Daddy's Pretty Baby

by Cassandra Dee

  And Mr. Lancaster remained silent, although a muscle twitched in his jaw, a big hand stroking up and down my back.

  “I see,” was all he said again. “I see,” that deep voice rumbled.

  And now, I didn’t know what to say either. My story was such a sad one that I hated sharing because it was a conversation stopper. People were stumped, feeling sorry for me and uncomfortably tongue-tied afterwards. Because what could anyone say? “I’m so sorry for your loss?” “I’m so sorry that you had such a terrible childhood?” I wish you hadn’t had to grow up in a shelter?” The truth was that my past made everyone uneasy, people were always biting their lips, eyes shifting back and forth, paralyzed by the misery. And I hated making people uncomfortable, so most times I said nothing.

  So I smiled wryly then, and tried to wriggle off Mr. Lancaster’s lap.

  “Now you know,” I said breezily, like it was no big deal although there was a lump in my throat as big as a bread roll, making it difficult to swallow. “Now you know.”

  And to my chagrin, to my utter horror, tears started falling. Tears started welling in my eyes and coursing down my cheeks like I was a waterslide, the hot rivulets dripping off my chin.

  “I-I’m so sorry,” I murmured, not meeting his eyes, wiping the wetness futilely with the back of my hand, smearing it more than anything. “I know this isn’t what you expected.”

  But instead of abruptly pushing me off his lap, or even acting “Daddy-like,” Mr. Lancaster was curiously mature, like we were a man and woman, sharing deep intimacies. He merely cuddled me close, whispering into my hair as I sobbed.

  “Don’t worry,” he ground out. “These things always work themselves out. It’ll be fine, you’ll see, pretty baby.”

  And I lost it then. I bawled into his shoulder, the years of hurt, the years of pain and loneliness finding their way out of my soul, airing themselves in front of this big man. It was a torrential downpour, like a dam had burst, years of agony erupting from my body, layers and layers of grief unlocked for the first time. And to his credit, Robert absorbed it, shouldering the burden, lessening the painful ache that had been locked in my heart for so long, bruising and raw.

  “No worries, little girl,” he murmured once more, big hands soothing my shaking and trembling form as I wailed like a banshee. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  We stayed like that for a while, me crying my heart out until the sobs died down, until they were mere sniffs and gasps, my small form curled against his big frame.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you, honey,” he murmured once more, kissing my brow before lifting me then, warm and safe in his strong arms. “I’m sorry, Melissa.”

  I didn’t say anything, merely huddling into the strength of those arms. Mr. Lancaster would protect me, everything would be okay with him. I forced myself to stay in the moment, to give myself up to his strength, rely upon the alpha’s sense of calm and assurance. And the big man took action then, going up the stairs two at a time, his long strides eating up the distance. But instead of turning into my small room with the pink walls and four-poster bed, instead we made an abrupt right, and stepped into the master suite.

  I barely registered it, I was so tired and wrung out from the emotional night, the crying and revelation of my terrible past. So sleepily, I merely murmured, “Daddy?” shaking my head, confused.

  But he gave me another kiss on the forehead before gently placing my curvy from onto the big bed.

  “Sleep here, tonight,” he said, that big voice low and reassuring in the dark. “Little girl, you’ll be safe here.”

  And with a nod and a contented sigh, I relented, nestling in the blankets, the bed so huge it was like a giant life raft.

  “Yes Daddy,” I murmured sleepily. “Thank you Daddy.”

  And to my surprise, instead of tucking me in, instead of switching off the light and going back downstairs, Mr. Lancaster got in bed beside me, pulling my curves so that I was nestled against that massive form. Oh, it felt so good and so right, our bodies tangled, his warmth like a solid mountain, a source of strength emanating security and reassurance. And with one last contented sigh, sleep overtook me, my brain finally shutting down. But my last thought before everything went dark was that something had changed between Mr. Lancaster and I, something had shifted, something deep, moving, and very real. I could feel it in every fiber of my being … and I only prayed it was for the better.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Robert

  Oh shit, I’m such a fucking goner. I’m in a cesspool of trouble, going way beyond the terms of the contract. In fact, I should throw out that thing, each word of that document has been violated, each letter meaningless in light of what’s happened.

  Because Melly is amazing. The girl is a good little hands down, she wears the clothes, acts the part, eats the mac n’ cheese without complaining, and lets me fuck her every which way whenever I want, screaming her delight to the heavens, that curvy body shaking, trembling, giving it up over and over again.

  But she’s also way more than that. Melly is also Melissa Carlson, a big girl, a smart girl, a survivor. Because a children’s home? Growing up in what’s essentially an orphanage for kids, except your parents are still alive? Shit, it’s probably worse than an orphanage because knowing that your parents are actually around, and they just don’t want you anymore must be crushing. And my little girl had grown up in those circumstances, with no one loving her, small, lost and lonely. It was fucking unreal.

  So I’ve made some subtle adjustments to make sure Melissa has a good life after Valley Pine. For one, fifteen thousand is nowhere near enough considering what Melly’s done for me. She’s made me so happy, my body convulsing again and again, shooting liters of sperm into that sweet cunt. But even more, my mind is clear. I love conversation with her, sharing our days while we linger over meals, talking deep into the night as we cuddle in the big bed.

  Because oh shit, yeah, I’ve completely violated that clause of the contract. Paragraph Forty-Two says that the little can never enter the master suite, that it’s off limits, she sleeps only in the four poster, her designated space. But ever since that night of Connect Four, Melly’s stayed with me since. She’s moved in, taking her baths in my en suite, keeping her nightclothes in my closet, shit, there are even feminine products in the bathroom, lotion, body wash, oodles of stuff hogging all the counter space.

  And I love it. I love having her there, my personal orbit invaded. I love waking up to that sweet form cuddled against me, her breast in my hand, my other fist cupping that sweet, wet cunt. Because yeah, I adore Melly’s essence, what makes her her, and it’s always such a fucking turn-on to start the day with my dick in that sweetness, wetting it in her pussy first thing in the morning. But it’s more than that. I love Melissa’s mind. I love the way she thinks, how she’s so giving, so careful not to take too much.

  “No, I’m good,” she said smiling sweetly at me the other day.

  I shot her a look.

  “No more?” I asked, disbelieving.

  We were at a department store, and I’d opened up my wallet at the cosmetics counter. Most littles wear light make-up, a little something to enhance their looks, to emphasize their youth and innocence. And sure enough, Melly had picked two items, two pots of pink and purple, I didn’t even know what they were for.

  “That’s it?” I asked with disbelief, eyeing the items. The two together couldn’t have cost more than fifty bucks, they were so tiny.

  But Melly just laughed lightly, the sound tinkling in the air, music to my ears.

  “Thanks Daddy,” she said softly once more. “But I don’t wear much anyways, so there’s no need to go overboard. Just these two things are fine.”

  And I nodded approvingly because it was true, Melly doesn’t need much in terms of artificial help. I’ve seen her sans make-up many times, and the girl is flat out gorgeous, her skin creamy and glowing, that luscious pout full without any enhancement whatsoever. But still, most fe
males in her place would have gone crazy with the blank check. They would have bought everything and anything in sight, just to take advantage of the opportunity.

  But Melly’s not like that. She shows restraint, which is all the more surprising given that she grew up in a home. Hell, if I’d grown up in a children’s shelter, I would have greedily grabbed everything in sight, going nuts like a little boy in a candy store, stuffing my mouth full, pockets overflowing.

  But Melly’s not like that. Oh sure, she’s got appetites, she eats plenty, keeping weight on that full figure, and hell, that girls got a ticking time bomb between her legs, that cunt’s always sucking me in deep, prepping for a nuclear explosion. But most of the time, the brunette never takes too much, doesn’t waste, is always frugal and neat, saving her money for a rainy day.

  So yeah, I’ve decided to pay her far more than the fifteen thousand in the contract, I’m thinking more along the lines of fifty thousand. It’s the least I can do, I’ve got a fortune in the billions, it’s just a drop in the bucket for me. And in a strange sequence of events, I’ve even bought a little cottage down the block where she can work, a studio of sorts that gets good light, perfect for painting, sculpting, quiet and serene. Don’t ask me what it means because I have no fucking clue, all I know was that when I saw the blue door, the neat patio, the white picket fence that went all the way around, I knew it was perfect for Melly. I knew it was perfect for her, that Melissa should have some space to herself, that she should pursue her dreams of art, and that I could make it happen. I could do this for her, for the girl who had nothing growing up.

  So yeah, life has taken twists and turns that I never expected. My little’s got me wrapped around her finger, I can’t get my mind off her, I’m always thinking about what she wants, what she needs, how to make her happy, how to make her life better. And this trip to Disneyworld is just the cherry on top.

  “You ready?” I asked, smiling at her as we boarded the plane.

  A ray of sunshine lit that gorgeous face, her brown eyes warm, gentle, melting into mine.

  “Absolutely Daddy,” she murmured, taking my hand as we were seated. “Absolutely, I’ve waited my whole life.”

  Because what do you know, but her desire to see the Magic Kingdom wasn’t feigned. To orphans, Disney really is the Magic Kingdom. It’s a place they can only dream about, day passes are three hundred dollars per pop, plus another fifty if you want to do fast pass. So fuck, it’s totally out of their reach, a realm they can only see on TV, and Melly’s been dying to go since she was six.

  “You look beautiful,” I murmured. “You’re a princess.” And it was true. Because instead of a normal dress, Melly was clothed in a yellow ballgown, like the one Belle wears in Beauty and the Beast. It was poofy and glittery, and my girl had topped it with a tiara in her hair, brown ringlets running loose down her back, her tiny feet shod in Mary Janes studded with crystals. All in all, a gorgeous sight, and I leaned forward to press a kiss against her nose.

  “Oh Daddy,” she giggled before kissing me back, lightly lapping at my lips, one small hand burrowed in my lap, circling the stiffness there. “Oh Daddy,” she sighed again.

  Because of course, we were flying private. Mel’s outfit would have gotten weird looks from strangers, but in my private plane, we were among my staff, totally discreet and professional, acting like this was all normal. So fuck yeah, if I my latest little was wearing a ballgown, if she wanted to suck and fondle me during the flight, then we’d have our privacy, no weird looks, no questions, no nothing. This is how Robert Lancaster rolls.

  So it was a sensuous three hours aboard the luxurious plane, and Melly had some serious cleaning up to do before we de-boarded, I’d released at least three loads between her legs, that slick little pussy was so full. But all she did was massage the sperm into her folds further, pushing the hot white back into that creamy hole, giggling and looking at me as she did it.

  “Daddy,” she said coyly. “Do princesses get their Daddy’s cum in them every night?”

  I groaned, shit, my dick was stiff again just watching her do the nasty.

  “Good little girls do,” I grunted, blue eyes glued to her twat, watching as she coated her clit with my semen, getting the little nub hard and shiny. “Good little girls do.”

  And giggling once more, she opened her hole for me to see again.

  “Oh good,” she whispered coyly. “Because I’ve been trying to be so good.” And with that she pressed down hard, and oh shit, oh shit, but a cream pie came rolling out then, a hot gush of white welled up from inside, my sperm mixing with her pussy juice, beading at her entrance before trailing wetly down her thigh.

  “Like I said, I’ve been good, right Daddy?” she giggled once more, trailing a finger through the liquid before popping it into her mouth, licking the dirty juice. “I’ve been really good.”

  And I was just about to jump her again when the seatbelt light came on, warning of our descent.

  “Oooh! We’re almost there!” shrieked my baby, dashing over the window to look out. Oh shit, I could see the cum leaking down her leg, the overflow making a runny mess, streaking that creamy flesh. But Melly was so excited to be so close to the land of her dreams that I didn’t scold her. Instead, I merely got up and circled my arms around her waist from behind, both of us looking out the porthole as we began our descent, the blue spires of the Cinderella Castle breaking through the clouds.

  “That’s right, honey,” I rasped, nibbling on her ear. “That’s right. You’ve been a good girl and Daddy’s gonna make life good for you from here on out.”

  The brunette leaned back in my arms, sweetly willing, so soft and curvy, utterly desirable, brown eyes fixed down below as clouds parted to reveal the Magic Kingdom, a fantasy come to life.

  “I know you will Daddy, I know,” she breathed, breasts rising and falling, the air sweet as mist before us. “I know.”

  And I just held her tighter. Because no, Melissa couldn’t know. My special girl had no idea that I planned on keeping her with me, that I wanted to be her Daddy forever, that I was serious about making her life sweet from here on out. The brunette meant everything to me … and I just needed to find the right time to tell her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Melly

  I have to admit, the Magic Kingdom’s been on my wishlist for a long time, my entire life in fact. But I’d resigned myself to never seeing it, to just hearing the theme song during McDonald’s ads, to watching animated videos, never meeting the Seven Dwarves in real life, never riding the Mad Teacups until I was dizzy.

  But that’s the thing about Robert. The billionaire knows me so well despite that I’ve only lived at Valley Pine for two months that it was like he knew all my secrets without trying very hard. He’d surprised me the other day with his talk about Disney theme parks, Europe, maybe even a tour of the world.

  “Wouldn’t you like that honey?” he rumbled as we ate lunch by the pool. “There’s EuroDisney and Disneyland China, did you know?”

  I flushed. Actually I hadn’t known, I’d never banked on seeing any of these places. The most I could afford was the local arcade, maybe splurging on a pizza and drink if I had some extra. So I shook my head slowly.

  “No I didn’t know there were Disneylands all over the world,” I said, biting my lip while slowly nibbling on an omelet. God, I probably seemed so gauche, inexperienced and untutored, while Mr. Lancaster was a man of the world.

  “Well, honey, how would you like it if we went on a world tour?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Would you like that? Disney on every continent?”

  My eyes shot up at him. A tour of the world? Asia, Europe, Africa, who knows? Oh my god, it was beyond luxurious, beyond my wildest dreams. Where would we stop? London? Paris? Beijing? Tripoli? All these places sounded glamorous, impossibly cosmopolitan and chic.

  But I shook my head.

  “No Mr. Lancaster, you don’t have to take me, it’s not part of the contract,” I mumbled, nibbling on my omel
et. As usual, Robert had made it for me himself, liberally spraying the egg with lashes of his sperm, the hot white bubbly mixing with the Swiss cheese, all of it so tasty, salty and yet sweet, a feast for the senses. So yes, I was getting another dose of his cum, per paragraph thirty-four of the contract.

  But that’s the thing. There was a contract, and the big man was going way beyond its bounds.

  “No Mr. Lancaster,” I said a little louder this time, more firm. “It’s not in the contract, a world tour is definitely not in there.”

  But the big man was unfazed, leaning back lazily, sipping at an espresso, that tiny cup ludicrous in his big hand.

  “I can make it part of our agreement,” he threw out casually, black hair tousled and oh so handsome. “No worries, don’t fret your little head about that.”

  I was stunned. Make it part of our agreement? What did that mean? Could he change the contract, just like that? If so, then what was the point of the paper I’d signed?

  “I don’t get it,” I said slowly, putting my fork down. “You can make a world tour part of our agreement? How?” I asked plaintively. “How come I can’t do the same?”

  Suddenly it occurred to me.

  “Oh wait, you can amend the document right?” I asked, feeling like a dunce. “Of course, just like there are amendments to the Constitution, you can amend the contract.” I felt so lame, I’ve never been a great student and it was just sheer luck I’d remembered that the Bill of Rights were amendments to our nation’s great founding paper.

  But Mr. Lancaster looked amused.

  “Sure honey, we could amend the contract, but you’re making things too hard. Who wants to whip out pen and paper and write a whole new thing? Who wants to write an addendum and read all that fine print? No honey, it’s easier than that. I can just change it on my own.”

  Again, I was seriously stunned. How in the world could that happen? How in the world did this man just snap his fingers, and people jumped? Whenever I snapped my fingers, it was a click lost to the ages, insignificant, the small motion over as soon as it occurred. But Mr. Lancaster and I lived in different worlds, and when the big man says “jump,” people click their heels and bow. So seeing my puzzled expression, he chuckled deeply once more.