by S. L. Finlay
When I touched myself, I imagined that togetherness, that intimacy that I had never had a chance to feel with my Daddy. I imagined what it would feel like to have him there. I wanted him so badly it ached.
Sometimes when I was touching myself, I could almost feel his touch in my own hands. Sometimes I would be so lost in the moment, and what I was doing, and what I was thinking that I could almost smell him, almost feel him there with me.
When those times happened, the orgasms were stronger than I could have had by myself. They were long, moaning orgasms. I moaned, I groaned, I breathed heavily. Long past the point that I would think the orgasm should stop happening, it would slow to a gentle stop. Then I would be left laying in my bed thinking of Daddy and enduring the last few final squeezes of my pussy - which seemed to come out of nowhere, to tantalize me further.
Daddy would enjoy all of this, I sincerely hoped. Daddy would have to. At least the Daddy of my imaginings enjoyed all of the same things as I did.
But when would I get to see Daddy? And would I get to behave in this way in front of him? Would I get to show him my newly discovered sex kitten or would I be the shy girl who wanted to hide her body from Daddy again? Would I be too timid to do anything, to reach out and touch him? Would I be too shy to take his cock (the dirtiest and most private part of him) into my mouth (the most public part of me)? Would he go down on me too? Would he enjoy making me moan as much as I enjoyed making him moan?
I felt like anything Daddy did, he would have to be good at. He didn't feel like a man who did things by half measures, and I was sure once he decided to start having sex with a new girl, he would have to be pretty damn good at it. He would have to be pretty fierce, and sure of himself. He couldn't be the shy man. He couldn't be as shy as I was.
Daddy was a take-charge sort of man, and I wanted that. I wanted to revel in that. I wanted to explore sex fully with my Daddy. I wanted to show him, I wanted him to reveal. Oh God, I just wanted him, and I wanted him right now!
Night after night, I gave myself wonderful orgasms thinking about my Daddy. Then every morning I would wake feeling disheveled in the lingerie I had fallen asleep wearing, as if my orgasms were so intense, and so full-on, that I couldn't bare to take my clothing off, or at least the tiny bits of clothing I was wearing, before I passed out for the evening.
This was insane, but it was my reality.
One morning though, my reality changed when I woke, still wearing some purple satin lingerie, to my phone ringing.
I reached for the phone and pressed the accept button without thinking, and without looking into caller ID.
"Hello?" I asked into the phone, the croakiness from sleep still there in my voice.
"Hello." Said a crisp business-like female voice I was sure I hadn't heard before, "Is that Lindsay?" She asked.
My eyes flew open wide when I heard that, it wasn't the agency. It had to be someone calling for Daddy. Someone from his office or something. "Yes." I answered, sitting up. "That's me."
"Good." Said the woman down the phone. "Could you hold please?"
"Of course." I told her, knowing full well who I would be holding for without having to be told.
As if this was all actually happening in my bedroom, and not on the phone that I happened to answer in my bedroom, I stood up as if to greet someone who had just walked in.
Aware of how silly it was to stand, I started pacing. That didn't make me feel any less silly, but I wasn't sure what to do. I was nervous, Daddy was about to be on the phone. Before I had any longer to worry about it though, Daddy answered. "Hello, baby girl." He said in that beautiful French accent. My heart was pounding inside my chest, and all he'd said was hello.
"Hello Daddy!" I said, my voice too high-pitched, betraying my excitement to hear from him. I felt stupid but I couldn't stop myself. "Daddy! How are you Daddy?" I asked, my voice all little and girly. I couldn't help it, he bought this out in me.
"I am wonderful, baby girl." He told me, "Listen, I am going to send a dress over to you and the car. I want you to wear that dress and have dinner with me tonight."
He wasn't asking like it was a date, but telling me as if this was something that he wanted, something that was happening, and I was just going to show up.
"Okay Daddy." I told him, I would do as I was told. Like a good girl.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The dress Daddy has commanded me to wear arrived around noon. It was something I could imagine seeing on a Disney princess. The most beautiful pink silk draped over my body in a wonderful way. Trying it on, I couldn't believe how wonderful it made me look. I looked a few years older, while simultaneously feeling like I was a ten-year-old girl, trying on mummy's clothes.
I wore it in front of the mirror in my apartment, twirling so I could see the back, then twirling some more because it felt good to twirl.
When I was finally done twirling, I turned to face myself in the mirror and smile. I looked good, really good. It was then that I got to work at making myself look better.
It took me hours to get myself ready, from the hair to the make up, it was hard work. I wanted to look pretty for Daddy though, and was prepared for the work. I wanted Daddy to look at me and smile. I wanted him to be proud to have me on his arm, to have other men look at him and want to be him because of what he had.
I understood the appeal of cute young girls to men, of trophy wives. I wanted to be like the trophy girlfriend. Or at least the trophy benefactor's girl. I wasn't sure how to see myself in this arrangement, but whatever it was, whatever I was, I wanted to be the person who made Daddy happy. That was important to me. That mattered. Making Daddy happy mattered more than I would have liked to admit.
When it was almost time for Daddy's car to arrive, I did one last check of my appearance. I wasn't to have a hair out of place. I didn't really look like myself, but looked like a very pretty doll. I wondered if Daddy would like this, then I smile to myself and thought 'of course he would'. I looked good. I was a good looking human doll.
There was a knock at the door, and I knew who it would be. Picking up my purse I walked to the door and found Daddy's driver waiting. It was then that I realized that this must be the same driver as usual. That this must be someone who is part of Daddy's staff, not just some guy who is a sometimes driver, like a hire car or something.
I smiled and greeted the driver in French as I pulled the door closed behind me. We made our way down the stairs and onto the street where his car was waiting. I climbed into the car and as I sat down, buckling myself into my seat, I felt the butterflies inside my tummy, they were doing back flips. I was going to see my Daddy, and I was nervous just getting into his car. This felt heady and a little crazy already, and I hadn't even left yet.
The drive to the work function felt like a long one, even though I knew these roads (I had lived here long enough to know the roads around my apartment), and I knew they weren't that far. I'd say we probably drove for about fifteen minutes in silence, because I felt too nervous to make conversation.
All I kept thinking the whole way there was how uncomfortable I felt and how I really wanted to not be there. But then, I was torn because I did want to be there. I wanted to be going to see my Daddy, I wanted to be at this function. I had spent the whole day mentally and physically preparing myself for this. I was going to go. I was going to go and see my Daddy, no matter what.
So I dismissed the uncomfortable feelings and the butterflies inside my tummy. I was going to be fine. I was going to be more than fine, I know I couldn't be far away now. Paris wasn't that big, and I couldn't be that far away from Daddy's arms. The thought of those arms wrapping around my body again and the feel of Daddy's warm embrace was what I hungered for most.
I knew we had our problems - already, this early on - with me feeling all awful when he pushed too far past what I was comfortable with too soon and saw me all naked and vulnerable before I was ready, but I wanted to move past that. It had been weeks and I had thought of nothing
else but him. I knew the people back home would say it was 'too soon' to be this infatuated with someone (even as they were all infatuated with their partners this soon in their own relationships) but I didn't care, I wanted my Daddy. I wasn't going to deny that to myself.
So I sat there in the car with my uncomfortable feelings, and tried to focus more on the wanting - on the wanting to see him - than on the other uncomfortable feelings I felt inside my body. I tried to focus more on how much I wanted him, and in all the ways that I wanted him, than focusing on anything else. It was important to me to do that rather than let uncomfortable feelings take over.
When we finally pulled up outside another famous French restaurant - I wondered if these guys knew what American franchises were like, or what it was like for Americans like me to be eating in a restaurant that wasn't featured in international press - the driver came around to let me out of the car.
"Your Daddy is already inside." The driver told me in perfect English, catching me off guard. Had he spoken English this whole time and been humoring me speaking in French only when my French was as awkward as it was? I shook my head a little, trying to dispel the thought, and the thought that he knew that Daddy was my Daddy, and simply walked into the restaurant.
Daddy really was just inside. As I entered, I saw him from the back and when he turned to face me, I felt my face tighten into a smile. I couldn't help the smile from appearing and I didn't want to. I was happy to see Daddy and he could see that.
He returned my smile and as I drew closer he moved to kiss me - once on each cheek - I wanted more than cheek kissing. I wanted Daddy to pull me into his arms and hold me there, close and tight. I wanted Daddy to kiss me on the lips, to feel his tongue exploring my mouth. To feel close to him, to smell him, I wanted so badly to feel his body against mine.
My mind wondered into the fantasy of what that greeting would be like - the way it would feel, how he would smell, how it would be to be so close to him - but then I stopped myself. I had to 'work' now. I had to be Daddy's arm candy.
Daddy didn't waste any time after greeting me to show me to his table. Everyone was speaking French in the restaurant and it made me smile. I loved the language the more I heard it, and when I was surrounded by it now, was when I was happiest! Living in this beautiful country, in this beautiful city, surrounded by this beautiful language. How could anyone be unhappy I wondered to myself on more than one occasion.
Daddy introduced me to his colleagues in English, making a point of also introducing me to their dates (who were all wives) before showing me to my seat.
"Sorry I didn't have you here earlier." Daddy told me quietly so no-one else could hear, "I wanted to, but it's difficult to have such a young date here earlier, everyone spends so long talking before the awards and I didn't know how your French was..."
Daddy's voice had trailed away, but I sensed his concern when he spoke still. He didn't want me to be uncomfortable, but he also didn't want to have to deal with those things himself I was sure: too many questions from his judgmental colleagues, my poor attempts at French, our all together mess of a time trying to make this age gap (even though it felt small to me) look okay to others. Daddy would have been a teenager when I was born, so it wasn't as bad as some of his colleagues who would have been adults when I was born and likely had children my age.
It was so strange when I thought about the (comparatively) small age gap, calling this man 'Daddy', too. I pushed through that thought though as I settled into the first course (it was a set menu) and asked Daddy what the event was for.
Daddy cleared his throat before telling me quietly again, "It's an awards night for the banking industry in France. I should have had some information sent to you." He told me.
I nodded slightly, "will you be winning anything?" I asked.
Daddy made a face and held up his hand, moving his hand from side to side to indicate that maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't in that 'so-so' gesture.
"It's isn't about winning." Daddy told me, "it is about being seen at this ceremony. It's important for my career, and for my bank."
I nodded again, trying to think quickly and ask any other questions I knew I should ask now, before I was caught out with no knowledge by an astute colleague.
As if they knew I was thinking of them, his colleagues all started chatting to me in a mixture of French and English. The older ones didn't have very good English, but they appreciated that I was trying French, and I appreciated that they were trying English.
The questions came thick and fast, "How do you know one another?" Was one the woman beside me (a wife) asked, then when I said we had met through friends (not altogether untrue, we did meet through people and they were friendly). Then there were other questions, "How long have you known one another? We have not heard of you!" Was answered honestly, as was, "he is doing very well in his career, he is a good partner." Which I agreed to with a big smile.
Although I agreed that yes, he was doing very well in his career (that much was obvious), I also had to swallow a big part of me, the part that wished he was my partner. I had to smile and get on with it. Tonight wasn't about me and what I wanted, but about supporting Daddy with what he wanted.
After that comment was made, too, I thought of how I had felt when he got all pushy wanting me to wear a diaper. There was an anger inside me that was glowing red hot, yet that no-one else could see. I was happy for that, because even as I was happy to sit there and see Daddy, and be with him on an important night, I was still mad and if someone else saw that anger, if someone else saw how I felt about him in every moment when the thought of what he had done came to the surface, all of my smiles and hand holding wouldn't make sense.
Because we were holding hands, underneath the table. I was sure the other people sitting there could see it, or were aware of it and it felt a little silly and childish, but I wanted to hold his hand, it felt good.
He had grabbed my hand and I hadn't let go after our first course.
"So," Daddy started, holding my hand and looking into my eyes as the table buzzed in French around us, "are you ready to see me win an award?" His voice was dripping with humor and I wanted to laugh, but I also didn't think it was much of a joke, by the sounds of it, they were serious contenders for the award, as much as Daddy was trying to play it down.
Daddy's colleagues at the table had all been talking about it in tense tones - both in English to me and in French in front of me - from what I could put together from what was said to me, and what was said in front of me that I could understand and make out, it looked like this was actually going to happen. I was excited, both picking up on everyone else's excitement and also to be included here in such a big part of Daddy's life, and so soon after we had met, too!
I had my own emotions, like the anger which began bubbling the first moment I sat down in Daddy's car, and I didn't want those dark feelings to be there and kept suppressing them, but they were there. My own nervousness and excitement at seeing Daddy again was mixed with the excitement of the awards ceremony, and right underneath, was every other feeling I had for Daddy.
As the first course had happened, it was time for a few minor awards to be announced, then the second course, with more awards, the third, followed by more awards and desert which would be followed by the big awards that meant the most (like the one Daddy's team was up for).
Daddy squeezed my hand a little before letting it go and moving so he could see the podium for the minor awards, which was behind us. Politely, he apologized to the people behind him on the table for turning his back to them and they simply waved his apologies away. I was to his side, so didn't have to deal with his back, which made me happy. I wanted to gaze upon his face, to see how he reacted to everything around him. I wanted to see every smile, every frown. I didn't want to miss a thing.
Even though I had seen Daddy recently, it didn't feel like I had seen him in forever and I had missed him. I really felt odd about that, but it was true. I really missed my Daddy when
he wasn't around, more than I would have liked to have admitted, at least.
I pushed the thoughts of how I missed Daddy and how I felt funny about missing him so early on (and when he was paying me) away. I decided to suspend reality for a while. It was easier to dismiss things I didn't like for a little while and besides I was here with someone who I was dating, who wasn't paying me (hey, I would be here even if he wasn't paying me, I was pretty smitten with him, even after the intrusive pushiness). I would just chill out, drink some champaign and watch these awards.
The food of course was excellent. I found that French food generally (outside of tourist trap restaurants) was pretty good. It was heavy and full of flavor, different to what I was used to, but I still enjoyed it greatly. I loved trying all the fancy-sounding foods that actually weren't fancy if I looked at what they actually were when they arrived at my table.
But the way food was talked about in Paris, and the way it was plated up, made me feel like even mashed potatoes were a bit of a delicacy.
Throughout the award ceremony, I would chat with Daddy's colleagues in English, try and listen in on their conversations in French to see what I could understand (more than I had expected to, actually) and generally just enjoyed Daddy's company.
The more we drank, the more we felt comfortable with one another. He would wind his fingers into my own and gaze into my eyes and I would giggle. It felt wonderful to be with Daddy, it felt wonderful to have him caring about me.
I adored my Daddy so much, that I was beginning to forget where we were and why we were there, with all the hand holding and eye gazing, when one of Daddy's colleagues who had left the table without my notice appeared behind Daddy. He must have been talking to someone involved with the event because he told Daddy - in rapid-fire French, sounding super excited - that our award was up.
I didn't understand what the man had said, so there was a delay between Daddy hearing about it and Daddy telling me about it, by the time I knew what had been said, the colleague had told the whole table and everyone was loud, excited. They were abuzz.
