Daphne Vs. Daddy

by Mona Cox

When he’s finally done with the cum on my legs, he focuses on the place where heavy strands are hanging: my pussy. He dives into it in a frenzy, opening his mouth wide and sucking my cum-coated folds.

  I run my fingers through his hair as he does it, a shiver going up and down my spine as his tongue licks me dry. He keeps going for what seems like forever, scooping every single drop of cum on my body, and he only stops when he’s finally done.

  Slowly, he goes up to his feet, letting go of my dress and smoothing it over with one hand. He smiles and, the moment he does it, a strand of cum escapes his lips and drips down to his chin. Returning the favor, I lean into him and use my tongue to scoop it up.

  We kiss then, our mouths irresistibly attracted to each other. Our tongues dance over a blanket of cum, and his salty flavor inundates my mouth at once. Pulling back from his kiss, I look into his eyes and then—and this is a first for me—I swallow. His warm cum makes its way down my throat slowly, and I sigh loudly, a deep exhaustion taking over my body.

  “Fuck, this was amazing,” he breathes out, the words coming out of his mouth sounding like the most genuine thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

  “Yes,” I just whisper as a reply, closing my eyes and trying to engrave the memory of what just happened into my brain. Not that I need to; I doubt I’ll ever forget the way Chase made me feel.

  More than a real cowboy, Chase is a real man.

  39

  Carla

  “Welcome to Madison Square Garden!” the announcer booms, and the audience cheers. I grin to myself and tug on Becca’s hand. “C’mon, I reserved some really good seats up front.” Perks of being an employee, right? I rarely use this particular perk, but being able to see Chase in action?

  I don't want to miss a moment of it.

  Becca jerks her head at Lisa and Ashley, who seem a little overwhelmed by the amount of people in rhinestone and cowboy hats and boots, all crowded into one arena. It’s true that it isn’t something you normally see in New York City, but hell, I had my own boots and cowboy hat on. I couldn’t exactly make fun of everyone else wearing them.

  I may’ve just bought mine yesterday, but nobody needs to know that.

  Oh, and lots of rhinestones on my ass. It’s my best feature, and I want to draw attention to it. Maybe later on, Chase will give it some attention too. I grin to myself. Sex with Chase was just as amazing as I knew it was going to be, times a thousand.

  And thank god, no suit in sight.

  We slide into our seats just as the announcer starts in on the first round – cowgirls doing barrel racing. Ugh. I am not here for the cowgirls, that’s for damn sure.

  I turn away from the flashing costumes to listen to Becca while we all wait for the calf-roping event. The real reason to attend a rodeo. Well, a calf roping event with Chase in it.

  “Oh my god, first we did it in the shower, then in the bed, then on the couch, then…”

  Okay, so honestly, I’m trying to pay attention, but listening to Becca talk about fucking Jason is just…meh. How she could look at Jason and Chase side by side and somehow be attracted to Jason is beyond me.

  “His dick isn’t that big,” she says, and my ears finally perk up.

  She holds her hands out about six inches apart. “I mean, you know, average.”

  I try to hide my smirk, although I’ll admit, I didn’t try very hard.

  To think, just a few days ago, I hadn’t believed Lisa and Ashley when they told me that their boyfriends had 12-inch dicks. Now that I’ve seen one in person…and felt it in me…I’ll never go back.

  I guess you could call me a 12-inch convert.

  But, I haven’t told the girls that Chase and I fucked. I don’t know why; it just hasn’t come up yet, I suppose. I mean, he’s only here for the rodeo and he’s probably going to be leaving soon, so I’m obviously not getting attached to him…he’s just my fuck buddy.

  And I don’t have to tell my friends about every fuck buddy I get, right?

  My phone starts ringing – “Working Overtime.” Dammit. That means that it’s someone from the MSG calling me. Turning away from Becca, still going on about all of the places her and Jason have fucked – with his very average dick – I answer.

  “Carla, we have a mess down here.” Thomas’ voice is sharp and panicked. “Can you head to the judges' booth for a minute? We need some help sorting this out.”

  Double dammit. How is it that these people know how to get themselves out of bed every day? They don’t seem to know how to make the smallest decisions without me.

  With a sigh, I tell him I’ll be right down; there’s no use pretending I’m in bed or sick or something, considering he can hear the echo of the announcer right in his ear, and I tell the girls I’ll be right back.

  I hope I’ll be right back.

  I head up and out of the bleachers, and toward the judges’ stand, wondering what the major malfunction is. If I'm getting dragged all the way down there so I can help them figure out where the pencils are, I swear to god, heads are going to roll. Doesn’t anyone know the words “day off” around here? I shouldn’t be surprised; sometimes, I think they have a tracker in my cell phone and can tell that I’m at the MSG, even when I’m just attending as a regular customer.

  Sigh.

  “Watch out, lady!” someone yells, and my head jerks up. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Right in front of me are some giant-ass horses! I realize that they’re moving the wild horses to another pen, and fuck—I must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, because I’m smack dab into the middle of them.

  A white one, the giant beast closest to me, rears back on its hind legs, and the memory of Chase on the streets of New York flashes through my mind. Except this time, I don’t have my mace, and I don’t have my Chase.

  With a shriek, I throw up my arms and drop to the ground in a panic.

  Twice in one week, I’m in danger of being trampled to death by a horse in New York City.

  Seriously, what are the chances?

  40

  Chase

  I’m chatting with Jason, waiting for our turn, Moonshine shifting its hind legs, waiting contentedly for the excitement to start. Even in large crowds like Madison, Moonshine is placid as the day is long. Frankly, that day that he reared up on his back legs and scared Carla was really unusual for him. You can’t have a skittish calf-roping horse, you know. And Moonshine is one of the best calf-roping horses I’ve ever worked with.

  I’m listening to Jason tell me about every sex position him and Becca have done so far when suddenly, a scream splits the air. I jerk off the railing and spin around. There’s Carla on the ground, curled up in a fetal position, and all around her is a herd of wild horses.

  “Holy fucking mother shit damn!” I yell, throwing myself onto Moonshine and wheeling him around to face the oncoming stampede of horses. I don’t know who's in charge of moving these horses around, but they oughta be shot. You don’t move a big herd of horses without precautions and barriers in place, for fuck’s sake!

  I spur Moonshine’s flanks and, pulling my lasso off the horn of my saddle, begin whipping it over my head.

  Zing.

  I throw the lasso, squarely snaring Carla around the shoulders and yanking her toward me, which of course means more screaming. Once she’s within grabbing distance, I pull her up and throw her over the front of my saddle where her screams stop with a loud oomph. I wheel Moonshine around so we can start moving with the herd instead of against the grain. It’s safer that way.

  Except, oh fuck, they’ve really lost control of the herd because I realize at the last moment that we’re heading right into the arena. The wild horses spill out through the break in the fence and begin galloping around the arena, tails high. The crowds are yelling and stomping their feet and so I yank Carla up in front of me, forcing her to sit side saddle in front of me, and then dammit all if we don’t both start waving at the crowd like a bunch of rodeo princesses.

  “They think we’re doing t
his on purpose, don’t they?” Carla says through her forced grin.

  “Yup.”

  And, well, if I’m gonna put on a show, it might as well be one I enjoy, right? I pull her up tight against me, nestling her ass against my rapidly hardening cock. Her rhinestone ass is going to be forever burned into my brain. The crowds are on their feet, hooping and hollering and yelling encouragement at us. I had no idea being a rodeo princess was so much, to tell you the truth.

  We are slowly moving back toward the exit when Carla wiggles against me, her rhinestone ass doing exactly what she intended.

  “Is that all for me, cowboy?” she murmurs.

  “Always,” I breathe in her ear. I want to kiss my way down her neck but I stop myself. Just barely. I probably shouldn’t fuck her in front of tens of thousands of cheering fans, right?

  No matter how much my cock wants it.

  “Come over to my place tonight, and I’ll cook you dinner as a thank you for your help,” she suggests.

  “I can’t wait,” I say, helping her slide down the side of Moonshine. She blows me a kiss and then heads toward the judges’ stand. I watch her go, my dick ready to pound a hole through concrete. Damn, I sure hope she’s including more than just food with that offer.

  With a groan, I turn back to Jason, who had watched the whole exchange with wide eyes.

  “Are you two fucking each other?” he asks as soon as I get back to the corral fencing.

  I shrug. “Once,” I say modestly. I’m not normally one to kiss and tell, even if Jason is one of my closest friends.

  “Hot damn, I bet she’s real good in the sack,” he says, leering after her.

  And that’s when I did something I’ve never done before, but hell if I regret it. ‘Cause I don’t, not one bit. Without another thought, I just pull my arm back and cold cock him, dropping him to the dirt.

  “Yeah, she’s pretty good,” I say casually to his writhing form on the ground.

  “God, Chase, why’d you do that?” Jason shrieks, holding his hands over his left eye. “Fuck, man!”

  “Hope you can still wrestle calves with a black eye,” I say mildly, leaning against the corral fence again. “Oh, and unless you want a matching shiner, I’d suggest not mentioning her abilities in the sack again.”

  He struggles to his feet, glaring at me as he moved. “God almighty, Chase, you could warn a guy before you punch him.”

  “Yeah, but that’d take away the element of surprise,” I point out logically.

  He glares at me, one-eyed, for a long moment, the roar of the crowds filling the silence. Someone must be getting some real points out in the arena right now, but I’m ignoring it for now. I hold Jason’s gaze as he stares at me.

  “You’re serious about her, aren’t you?” he finally breathes, a grin breaking out across his face. “Hot diggity dog, my best friend done fallen in love with a girl!” He laughs heartily, and I consider blackening his other eye just ‘cause…but finally decide to let it go.

  For now.

  Any more mention of Carla’s fine assets, and all bets are off.

  41

  Carla

  I stalk around my apartment, searching high and low for something to feed Chase. I mean, I’m a grown adult so I should have something that I can cook, right?

  I dig through the cupboards, pulling random boxes of food out and setting them on the floor.

  Becca, who’s come along for my cooking adventure as moral support, wrinkles her nose in disgust. “So, I think Jason and I are becoming a thing,” she says out of the blue, as I pull more boxed food out.

  What the hell was I thinking, buying pasta in a box? Like I’d ever eat any of this. How many times did I go drunk shopping, anyway?

  “He’s so sexy,” she continues, sighing happily. She obviously doesn’t need any encouragement to keep going. “Can you believe it – we’ve already started talking about having kids. I want two, but he wants three. You think that’d ruin my ass too much if I had three kids?” She turns around and around in the kitchen, trying to see her own ass. I roll my eyes as I start pulling canned food out. Maybe I’ll have more luck with that.

  I stare down at the can in my hand. Canned potatoes? What the hell do you use canned potatoes for? Most of this doesn’t even look familiar, and I start to wonder…what if this isn’t even my food? What if I inherited it from the previous tenant, and just never opened the cupboards to find out?

  That is entirely possible.

  “Where would you live?” I murmur, staring at the food surrounding me, trying to recall if I’d actually bought all of this stuff. Maybe I had. The few times I remember going grocery shopping, I’d been about four margaritas to the wind, and just sure that this time, I’d learn how to cook. I’m never that stupid when I’m sober.

  Except tonight, apparently. It’s amazing what hormones and gratefulness will do for a girl. Who promises a home-cooked meal as a thank-you gift, anyway? I sounded like a lead character out of a 50s sitcom.

  “I don’t know,” Becca says, frowning. “We haven’t talked about that part yet. I don’t want to leave the firm, but really, what does a cowboy do in New York?”

  “Huh,” I say, because that’s all the brain power I can devote to the question, as I’m busy trying to find a pan. Or a pot. Or a something to cook in, really.

  “What's the difference between a pot and a pan?” I ask, searching through my cupboards for anything that resembles a cooking thingy. I’ll take just about anything at this point.

  “I don’t know,” Becca says with a shrug. “Hold on, is that…boxed potatoes?” she asks, picking up the offending Betty Crocker box between forefinger and thumb. “I think they use dried powdered cheese in these things.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, pulling my head back out of the cupboard to look at the box in her hand. “Huh. I don’t know. I remember that one; I bought it once when I was starving, but then it had all these directions on the back side that looked complicated, so…” I shrug.

  She opens the top tentatively and then draws back in disgust. “Carla, this smells awful!” she yelps, and shoves it under my nose.

  Of course.

  I can’t just take her word for it, no I have to—

  I start coughing hard. “Oh god,” I exclaim, “get that thing out of my face! It smells like rotten shit!”

  “Rotten?” she says with a grin. “As opposed to the fresh kind?”

  “Yes, exactly! Go take that outside and throw it in the dumpster. I can’t cook that for Chase. I’m a bad enough cook without starting off with rotten food.”

  She shrugs and heads out the front door. Now that’s a best friend – someone who is willing to carry your rotten food to the dumpster for you.

  I stick my head back in the cupboard and look around.

  Oh god! I recoil in horror.

  I have potatoes that are so old, they’re growing these giant white thingies out of them. I didn’t even know potatoes did that, but damn if the bag didn’t look like some kind of alien life form. Totally creeped out, I slam the cupboard shut and then sit back against the wood with a heavy sigh. The chances of me becoming Betty Crocker in the next five minutes are pretty minute, right?

  So, why even try? Why not…?

  I grin to myself. I had a much better plan for dinner than boxed potatoes—something I am guaranteed to be good at it.

  I scramble off the floor and head to the bedroom.

  42

  Chase

  Jason pulls my cell phone out of his saddle bag. “C’mon,” he coaxes me, “just take a quick look. I promise, it won’t bite.”

  I shift from foot to foot, anxious to go find what Carla has cooked up for us, but dammit, I’m feeling guilty about punching the guy, so...

  “Alright,” I say reluctantly.

  Jason had forced me to buy a smartphone two days ago at an AT&T store, saying that no billionaire should be carrying around a flip phone. It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes. Like that sort of thing mat
tered.

  But, he promised that it’d do everything except rope a calf for me, so I’d reluctantly agreed to it … and then promptly ignored it for two days. Apparently, it’s reckoning time.

  “Now, right here, I need you to put in your email address.” I dutifully type it in, hitting about three wrong keys for every right one, and cursing a blue streak a mile wide at the damn thing. I can already tell that I’m gonna hate the thing.

  I went to hand it back to Jason and he stops me. “Tap that box, and then type in your password to your email.”

  With a glare, I take the phone back and finally get through the whole password, practically turning the air black with my frustration. It damn well better not take 17 tries every time I want to do something on the thing.

  “Good,” Jason says, praising me like I’m seven. The bastard thing makes me feel seven, really. “Now look at all of these emails that have stacked up while you’ve been here in New York. Like,” he says, the excitement in his voice increasing, “look at this one. They’re wanting someone to work at the Barclay’s Arena in Brooklyn. They’re wanting to do a long-term act – someone to be in the rodeo every weekend. Chase, you can lasso almost everything – you have more skill than ten other cowboys put together. I bet you’d really woo them with that trick of yours, standing bareback on Moonshine while he gallops. I don’t know of anyone else who can do that.”

  I pull the phone out of his hands and start reading the ad. It’s true—I’m a billionaire. I’m set for life. I could never go to work again, and have enough money to keep my great-grandkids happy.

  But…what is the fun in that? I love horses; I love performing in front of a crowd, and I love the thrill of winning. Learning to do dangerous tricks and performing them flawlessly every time in front of a roaring crowd?

  What isn’t to love about that idea?