Page 13 of Daddy's Girl

Jesus, girl, get a grip!

“You need to answer me when I ask you a question.” Jack’s voice takes on a fatherly sternness as he snaps his tongue in his cheek, a tick twitching under his eye as he continues slowly, tortuously stroking himself, turning any survival fear I try to concoct into blissful wet eagerness down low.

“Yes,” I breathe, chewing on the inside of my lip. “I trust you. I’m going to do as you tell me.”

He nods, and that tiny look of approval in his eyes has my insides turning to girl goo.

“That’s where everything starts. The entire foundation is built on trust.” He slow blinks twice as I curl my toes, sawdust squeezing between them. His dark lashes are longer than should be allowed on a man.

“I trusted my father. He’s the one that sent me to you. So, you’re sort of my new father.”

“Don’t say that. I’m nothing like your father. He was a good man, he would never do this.” He chokes on the words but his hand moves faster, telling me something he won’t.

I don’t know what comes over me, but the effect I’m having on him is intoxicating. I bite my lip, keep eye contact, wiggle and swing my feet like an impatient child. “Okay, Daddy,” I say in my most obedient voice.

He nearly chokes. “What the fuck did you just say?”

I’ve been so alone and so sad for so long, maybe I just want to be lost in this for now. Maybe I just want to feel good and Jack is doing that. So, I’ll let all the reasons this is wrong come back to bite me tomorrow, because right now, I want to see this man come apart because of me.

I shrug. “If you’re not a father, how about a Daddy? Because, Daddies do things fathers can’t, or won’t...”

Jesus, I’m a harlot all of a sudden. Steam is probably shooting out of my ears right now as I force myself to look up, barely meeting his eyes.

His hand is whipping up and down in a blur. “Put your fucking hand down in those boxers.” His voice is a rough sort of chug now, a voice you don’t ignore. “I’d have you take them off so I could see, but I don’t trust my fucking self if you do that.”

The idea of David touching me nearly made me lose my lunch. But what Jack is stroking inside me with just his eyes and the view of his giant fingers wrapped around that bull dick?

He could order me onto all fours and tell me to squeal like a pig right now, and I’m pretty sure I’d add on an oink just to make him smile.

"We’re doing this together, and you’re way behind, little girl," he breaks the silence and my core clenches. He adds a little violent sort of hiss at the end that makes my nipples contract. He adjusts his position, reaching down under his hard-on into the crotch of his jeans with his other hand, doing this little butt lift on a grunt, pulling something out with a crazy mountain man hip wiggle that lowers his pants down his hips a few inches, then, I think I black out.

The world swirls, consciousness fleeting as I take in the size of the balls he’s just pulled out of his pants to rest in a heap on the wooden chair.

"Get it in there," he orders as I swallow hard, skimming my fingers under the elastic of the boxers, my skin breaking into a heated sweat as I slip my hand downward, the little bit of hair I leave when I shave brushing my fingertips first as I draw a sharp breath, watching him palm the swollen head, spreading the liquid seeping out down to the ridge then leaning forward, releasing himself, his arm outstretched, hand open palm up.

“Spit.” He grunts as my fingers meet my own warmth, sending a jolt through me as I try to piece together what he wants. “Spit on my hand. I’m not gonna touch you, and you’re not touching me, but I wantpartof you touching me. Get dirty, little girl. I know your mouth is watering for me. You’re drooling watching Daddy lose his mind because of you, so don’t swallow it, there’ll be plenty of reasons for you to swallow very soon, this just isn’t one of them.”

He flicks his fingers in a ‘hurry up’ sort of motion and I hesitate, then obey, gathering the drowning spit in my mouth, tipping my head down and God forgive me, I spit into my dead father’s best friend’s hand so he can beat off in front of me using my saliva.

I’m going to hell. But first, I’m pretty sure this man is going to show me heaven.

“Good girl. That’s what I needed.” He spreads the slick clear liquid on his shaft, the veins snaking around like vipers ready to strike as he continues his movements, nodding to where my hand is frozen between the fabric of the boxers and my own shameful wetness. “Now, putyourhand out here.”

“Wha—” I stop breathing. “What?”

I clear my throat like I don’t understand, but his scowl tells me he isn’t buying my innocent confusion act.

“Put your fucking hand out here. I can’t eat out that pretty cunt of yours right now, but my mouth is still going to be on it. Palm up princess, take your Daddy’s spit and get to work on that teasing littlecherries jubileeyou’re torturing me with.”

My hand is shaking as I raise it, but he doesn’t break his word, doesn’t touch me. Instead, he leans over and lets a long shimmering wad of spit fall from his lips, landing wet and warm in my palm before he nods to where my other hand is stone still down in the boxers.

“Get it down in there. I want my spit on that clit and then I want you to get that hand moving.”

This can’t be happening. This man’s mouth, Jesus, what’s wrong with me that it’s such a dang turn on to have him spit in my hand then order me to masturbate with it?

All I can do is swallow, cup his spit in my palm with loosely clenched fingers and nearly come just from the contact of his slick, still-warm saliva on my weeping, desperate sex.

“Good girl. Now, watch my hand, move your fingers round and round on that hard little spot the way I move mine up and down. It’s a dance, baby, same music, different steps.”

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