Daddy Holds Me Tight #1
It's Mum's new boyfriend, and I'm never going back to guys my age ever again.
***Free4All***
It’s also something new for me. I’ve never tried a ‘stepdad’ story before, but I was enjoying Kate Granger’s, so I thought I’d have a go myself.
Enjoy!
“Oh, Daddy, yes, Daddy. Do me. Do me good!”
“Please, sir, can I put it in my mouth and please you?”
“Sweet girl, you make Daddy feel so fucking amazing.”
Hmmm, I’m not sweet, and he wasn’t my Daddy, not my real Daddy, not even really a stepdad, actually. But, well, that’s where my mind went when I’d have him, which was a lot! That’s how I thought of him, what he liked me to call him.
I was rocking back and forth in his arms. He crouched low behind me, holding me in the doggy position tighter than any boy had ever held me. I had never been so turned on, so wet, and oh, so very ill!
At this point, he wasn’t fucking me. At that moment, I didn’t know if he ever would. All I knew was that I wanted him to. I wanted him very badly and would do anything to get him.
All he was doing then was making it easier for me to be sick. He was caring for me before he was lusting for me.
I can't handle my drink. This is not the first time I've had my head over the toilet bowl wishing I was dead, promising myself I'll never drink again, again. But you have to forgive my younger self. She was only eighteen, just left home for university. A teenage party. We can’t help it; it’s in our makeup.
Most of my makeup though was all over parts of my face from where it didn't start. I felt a mess. I must have looked a mess.
And to top it all off, I had to run past my Mum's new boyfriend—not new, I don’t think. I reckon she'd been seeing him for years but kept him under wraps. That is, until as soon as I moved out, she moved him in.
I could feel his eyes watching me as I barged through the front door and rushed up the stairs. He was probably thinking, "God, her Mum's so lovely, but her daughter's a bit of a dumb tart. What a train wreck. Why do kids like this bother going to university at all? What a waste!"
I admit I was a bit paranoid about what older people thought of me. All my friends were the same as me, but old folks have it all sorted out. At least, that’s what I thought back then. I didn’t realise how unsorted they all were and how popular I’d be with them! Oh, yeah, you get it. I get it now. But despite my whoring and drinking and sleeping through lectures, I was pretty innocent of the reality all around.
I was surprised, therefore, when he came to check up on me.
Mum was out at her own party (I must have been a lightweight; she stayed out longer!), so I guess he thought it was his duty to look after the wayward kid.
“You’re not my Daddy.'' I wanted to shout, but right then, I'd have taken anyone caring for me, even Hannibal Lecter.
"You'll get a thumping headache if you let your head jolt every time you are sick." He said it with a tone of concern I'd not garnered from him before. But then I'd only grunted a few hellos in the brief moments to be polite.
"Let me hold your head," he said, and with that sentence, my life changed forever. For better? For worse? That would depend on your moral point of view and how important the great variety of sex and sexual encounters is to your life.
My? I wanted it all. And that was the moment I started to get it.
I nodded agreement and began to retch again. He was quick, though, and before I was bouncing around, he had taken hold of me and held me firmly still.
One hand on my forehead. One hand was on the back of my head, and his body curved over me. His thighs pressed against my bum. I couldn't move, and I didn't want to.
I confess that the way he held me made me wet. I felt ill as road kill, but turned on enough to want to cry if I didn’t get fucked soon.
Let's be honest I was eighteen, at university, drinking like a nutter every night; I really didn’t have a shortage of sex. But sex was always when I was high, drunk, or ill. Or all three. I'd fucked a lot of guys that first term. Some girls, too. And rarely when sober.
But they had all been about my age and as excited about the joys of independent adult life as I was. Experimenting with that freedom every night. They were not thirty years older, confident, sensible middle-aged men who were seeing my Mum.
My mind went crazy. I knew my little red dress had ridden up over my ass. Exposing everything. I wanted to feel his cock against it, rubbing against me. I wanted him to get it out and push his old man dick right up my teen pussy in one smooth rush of lust.
I wanted, and I know it’s bad, to scream out, "Daddy! Fuck me Daddy! Your little girl needs doing so bad!" And god, I did! But how did I get so nasty with him so quickly? Or at least at that moment, I was getting nasty in my head with him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was being nice. I was thinking like a slut.
Well, I was a slut back then. And I think it all happened in reaction to my last failed encounter with a young guy a couple of hours before.
I'd fucked some spotty lad in the gents’ toilets at a nightclub we’d all gone to. I was back with my old friends from school. United for the first time after all of us had been stretched out across the country. He was one of the boys from sixth form I’d vaguely known.
He took me into a cubicle, and soon, half the guys in the place seemed to know what was going on. They had banged on the cubicle on the thin walls of the cubicle and shouted nasty words of encouragement.
“Fuck the slut like you mean it, JP!”
“She a wrong-un ha!”
“What a dirty bitch.”
“I’ll take sloppy seconds when you’re finished with her.”
“Me too!”,
They clambered up to watch from over the walls a bunch of leery young boys, probably all hard, probably touching themselves. Typical Saturday night for me really! But not what I needed in the end.
My new lover was full of himself. He started to show off. He had me bent over the toilet bowl and was giving me a pretty good seeing to; I could sense an orgasm rising. It was all a bit too teenage boy frantic fucking, but it was all I knew, and it would work if I imagined a film star was doing it or something like that
But then the twat switched to my arse. I remember thinking the word ‘twat’. Why would he do that? I’m great with anal, I don’t care about if it might hurt a bit, but fuck, I had been so close and he didn’t even ask.
He did announce it to his fans, though. "Fucking the bitches in the ass!" and everyone cheered. “She’s a tight slag!” More cheers. Men are weird. Young men. I mean, we’ll get to the old men later!
“Mouth!” He shouted at me. “I'm going to cum!" Too much porn, these guys. They have to cum in your mouth. Too much porn us girls, I thought that was what was always required!
He pulled out, and dutifully, I rushed my mouth onto it. He pushed me down. My nose was soon crushed against his sweaty pubes. Gagging on him, he came. He was lucky I wasn't so ill at that point!
He finished with his whole body jerking around like a string puppet. He moaned guys cheered, "Fucking Frankie! Ain’t she the best!" That’s my name, or Francesca if you like. That’s what he liked, my Daddy. Everyone else calls me Frankie.
All the while, JP held my hair in tight-fisted bunches and sounded like a zombie in a horror movie.
He pulled out of my throat and immediately switched to pissing in the toilet. The toilet I'd only a moment ago been fucked over.
"I need to cum JP (his silly initials name). Finger me or something."
He waggled his nearly soft dick as the flow subsided and sighed. "I'm good with my fingers; I'll make you wail."
He was not good with his fingers. He pushed three in, too much for my tight little pussy, and just rammed in and out as hard as he could. Let me tell you, all I got was sore, no orgasm.
I'm too kind and didn't want to hurt his feelings, so rather than simply stopping him and saying, “You're shit, mate,” I faked an orgasm. "So, good..."
Why did I do that? Why do we do that? No wonder the idiot thought he was god’s gift.
But now I was in the strong arms of a real man. A man old enough to be my Dad. The man I'd come to know at Daddy. But only when Mum is not around!
Next time: He lets me rest his head in his lap, washes down my sweating body, and we ache for each other. Then Mum comes home. Damn!
How much does your stories cost on subst
Wasn’t sure if I would like this genre, but Francesca’s point of view was actually endearing