He had been hinting about it for quite sometime. Pushing things as always, he had latched onto a new role play: Daddy/daughter play. At first it made me squeamish. The ick factor was quite high. When he first used that term I had frozen. I stopped kissing him and quickly pulled myself off his lap.

"What did you say that for?" I asked.

He had a smile on his face. "What?"

"Uhhh, don't go there."

He tried to tempt me and reached out to touch me. I pulled away from his grasp.

"Not cool," I told him and left the study.

I never had a good relationship with my father. To him, I was someone to be relegated to the background. Sure he loved me, I guess, but to him, well I was someone to cook and clean and to be married off. Each new boyfriend that came into the house, he would eye them and wonder if this one could be the one who would take me away, giving him more room and space in his home, and less to deal with in me. Each boy would avoid my father, I was happy about that as he was not my favorite of people. Hey he never took the time to know me, so why would I do it for him? He would just sit there in HIS chair and smoke his cigarettes, eat his donuts and watch television.

He died a horrible slow death of kidney failure, and lung disease. Diet and smoking had caught up to him and I had cried outside his hospital room. I had refused to go in to see him. I don't think he missed me those last few moments.

"I'm sorry that upset you," He said. It was sometime later and I had refused to engage with him since his Daddy comment. He had found me sitting in MY chair watching television. I didn't smoke and I kept my sweets consumption down to a minimum.

I turned to look at him. "Yeah that was NOT sexy."

He tried to smile, to lighten things up. Sometimes that worked, other times it would just piss me off more.

He reached out to touch me. I leaned away from him. The ick factor was still strong.

"I just thought it would be really hot..."

I gave him a look, and he dropped it.

But he didn't.

He was a sneaky bastard and usually got what he wanted. I guess that means I would let him get what he wanted, but hey, he's the bastard, not me.

It was subtle at first. While in the throes of passion, he would call me his "sexy little girl".

To me, I didn't equate that to being a child.

To him, he would get excited when he called me that. That got me excited.

Soon he was dropping it into conversation.

"How's my little girl?"

"Hey little girl! You look so damn sexy!"

"You are my gorgeous sexy little girl and I love you so much!"

I came to like being called that. It was yet another pet name, a term of endearment that we had made our own. I liked the way it sounded coming from him. I never drew the comparison of a daddy calling a daughter that. My father never did.

Sometimes he would test me again.

"Daddy likes that!"

"Daddy's excited!"

"Daddy is disappointed..."

I would roll my eyes at him. The fire and anger was not there anymore. I just couldn't see why he wanted to use that term. What I did notice was that he enjoyed using it. His cock would bulge through his jeans. I liked him excited. I liked him thinking about me. I liked turning him on.

"Say it," he would prod me.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"Go on, say!"

I would pause for effect, then reluctantly say, "Dad-dy!"

His face would light up. His bulge would throb.

I grew wet with excitement. What was happening with me?

Next he started taking me onto his lap. Cradling me and hugging me. Kissing me and holding me. He wrapped his long arms around me and told me how much he loved me. Sometimes he told me that "Daddy loved his good little girl".

I felt safe. Loved. Protected. Wanted. I didn't fight back as often. The bastard was wearing me down!

We played little games at work. He would text me, asking me "How was his little girl was doing? Was she behaving?"

"Yes Daddy" I messaged back.

"Good! If you are a bad little girl, I'll have to punish you!"

That message stayed thick within the air.

"Ohhhhhhhh! Would Daddy spank me?"

"Smile."

I had evening class one night a week. He dropped me off and picked me up. He didn't like me trying to go home by myself in the dark. I didn't either. Sometimes he would give my classmate a ride as well.

We had been messaging each other all day. His version of mental foreplay. He was Daddy, I was his little girl, sometimes good, sometimes naughty.

When he picked me up from work that evening, he stayed in his role. That surprised me.

"Hi!" I said as I got into the car.

"Hello little girl." He said gruffly.

I just looked at him.

"Are you already for school?"

"Yes," I said.

"Yes what?" He challenged.

I was a little confused.

"Is my little girl ready for school?"

"Yes, Daddy!"

He smiled inside, he must have even though on the outside his face was stern. I couldn't read him.

"You be sure to behave in school tonight, little girl, because if you don't, I have given the principal permission to punish you until I come get you!"

I laughed. He can be so outrageous.

He turned and looked at me. His face was hard. I stopped laughing.

"You find that funny, little girl?"

"Ummm, no."

"No what?"

"No Daddy," I whispered. Is this what he wanted?

"Good girl. You have to be a good girl, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Daddy has been working hard all day long and he doesn't need his little princess to make trouble in class."

"Yes Daddy."

My body grew warm. Each time he spoke, his voice resonated within me. It was like a pair of pliers was twisting something in my gut. I couldn't tell if I liked the feeling or not. My pussy liked it, I knew that.

"Daddy works hard all day and then has to take time out of his day to drive his precious little girl to school. The least his little girl can do is behave, right?"