Dark Fetishes Vol. 1 (DARK EROTICA)

It was tasking to keep my hands away from my face. I could feel my cheeks growing hotter the more he stared into my eyes, my thighs twitching when I glanced at the chest tattoo that was peeking out from beneath his tank. I'd only known him for the past year, but it felt like centuries. With a mild crush like mine, days weaved together like milky spider webs that popped up in the corners of the garage window. I couldn't count how many nights I stayed awake just to listen to him grunt from across the house with fingers pressed beneath my shorts in an attempt to mimic his motions. I ached.

“Regardless, you're an adult now and your studies should come first. Hand over your keys.” He held out a roughened hand.

I eyed his hand defiantly and pressed my lips together. I wasn't prepared to handle him acting like my father just yet. I was still caught up in a fantasy world where we weren't perceived as related, where I could casually call him Alfred and no one would think twice about me reaching for his hand. I felt like a child ogling his tan arms in the dim light of the moon sparkling through the glass door. If I gave up my car keys, I'd have to get rides to work and social functions, something I found unbearably embarrassing at my ripe age of nineteen. My lips twisted harder together when he wiggled his fingers in response to my silence. I sighed.

“Fine.” I conceded to his punishment. For now.

Rather dramatically, I squeezed past his bulky arm and trotted off to my room where I quickly shut the door and the desire to touch his muscular physique behind me. I listened through the wood for his footsteps to follow my path down the hall, but he must have gone to the kitchen instead. Had I upset him? He didn't seem upset. It was possible that he was disappointed. I wasn't even sure why I was worried about him being upset with me. It wasn't like he was my real father. He hadn't raised me like mom had and he'd never have that sort of emotional sway over me. I almost envied the girls in my dorm who droned on about being daddy's girl and patiently waited for their unwavering kings to pick them up for Sunday brunch. When had I ever cared what Alfred felt towards me? After all, this was just a little fantasy and my fantasy was simply a dark fetish that I used to give myself a thrill in lieu of porn. It wasn't like I was in love with him. My crush was merely a hobby.

When I realized my step-father wasn't coming back up the hallway, I lifted my ear from the door and sauntered over to my bed where I stripped down to my panties and crawled beneath the sheets. A moment's thought posed a challenge: could I fantasize about anything else? I thought about the other guys in my Brit Lit course and tried picturing them naked. Grant, Michael, Warren, Darrell… Who would feel good inside me? I chose Darrell and peeled off his clothes in my mind. Gradually, I slipped my hand beneath the sheets and smoothed my fingers over my torso. I concentrated on the lines in the ceiling and the bits of popcorn paint that were chipping

away to form new designs before plunging my hand beneath my panties to meet wet flesh.

For a moment, I had Darrell pictured exactly where I wanted him. I kept saying his name repeatedly in my mind, even mouthed it silently a couple of times while focusing on his thin form and his broad shoulders. I could almost feel his hands gripping my thighs. I moved my fingers over my labia, dipped down beneath the folds, and eased them gently inside where a rush of warm fluid soaked my hand. My hips rocked forward to the rhythm set by my hand as I continued imagining Darrell penetrating my body over and over.

Oh, sweet ecstasy.

I rolled with the waves unfolding and found myself vocalizing as I rubbed myself harder.

“Daddy...”

Panic.

My eyes popped open and focused hard on the ceiling. Had I really just said that out loud? Before I could process the occurrence, I heard a light knock as my door creaked open.

“Hey, Vic,” Alfred slid into view. “Oh...I'm sorry. I didn't know you were sleeping.”

I shrugged.

“Look, I'm sorry to be hard on you. I just don't want you making any mistakes. I didn't get all the chances growing up that you have now.” He tapped the door with his fingers pensively. “I just want to see you succeed. Okay?”

“Okay, Alfred. Thanks.”

“Please, call me Daddy.” A smile slowly crept along his face as he closed the door.

My mind raced as I rolled my head across the pillow to focus on the ceiling once more. Had he heard me whispering those filthy words to myself? Was I moaning too loud? Had my bed been creaking with the motion of my pelvis bucking beneath the sheets? I had to stifle a maniacal giggle from erupting by biting my lower lip. Try as I might, I couldn't keep the fantasy from growing. I have permission to address him in a way that was almost exotic. It was dirty to think of him in those terms, but also incredibly hot that my darkest desire was unfolding. Who am I kidding? I don't want to stop.

So, I won't.

As I drifted off into the dream realm, I pictured Daddy by my side in the comfort and warmth of my bed. It made me exhilarated to call him Daddy. I could dream forever about him sweating between my thighs with his hands circling every orifice he could find. The thought alone soaked my panties. I moaned sleepily and pushed my fingers back down to finish my business while the excitement from him entering my room was still fresh.

I just wanted him to penetrate me.

My breathing labored and I moved my fingers faster to the thought of him inside me. I came and bucked hard into my hand, using my fluffy, pink pillow as a gag to keep my activity as discreet as possible. I smiled to myself. What a relief to give in to such a dirty thought. Completely content, I rolled over and curled up into my pillows where I pretended Daddy was holding me.

Chapter Two

I woke peacefully to the smell of bacon and pancakes wafting through the vents of my room. The scent was absolute bliss and rattled my stomach, hunger growling across my gut like a thunderstorm. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, stretched, and rolled from my white sheets to start moving around for the day. I didn't have work until noon and it was only 9:30, but I wanted to see my Daddy. Maybe we could even go for a walk.

Sundays were easy days at the library. Hardly anyone came in and we were only open for about four hours. I don't think we had anything scheduled either, so it would just be me and the books. There would be plenty of time for me to fantasize as I stocked shelves and tidied up. In fact, I did this with some frequency. It was always so quiet between the shelves, the only sound was the squeak of the rolling cart as I collected discarded and misplaced books. I'd circle the second floor a number of times – the youth section alone was an impressive size – and then circle it again only to find more books strewn about lazily. I didn't mind picking up after patrons as long as the pages weren't torn or dog-eared. There was nothing more annoying than a disrespected book.

I pulled on a pair of daisy dukes, my favorite white pair with the red polka dots, and slipped a red blouse over my head that accentuated my shoulders by dipping down fairly low. I couldn't wear this to work, but I could wear it at home where it mattered. I tousled my hair in front of the wall mirror and puckered my lips. It wouldn't hurt to put a little eyeliner on. I did a quick winged look on each eye, dabbed a light shade of bronze over my lids, and then smoothed Chapstick over my lips. I was ready.

As I emerged from my room, I considered brushing my teeth and washing my hands as well. I hadn't washed them yet from rubbing myself raw only hours ago and I was sure I probably smelled like my juicy insides. Would he notice? I sprinted to the bathroom, washed up, and then walked carefully over the tan carpet to the kitchen where my family was bustling about the kitchen preparing breakfast. The table was already set with hot food and decorated with napkins and plates. I sat awkwardly in the chair closest to the hall.

“Good morning, Victoria.” My mother said with a smile while picking up pancakes from the griddle.

“Good morning, mom.” It came out like a squeak. I cleared my throat.