. When she passed her driving test. When she scored her only goal the year she played on the hockey team.

That’s my little girl.

She took such pride at being recognised by him, and it dawned on her how that praise excited her.

Every part of her was embraced by that name. The daughter. The woman. The slave. She was all of that, and more. He expected her to be his everything. And she wouldn’t let him down.

She couldn’t let him down.

For reasons she didn’t understand, she felt the imperative to give her all for him. She had to be better than she had ever been before, and she would be.

She shuddered yet again.

In the moments immediately after he took her, there was a tiny voice calling inside her mind. He’s your father, it whispered. Calling him 'Master' is wrong. It’s odd. It’s impossible.

But the thought was like a dry leaf caught in a hurricane. The biological urgency she experienced overwhelmed that instinct in a heartbeat. The name Master didn't feel wrong at all.

If anything, it wasn’t enough. But it was the only word available that could come close to capturing the enormity of what he had become to her.

And then the arousal exploded. In those first moments, she was sure she had orgasmed. She had thought she had climaxed before, during some clumsy self-explorations in the past. But those were like firecrackers, compared to the nuclear explosion that rocked her core.

As she stayed wrapped in his arms, Olivia felt her body betray every boundary. For the first time in her life, she was acutely aware of her father as a man. Suddenly, he wasn't a provider or a parent. The scent of his skin, the strength in his arms, the low resonance of his voice - they all acted as powerful aphrodisiacs. And her body reacted with a primal, shameless intensity.

There was no shame either. She felt only a desperate, driving hunger to be used by the man who owned her.

And then he released his hold on her. He stepped back, though he kept his hands firmly on Olivia’s waist. He looked past her, to Jenny.

"She’s perfect," Jenny stated.

Olivia looked up at him, and she felt her eyes water at the privilege. "What should I do, Master?" she asked, trying her best to turn her voice into the sort of husky purr she had heard actresses use in the scenes of romantic movies.

"Get in the car, Livy," Bob commanded. "We’re going home. Your mother is waiting, and I am going to have to… explain things to her."

Olivia didn't hesitate. She turned and walked to the SUV, just as he told her to. But she kept hold of his hand, trying to remain connected to him for as long as she could.

Literally, as well as figuratively, he held her life in his hands.

Her lips pulled into a smile, and the headlamps illuminated the car park outside the health club where the night’s journey had begun.

They had come full circle, and soon, they would be home.