Tie Me Up Daddy

by Cassandra Dee

  “Like this, Daddy?” I asked. “You wanna fuck me like this?” I panted against the ground. Oh god, I was dying for his touch now, I wanted it so bad, my clit throbbed hotly, my channel creaming in anticipation of his touch.

  But I hadn’t been thorough enough.

  “No baby girl,” he growled in reply. “Show me what you got up that passageway.”

  And I moaned throatily then, my eyes closed. Because Chris is a master and my pussy is his playground. He wanted to see absolutely everything I had to give. And so with another whine, I let go of my ass cheeks, spreading my legs further before reaching between my thighs with both hands and delicately pulling my labia apart, baring my inner pinkness to him, the folds so steamy and wet, pulsing for his touch.

  “Daddy, like this?” I murmured again. “Is this what you wanted?”

  And this time the big man was satisfied.

  “Fuck, little girl,” he ground out, “Fuck fuck fuck, you’re so beautiful, that cunt’s so tight, so small, so …”

  “So pink?” I giggled. “Dying for …”

  But I wasn’t able to finish because he was on me then.

  “FUCK!” he roared, thrusting his dick in me in one fell swoop, nailing me deep. “Oh FUCK you’re tight!”

  And I squealed then, almost lifted in the air by his hugeness, my hips bucking uncontrollably, panting and gasping. My boobs swayed as he knelt behind me, drilling me again and again.

  “Ohh!” I shrieked, lifting my chin up, throwing my head back so that brown curls spilled over my shoulders. “Oh oh oh!”

  And the big man took his cue. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head so that I was arched backwards almost painfully as his dick thrust away.

  “You like that?” he growled, using my hair like the reins on a horse. “You like that little filly?”

  And I could only mewl and cry my pleasure, my cunt was about to explode, I was so swollen and wet, stretched and full of his dick that words escaped me, I was incoherent with ecstasy.

  “Mmmm!” I screamed again. “Mmmm!”

  I thought I was going come then, it was so hard, fast and rough, and we did it differently each time, this being one of my favorites, being ridden like a horse, jerked and controlled as his dick sawed away in back. But suddenly, Chris stopped all movement and the cessation made me mewl and cry out in desperation. I needed cock in me, his member was the source of my desire and I couldn’t understand how we’d gone from a deep drill to a complete standstill.

  “Daddy?” I panted. “Mr. Jones?”

  But the big man just slapped my ass hard, once, making me jolt and jiggle before massaging the red area, his fingers warm, gliding over the sensitive spot.

  “Wha-what was that for?” I asked, panting. “Did I do something bad?”

  The big man just chuckled deeply behind me, his dick still buried inside my wet cunt and I could feel the vibrations of his laugh through his cock, making my pussy gush wetly again.

  “No, not at all baby girl,” he drawled, his own voice slightly hoarse from the deep drill. “I just want to try something new,” he ground out.

  New? I flushed, looking over him at my shoulder, eyes wide, only to be met with Chris’s knowing blue gaze. And I shuddered inside, melting, giving into my fate.

  “Yes, Mr. Jones,” I panted. “Do whatever you want.”

  And the big man chuckled.

  “Good to see I’ve trained you so well,” he ground out. “For that, you’re getting my special.”

  I closed my eyes, my body tensing, bracing for something shocking, something crazy to happen, and Mr. Jones didn’t let me down. I heard him spit for a moment, and then a telling trickle of warm saliva dripping onto my ass.

  My eyes flew open. What the?

  But it was true. As the fluid crested into my asshole, a big hand began rubbing it around my pleats, the brown pucker sensitive and tight, making my lids flutter, my entire body come alive.

  “Oh!” I panted, my head dropping weakly between my shoulders. It was so private, so unexpected. No man had ever touched my anus before, it was straight out of my dirtiest fantasies. “Oh god, you’re touching me there,” I mewled.

  The big man grunted.

  “Baby, I touch you anywhere I want,” he growled and with that, his digit began to apply pressure.

  “Oh!” my eyes flew open this time. “Oh oh oh!” I panted. “It’s inside!”

  “That’s right,” he confirmed, his voice deep and possessive. “Like I said, anywhere I want, and that includes inside you.”

  And at that moment, my butt popped open, my anus giving it up, letting the big man breach me. His finger slid in smoothly, that blunt, thick digit making its way up my back hole, the feel incredible, my dry walls clenching tight around him. My nipples were on fire, his dick still buried in my swollen cunt, and oh god, but now my ass was being violated.

  “Mmm,” he murmured throatily. “Fuck you’re tight back here,” he said before stirring his finger a bit, making me moan with lust, a wave of sensation beginning to build.

  And slowly, the big man began shifting his hips again, pulling his dick in and out of my pussy as he fingered my ass, using both holes, playing my body like a fine instrument.

  “Fuck, baby girl,” he muttered, “I can feel my cock moving through your ass wall, it’s incredible, you’re so sensitive, so hot, so fucking responsive.”

  And my pussy jerked again then, loving the DP, everything open, willing and wet for this man.

  “Yes, Daddy,” I murmured. “Please.”

  “Please what?” he grunted in return. “Say it.”

  And as my ass and pussy were drilled from behind, my clit buzzing with energy, my walls beginning to pulse on their own, I did the unthinkable.

  “Mr. Jones.” I gasped, my body shaking with desire, “I want it, I want it, ohhhh, put it in me, I think I love you!”

  And without thinking, I careened over the edge then. My vision blacked out for a moment before becoming pure white, my pussy teetering before exploding, sending shockwaves of sensation through my body, clamping on his dick, milking it like a madman as I screamed and shouted my heart’s desire.

  And the words drove him over the edge too. Upon hearing the word “love,” the big man gave it up, pulse after pulse of hot semen releasing in my snatch, spraying my insides even as he fingered my anus, stretching it and fucking it, pushing me more and more until a second orgasm crashed over me.

  “Oh god!” I screamed. “Mr. Jones!”

  I’m not sure why I screamed for God one second and then for Mr. Jones in the next, but all I knew was that the follow-up orgasm was even harder than the first, this time my ass bearing down like a mighty earthquake, both pussy and anus spasming so hard on him that I almost forced his dick out, my hips bucking, ass cheeks clapping like thunder as I tossed and jolted, every part of me on fire, cream gushing like a river.

  But this wasn’t Mr. Jones’s first rodeo and he knew exactly how to ride an excited filly.

  “That’s it baby,” he growled, his finger in my ass stroking, directing the way. “Easy honey, easy.”

  And I just squealed again, spasming on his digit.

  “Ohhhh god!”

  The big man grunted again, this time going a little slower, his hips a little gentler, the finger sliding smoothly instead of probing wetly.

  “That’s it baby, easy, easy,” he said roughly, his voice still caressing with a grainy edge.

  And I collapsed then, absolutely gave it all up, my heart in my throat, my breasts pressed flat against the mattress, his dick and digit in me still. I was completely full, every part of me overflowing because somehow, some way, this man had wormed himself into my heart.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Chris

  Somehow everything’s spiraled out of control. I don’t know how the fuck this happened, it was supposed to be ten days of hedonism, ten days locked up in my house where I’d explore Lindy’s body thoroughly, take her v-card and then send
her packing once it was done, wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

  Except that everything has gone off course. Instead of staying locked up inside just the two of us, I’ve actually been taking Lindy out. And not to hidey holes where no one would find us, I mean like real places, right here in my neighborhood where we might run into friends, acquaintances, hell, even her parents.

  “Um, Mr. Jones,” the brunette said, biting her lip. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said as we walked towards Osteria La Bistra, my favorite Italian joint. “I mean, people might see us and start talking.”

  I grinned at her.

  “No worries baby, let them talk,” I said casually. “Doesn’t bother me.”

  She shot me a glance then.

  “Chris,” she said seriously, coming to a halt, pinning me with those warm caramel eyes. “I’m not joking. You know people who live here, I know people who live here, it’s not a good idea.”

  But I just smiled at her, putting an arm around her waist and guiding her to the back door. And oh god, but it felt amazing with my arm around her. Not just because she was beautiful but because there was a sense of belonging, like the girl was mine and my arm belonged there, with absolute right of possession. So ignoring her protests, I swung open the door, feeling possessive and masculine.

  “Don’t worry honey,” I whispered in her ear, pushing close so that she was forced to brush her breasts across my chest as she swept past. “I got us a private room in back and no one’s seen us so far, so we’re all good,” I growled.

  The brunette just shook her head, sighing. I could see why Lindy was exasperated and on edge. We were playing with fire coming out into the open, but it felt so good to have her with me, I wanted to parade her around, show her off in front of everyone, consequences be damned.

  But once the private door closed, Lindy relaxed a little, settling back in her plush leather seat and shooting me a sweet smile.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” she murmured softly, playing with her napkin. “I didn’t expect this.”

  And another wave of … what, I’m not sure, rushed over me. All I knew was that I wanted to be there with a hundred percent of my being, I wanted to spend every available second with this beautiful brunette.

  “It’s no problem honey,” I growled. “You deserve the best and Osteria La Bistra has the best Italian for miles around.”

  She giggled.

  “Better than your Spaghetti Bolognese?” she teased. She was referring to the time I’d cooked her my special, treated her to a three-course meal that had ended up with noodles on the floor and her ass perched on the table as I drilled her over and over. So, no, not quite like that but the memory made me hungry.

  “If Chef does anything like that, even looks at you the wrong way, I’m fucking killing him,” I ground out.

  And Lindy just laughed again, her hand covering mine.

  “Oh Mr. Jones, nobody has ever looked at me the way you do,” she said with a sweet smile. “Trust me, nobody.”

  And that’s what blew me away. Because what male wouldn’t want a piece of Lindy? The brunette was sweet, sharp and so smart, it was hard to believe she was only nineteen. Our conversation was easy, rolling along like we’d known each other for years, two adults spending time with each other, enjoying each other’s company, relaxing in each other’s presence.

  “So what do you think about this food?” I asked casually as the brunette nibbled at another mouthful of pasta. I looked on approvingly, Osteria did it right here, the sauce was made from scratch by the owner’s grandmother who simmered tomatoes until they dissolved entirely, becoming a delectable, mouthwatering stew.

  “It’s good,” the brunette nodded, delicately patting her mouth with a napkin. “I’d say tangy and fine, but also with a hint of robustness. All it needs is a kick more of garlic.”

  I nodded approvingly, I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  “True, true,” I rumbled. “And what about the bread?” I asked curiously. Lindy always surprised me with her knowledge, her sensitive palate.

  Here, the brunette was a little more critical.

  “I like it,” she answered truthfully, candidly. “It’s airy, rustic, almost continental in its flavor. But,” she said, lowering her voice and looking around, “The accompaniment could have been done better. The butter’s just … blah, you know? It’s supposed to be whipped with sea salt, but look,” she said, pointing at the bowl they’d given us, “the ingredients are already separating, the buttermilk’s re-liquefied and the sea salt wasn’t mixed in well, there are clumps here and there. You have to be careful with this stuff,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “Sea salt’s not like table salt, the granules are a lot bigger so it doesn’t mix as easily, takes twice as long to blend.”

  I sat back for a moment, looking at the brunette contemplatively.

  “Honey, you’re so good with food. Where did you learn all this? It’s amazing, you’re a real gourmand,” I complimented.

  Lindy blushed a little.

  “Well, I do like to eat,” she said with a shy smile. “I mean, look at me, can’t you tell?”

  I nodded again approvingly, my eyes sweeping over that generous bosom, the fleshy ass. On my watch, Lindy had put on a couple pounds already, and the extra heft, extra bounce was gorgeous, I planned on tasting her as soon as we got back. But she hadn’t answered my question.

  “But where did you pick up your interest in food?” I asked casually, leaning back in my chair, forcing myself to focus on her face and not be distracted by that delectable body. “From your parents? I never knew Jim and Brenda were into fine dining and culinary experimentation.”

  The brunette threw her head back then and laughed, the peals melodic in our private room.

  “Oh, my mom and dad would never come to a place like this,” she admitted. “There’s no way you would ever find them here, it’s way too fancy and we could never afford it, we…” her voice came to a halt suddenly. Because of course the Joneses couldn’t afford to dine here, Jim had stolen from me to help pay for his daughter’s tuition.

  Obviously, Lindy had just had the same thought and colored, but despite the awkwardness, she went on.

  “My parents are different from me,” she said slowly. “Jim and Brenda love me and adore me, I’m their daughter after all, but they’re different. You know I’m the first person in my family to go to a four-year college right?” she asked hesitantly.

  I nodded. Jim was a fantastic accountant but he only had an associate’s degree. The fuck I cared. One thing I’ve learned from being the boss over the years is that school is well and good but common sense and experience isn’t taught in the classroom.

  But I was curious, pressing on.

  “But is that what you want?” I asked. “Are you finding that you like college? Are your classes stimulating, helping you figure out what you want to do, who you want to be as a person?”

  And the brunette sighed then.

  “I guess that’s one of the tough things,” she admitted. “My parents have wanted me to go to college since I was a little girl, I always studied so hard, tried my best in school, and now I’m here. But Chris,” she sighed, “it’s not all that. I don’t love my classes, I feel like I’m twenty years older than my friends sometimes, the stuff they want to do, the stuff they’re interested in, I’m just not into it, you know?”

  I nodded understandingly.

  “You mean like smoke weed and get drunk every weekend?” I asked wryly.

  And she sighed again, her hand playing with the table cloth.

  “Not just every weekend,” she said ruefully, rolling her eyes. “More like every day. I think my roommate’s an alcoholic, and she’s not the only one who has a serious drinking habit at school. But it’s other stuff too,” she continued. “I don’t feel like I’m in a groove, the friends I’ve made are interested in talking about boys, shopping and TV shows. Not that I don’t like that stuff,” she said quickly, making me frown
slightly, “it’s just that it’s all the time with them. Plus, my professors are in their own worlds, stuck in an ivory tower that makes no sense to me, and sometimes I just don’t know,” she said with another helpless sigh. “I really don’t know.”

  Holy shit, there was a lot to unpack there, but I was interested, curious about the beautiful brunette and her life.

  “Let’s start with the friends,” I said slowly. “What don’t you like about them?”

  “Well,” replied Lindy slowly. “Sometimes they’re so … so juvenile, you know? Everything’s about texting and hooking up, and while I realize I come across as a little conservative,” she flushed, biting her lip, “I dunno, the guys at school just seem so … so …” she hesitated.

  “So what?” I pressed, my voice gentle yet rough at once. I wanted to hear her say it, wanted the brunette to voice what I was hoping.

  “So amateur,” she said in a whisper, looking down, and then back up at me, her eyes catching mine with such meaning, such resonance, that my my heart jumped, my head spinning. “Next to you, Mr. Jones, they’re just amateurs.”

  And I could feel myself staring at her, eating her up, devouring the goodness that was Lindy. Because the girl made me feel about ten feet tall, ready to conquer the world, and fuck but I loved it. I couldn’t believe that a nineteen year-old was doing this to me, making me shake in my shoes, harsh streaks of color staining my cheekbones, but yeah, Lindy knew exactly how to truss me up and leave me helpless.

  “And what else?” I asked, my hand deceptively still on the wineglass. “What else about school seems wrong?”

  “My classes,” the brunette sighed again. “If the classes were okay, I’d feel better about spending so much on tuition every semester. But they’re not! My professors make no sense, they’re talking about magical realism and negative capabilities and I want to scream, ‘What is this going to do for me in real life? How does this apply in real life?’ I mean, I get it, this has to have some utility later down the road, but right now, I don’t see it, Mr. Jones, I really don’t.”