Don't Touch

by Lucy Wild

  I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. If I did, there was a very good chance I would have leapt on her before she had chance to take a breath.

  Everything I was doing was a bad idea. She already had enough dirt on me to go back to Mitchell. She might have no proof, though for all I knew she was out of her bed and photographing the room at that very moment. But it would be enough to cast doubt over the board, make them wonder if I was fit to make the casting vote over the future of the company.

  I knew what I should do. I should go and tell her this was an elaborate prank, throw her out of the house before she could do any more damage to my reputation. For so many years I had been so careful about my lifestyle. I’d only taken on the role of Daddy Dom at the club, never in public. Only once had I brought a submissive home and it had been nothing like as much fun as I had hoped. She had acted the part but my desire for her had vanished when I saw in her eyes that she was only humouring me. I hadn’t fucked her. I just hadn’t had the desire. Instead, I’d looked after her as if she was little before the novelty wore off for her and she said the safe word.

  I’d not brought anyone back since. I had lost hope that I’d ever find someone willing to be my personal little girl but then Tilly came into my life.

  I was still thinking about her when I headed to bed. It was early for me but I had a headache building. I’d spent the evening trying to resist going to her room and I’d barely managed it. I lay in bed with a hard on so stiff it was painful.

  When she’d climbed into her bed, I’d caught a glimpse of her thighs and the image kept coming back to me. This was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea. It couldn’t end well for me or for her. But all the same, I couldn’t let her go. It would be impossible.

  My mind went back to when I first realised who I was. I was twenty-one, I’d been invited to the club by a client. It was the sort of place you could only get in by invitation. It had shown me there was a whole world that I knew nothing about, a world I was desperate to explore.

  The place was divided into rooms and as the weeks went by, I entered every single one, learning about the bondage equipment that was used, the terms for each kink that the place catered for. It was during a DD/lg night that I discovered who I really was. I was a Daddy Dom. I guess I’d always known but had tried to deny it, even to myself.

  I watched as a woman was paraded round the main room, her Daddy telling her what to do whilst we observed in silence. It was the most erotic experience of my life up to that point but it was nothing in comparison to standing in front of Tilly whilst she tried to control her breathing in a nighty that hid nothing.

  I slid onto my side as my thoughts returned to her. Facing the door, I let the blankets slip from my body. From where I was I could see the door to her bedroom. If she were to open it and step out onto the landing, she’d see my hand wrapping itself around my cock, she’d see how hard I was, see just what effect she was having on my body.

  I slid my hand up and down the shaft of my hard on, staring at her door and picturing her just the other side of it. A tiny voice at the back of my mind was telling me this was a bad idea but it wasn’t loud enough to stop me. I kept stroking myself, getting gradually faster as I recalled the moans I’d heard coming from her shower. Had she touched herself in there?

  Closing my eyes, my mind went back to the sight of her in that nighty, how incredible she’d looked, innocent and sinful at once. If only she would open the door and come out and see me. I’d invite her in and she’d walk tentatively across to the bed, sliding her hand over mine, watching as I felt every vein and bulge of my throbbing cock. She’d sink to her knees and I’d tell her to open her mouth. The thought of pushing myself over those soft looking lips of hers was too much for me. I kept up the motion with my hand, unable to stop thinking about her. I could last no longer. I moved my hand faster, stroking the tip with my fingers until with a quiet grunt, I came, my cum spurting off the side of the bed and falling pathetically to the floor.

  Almost at once, I felt ashamed. I pulled the covers over myself and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, trying to work out what the hell was wrong with me. As my breathing slowly returned to normal, I thought about the weekend. What would she do if I spanked her? Would she run? Have me arrested? Use the information to blackmail me?

  I knew I was going to do it, no matter what the consequences. The only way I can explain how I felt was that I was on a conveyor belt. I knew that bad things waited for me at the end of it but there was nothing I could do to stop myself moving. I wasn’t in control of myself, I was a slave to my mind and what my mind wanted was to be the Daddy to my Tilly, to make her my own, to own her, to keep her safe, to take away that fear she seemed to have of the world, to help her to grow into the little Tilly I knew she wanted to be. Somewhere deep inside her, she knew. I could help. I would help.

  I couldn’t sleep, no matter how much I tossed and turned in the bed. In the end, I had to see her again. I couldn’t help myself. She had me under her spell as if she really was a witch. I climbed quietly out of bed around eleven, tiptoeing across the landing and listening at her door.

  I couldn’t hear a thing so I eased the door open, edging around it to look inside. She had closed the heavy curtains at some point, the room pitch black until my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Then I could see the bed. I took slow steady steps towards it, holding my breath as I grew closer.

  Then I saw her. She was laid on her side with her thumb in her mouth. Her hair had fallen across part of her face and my insides churned at the sight of her. Even the air seemed heavy with the scent of her. I felt as if I was intruding on something private, something so pure compared to the thoughts in my head. Turning on my heels, I walked away, not looking back. I should send her home, pay her off to keep quiet. If she was willing to try and seduce me for fifty grand, I was sure she’d keep her mouth shut for twice that.

  But I didn’t want to keep her mouth shut. I wanted her mouth wide open, screaming my name as I buried myself inside her pussy. I walked downstairs and poured myself a very large drink, sitting in the dark of my study and staring out of the window, mulling over what the hell was wrong with me. I’d been so careful for so many years to keep my secrets and in just a few days, I’d given away most of them to someone who had been hired to ruin me. I was an idiot and I knew I should throw her out of my house before it was too late.

  But I didn’t. Instead I finished my drink and climbed back into bed, waiting for sleep to take me and thinking of how her face looked as she slept. She looked so pure, so innocent. What did it say about me that all I wanted to do was corrupt that innocence? I didn’t deserve someone like that in my life, I didn’t deserve Tilly. I told myself that the next morning I would send her away. I went to sleep vowing to keep that promise, she would be gone before breakfast, no matter what she said, no matter how beautiful she looked. She had to go or I would be ruined.

  Chapter Twelve

  It felt very strange waking up in Mr Radcliffe’s house. I wasn’t sure I could face him after what I’d seen the previous night. I was terrified he knew what I’d done, that fear keeping me in bed long after I heard him make his way downstairs.

  The smell of bacon frying reached me a few minutes later but still I couldn’t get up. I had only to close my eyes for the briefest of moments and I was back on the landing, spying on him as he touched himself.

  When he’d put me to bed, I’d been so close to kissing him, it was lucky he’d left when he did. Lying under the blankets as he looked down at me, those soft lips of his brushing my forehead, the thought of it was enough to make my insides tingle with desire. If I’d been braver, if I’d been more like Alison, I’d have kissed him and to hell with the consequences. But I wasn’t her, I was timid little me and I was incapable of taking such a bold step. So instead, I’d watched him leave and then I’d been alone in bed at seven in the evening and I was reliving the conversation we’d just had.

  When he’d told me it was bedtime, I was alread
y sliding into the role of his little girl. I made the briefest of protests but the look on his face told me not to push it. I watched him go when I was in bed, hoping he would look back at me. I felt disappointed when he left without another word.

  A part of me wanted nothing more than to be his little girl, even if it was only for a weekend. But I hadn’t forgotten Mr Mitchell and the offer he’d made me. All I had to do was dig out my phone and ring him and he’d have enough dirt to get the takeover sorted, I’d have my money and it would all be over.

  I didn’t do it. Of course I didn’t do it. How could I possibly have walked away without finding out what my new Daddy had planned for me? I lay in bed reading one of countless books that surrounded me, a collection of fairytales that fitted in perfectly with the little mindset I was already occupying. I even felt guilty when I climbed out of bed to close the curtains an hour later, thinking he might tell me off for getting out of bed without permission.

  I was out of bed again once more that night. I’d finished the book, my eyelids starting to grow heavy. I heard a noise across the landing and suddenly I was wide awake. It sounded an awful lot like a groan, a man’s groan. My heart pounded as I climbed out of bed and slid my bare feet across the floor to the corner of the room. I listened at my door, the sound of heavy breathing as loud as if it were right outside. I stood there for some time, trying to decide whether or not to open the door, worried he might be outside. But then there was another quiet groan and I knew he wasn’t there, he was further away.

  Silently, I opened the door, glancing out at the open door across the landing. The sight took my breath away. It was like starring in my own personal erotic dream. Mr Radcliffe, the man who wanted to be my Daddy for the weekend, was laid on his side in bed, the blankets around his knees. He was naked, that sight enough to make my insides yearn for him. Not only was he naked, every muscle on display, but he was touching himself. He had his eyes closed and I was glad because I knew if he opened them, he’d immediately see I was watching him, part of me throbbing with desire at the sight, as if my clit had suddenly woken up from a coma and was desperate to be touched. By me, by him, it didn’t care, it just wanted to be stroked, to be played with in the same way he was playing with himself.

  His hand slid up and down the shaft of his thingy, growing faster as I watched. I remembered what Alison said. I was a big girl, I should call it a cock. And what a cock it was. It was larger than any I’d seen on the Daddy Dom websites. I felt frustrated by his hand, for it hid most of him from view as he jerked it up and down, the head glistening in the light of the bedside lamp. I wanted it so badly, I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything. I wanted him. I wanted to cross to his room and take it in my mouth, something I’d never done before. I wanted him inside me to fill the aching void that seemed so empty without that glorious cock stuffed inside me.

  His hand moved faster and I held my breath, praying that he wouldn’t open his eyes. He didn’t, and somehow I was disappointed by that, as if a part of me wanted to be caught, to be spanked for watching Daddy do that to himself.

  He let out another groan a minute later and then my heart leapt into my throat. He came and I saw the whole thing. I saw the way his hips thrust forwards a little, his mouth falling open, white cum spurting out of the tip of his cock, flying off the end of the bed and landing on the carpet beside it. I leapt back into my room, terrified that he’d open his eyes and see me. I felt as if I’d intruded on something private, something I shouldn’t have seen.

  It didn’t stop me thinking about him as I lay in bed. My body called to me in a way it had never done before and within seconds I was sliding my hands down my chest, my eyes tightly shut, the image of him coming fixed in my mind. I pictured his cock sliding into me, the thought enough to make me wet as my left hand slid between my legs.

  He slid into my mind as I slid into myself, taking over my thoughts, filling me with dreams of being in his bed, in his life, by his side. I wanted him to come into my room, to push my legs apart, to press himself down onto me, to crush me under his weight until I could hardly breathe. I wanted him to make me sore, to make all of my sordid thoughts come true. The fantasies I conjured up overwhelmed me as he had done in the short time I’d been in his home. I would have done anything he asked if he came into my room at that moment.

  My hands moved swiftly, bringing me to orgasm in just a few minutes. I came twice more whilst picturing his orgasm. I felt dirty, I felt slutty, I thought about him coming on my face, on my skin, in my bottom, wherever he wanted. I thought about masturbating for him, touching myself while he watched. I thought about him spanking me, about me dressing up for him, doing whatever he commanded, fucking me in public, tying me to the bed, my mind a whirl of imagery that left me utterly exhausted by the time my hands fell to my sides and I let out a deep sigh of contentment.

  I awoke to the certain knowledge that he’d seen me watching him. I don’t know where the thought came from, only that it wouldn’t leave me, even when I finally climbed out of bed and rifled through the clothes he’d given me. What could I wear to please Daddy?

  In the end I settled for a light pink frock, lace and frills winding over it, making me look more like a Manga character than a real person. I sat in front of the dressing table mirror and put my hair in bunches, standing up to slip on the white socks he’d provided me. With a last look at myself, I walked over to the door and opened it, taking a deep breath and hoping I was wrong, hoping he hadn’t seen me watching. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to live with the shame of having him think I was a peeping Tom.

  I found him in the kitchen. It was easy enough to get to, the sound of light jazz drifting out from the back of the house, joined by crackling of bacon in a pan. I walked in to find him wearing a white apron. He was carrying two plates across to a solid looking wooden table in the corner. It looked like something from a Victorian farmhouse, an enormous thing that was laden down with orange juice and coffee, a huge bowl of bread rolls and croissants in the middle.

  “Good morning,” I said, pausing before adding, “Daddy.”

  He turned round and looked as if he was about to say something. But then he stopped, freezing on the spot. “Good God,” he muttered, his eyes running down my frock and then back up to my eyes as I stood squirming under his gaze. “You look incredible.”

  “You like it?” I asked, giving him a twirl whilst playing with some of the frills of the dress.

  He nodded. “You look like a good little girl.”

  “That’s what I want you to think,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down whilst he laid a plate out for me. “That way, I can get away with all sorts of mischief.”

  If he had heard my remark, he chose not to acknowledge it. “Milk or sugar?” he asked, turning away to pick up the cafetiere.

  “Just milk.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Good. I wasn’t sure what you liked so I made lots.”

  “You don’t have servants to do this for you?”

  “Servants? What year do you think this is?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought…” I trailed off into silence.

  “You thought that because I was rich I’d have an army of people doing everything for me?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Well, I don’t. For one thing, they’d never get the eggs right. It takes talent to make them like this.”

  He went over to the range and picked up a frying pan, bringing it back over to start the task of piling my plate high with food.

  He sat opposite me, his fork in his hand as I began to eat. “I want to run through my plans for this weekend,” he said, pausing to take a sip of coffee. “If you’ve woken up enough, of course.”

  “Go for it,” I said, my appetite fading as I began to worry what he was going to say.

  “I want you to agree to do whatever I say while you are here. As your Daddy, I will take care of you in return for you submitting to me.
Agreed?”

  I nodded. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “Do not touch my phone.”

  He frowned, as if he’d been expecting me to say something else. “Okay. Might I ask why?”

  “No, you might not.”

  “Then we’ll move on. You will not tell anyone what happens here this weekend. It is strictly between us. Agreed?”

  I nodded again, thoughts of Mr Mitchell appearing in my mind. I pushed them aside. Think about that later.

  I could have lied to him. Perhaps I was lying to him. I knew I could betray him but I felt sure that I wasn’t going to. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t going to. I had already slipped into the role of his little girl, helped by the dress I was wearing, the frilly knickers underneath a constant reminder of who I was at that moment, I was his little girl and I would never betray my Daddy, not while I felt like that.

  But then I looked at him. Was I reading too much into this? Was this just fun for him? I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me, was I falling for someone who only wanted some entertainment? Or worse, to punish me for thinking about betraying him. I couldn’t go any longer without answers. I had to say something.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When she appeared in the kitchen, she took my breath away. I had it all planned so perfectly and then she ruined it by being a vision of perfection.

  I was going to make her breakfast and then politely tell her it was time for her to go home, that it had been lovely seeing her but she couldn’t stay any longer. Then she walked in looking like that and I could no more ask her to leave than I could stop my heart from beating.

  I sat opposite her as she ate and I noticed she suddenly stopped while we were talking. I was about to ask her what was wrong when she blurted out, “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay,” I said, putting my coffee mug down and sitting back in my chair. “Tell me.”