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In the four years, we’ve been together, I’ve bought her lottery tickets on the day we celebrate me signing the papers to become her guardian. Just so happens to also be my birthday. So, my pretending I don’t know the significance of this day is bullshit, and we both know it.
The day I signed those papers taking on her guardianship, I asked her a lot of questions. Just little things to break the ice. Who was her favorite cartoon character, what music did she listen to, what was her favorite thing to do.
She giggled her way deeper into my heart as she told me how her grandmother loved playing the lottery. It was something they did together, and she’d missed it since losing her, as she wasn’t old enough to buy the tickets herself. I stopped on our way home and bought her a stack of scratch-offs that day. From there, the tradition has continued.
She doesn’t know it, but I’ve never taken more joy in anything than I do in seeing her win even just two dollars on one of those stupid tickets. I know she doesn’t care that much about the money. If she won a million dollars, I doubt she’d show much more glee than she does when she wins a couple bucks.
“I don’t know what I’d want different about my life if I did win.” She fingers the stack of tickets and brushes her hair off her forehead with the back of her other hand. “Maybe open a hedgehog sanctuary,” she giggles. “Are there enough neglected and suffering hedgehogs in the world they need a sanctuary do you think?” The way she stands with one hip against the counter and that dreamy, faraway look in her eyes has me wishing I could give her everything she wants in this world.
I could give it to her, not the inheritance. Not the circumstances that put us together.
Me. The man. Taking care of her on my own. As my own.
She should be out in the world finding her own life, not here taking care of me, but I’m selfish. Every morning when I wake up and know she’s here, sleeping in the next room, it brings me peace.
It also brings me an erection, of course, but that is my near constant burden. Each morning as I lie in my bed, I try to ease the ache that started in me the day we met, but it is a temporary distraction at best. I dream of my release coating the walls inside of her. I dream of eating her sweet cunt until the only word she knows is what drives me to near insanity every day.
Daddy.
In every dream, she calls me Daddy.
“You should have everything you want in life, Lamb.”
“What more is there? I mean, look at our life. It’s what most dream of.”
My heart clenches in my chest, knowing a twenty-year-old girl like her shouldn’t be here with me nearly 24/7, but her fate is sealed. I can’t help myself. She is my obsession every second of every day.
An hour ago, as I listened to her sweet singing in the kitchen, I found myself unable to stop thinking about the flavor of
that sweet as fuck pussy she keeps between her legs. I retreated to my workshop, which is an old stable a short walk from the main house. Behind the locked door, I leaned a straight arm on the worn brick wall, released the hard length with her name on it from my pants with my other hand and fisted myself, hoping to ease the ache even just for a moment.
The image in my head had me sitting her plump swell of an ass on the kitchen counter, stepping back to admire her, commanding her to spread her legs for my view. In my fantasy her face turned pink with embarrassment as she pulled her white panties aside at my bidding, exposing her slippery gash. Guiding her with my voice to do everything as I ask. One finger lightly teasing her outer lips until I’m ready for her to spread herself and show me how wet she is.
By the time my fantasy got to where she was calling me Daddy, begging for me and her middle finger disappeared into her innocent soaking heaven, I was spraying all over the wall, gritting my teeth and struggling to stand.
I can’t imagine if I ever were to feel her true touch how I would survive my climax. Just stroking off to thoughts of her nearly stops my fucking heart.
I know she’s still pure. She’s as much as told me so a few times.
It’s not that she has not spent time away from me these past four years. I’m a madman, sure, but there are times I force myself to let her out into the world if even for a short time.
There was school, one high school dance which I pushed her to attend thinking it was what she should do. I chaperoned, of course, watching her every move and unable to stomach the thought of a boy even looking her way, let alone touching what I knew in my soul belonged to me.
In the end, we left after a couple hours. She seemed as unhappy being there as I was watching. We ended up stopping for ice cream on the way home, then staying up until after midnight, playing poker with Pixy Stix as our collateral.
She stomped me like she does nearly every time.
She’s had one friend that she’s spent time with over the years. Michaela lives across town with her family. Decent, good folk and even if Michaela is a bit wild for my taste, after settling into the idea of being a guardian to a sixteen-year-old girl I knew I had to let her have at least one friend.
I found some solace in Michaela’s jaded view of boys as well. She was one of those girls that unfortunately had gathered an opinion that the male species were all dogs. I hate to say, but I liked that she felt that way and tried to impart her own opinions onto Brinna. I’m not sure the details over the years that formed Michaela’s continued low opinion of men, but I knew it helped to keep Brinna safe and that was all that mattered.
Brinna still doesn’t know that every time she went to Michaela’s house, or out somewhere with her, I tracked her phone or followed her. It’s the only way I could breathe, so I have no apologies for what I did to keep her safe and keep myself sane.
She’s the sugar to my salt. Even before my injury, I wasn’t slick. I always had an edge to me, both in looks and manner. I’ve kept my head shaved, Brinna likes it that way, and my beard is the balance to the lack of hair up top. Brinna says I look dangerous. She loves when she sees people move away from me, glance with wary eyes up and down then sidestep to give me room.
I don’t notice that though, because my focus is always on her, on where she is and whether she’s safe. The first time she told me about it I was taken aback, but I love the pride in her eyes when we are out in the world together. I love the way she walks beside and slightly behind me, sometimes clutching my arm if we are in a crowd. A thousand times a day I imagine twisting my fingers into her dark hair, pulling her face toward mine and taking what I want from her over and over until the only word she knows is my name.
Daddy.
