by Maren Smith
I think I orgasmed just a little at the thought of having to say any of what I right now wanted out loud, or of calling him Daddy while I was stone-cold sober, or of revealing how thoroughly I was enjoying it each and every time he referred to himself that way, or called me his little girl and baby.
“Please,” I whispered.
He licked his lips. “Please, what, baby girl?”
I’d never wanted anyone as badly as I wanted Mazi right now, and that look in his eyes said he didn’t just know it, but that he was loving it.
“Please,” I begged, the only time in my life that I had ever begged anyone for anything, much less a man for sex. “Please, Daddy... strip for me.”
Chapter Five
Mazi
This woman was going to be the death of me. Please, Daddy... Confined in my jeans, pressed up tight against my thigh, my cock was rock hard and I was more than ready to show this intoxicating little girl exactly what kind of daddy I could be.
“Take your panties off,” I heard myself say.
“Oh!” Her pout was both instant and cute as hell. “No, I said you strip for me.”
“I will,” I promised. “Just as soon as you put on some music I can dance to.”
Equally as cute as her pout, was the way she gave her clothes an immediate pat down, whipped her cellphone out of her back pocket, and rapidly tapped out an address. Within seconds, the thumping beat of a techno song filled the small room. It was the same song that had been playing at the strip club the first time I saw her.
Our eyes met again. Hers were huge, asking without words if she’d done okay. When I smiled, she relaxed.
“Now go sit on my bed,” I directed and, when she moved to obey, I added, “and take off your panties, so Daddy can see what he’s dancing for.”
Her eyes were even bigger when she stopped and looked back at me. I let my fingers wander up my shirt buttons to the very top one. I tapped it, just to watch her blush. She backed the rest of the way to the bed, her blush deepened with every step, but her eyes stayed locked on my tapping fingers even as she reached under her hot pink schoolgirl skirt, revealing the elastic hug of stockings that were white thigh-highs, not tights, and pushed her panties down.
They were virginal white and, although I neither expected nor particularly wanted her to in actuality be a virgin, they fit her. She let them fall in a puddle of discarded cotton on the floor at the foot of the bed, and I was glad. If she’d tossed them at me, I’d have been hard pressed not to put them in my pocket. A trophy to be pulled out whenever I wanted to relive this moment as she crawled up backwards onto the bed, scooting her hips well back from the edge before pulling her skirt all the way up to her waist, leaning back on her arms and spreading her legs. She showed me what Daddy was dancing for all right. And not only did she do it with that pretty pink blush on her cheeks, but she was still smiling and her sparkling eyes were begging my approval. I could all but hear them asking me, “Like this, Daddy? Like this?”
Oh, yeah, Daddy liked.
Daddy also went into full-on stripper mode without hardly even thinking about it. It wasn’t hard. The music was familiar with a heady beat that moved through my back and hips and I had an appreciable audience of one, raptly watching as my fingers moved one by one down the front of my shirt. In my opinion, watching a woman strip out of her clothing was by far a sexier turn-on that watching a guy could ever be. That wasn’t my opinion solely because I was a guy, or because I loved watching women. Women were beautiful. Women had curves, breasts, sexy little jiggles that most tried hard at the gym to get rid of but that drove men crazy in completely different ways. Guys were all straight lines and hard muscles, and while big pecs and six-pack abs could be nice to look at, the rest of the package was just plain funny looking.
Still, it did wonders for my ego to see Norah watching me raptly from the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on every button until my shirt was undone. She licked her lips when I pulled the tucked hem out of my pants and, gyrating to the music, shrugged my way out of it. She swallowed hard, marveling at my shoulders, my biceps as I pumped them for her, and the undulation of my abs as I offered three sharp hip thrusts in time with the drumbeat, showing her what she had to look forward to.
I especially loved the way she shivered as, my hands on my belt buckle, I advanced on the bed, coming to within feet of it before stopping again. I held myself frozen, not moving, not dancing.
As raptly as she’d been paying attention to my performance, it took a moment for her to notice that I wasn’t doing anything anymore. Dragging her gaze from my belt to my eyes, she asked, “Why did you stop?”
“Daddy dances for tips, baby,” I told her. “You’re not tipping me.”
She blinked, dismay creeping across her face as she stammered, “Y-you want me to... pay you?”
No. God, no.
“I want you to tip me,” I patiently explained. “Daddy dances for tips.”
Her gaze slid from me to the door, and I knew she was still thinking about money and her purse.
“Pet the kitty, baby,” I told her. “That’s how you tip Daddy when he’s dancing for you. If you want me to keep going, put your fingers on your pussy, and give her a little pet for me.”
Her dismay when she thought I was asking her to pay for sex changed in an instant to furiously blushing dismay over being asked to masturbate in front of me.
“Come on now,” I coaxed, my fingers tapping at my belt buckle, drawing her gaze once more to what she wanted. That she did, in fact, still want it was reflected in the naked hunger that flashed through her eyes. “Be a good girl for Daddy. Pet your pretty kitty.”
She bit her lip. She also shifted her weight onto one arm to slip a hesitant hand between her splayed legs. She touched herself, a trembling stroke of her middle finger, gliding over her clit, down into the wetness glistening along her folds, and subsequently drawing that wetness back up again on the tip of her finger. I saw the subtle twitch of her pussy muscles contract as the tip of her finger circled her clit.
And here I was, still with my pants on.
“Dance, Daddy,” she said, her breath catching just a little as her fingertips found their own caressing rhythm.
Her attempt at giving me orders made me smile. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” I said, playing with the buckle on my thick leather belt. “Good thing for you I like it, or Daddy just might have to take his belt off for other reasons.”
Her whole body shivered, but not because my playful threat scared her. She watched eagerly as I took my belt off, pulling the serpentine length through my pants loops. I doubt she noticed the way her own fingers quickened their strokes as I swung my belt in the air over my head, much like a cowboy with his lasso, eventually sending it flying to land gently on the bed behind her.
Her legs twitched, hugging her own hand as my pants came next. Sadly, they weren’t rip-away jeans with specially designed Velcro seams. That made it harder to take them off with the same kind of grace and showmanship I was used to giving on the stage, but if she noticed, she didn’t show it. Her fingers stroked a little faster, her short, shallow breaths quickened, and the glistening slickness catching the light along her beguiling sex just got that much wetter.
On the stage, I’d have played with my pants, drawn it out for the ladies whooping and hollering like teenagers at a Justin Bieber concert. But right now, I just didn’t have it in me to wait and soon I was standing there at the foot of the bed in nothing but a pair of red boxer briefs and a smile every bit as hungry as the high-standing erection my briefs weren’t hiding revealed me to be.
The music continued to play and her fingers continued to stroke, right up until I put my knee up on the foot of the bedside inside the vee of her widely parted feet, and slowly crawled up onto the bed over her.
Her fingers stopped petting. She leaned back, her excitement showing in her breathing as she lay herself down on the bed beneath me. I could see it in her eyes. It was do or die time, and she wanted me every
bit as badly as I ached for her.
“Isn’t there a rule somewhere about not touching the dancers?” she quavered as once more I braced my hands to either side of her head, careful of my weight as I leaned into her.
“I don’t see a bouncer here, do you?” My hips settled into the cradle of hers. Ours was a dance of a different kind now as I rolled my pelvis, letting her feel the swollen hardness of my cock, still trapped inside my briefs, pressing full against her hot pussy. Her wetness soaked into the cloth of my underwear.
“No,” she squeaked, her trembling thighs clamping down on the outside of my hips, hugging me between her legs.
I rocked a slow thrust, letting her feel the length and thickness of me, torturing myself with all that slick heat that my twitching cock couldn’t wait to feel firsthand. “If there are no bouncers and we’re not at the club, then the only rules here are Daddy’s rules. Isn’t that right?”
She nodded, trembling.
I ground my cock against her. “Say yes, Daddy,” I ordered.
She sighed, her back bowing in an arch that pushed her breasts up against me. “Y-yes, Daddy.”
She touched my chest, her small hands moving down and around my waist. She half-hummed, half-whimpered, as if helpless to stop them from drifting all the way down to the elastic waist of my underwear. I ground myself against her again, rocking my hips into the wet heat between her shaking, hugging legs.
“What do you want, baby?” I asked, every rock of my hips increasing both our torment.
“You.” She shook with the rawness of her need. “You, Daddy. I want you.”
“You liked Daddy’s dance, didn’t you? Now it’s time to ride his cock and you can’t wait to have it inside you.”
She moaned and tried to hide her face, but I wasn’t about to let her.
“How badly do you want to ride Daddy’s cock, baby girl? Say it,” I ordered, grinding her clit with my cock, mock thrusting against her and driving her wild.
She writhed beneath me, her hips trying hard to match my movements in a way that would have had me sliding into her if only my underwear were off. She knew that too. Already her fingers had found the elastic and she was pushing at it, trying to force it out from between us.
“Say it.” I forced myself to go still and uncooperative, but she got her hand inside. She cupped me. Hot as her pussy was, her hand was hotter. My eyes almost closed. I bit down on a moan. I was in so much trouble. My cock had found heaven in her palm. “Say it,” I ordered, so damned husky and low that I hardly recognized my own voice.
“Daddy, I want your cock,” she both pleaded and whimpered, and arching up off the mattress, she locked her lips to mine and stole the most fiercely desperate kiss I think I’ve ever enjoyed.
I have no idea which of us worked my underwear down far enough to be out of the way. I only know that my last coherent thought was how perfect she was for me as I sank down deep inside her. Stretching her open, forcing her eager body to take every inch of me, again and again. I loved her gasps each time I filled her. I loved the needy grip of her fingers, sinking into my ass like claws, pulling me that much deeper inside her. Like she couldn’t get enough of me.
God alone knew, I couldn’t get enough of her either. Couldn’t touch her enough; couldn’t kiss her enough; sure as hell couldn’t get her out of her clothes fast enough. I think I tore at least two buttons off her shirt before I got both it and her bra flung off the bed, baring her soft breasts with their thrusting little nipples to my fingers and tongue. When I touched her, she went wild beneath me. Laughing, I rolled her over, flopping onto my back so she could put all that energy to work.
“Ride Daddy,” I commanded, and she did, hungrily, eagerly. Dressed still in her white stockings and shoes, with her uniform skirt bunched up around her waist, she was absolutely beautiful to behold. I couldn’t stop touching her—her breasts, her hips, that pretty pink little clitty of hers as she rocked her hips over mine, riding my cock with increasing need and aggression. She threw herself backwards with a cry, grabbing my thighs as she bucked and ground upon me, her pussy spasming tight as a fist around my cock. She came hard, but so did I, with her clit trapped between my fingers and my thumb flicking and stroking and working every last shivery orgasm out of her, until at last she wilted.
I held her on top of me, with her head resting on my chest and my cock softening inside her. We were both panting and breathless.
“Had I known it would end like this,” she suddenly mumbled against my chest, “I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to leave the last time.”
I’d have smacked her sassy bottom, but I was still panting and now laughing too hard to manage it. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
“Daddy?” she asked, two fingers playing on my chest.
“Yeah?”
“I think I want an encore.”
I hid my grin behind a tsk, rolling her over onto her back. “The responsibilities of a Daddy dom are never done,” I said, nowhere near as sad as I sounded, especially not as I spread her legs wide and began a descent of kisses down between them.
I wasn’t Superman. I was going to need a minute, but I also knew—as she wove her fingers into my short hair, guiding my lips and tongue to where she needed their attention the most—it wasn’t going to take much to make me ready again. By the time her gasps dissolved back into moans, her hips started rocking, and her toes curled up tight against the mattress, Daddy’s cock was standing high and hard for her once more.
One Daddy Dancer encore, coming right up.
Chapter Six
Mazi
I startled awake, alone in a strange bed and even stranger bedroom, to the sound of insistent knocking on my door. Jetlagged, it took me a moment to realize where I was or why I was being awakened. It was the wakeup call summoning me to breakfast with my father, the reigning king of Osei.
“I’m up, I’m up!” I yelled, mostly because the room was massive and only yelling would let anyone on the other side of that heavy wooden door hear me. That I sounded as irritated as I did I chalked up to the jetlag. My eyes weren’t ready to be open. My body was convinced it was still midnight, never mind the morning sunlight streaming in through all the windows and the glass balcony doors. Also, Norah was gone.
I tried not to be annoyed by that. It was perfectly normal for her to want to get up and shower, and put on fresh clothes before meeting me, or the king for that matter, for breakfast. Women had standards, God bless them. It’s part of what made them a joy to sit across from at the breakfast table. For my part, both she and the king would be damn lucky if I brushed my hair before staggering downstairs for coffee.
I was just throwing back the blankets to roll myself out of bed when the door swung open and in marched a very hurried Jax. I quickly yanked the blankets back over my lap, covering myself. Although frankly, if the old man didn’t care, I don’t know why I should.
“You’re late,” Jax accused. “The king has been waiting breakfast on you for twenty minutes now. What are you doing still in bed?”
“What happened to my wakeup call?” I protested, staring as he threw my suitcase down on the foot of the bed, zipped it open and began flinging clothes at me. Pants, underwear, a white polo shirt with a blue stripe around the chest and sleeve hems. He paused to glare at each item, as if deeply and personally offended simply by their existence, before casting them at me.
“I sent three people to wake you up,” Jax snapped at me. “I also personally phoned your cell twice. Get. Dressed.”
He paused mid-march across the room to the bathroom, but only long enough to pick up each of my shoes and fling them at me, before continuing on.
“I never heard the phone,” I muttered, wrestling into my underwear and pants.
“I don’t care how strained the relationship,” Jax snapped, reemerging from the bathroom long enough to pelt me with toothbrush and deodorant. “You do not make His Royal Highness wait on you.”
“We spent fourteen hours o
n a plane,” I grumbled and finished dressing. I found my belt on Norah’s side of the bed where it had fallen off onto the floor at some point last night, pausing in the middle of lacing myself back into it when my plastic razor bounced off my chest. I gave Jax a dark look. “You really need to stop throwing things at me,” I warned. “Has anyone let Norah know? Why don’t you go next door and throw things at her for a while?”
“Miss Baxter met the king promptly at eight o’clock. She has already been shown to her office and is even now receiving instructions on what is expected of her and the job she is to perform. It’s you,” Jax announced, erupting back out of the bathroom for the last time and shaking my own hairbrush at me, “who is remiss in your duties! Be grateful that you are too big and not mine to spank!”
When he threw the hairbrush, I caught it, and that’s how we stood, both of us staring at one another, highly annoyed.
Drawing himself up stiffly straight, Jax schooled his features, gave his uniform jacket a prim tug, and calmly informed me, “I shall wait for you in the hall, my prince. Kindly move your ass.”
He left and I stood there, hairbrush in hand, annoyed with him, annoyed because I was here to begin with, and most of all—probably most irrationally of all—annoyed with Norah for going to breakfast without waking me. Admittedly, we’d made no agreement to go together, so it wasn’t as if I had a right to be irritated. And yet, it was a good thing she wasn’t standing here right now, or I’d have been strongly tempted to put my plastic, short-handled, and completely ineffective-for-smacking-purposes hairbrush to use and spank her with it.
When I saw her again, though, we were going to talk and Daddy was going to lay down some rules.
I finished getting ready, threw everything back in the bathroom where it belonged, gave Jax the full brunt of my annoyance in the form of a withering stare—one which he had no problem returning—and then walked back through the winding corridors of the palace, down the stairs to the first floor, and eventually found myself in a fancy dining hall that was crowned by a massively long table that could easily have accommodated sixty people down each side.
