Daddy's Tantalizing Little Girl (Wounded Daddies 13)

CHAPTER THREE

Serafina

He doesn’t hesitate once the words are out of my mouth, and the next thing I know, he actually has me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I stared at the floor in shock, trying to figure out how the hell things went from me daring him to fuck me to me being up in the air and over his shoulder and disoriented. “What the fuck?” I cry.

“Quiet, little girl!” he says as he lands a hard spank on my ass. I’m wearing a thin cotton dress and it does nothing to protect my ass from the spank. I yelp as his hand connects and although it pisses me off, I can’t manage to actually say anything negative to him because I end up moaning like some kind of two-dollar whore.

“Good girl,” he says, and it pisses me off to no end that I smile at the praise. I’m damned happy he can’t actually see my face at the moment.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I say.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Actually, I know exactly where it comes from. It comes from the stupid sexy romance books I read every day. I guess they’re not stupid but they have a lot to do with why I’m never happy with a guy. None of them can live up to the men in those books, the ones whose girlfriends call them Daddy and who keep their little girls in line with a firm hand. Worse, the fact that Tabitha always talks about her relationship with her Daddy makes me want it more.

Except maybe… Well, he calls me little girl. Maybe he knows I know all about the Daddy thing after all. I wiggle a bit, intending to ask him, and his hand comes down on my ass again. Once more, I get pissed off. Once more, I just moan. I say, “Thank you, Daddy,” again but at least I manage to say it bitterly.

He kicks the door closed behind him as he walks into my place and he lands four or five more spanks on my ass he carries me along. It hurts like hell, and I’m so fucking angry I would attack him if I didn’t moan after every spank. Thankfully, I don’t thank him for those spanks.

The other reason I don’t attack him is I’m afraid if I do, he won’t fuck me.

I desperately want him to fuck me.

What the hell is going on in my head here?

I yelp as he lands a final spank before unceremoniously dumping me on the couch. I gasp as I land and stare defiantly up at him. “Why are you manhandling me?” I ask. Then, like an idiot, I add, “Sorry, Daddy.”

What the fuck?

It’s like my mind is blurring the reality between what I read on my damned phone, what I hear from Tabitha, and what’s right in front of me. He says, “the problem, little girl, is that you need to learn better ways to occupy your mouth.”

In case there’s any doubt about his meaning, he unbuckles his belt and a moment later, his dick is free and right in front of my face. I feel a burst of irritation at the audacity of his statement but then I say, “Yes, Daddy,” almost meekly and put my mouth on him.

God, this is such a crazy reversal of roles. There are so many things running through my mind at the moment but the simple reality is the thing with the most power, urgency and importance is making sure the blowjob I give him is the best possible blowjob in the world. It has nothing to do with him, either. Well, of course it has something to do with him because he’s the one with the dick in my mouth. However, I want it to be good for my sake, not his.

What the hell?

Blowjobs are for guys as special rewards when they behave and they’re something I make sure the boy never forgets he got! They aren’t things for me to enjoy!

Nonetheless, I moan as I suck and I feel such an inordinate thrill with every time he draws in breath or reacts in any way at all to what I do. I find myself trying to go deeper and before I even realize I’m doing it; I have one hand on his balls and the other moves over his chest through his shirt. Hell, all previous blowjobs would already have turned into hand jobs with just an occasional kiss or lick.

When he pulls away abruptly, I whimper in disappointment. “Daddy, please. I want to make you cum!”

“Oh, you will little girl,” he replies. “Don’t worry about that.”

I gasp at the words and then let out another moan. Soon, our hands fly over each other’s bodies as we tear at our clothes. Before long, he’s on the couch and I’m on top of him, moving my body like some kind of a madwoman. Again, my mind is a complete jumble because at the moment, the only thing that matters to me is making this good for Peter. It’s such a strange thing for that to be my focus and as I move my hips atop him and his cock delves deeply into me, the real contradiction is evident.

It’s better sex than anything I have ever experienced.

It’s better even though my only concern is making him cum. I scream as my orgasm hits first and it shocks me with its power. I freeze atop him but Peter doesn’t freeze at all. Instead, he holds tightly to my hips and slams up hard and fast, driving my orgasms to greater heights so all I can do is keep screaming, “Daddy!” over and over.

When he cums, I collapse on top of him and he holds me there, gently running his hand up and down my spine as I try to catch my breath. After several minutes, he finally says, “It looks like we need to talk, little girl.”

I pull back and look at him and then shyly say, “Yes, Daddy. I think we do.”