Page 5 of Lumberjack Daddy and Wild Child Little

CHAPTER FIVE

Hannah

I like sex a whole lot more than I remember liking it before. Oh, I guess I’ve never been the frigid type, but my sex life now is beyond any reasonable expectation. I think Jason has an absolutely endless capacity for sex. That’s really not that strange. I mean, I guess all men have a pretty endless capacity for sex. It’s the nature of having a penis, testicles, and testosterone, right?

What’s really amazing at the moment is that I seem to have an endless capacity for sex. I’m the one who wants it and wants it all the time. At the moment. I’m suckling Jason’s cock and gently but firmly holding his balls. The taste of his cum is in my mouth and now I’m just keeping him nice and hard and letting him come down from his first orgasm before I give him (and me, while I’m at it) another orgasm.

I mean, I can’t think of any time in my life where I’m sex averse or anything like that, but this is beyond sexually active. It’s like I’m a damned nymphomaniac. Twice a day is standard. Three times a day is common. Once a day is rare and there are no days in our relationship where the sex of some sort doesn’t happen at all.

I guess this kind of daily sex is something men dream about. I’m the one thrilled with it, though.

Jason groans as I increase the suction and move a little faster. I giggle a little and pull away. “What a way to wake up, little girl,” he says.

I giggle again and say, “I’m not done yet, Daddy.”

I straddle him, turning around as I do, and guide his cock into me and soon I’m moving on top of him. I love this position, where I’m on top of him while he’s lying down, but I face away so he can see my butt. He compliments everything about my appearance but he’s particularly complimentary about my rear end, so I like to give him a show when I’m on top.

I move slowly and sensually to make the show better for him and also because I want to give him a little more time to get over any sensitivity from his orgasm. I lean forward and put my hands on his thighs. I know that will change the view for him and I also like the different angles of penetration. As I hold onto his thighs, I realize I’m off today and he isn’t. I decided right then and there to hurry into town right after a shower. I can find an excuse. Groceries or whatever. If I head into town right away, I won’t have to pretend I’m gung-ho about school or whatever another project he’s got in mind for me.

Seven months.

Seven months of self-improvement.

Actually, it’s not really self-improvement if Daddy’s the one trying to improve me, right? I drive those thoughts from my mind and focus on the feel of his cock inside of me.

It feels damn good. It feels better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. I know I’ve beaten the dead horse about sex with him, but I can’t stop. It’s literally more intense and powerful than any physical sensation I’ve ever had before and this time is no different.

They say that women are supposed to have a harder time cumming than men. It’s supposed to take us longer. I’ve read dozens of articles encouraging women not to be disappointed if they don’t cum during sex and dozens more encouraging men not to be disappointed if they don’t make their women cum during intercourse. My experience before Jason bears this out. I cum during sex, but the guy always cums first.

I guess the guy came first this time too, but that’s only because he was in my mouth before my pussy. Once he’s inside me, there’s no question who cums first, who cums more, or who cums harder. I’m basically a little orgasm machine until Jason finishes and this time, there are three of my orgasms before he finally cries out and empties into me.

“Oh God,” I cry out as I collapse over him. “You’re fucking miraculous.”

He laughs and kisses me and when I roll off of him and head to the shower, my legs shake so badly I’m afraid I won’t make it.

I try to focus on that feeling as I wash up, but as the warm water cascades over me, that strange sense of disquiet falls on me again. I understand why Daddy wants me to do better. I get that he wants what’s best for me and he’s trying to give me the tools to find that.

I just… well, I guess I’ve just never thought about improving before. That must be what it is. It’s not that I don’t want to do better in life, I’ve just never thought about it before Daddy. Really, I should be grateful for his help.

I try to tell myself that, but when he showers after me, I write him a quick note that I’m heading out for groceries and practically bolt out the door, afraid that if I am still here when he leaves, I will get another lecture on self-improvement and a laundry list of assignments.

I feel bad about this. He’s only trying to help me. This is a good thing. I should turn around and go back home and let him tell me how to be a better person.

I should do that.

But I don’t.