by Lucy Wild
DON’T TOUCH
Lucy Wild
“There, there. It’s all over now. Daddy’s not cross with you anymore.”
“I’m a good girl?”
“You are.” He leaned down, planting a kiss on my bottom. As he did so, I began to turn, twisting on the bed until I was lying on my back, looking up at him.
“I like being your good girl.”
Reviews for Don’t Touch
This is the second book I’ve read by this author and I do have to say that I really enjoy her writing. She has a knack for pulling you into a story and keeping you interested throughout.
- Between the Bookends Blog - #1 reviewer on Goodreads
This was such a delightful Daddy/little story. It’s sweet, funny and dirty. Part of this story was like a fairytale with the little princess, her prince and their “castle”. A very good book, well written and fun to read.
- Nana’s Book Reviews Blog
This was such an amazing story. Lucy hooks you from her very first words that are written to the very end. This was my first book I’ve ever read from her and I will be reading so much more. I loved Daddy Mason!!!! This is a must read for anyone who loves Daddy play!!!
- Carrie Stark - Goodreads reviewer
I loved Mason. I mean I am as stubborn as they come but with a man like him I could sit back and relax. Great book. I really enjoyed it and I’m glad that there was honesty between the characters. Lucy Wild is quickly becoming one of my favorites!
- Shatia Davison - Goodreads reviewer
All characters in this book exist only in the imagination of the author and bear no relation to anyone with the same name or names. They are in no way inspired by any individual and all incidents within are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part. Excepting in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or distributed without the express permission of the author.
This book is intended for mature audiences and may contain explicit language and scenes which some readers may find disturbing.
© Copyright 2016 Lucy Wild
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DON’T TOUCH
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Also by the Same Author
BONUS STORY
Prologue
I ran up the stairs with him following close behind. I was barely inside my room before he was there, pointing at the bed. “On your front.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I climbed onto the bed, lying down and breathing in the hint of cotton on the pillow as he loomed over me. “You should have stripped when I told you to,” he said, his hand spanking my bottom a moment later. The sensation stung but as the intensity died away, it left a heat deep inside me that grew ever stronger as he commenced spanking me in earnest.
“You’ve been a very bad girl,” he said, his hand slapping down on my rear again and again. “What are you?”
“I’m a bad girl,” I said into the pillow.
“Louder!”
“I’m a bad girl.”
It was true. I was a bad girl. I was his bad little girl. And yet two weeks earlier, I hadn’t even known Mason Radcliffe existed.
Chapter One
“Where did you get to last night?” Alison asked, throwing herself onto the sofa with a groan. “I missed you.”
I didn’t bother to look up from my book. Heathcliff was just starting another of his brooding looks and I didn’t want to get too distracted by reality. “You didn’t miss me,” I said.
“I did. I turned round and you weren’t there.”
I sighed, closing the book. She wasn’t going to let it drop. My housemate and I have a lot of things in common but when it comes to men, we’re worlds apart. I prefer a brooding antihero who spends most of a story scowling with his arms folded, only thawing when the right heroine comes along to melt his icy heart. That’s where I tend to picture myself, some windswept moor about two hundred years ago, dress billowing in the wind as he sweeps innocent little me into his arms and carries me into his bedroom, the door closing behind us. Alison prefers what she calls ‘real men’ and I call ‘pricks.’
It’s always been this way. Back when we started college, she had a boyfriend called Chad. Who’s called Chad outside of an 80s surfer movie? He had a skateboard and a Mohican and called people ‘dude.’ I had Wuthering Heights and a reading nook in the corner of our shared room, a nook I had to vacate every time Chad ‘swung by to hang out,’ as he called it. If I didn’t, he’d try to rope me into a threesome in the least subtle ways imaginable, usually involving his wandering hands. After Chad, there was another Chad, and then another.
Why did I put up with her hanging out with more Chads than a voting machine salesman? Well, other than her taste in men, she’s a lovely person. She just has a little sensor inside her that detects testosterone and when it does, her logical brain switches off, replaced by the slut-o-tronic 9000 she becomes.
“I was there,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “With you. You left.”
“I didn’t, I wouldn’t leave you on your own like that. Would I?”
“You had enough vodka inside you to floor a Russian parliament meeting, you pulled a beard with a man attached and you were so busy sucking his face off you didn’t notice when he took you outside, leaving me alone once again.”
“No, I remember his mate. His mate was chatting to you.”
“He was chatting to me. He was chatting about the best way to gut a pig. Apparently, it’s with a swift twist of the wrist and ignore the screams. I told him I was a devout vegan and he went off to find someone else to invite back to his abattoir.”
“But you’re not a vegan.”
“I know that. Oh, look, forget it. How did you get on with Santa Claus or whatever his name was?”
She sighed, closing her eyes and lying back as her phone beeped in her handbag. “He’s called Mark and he’s amazing. Said he can’t wait to see me again. Hang on, this’ll be him now.”
She dug her phone out and looked at it, her smile fading, replaced by a scowl. “Fucking dickhead!” she snapped, throwing the phone onto the carpet at her feet.
“What is it?” I asked, already knowing the answer. My eyes fixed on her phone for a moment, a moment too long. I forced myself not to think about that, looking back up at her whilst swallowing down the old emotions yet again.
&nbs
p; “Fucked and chucked once more. Why do men do that?”
“At least he texted to tell you.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s a real saint. God, why does this keep happening to me?”
I’d gotten so used to consoling her each time this happened, the words just fell out of my mouth without me really having to think about them. She was better off without him. He didn’t know what he was missing. She didn’t need a man to make her happy. My mind was already back in the book, Heathcliff picking me up to carry me home despite my half-hearted protests. Heathcliff would never - to use Alison’s wonderful vernacular - fuck and chuck.
She didn’t seem too upset. Within ten minutes of receiving the text, her fury over her latest paramour had faded and she was already planning another night out. “Come with me,” she begged, tugging at my arm while I tried to read. “Please, I promise I won’t leave you again.”
“No,” I replied, scowling at her. “You will leave me, you always do. I’m not interested in being your sex P.A.”
“You’re cross with me, aren’t you?”
“Wherever did you get that idea from?”
“Let me make it up to you, come out for lunch with me. My treat.”
“I can’t. I’ve got that meeting at eleven, remember?”
“Ditch it and eat cake with me instead?”
“I can’t ditch a meeting at the agency, they’ll stop finding me work.”
“They haven’t found you work for over a month, I doubt you’d notice the difference.”
“Thanks Alison. Thanks a lot.” I got to my feet, putting the book under my arm as I headed for my room.
“I didn’t mean it,” she called after me. “Don’t be cross with me, please.” I heard the sound of her getting up, quickly followed by a thud and then a groan. Her hangover was kicking in then.
I couldn’t really criticise Alison for her exploits. Not really. At least she’d had a relationship or two. As for me, I was a ship adrift at sea with nowhere to drop my anchor. Other than the time I’m not going to talk about, I’d only kissed a few guys, not once had I met someone who I thought, yes, you’ll be worth taking to bed for my first time. I wanted it to be special when it finally happened and it turns out that outside the books on my bookcase, men who are special don’t seem to exist. Or so I thought.
It didn’t take me long to get ready for my meeting at Temps Ahoy. I wore the same business suit I always did, not that it seemed to make any difference in finding me decent employment. I couldn’t work full time as I still had college classes and that meant getting the dregs of the jobs that were available.
That was why this meeting had come as something of a surprise. They’d emailed me out of the blue to say they’d not only found me something, but if I was up to it, I could potentially earn what the delightfully erudite email called ‘shitloads.’
I’m not sure what language I expected from an employment agency called Temps Ahoy. But when you need work, you can’t really afford to get too picky. I wasn’t in huge debt, don’t get me wrong. It might have been touch and go at times paying for our houseshare but that wasn’t the real reason why I wanted the money. I was saving for something much bigger.
Checking my hair and face in the mirror for a final time before heading out, I allowed myself a little smile. I was like a superhero in an ill thought out comic strip. In pyjamas I looked school age, my short frame and youthful looks accentuated by my bedtime attire. Change into business suit and I was suddenly Corporate Woman, ready to break glass ceilings with my super-powered heels.
“And another thing,” Alison texted me as I walked through town towards the office. I always walked since the time I’d taken the bus and the driver had let me on for half fare, which was nice, then spent the journey trying to chat me up whilst telling me I looked like his daughter, which was not.
“If I was too frigid for him to see again, why’d I let him do anal on our first date?”
I blushed as I read the message, not sure how to reply. Would it make me look like a Victorian governess to tell her I could see no point to something that was surely going to hurt like, well, like buggery, I suppose.
“You’re better off without him,” I typed as I walked. It was evading the question but she didn’t seem to notice, flashing back quickly at me.
“Is it me? Do I attract the wrong guys?”
Yes, I thought silently. She went to the dodgiest bars, hung out on the strangest internet sites, posted semi-naked photos of herself online, then wondered why the men she dated were more interested in sex than long debates about Sartre. Limited as my sympathy was, I thought hitting her with a truth bomb while she was so deeply mired in her hangover might be a bit harsh.
“Maybe,” I wrote. “Maybe you’ve just not met the right man yet.”
“There can’t be many left,” she wrote. “I’m sure I’ve gone through most of them.”
“There might be a few left in the Orkneys to try.”
“Where’s that?” she asked. “Is that a new club?”
“Never mind.”
“What did you want to be when you grew up?” she asked out of the blue. It threw me, it wasn’t like her to ask a question like that.
“A princess in a castle,” I replied. “What about you?”
“Happily married. Fat chance. I’ll never meet anyone with a cock that big again.”
That was more like her. Normal service had been resumed. I didn’t know what to reply to that. I didn’t need to, she sent a second moments later.
“Sorry, forgot you’re still in the V club.
“It’s all right,” I wrote before suddenly typing, “Can I ask you a question?”
My heart had begun racing from the moment I pressed send. I was going to ask her. So many times I’d almost asked her but then backed out. This time, I was going to do it.
“Anything.”
“What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Having a thingy inside you.”
“Oh for crying out loud, Natalie, if you’re going to talk about sex, at least try to be an adult. Don’t call it a thingy.”
I wasn’t going to use that word. It was too crude. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m not telling you until you say it.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. G2G, I’m here.”
I switched my phone to silent and slid it into my handbag, ignoring the indignant vibrating as another message came through. It could wait, as could she, as could I.
I’d been trying to build up the courage to ask her about it for ages and when I finally did, she mocked me for not being grown up. Well, I’d show her how grown up I was. I was about to get a job. I’d be able to stick out my tongue and blow raspberries at her when I got back, which I realised might prove her point as much as mine.
“Natalie Brook?” the receptionist said as I walked inside. She’d seen me more than some of my tutors in the last year but she still seemed to have no memory of me whatsoever. It was quite the skill to be that forgetful.
“Yes, Maria,” I replied, watching her attempt to hide her confusion as she wondered how I could possibly know her name. “I’m here to see Sally.”
“She’s expecting you. Head on in.”
I ducked to avoid the model of a steamship which hung from the waiting room ceiling, passing through into Sally’s office. The nautical theme continued in there, anchors and seagulls painted on the walls. Their slogan was Full Steam Ahead to a New Job. I got the feeling they’d originally planned a railway theme for the place but changed their name for some reason after the business cards were printed and just stuck with what they had.
I felt my phone vibrate again as I sat down. I was already regretting asking Alison about it. What could she tell me that the internet couldn’t? I did my best not to blush as Sally slapped my file down on the desk. God, I felt like such a child, not helped by the withering school mistress look the ‘Captain’ of the agency was giving me.
“How are you,
Natalie?” she asked.
“Fine, fine.”
“You look a little flushed. Should I open a window?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped too coldly and she gave me a look before opening the file.
“I’ve got something rather exciting in here,” she said, pulling out a piece of paper.
I didn’t get too worked up. The last exciting thing she had for me was a week of washing up in a hotel kitchen. In a way it was exciting, waiting to see how often the chef would try to steal my phone to look for naked selfies. He didn’t understand why I got so upset every time he went to snatch it. Nor did Sally when I tried to explain that was why I quit.
“I’ve had someone asking specifically for you.”
“For me? You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. They need an assistant for some office thing for a week or so. Here’s the address, it’s not far from here. They’re expecting you some time this morning so I’d go now if I were you.”
“But what’s it about? Why do they want me?”
She shrugged. “No idea but I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.
Chapter Two
According to my phone, it was going to take ten minutes to walk to my mystery assignment. Sally hadn’t been able to give me any more information about it though something in her eyes told me she knew more than she was letting on.
As I walked, I looked at the most recent messages from Alison. “Cock cock cockity cockington cock,” was the first one. Very mature of her. “I’m going to keep writing it until you do. Cock cock cock cock.” It must have taken her a while to type. There were two full screens of cock. Insert your own punchline here.
“Forget I asked,” I typed back, pressing send as I turned the corner at the end of the street.
