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I cried because I had missed him. I cried because I was lonely, and I cried because he’d finally found me.
“Good girl. Daddy is going to take care of you now,” he murmured.
Daddy’s going to take care of me.
His touch was gentle in its descent. His caress was so very kind as he glided across the scalded flesh of my bare bottom and the backs of my thighs and I found myself lift
ing to meet his touch.
Those same expert fingers that had brought me to climax many times before dipped in between my thighs, only this time it was different than all the others.
He was no longer the man I’d married so long ago. Now he was a perfect stranger. This time, those fingers belonged to someone else.
This time, those fingers belonged to Daddy.
I didn’t know what was happening, but I felt like I was falling into the blissful freedom of oblivion. No longer did it matter that I worked for dangerous people, that my job could get me killed or that after this was all over, that I’d probably be dead anyway for getting found out. He took that all away.
First with his hand. Then with his belt and now with his fingertips across my flesh.
Those fingertips glided along the outer folds of my pussy, just brushing against my skin to tease me even closer to the promisingly captive void of pleasure. My hips arched up slowly as I tried to give him even greater access to my body. He didn’t need that though. He had all the access he’d ever need.
First one finger slipped between my folds, just glancing across my clit and making me shudder with need so absolute that I knew my inevitable orgasm would be the hardest one I’d ever had in my life. Just the beginnings of it were enough to make me quiver with fear, but at the same time I wanted it.
“You’re going to come hard for Daddy, aren’t you, little girl?”
Oh, God. Those words were making my insides quiver with need even though I didn’t want them to.
“Answer me, little girl,” he warned. The sound of his voice reverberated deep in my core.
“Yes, Daddy,” I pleaded, only just noticing that I was beginning to grind my pelvis against his fingers in a sordid display that made me flush with shame.
Good girls didn’t do this.
Dirty little girls called their man Daddy and even dirtier ones rode his fingers until they came.
Did I want that? Did I want to come on Daddy’s fingers?
He pressed a little harder, teased me a little more firmly, and I realized that I did.
I wanted that orgasm.
Badly.
Those expert fingers worked my little clit, taunting me with pleasure and pulling away just when I thought I was going to come. He did that, edging me over and over again until I thought I was going to climb the walls, I needed to come so badly.
He took my clit between two fingers and dragged them back and forth, working me into a frenzy, only to leave me on the precipice of orgasm once more before taking them away.
“Oh. Please,” I whimpered.
“Do you want to come for me, little girl?”
“Yes, Daddy. Please!”
“Then you’re going to beg Daddy for it,” he demanded, and I cried out in shame and arousal and terrible consuming need.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I could think of nothing to say. I didn’t know what else he would want to hear.
He teased my clit again, pressing harder and harder until I was gasping for air as he pulled away. The bite of denial was even crueler, and it cut deep into my core with a resounding jolt that left me reeling. My hips started moving of their own accord, seeking out his touch and when I couldn’t find it, I cried out in despair.
