Daddy

It was a hot day.

That was his excuse for going commando under sweatpants, durag pulled low over his brow — one of those infuriating ones I kept “accidentally” burning, only for it to magically reappear in his drawer. We walked hand in hand into the shopping mall, drawing stares and low whistles. I acted like it was all for me — swinging my hips, flipping my hair — but deep down, I knew better. They were looking at him. He was too pretty, damn him.

He strolled a step ahead, my hand tucked safely in his as he led me from store to store, swiping his credit card without a blink as I burned through his hard-earned money. By the time I had three shopping bags dangling from my wrists, the heat had sunk into my skin, the Island air heavy and intoxicating — like pheromones carried on a soft mist of rum.

My gaze dropped to the faint outline pressed against his sweatpants. I could trace it in my mind. It was soft now, but I knew what it could become. He was a grower, and even flaccid, he showed. I wanted more than an outline. I wet my lips, dropped my purse, and gave it a subtle kick a few steps in front of him. Before he could move, I stepped in front, bent from the waist, and let my miniskirt creep up the backs of my thighs until the peach string of my thong peeked out — a slow, deliberate lacey wink.

It took a few seconds to retrieve my purse. When I rose, he was back to inspecting a pack of cigars, but his print had swelled just enough to be noticeable. I leaned in, brushing my braless breasts against his arm under the pretense of checking the cigars. His breath hitched. My eyes dipped lower. The fabric was stretching now, a tent forming before my eyes. A whimper escaped me before I could stop it.

When I looked up, my eyes locked on his. Silently watching me from above the rim of his glasses. The look in them poured heat straight into my core. Without a word, he slid a hand to the small of my back and guided me to the counter, pressing in close. The solid length poking into my spine made me shift just to feel it again. I reached back, but his hand clamped hard around my arm -- a warning squeeze that stung. I squeezed his length harder in reply.

Transaction complete, he snatched the bag, holding it low to conceal himself, and practically hauled me toward his parked Bentley. He didn’t wait for the driver to open the door. He just threw it wide, pushed me in, and climbed in after.

“Roll up the partition. Drive,” he growled at the chauffeur.

He draped me over his knee, my skirt bunched to my waist in one rough shove. My scent filled the tight space, his eyes darkening further as he filled his lungs with my aphrodisiac. Two sharp slaps landed on my bare cheeks before I got my bearings. I yelped.

“Tracie,” he said in that calm, long-suffering voice, like a parent tired of a child’s games.

Silence.

Two more slaps, harder.

“Y-yes, sir?” I whimpered.

“When are you going to learn to behave?”

My only answer was to spread my legs over his thigh. His gaze flicked down, and any thought of restraint was gone. His fingers parted my folds, working my most sensitive spot with expert strokes. He tugged and twisted my thong, teasing both holes and my sensitive nub until I was a trembling mess.

When his hand switched between slapping my kitty and rubbing it in quick succession, my body broke. A sharp squeal and a hot spray splashed across the leather door. He paused, staring at the wet streak.

“I should make you lick that clean.”

I gasped out an apology, but he was already yanking down my panties. In one move, he stripped his sweats low, his cock springing up, thick and glistening with beads of milky precum at the tip. I reached for him, he slapped my hand away, flipped me, and pulled me upside-down onto his lap.

My mouth hovered over his shaft as his lips closed on my dripping heat. The angle gave him total access to feast, tongue flicking, sucking, drinking me down. I gagged slightly as I took him deeper, the car rocking faintly beneath us.

When he shook his head into my pussy, I lost him from my mouth, screaming as another torrent gushed out of me. He wiped his mouth on my thigh, set me down on the seat, and folded my legs to my chest.

The first slow slide of him inside me stole my breath, the tip kissing my cervix, a delicious ache that made me try to squirm away.

He pinned me in place, hips rolling as he kept up the pressure. His eyes told me he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

His punishment.

It was pain.
It was pleasure.

When he finally pulled back, I gasped in relief -- only for him to slam back in, harder, faster, until my head thudded against the door with every thrust. Tears pricked my eyes as wet leather squeaked beneath me, clothes clinging, skin soaked in sweat and sex.

He jerked once, twice, and then he groaned out my name as he spilled, pressing so hard into me I was sure to leave a butt print. I clenched around him, dragged over the edge by the heat of his seed splashing against my walls.

Before I could catch my breath, he sat back and pulled me astride him. My wet tee was peeled over my head, leaving only the tiny skirt bunched at my waist. His mouth claimed my breasts... biting, sucking, fondling, until I yanked off his durag, my nails dragging across his scalp.

I planted my feet wide, hips hovering over his still-hard length.

With a slow, coy smile, I fed him a nipple. He latched on, eyes locked to mine in surrender.

Then I slammed my hips down, taking him to the hilt. His hands clamped tight to my waist as I began to ride.



Now, it was Daddy’s turn to be taken care of.