Daddy's

by Helen Goodman

  "I was going to say cum," I managed to gasp. I sat there on his lap for a few minutes as I caught my breath, feeling his still steely cock pulsing inside me.

  "Now, I need to take care of you." I said matter-of-factly. I pulled myself off of him and got down on my knees in front of him. Before he could protest -though, why would he really? - I took his cock into my mouth, all the way to the hilt. I bobbed my head a few times, letting him rub against the back of my throat, before slowly sliding my lips up to tease the tip with my tongue. I looked up at him, and the cross on the wall seemed to be illuminated behind him, almost like he was my own personal god - sex god maybe - and he deserved to be worshipped. After a few more minutes of sucking, licking, teasing and kissing, I grabbed his cock with one of my hands (which looked rather small in comparison) and pumped him faster and faster.

  "I want you to cum Alex, cum for me." I said in the most innocently sweet voice I could muster. He nodded and moaned in response, his body convulsing. He must be close. "Ren... Ee... I'm going to-" he grabbed my head and brought it down to his cock, just in time for him to explode into my mouth again. I reveled in the bittersweet taste I remembered from the first time before I swallowed it all. I smiled up at him and licked my lips. "Delicious" I murmured, before I kissed him.

  I felt his hands tighten like vices around my wrists, and I pulled away to give him a questioning stare. I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere.

  "I'm not letting you run away again Renee. Not without a phone number, or an email address, or a class schedule or something." I smiled.

  "Don't worry Alex, I won't be letting you leave until I get the same from you." Serendipity wouldn't happen again and I wasn't taking any chances. I stood up, offering him my hand to pull him up too. He helped me straighten out my uniform. I pulled out my phone - practice was basically over. I'd probably get into trouble, but I didn't care. My imaginary boyfriend was so worth it. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed down my neck. Who knows, maybe he wouldn't have to be my imaginary boyfriend for long. High hopes maybe, but a girl can dream. He stole my phone from my hand and ran away with it, I laughed and chased after him, grabbing my bag on the way out. Hopefully we'd have more encounters like these at least.

  The End.

  The Paper

  Kate stood outside the entrance to the subway holding her schoolbooks. She could go East or West. East would take her to Julian's; West would take her home. She was supposed to go to Julian's -- in fact, she should have been there already. Had she really been standing on the corner for that long? He was going to be mad. Like, extra super mad.

  She went West.

  When she got home, she had a text from him -- just checking up, no big deal. "Late class? Just let me know where you are." His parents were in town. Were they there already? She couldn't remember what time they were getting in. If they were there already she was dead. Not dead dead but in trouble. And not fun trouble but actual trouble.

  "Fuck." She was wringing her hands. How embarrassing! Wringing her fucking hands. Another text. "I'm starting to worry. Just let me know you're OK."

  West was a fucking stupid idea. She should have just gone to his place. She grabbed her bag and ran out her door to the subway, taking deep breaths to stay calm. She was crazed, frantic, as she waited for a train to come. "OK, heading over now" she texted, antsy. Because of the poor service it took several seconds to send -- it was excruciating. Finally it sent and a train arrived. Six stops. They lived close.

  She flew from the subway to his building, pulling out his spare key card and running through the lobby, getting looks on the way. Was he even her boyfriend? Or, more accurately, was she even his girlfriend? She didn't know. It seemed like it but that didn't mean anything. But girlfriend or not, they had a certain dynamic. One that kind of disturbed her to think too deeply about, not because she didn't like it but because, it seemed, she was ashamed that she did. How quickly he snapped from lover to guardian; how often he called and treated her like a child -- and then the next moment they were peers and laughing, and the moment following that her right cheek stung from the slap he delivered to her for crossing a line. And then he was inside her. She didn't know where they stood. And that was fine, usually, except the second that knowledge became public, witnessed, she wanted out. She hadn't even come to terms with her own perversions, how could she possibly handle an audience?

  "I'm sorry!" She exclaimed, bursting into his apartment. "Late class, I'm so sorry." She hugged his parents, whom she'd known since she was a child. "I'm sorry." She kissed Julian on the cheek.

  "No problem," he said, grinning widely, relieved she was there. Then, worried, "where are your books?"

  "At home."

  "But you just came from class."

  She paused, faltered. "I." The things she had been hold in her hands -- her bag, her phone, the key card -- all fell to the floor. "God, I'm sorry." She bent down to pick them up.

  "Why are your books at home?"

  She was sure his question sounded perfectly innocent to his parents but it wasn't and she knew it.

  "I left them there this morning. Accidentally. Had to share with a classmate."

  Julian nodded, unsmiling. He knew. God, and what he knew wasn't even the worst of it.

  "So, reservations?"

  "Drinks first," Julian said coldly. "Dinner at 8."

  He grabbed her arm, leading her out of the apartment behind his parents. He squeezed hard, knowing her sense of pride was more important than self-preservation, and he was right -- she stayed quiet despite the pain shooting through her arm.

  "When we get home," he growled, almost inaudibly, in her ear, "you are going to tell me what fucking happened and if you lie," he turned her so she was facing him, "I'll know it."

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  She was fiddling with the hem of her dress, a habit she exhibited when she was nervous. Julian stood against the bar in the kitchen, his arms folded across his chest.

  "Well?"

  "I messed up."

  Julian was already furious, glaring at Kate from the kitchen. He'd intentionally made sure the kitchen island was between them to minimize potential damage.

  "How." It wasn't a question. Julian stood with his fists clenched.

  A sob escaped from Katie's lips. "I'm sorry," she insisted.

  "How?!" Julian shouted, startling them both.

  "My paper..." she waited for his reaction: none. "I messed up on my paper. I have to redo it."

  "What?" Julian shook his head. "Your paper..."

  "For my comparative lit class..."

  "I know which paper."

  "I have to redo it."

  "By the end of the semester?"

  Katie started to cry. She was simultaneously heartbroken and terrified. "By the end of the month."

  Julian faltered. "The m--" he couldn't finish his sentence. "But we're going to Brazil."

  She nodded, sobbing now.

  Before he could stop himself, Julian knocked one of his bar stools to the floor. "Seriously Katie?"

  "I'm sorry," she said, still crying.

  "You are a fucking child." He was pointing at her now, baring his teeth. "You know that? You're a little fucking girl."

  "Stop."

  "No, it's true. You're a fucking kid. How many fucking times did I ask you about that fucking paper? How many fucking times?"

  "I'm sorry!"

  In seconds he made it around the kitchen island and had Katie pinned up against the wall with his forearm against her neck. "How many fucking times, Katie?"

  "I don't know," she sobbed.

  "Count."

  She did, in her head. She was shaking but trying to hide it. "Six?"

  "Six?" He released her from the wall but just as quickly pushed her to the floor. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

  She stared up at him blankly, struggling slightly when he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back up to her feet.

  "Huh?"
He screamed, his face inches from hers. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

  "Telling you!" She cried, completely unsure if six was the right number.

  He released her and stepped back. "I fucking asked you and asked you about that fucking paper. I fucking asked you and asked you. You said it was fine. Over and over you fucking said it was fine, Katie. 'Almost done.' What the fuck happened?"

  "It wasn't good!" Kate exclaimed earnestly. "He didn't like it."

  "Because you did a shitty job or because your professor is just a fucking jerk?" He already knew it was the former. She was going out too much, not only with him but with her other friends too, he knew it. He knew it at the time but he took her word that things were going well. Why would she lie?

  She didn't say anything. She knew either answer would incriminate her: if she admitted she did a shitty job, that she didn't give it her all, he would ream her for that, and if she said her professor was too hard on her he would ream her for lying. Just in case, she bit her lip to keep from saying something stupid.

  "I can't even." Julian was seething. "This is ridiculous." He wanted to hurt her. It was a familiar feeling. "This is fucking ridiculous."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled. "You call yourself a fucking adult? You're a child!"

  "Stop! I hate that! You know I hate that!"

  "It's true! Your fucking parents pay for your school, for your apartment, you don't have a job, you don't need a fucking job, so what the fuck do you do all day if not writing your fucking goddamn paper?" His voice was growing hoarse. "What the fuck is it that you're doing all fucking day? I asked you a fucking question."

  "I don't know, reading for it -- research, I don't know."

  "Don't fucking talk to me like I'm stupid. If that was true you wouldn't have to redo this fucking thing. How embarrassing, Katie. Jesus fucking christ. And you know what? Jesus christ, do you know how fucking lucky you are to get another fucking chance? Second chances are for children. He should have just failed you. Most professors would have just failed you. What the fuck would your parents do if you failed out of grad school?"

  "Stop it."

  "I'm seriously asking. What would they do?"

  "Stop, I don't know."

  "You are so fucking lucky you're getting another chance to do this paper. How did you get so lucky?"

  She knew where he was going. "Shut up. I'm not sleeping with him."

  "So how did you get so lucky?"

  "I don't know!" She cried. "I have to fucking miss Brazil now, how the fuck is that lucky?"

  "You are not missing Brazil." His voice dropped; he was almost inaudible now.

  "What? But--"

  "You. Are. Not. Fucking. Missing. Brazil. It's fucking paid for, Katie. I fucking paid for it with my grown-up money that I earned at my grown-up job. It's that same fucking stuff your parents use to pay for grad school."

  "But my paper," she whimpered.

  "You'll write it there. You'll write it now. You'll write it on the plane. Figure it out your fucking self if you think you're such an adult. You should be embarrassed. You are a fucking child. I knew it. You're a fucking little girl."

  "Stop saying that!" Katie shouted, frustrated. "Stop it!"

  "Does Tom know?" Julian shook his head incredulously. "Do your parents have any fucking idea about this?"

  "Please don't tell them," she sobbed, grabbing him by the wrist. "Please."

  He pushed her away, knocking her to the floor with ease. "I'm not going to fucking tell them. I'm a fucking adult, I have better things to do than fucking tattle on my fucking child of a girlfriend."

  Despite the insults, she was relieved.

  "We leave in two days," Julian said quietly. "Get as much done as you can."

  He was glaring down at her. Then suddenly, before she could say anything, he grabbed her by the arm and was pushing her toward the door.

  "What are you--?"

  "You have to leave."

  "What? It's almost 11--"

  "You have to leave." His voice was still low. "You need to get out of my fucking sight right now, Katie."

  "No, please. I'm sorry."

  "Now!"

  "No!" Katie pushed Julian off her. "I don't want to leave. I'm sorry. You want me out of your sight, fine. I'll fucking sleep in your office." She grabbed her overnight bag and started down the hall.

  "Katie."

  She stopped but didn't look back.

  "I have work to do." He paused and her stomach dropped in disappointment. Then, "put your stuff in the bedroom and I'll sleep out here."

  "You...you don't want to sleep in the bedroom with me?"

  "It's not a good idea."

  "You don't think there's a chance you'll change your mind?"

  "Katie, I'm serious, you need to get the fuck out of my sight right now."

  She knew that tone, and that look on his face, and without another word she rushed down the hall and into his bedroom. Once inside she put her ear to the door but heard nothing. And then suddenly a crash, glass breaking. She locked the bedroom door and sat down on the floor, leaning up against it, trembling.

  Julian was trembling too. He wanted more than anything to grab her by the hair and throw her to the floor. He wanted to put her over his knee and beat her bare ass with his belt. He grew hard imagining it, and thought it an appropriate punishment for such a childish girl. But he knew himself, and he knew his temper, and he knew that he could absolutely not be in the same room with her, or put his hands on her, as long as he felt this angry.

  He grabbed a beer from the fridge and went into his office.

  Half an hour went by before he realized he hadn't done a thing. He'd been working on a project for a new client, designing a logo as well as coming up with ideas for ads. He was ahead -- he was almost always ahead of the rest of his team, part of why he so resented Katie for her childish mistake -- but he still wanted to make sure the rough drafts were finished before he left for vacation.

  Another fifteen minutes went by and nothing. He couldn't focus. Suddenly he heard his bedroom door creak open. Footsteps started down the hall.

  "What are you doing."

  "I'm sorry..." Katie stopped, still in the hall, before passing the doorway to her office. He couldn't see her but he knew she was right there. He could easily leap over his desk and drag her in there by the hair and beat her ass with one of his rulers. He smiled slightly at the thought.

  "I left my handbag in the living room, it has my sleeping pills. I can't sleep."

  "Get it and get back to bed."

  "Thank you." She dashed into the living room, grabbed her purse, and hurried back into the bedroom.

  Julian was angry now again. Such a fucking child. He went into the kitchen to get another beer, and there he sat down on one of the barstools by the island and started doodling with a pen and paper. He had stumbled across some of his best ideas while doing just that.

  But his mind kept going back to Katie. He was angry still, but much less than before. When she asked him if he wanted to sleep in the bedroom...that was basically an invitation for him to fuck her, right? He considered that for a moment, and then he decided it was his house and he didn't need a fucking invitation to fuck his own girlfriend in his own fucking bed under his own fucking roof.

  Putting the beer down, he moved swiftly down the hall and into the bedroom.

  "Get up, Katie. Get undressed."

  She sighed softly but didn't move.

  "Katie." He turned on the light. Nothing. But he noticed the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand.

  Disappointed, her turned off the light and left, closing the door behind him. He grabbed sheets and blankets from the linen closet and started making himself comfortable on the couch.

  But then he couldn't sleep. He was angry and horny and wired. He turned to his side and tried sleeping like that but to no avail. Finally he got up and went back into the bedroom to do what he had intended to do in the first place.<
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  "Katie," he said, keeping the light off this time. He moved onto the bed. "Katie."

  She was still asleep.

  He didn't care. He really honestly truly didn't care. He pulled the covers off her and she stirred slightly but it didn't deter him. She was on her belly, this was fine. Preferable, even. He pulled her panties down unceremoniously and tossed them to the side. He was hard already.

  He slid a finger into her folds -- she wasn't wet. He slid another finger, then a third, and began pumping. She moaned softly and shifted but remained asleep.

  "Katie, I'm going to fuck you."

  Still nothing.

  He removed his fingers -- she was wet enough, and frankly her comfort was of no concern to him. He undressed and climbed over her, positioning himself at her entrance.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair, softly, and kissed her on the mouth. She was such a pretty girl.

  And then suddenly he was inside her. She cried out, awake now. He was out again, then in, out again, in.

  "Jul-" he put his hand over her mouth.

  "Shut the fuck up," he growled. Just hearing her voice made him angry all over again.

  He continued to fuck her, enjoying the sounds of her whimpering. Remembering all that he'd had to drink and knowing how hard it was for him to come when drunk, he didn't even care -- this, just fucking her while she cried, was all he wanted. It didn't even matter whether he came or not.

  "Please slow down," she sobbed into his hand.

  "I told you to shut the fuck up."

  She was quiet again. He pounded into her, enjoying the sound of his balls hitting her cunt -- slap, slap, slap, enjoying the feeling his cock hitting her cervical wall, enjoying seeing her cringe each time it happened.

  "You are a fucking child," he hissed in her ear. "You're a fucking little girl."

  She shook her head, sniffling.

  "Yes you are. You want to be treated like an adult? Unf," he pulled out and held it for second as she braced for his invasion, and then a second later he slammed into her again. "Then act like a fucking adult."

  Her hips started to move, very slightly, but he knew the feeling.