Chapter 3: I Love Daddy So Much

From Carol Ann’s Private Diary

I woke to a lush and liquid ache. The house breathed quietly around me, and the solitude was silk on my skin. I let myself drift into soft, wicked territory, thoughts winding thick, realizing I had hours to give in to them.

Heat gathered between my legs, insistent and all-consuming, edging myself dizzy to the image of Daddy doing unspeakable things to me. I ached to see him hard, to feel him split me open.

The empty house and its open spaces a decadent luxury. Mine to spread out in and fill with dirty whispers and fevered sighs. I lay back in my bed, letting fantasies coil tight, imagining the sharp line of his jaw as he groaned above me, his dick impossibly hard.

My fingers slid with intent, the motion almost lazy, as I edged myself like this all day. And I might, no, would, until the entire place filled my scent. Until the house reeked of me.

There was nothing in the world to interrupt. My desire stretched out with the sunlit hours, bleeding into them, claiming them like a growing stain. Each passing second made me burn for Daddy. Imagining how it’d feel to have his heavy balls slapping my skin, his body trapping mine with weight and heat.

Thinking about the things I shouldn’t. The things I needed. Those things that set me dripping with craving.

My laptop screen glowed like a taunt, full of strangers playing the parts I wanted us to play. Daddy porn, dirty and cheap, but it was enough to fuel me, to let me see him with her, and how I’d be her if I only dared. My eyes half-closed, breath held, every nerve strung high with the idea of him ramming me senseless and raw.

Edward turned me into something filthy and wrong, and oh god, his to use.

Imagining my father fucking me with the power of a real man, ruining me, making me take it all. I came close, stopped myself, pulled back from the edge before chasing it again. Closer, then backing off. My pulse frantic, beating wildly with my effort. It’d be too easy to go over. Falling into an orgasm so hard I lost the morning to a single sharp shudder. Better to keep it in a state of perfect, aching anticipation. Better to hold it so taut it trembled.

Straining against every frantic thought.

I wondered if he thought of me, of my body, if his imagination was half as depraved as mine. A hunger, thick and smothering, burned through me. I writhed with it, shameless and unconcerned, barely more than a single thought alive in my mind.

Daddy, Daddy, more of darling Daddy dearest.

Did he watch me the way I watched him? Did he notice the shape of my hips, the dip of my waist, the way my small tits pressed against the fabric of my cheerleader tops? I pictured him staring with unguarded eyes, lingering in doorways, unsure how to talk to his daughter now that she wasn’t a little girl.

He never said much, never talked about Mom or how lonely he was, how she left both of us to fend for ourselves. For all I know, he didn’t need to. Perhaps he waited for me to take the lead. And I’d show him how easy it’d be. How perfect.

Images ran thick as oil, tacky and shimmering, of how I’d look with my face in his lap, lips wrapped tight around his cock. I tried to picture it, every detail: him spreading me wide, him choking me, him using me until I broke into so many small, shattered pieces.

Until he broke into me, filling me with the sticky promise of his heat. How big was he? How many nights had I wondered, barely touching the surface, too afraid to really think it? Too fearful until now.

I imagined the weight of him, his hard, long body splitting me open. The final push over the edge, nothing but a rough and brutal blur, me keening so loud the whole house shook with it. My body arched and white-hot with it, wave after crashing wave as I whimpered and gasped, thighs sticky with my own wanting.

Then what? Pretend I was good and decent and sit at breakfast, say something silly and innocent, something that’d make him remember the night and smile because he was the only one who knew how bad his baby girl really was?

What did his dick look like?

I bit my lip, rubbed myself furiously until I was right there, then backed off and let the pressure curl into itself again. Fuck. Edward’s dick, bigger than anything I’d ever had, a promise and a threat, daring me to take it. It had to be.

What if my pussy so tight around him that my aftershocks hit me for days. Will him kissing me with real hunger and tongue, fucking me with real strength and weight, watching me come for him over and over, make me his girl, his slut, his.

The whole thought of it had me soaked, leaking out around my fingers, slick and messy. There had to be a way. I wasn’t a little girl anymore, and I’d find a way to make him see that. To make him see me. I wasn’t about to give up. There had to be a way to make him want me.

I’d let him notice, catch his eyes, say what he wouldn’t let himself say. Tease him with all the ways I’d make it hard for him. All the ways I’d make it impossible not to fuck me.

How? I’d have to be brave. Bolder than brave. What would shock him, what’d give him permission? Clue him in to his right to take what he wanted? If it were me. Only I never others. Let him take me?

I needed a plan. A costume for the part.

A tiny pink thong bikini that’d leave him no doubt of how much I wanted him. The thought alone was almost enough to make me cum on the spot. It was all I needed to push myself out of bed and into the shower. Washing away the evidence of my thoughts before slipping into the shortest skirt and thinnest tank top I found in my closet.

Outside, the sun was brutal, bright and hot, full of ugly insistence. The kind of day that turns streets soft and sets heat waves rippling from blacktops, choking and nasty with car exhaust. Oddly for now, ‘twasn’t a dry heat, LA’s famous for. It was a heavy, vicious heat that you swim through with each breath.

Perfect.

For May, it was fucking hot and humid. Exactly what I needed. Too much sun was my alibi, and the more oppressive it was, the better. The hotter it got, the easier it’d be to explain. And the easier to explain my flushed appearance, the greater the chance I’d get away with it.

The bikini shop was a sweet relief. Cool air spilled out when I opened the door. A drink of fresh water at the fountain did the trick. It provided a cold that floods your chest and leaves your whole body shivering in its wake. I released the button, ran my fingers over my lips, and licked the residue from them.

A million tiny suits lined the walls, bright with lewd color and not-so-subtle suggestion. A hundred choices for the hopeful girl who wants her Daddy’s eyes glued to her. With a causal disregard, I fingered through them, looking for one that’d leave me all but bare. A skimpy nothing to leave him no room to misunderstand.

There was a lot to consider. Scanty was good, slutty was better, but trashy was a gamble. Too cheap, and it’d look like I was trying too hard. Or maybe it’d look like I was giving up, asking anyone and everyone to please take a turn on me. That’s what I wanted, but not for anyone but Edward. And he wasn’t my only, he must be my first.

Too demure, and he might decide he really was a pervert, that he was the only one thinking such unthinkable things. He might pull back, and the risk was too much. If I scared him off, if he never dared because I wasn’t bold enough, I’d die.

I had to get it just right. It had to look casual. Like I hadn’t planned every small detail, every nuance. It had to look effortless. I had to look ripe for the taking. For Daddy, fruit for the picking. I had to let him fill in the blanks, and a pink blur caught my eye.

Strings. Tiny, flimsy strings. And less fabric than most scrunchies. It was scandalous, almost a suggestion of a bikini, with nothing but a thread to hide my ass crack, nothing but imagination to keep my tits covered. I held it up to me so I’d see how little it covered.

“That’ll set his teeth on edge,” I said.

I didn’t bother to try it on. I didn’t have to. It’d be perfect, exactly the thing. It’d be perfect, and if I had my way, when Daddy came home, he’d wreck me in it. Or pull it off before I said a word. I couldn’t wait to put it on. I couldn’t wait for him to get an eyeful of me.

I couldn’t wait to see how indecent I looked. Inside, then out of my clothes, a furious shedding before the front door latched behind me. I pulled the bikini on and felt how exposed I was, how tiny the scraps of pink looked on my skin. I was the sweetest, sluttiest gift. Outside, into the sun, claiming a patch of warm earth, hot with everything I shouldn’t be thinking. It was more than I’d stand, my fingers between my legs, the expanse of sky above me, stopping only when I heard him. Open. Bare. Maybe ready.

Barely inside before I’d stripped, barely into the bikini before I was outside again, the pink a soft hum against the harsh blue day. It was impossible not to grin or think I’d done it, I’d get exactly what I wanted. I found a sunny place where I spread out like the eager thing I was. Looking as though I waited to be taken. Because I was.

That was all I wanted, darling Daddy dearest, to claim as I claim him.

I was hot and bright under the sun, and the heat was almost unbearable, just like everything else. I imagined him seeing me out here, for the girl I was, for the woman he’d make me. The girl he’d own. I imagined his heavy cock swelling to the sight. Realizing I was only inches from bare. Perceiving how easy it’d be to make it slip and him fuck me right here, out in the open.

My head spun and my pussy moistened. It was more than enough, and I dipped my fingers past the strings and started working them furiously. My thighs slickened with anticipation, open and wanton and shameless.

I moaned, low and breathless, caught up in it. They grew louder as the fantasy unraveled into vivid, decadent life. What if I just didn’t stop this time? What if he came home and found me like this, and what if he didn’t walk away?

I was out in the open, and I treasured it. There was no place to hide, and I adored it. I enjoyed it enough to not even notice the engine coming closer, not even notice until I had to. Until I had to decide. Did I stop? Did I keep going? Was I that brave? Was I that crazy?

The whole world melted away until it was just me, just him.

Just us.

So fucking ready, I might’ve screamed. Until Daddy’s monster truck rounded the corner. When it rumbled and belched closer. A steady roll of crunching wheels on gravel, a reminder of the things I shouldn’t’ve thought.

The jolt was electric, sent a guilty thrill shooting through my entire body, dangerous and delicious. I had just enough time to move my hand away, just enough time to breathe, not enough time to cover up or pretend I was anything other than the wet, reckless girl he was about to see.

Then there he was, home from work and pulling up, too close, too fast, panic hitting before I recognized what to do with it. Running scared and giddy, confused and a little stupid with it, I ducked inside before he made it through the door.

The quiet of the house seemed immense, wrong, and less inviting with the soft tangle of unsaid things between us. I slipped back into it, adjusted to it, let the emptiness fill the space between each heartbeat before going to find him, barefoot and all nerves and exposed, bracing myself for how he’d react.

I found him in the kitchen, close, too close, and the world tightened down, shrunk to a pinpoint, shrunk to just this. Just me and him. Did he have any idea what he was doing to me? Did he have any idea what I wanted him to do to me? What did he think of the little, lewd display in the yard? What did he think of his girl in almost nothing?

I had to know. I had to find out if it had worked, if Daddy darling, was the least bit tempted, if he had any idea how wicked and beautiful I sought it to be.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Too much. The words themselves emitted from my lips, into a mess of excitement, fear, and hope. I barely made it through them. Trembling in embarrassment and from more than mere anticipation. I broke into pieces from more than my trifling discomfiture.

He looked at me. A pause, as if this time being my father took hard work. As if it weren’t so easy to pretend. Then, slow and careful, he spoke.

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Darling Daddy Dearest

R.R. Ryan

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