Daddy's Careless Little (Wounded Daddies 4)

Chapter One

Helen

As my body tightens up and my orgasm hits, I scream, “Yes, Daddy! Yes!” My whole body is alive with sensation as pleasure rockets through me, making me tense up and release, over and over. The pleasure is overwhelming as my pussy sends bursts of bliss over my body that travel over my legs, down to my toes, and up my abdomen to the top of my head.

“Oh, Daddy!” I pant. “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy.”

My fingers stop moving, deep inside of me and I lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling. There is nobody there to call me a good girl, nobody there to tell me I made him feel good. There is nobody there to hear me call him Daddy. I don’t even have a man in mind, just a concept, a thought of a man who will take care of me, protect me, and guide me.

I sigh and breathe out. “Damn it all.”

I am so tired of feeling incomplete. I lay in bed thinking about just how much I lack real… what is the word? Security? Well, I lack that, but I have a job that pays my bills so it’s a different kind of security. Peace? Sure, I lack peace. It goes deeper than that. I possess no sense of fulfilment, no completion. I am a person without direction and without happiness.

Oh sure, I know there are people who can get by just fine all on their own, people who do not need to have anyone in their lives to be happy. I cannot. I have been alone for almost two years now, and although I know it was right for my relationship with John to end, I still miss it. I miss the relationship, not John.

I am a little girl.

Not my age. I’m twenty-five years old.

I am a little girl, meaning I have a particular kind of fetish. I don’t just want a boyfriend. I want a man who is dominant. Some people in the BDSM community want to be a slave and they want a Master. Some people in the community want to be a submissive, a sub, and they want a Sir. I want to be a little girl, and I want a Daddy.

John was a better Daddy than I was a little girl. This is part of why our relationship didn’t work out. I carelessly hurt him time and time again until he ended up sleeping with a girl who didn’t. I don’t mean to suggest cheating is okay. John’s betrayal was terrible; a man in that position should have the strength to break up with a girl before cheating on her.

Even though I am still angry at John, I blame myself. No matter how hard I try, I never seem to be able to take care with what I say or what I do. And so, I tend to accidentally hurt the people around me. I don’t want to. It just happens. I’m not mean. I’m thoughtless. I speak before I think, or I’m just oblivious to how what I say will affect others. It’s not how I want to be at all, but it’s still who I am.

I care. I really care.

But I’m still careless, and that’s the problem. I’m the girl who works all day on a gourmet meal and then forgets to take it out of the oven. I’m the girl who builds a friend right up and then accidentally insults the hell out of her, so she doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m the girl who doesn’t even realize I’m making promises with my eyes, words, gestures, until suddenly someone is angry with me for not keeping them.

Sometimes I feel like I’m just oblivious to the world around me.

And I am so fucking lonely!

It is too early to get up, but I know I won’t get any more sleep, so I roll out of bed and step into the shower. Sometimes, I can work myself up again, so as the water jets over me, I massage my breasts and pinch my nipples, trying to imagine a strong and powerful man in the shower with me. I stop soon after. The loneliness is too strong, and I’m just not up to the task.

I stay in the shower for almost forty-five minutes and don’t mind the idea of staying another hour, but the hot water runs out and instead I curse and turn the nozzle off. I hate how I feel. I hate it doubly because some great things are happening in the lives of my friends. I want to celebrate their happiness but keep getting lost in self-pity instead. I just want a measure of happiness for myself without hurting anyone around me.

I dry off, but it’s still too early to get up so I crawl naked into the bed and run my hands over my body again, trying to recapture the magic of fantasizing about a Daddy who will care for me, who will help me to become all that I know I can be, if I can just get past these silly things I do and start to get my actions to measure up to my intentions. It takes a long while to get to a point where I’m actively fantasizing and not just feeling lonely. But when I do, my imaginary Daddy rocks my world.

When I roll out of bed, though, I don’t feel happy about anything. My focus on this fantasy Daddy just highlights how unhappy I am, how lonely I am. I go to work distracted, and since I’m already easily distracted even when I’m on top of my game, things don’t work out. I mess up a table’s drink order twice in a row. They’re nice about it, but as the night wears on, I mess up several other rounds. One of the men is a bit drunk by then, and he doesn’t hesitate to make comments about the horrible job I’m doing.

He’s right.

He’s absolutely right.

I don’t mean to do a poor job. I’m just trying to get past the idiotic way my mind is swirling.

Nonetheless, I mess up again. This time, he makes a very pointed comment about my incompetence. In a situation like this, I know exactly what to do. I need to diffuse the situation and make the last delivery free. It’s the only way to handle the situation, kindly and apologetically, especially when it’s a tipsy guy I’ve offended.

I know that’s what I’m supposed to do.

Instead, I say, “I didn’t think you’d notice, since you’re so busy drinking and looking at my boobs.”

I mean it as a joke. It’s a stupid joke, sure, but just a joke. Nonetheless, the man leaps to his feet and starts yelling at me. I’m afraid he’s going to physically attack me, but suddenly Leo is there. He’s the bar manager and I’ve known him for years. He stands between me and the drunk man just as the man’s friends get to their feet to restrain him.

But they don’t have to.

I can’t see Leo’s face, but his expression is enough to get the man to back away, although he stands there with his arms crossed.