Daddy In Charge
Page 16
Connie was wearing a short cotton nightie – the kind of garment a demur innocent teenager might wear. It was one of the first things we had bought when we had gone shopping together.
She had her knees bent, swinging her legs in the air in time with the music she was listening to. The hem of the nightie had rucked up until I could see the soft pale flesh of her butt cheek.
Without moving, I stood in the shadows and admired her. Physically, she was a goddess; her lithe young body was perfect. But beyond the basic attraction, I had come to admire a great deal about Connie on a deeper, more soulful level.
Connie had sent her grandmother over a hundred thousand so that the elderly lady would never know financial strain again. Connie hadn’t needed to, but it was a measure of her personality and loving spirit. Personal wealth meant nothing to her compared to her grandmother’s peace of mind.
I set my briefcase down in the hallway and came into the living room, shrugging off my coat and loosening my tie. Connie must have caught a flash of my movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned, saw me, and her face split into an expression of delight. She snatched off the headphones and bounced into my arms. She was warm as a puppy, and she smelled of soap and apples. Her breasts pushed through the thin cotton of her nightie provocatively.
I put my arms around her and reached possessively beneath her nightie to cup the mounds of her ass. Connie kissed me; first in a happy frenzy, and then more lingeringly.
“Welcome home, Daddy,” she said.
She was standing on tiptoes and I still had my hands tight on her ass. She was naked under the nightie.
“Hello, baby girl.” Makeup was forbidden in the house. Connie’s lips were soft and unsmeared with paint.
“Did you have a good day?”
“It was long,” I grunted. I loosened the grip of my hands and we broke apart long enough for me to reach the sofa. I collapsed into the deep upholstered leather with a weary sigh. Connie snuggled close beside me with her legs curled beneath herself in that distinct way only women seem capable of.
“What’s happening with the plans for the treaty signing?” Connie ran her hands across my chest.
“Ah,” I remembered. “Some good news… and some not-so-good news.”
“Tell me the bad news first.” I felt her tense a little.
“I’m going to have a Secret Service agent assigned to me,” I said. “They will start tomorrow and be with me until after the Russians fly back to Moscow.”
“Secret Service?”
“Just one or two agents on a roster,” I moderated the intrusion this would represent to the perfect world we were building. “And they’ll only be stationed outside the house. You probably won’t even realize they’re around,” I said. “They’ll drive me to and from the White House and then stand guard outside the house through the nights.”
Connie did not comment. “What’s the good news?”
I brightened. “Sergey Volostok is coming to Washington. I saw his name on the official diplomats list today.”
“Sergey?” Over the past month, Connie had come to appreciate how crucial Sergey’s part in her protection and safety had been. “It would be nice to see him again. To thank him.”
“I thought the same thing,” I admitted. “That’s why I got you an invite to the gala welcoming ceremony. It’s a reception being held at the Constable Hotel on Friday night.”
“This Friday night?”
“Yes.”
“Daddy, that’s only two days away.”
I shrugged. “So?”
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
I smiled. “That’s okay,” I let my hand fall into her lap where her legs were slightly parted. “I like you naked.”
Connie leaned obediently back against the soft leather and I tugged the hem of her nightie aside. Her legs were long and slender. She spread them wide apart and I slid off the cushioning to kneel between her knees. Her expression became hectic. She watched me with wide hungry eyes. I kissed the inside of her thigh and she moaned softly. Her ass swished to the edge of the sofa to give me better access. I watched the rise and fall of her breasts through the thin cotton of her gown. Then I kissed her again, higher up her leg, my lips just an inch from her pussy.
Connie closed her eyes and her fingers dug into the leather-padded armrest.
Her pussy was already soaking wet, the folds of her were flared. I inhaled the scent of her and then drew my tongue across her clit. Connie gasped and her whole body shuddered.
“You’re so wet,” I murmured.
Without opening her eyes, Connie sighed. “I’ve been fingering myself all day,” she confessed. “I’ve come three times since you left for the office. I just haven’t been able to help myself, Daddy.”
I licked her clit again, this time for several seconds. “And you’re still horny?”
“Oh, yes, Daddy.” Her words broke off in a sob of delight as my mouth hunted the juices from her pussy. My tongue probed inside her and then swirled across her clit again. Connie arched her back and her ass came off the sofa. I felt her claw one hand around the back of my head to pull my mouth against her.
I fucked her with the tip of my tongue, teasing her as I probed within the musky folds of her pussy. Connie whimpered with the maddening frustration of it, trying to pull my tongue deeper by the clamp of her muscles and the force of her grip at the back of my head. After five minutes, she was panting with ragged exasperation.
“Daddy!” she moaned. “Please. I need your cock.”
I stood before her and she leaned forward and fumbled for my belt. Her legs were askew, her entire focus on getting my shaft into her mouth. I had a fleeting thought that we should find somewhere more comfortable, but Connie was impatient. Once she had me between her lips, she sucked with wild abandon.
The sounds of her mouth filled the room; the slurps, the kisses and the wet gasps for breath. I was already hard. She coated my cock with saliva and then turned herself about on the sofa so that she was bent over the backrest, her knees apart and her wet open pussy an invitation that was impossible to resist.
Connie watched me from over her shoulder until I pressed my cock against the lips of her pussy. She undulated her hips to draw the first inch of me inside her, and then hung her head and swayed slowly from side to side. Her hair fell like a golden curtain across her face and she let out a long, contented sigh of satisfaction.
“This is what I was fantasizing about each time I fingered my tight little pussy today,” she confessed. Her voice had changed, now low and throaty. “I kept dreaming about you fucking your little girl, Daddy.”
I rocked on the balls of my feet, driving myself all the way deep inside her with a single stroke that seemed endless. Connie went soft as jelly as the sensations overwhelmed her. My hands clamped around her narrow waist and we stayed perfectly still for a few seconds until instinct overcame my restraint and I felt compelled to thrust.
I took my time, fighting the desire for haste with the good sense of patience. All the troubles of Washington dissolved and my focus zeroed in on the delights of this tight young pussy and the thrilling sensations that spread down the length of my shaft. Connie was rocking back and forth in beat with each lunge of my hips, happy to be passively pleasured now that I was buried deep inside her.
I fucked her for several minutes and then withdrew my cock, hard and glistening wet with her juices. I got back down on my knees and this time licked her pussy, then trailed my tongue to the pucker of her ass. Connie grunted and hissed with wicked pleasure.
“Of, fuck yes!” she hissed impulsively. “I like that, Daddy.”
My hands went to her butt and I pulled her cheeks apart. My tongue stabbed and circled her asshole until it was wet and clenching.
“Can I have a finger please, Daddy?” she asked.
I teased her for a minute more and then pushed a finger back inside her pussy. From there I touched the tip of her ass and she flexed, then relaxed. My fing
er went slowly inside her. Connie arched her back and moved her position a little. I saw her reach a hand down between her legs and rub her clit. With my finger in her tight ass, and her own hand playing with her pussy, it took just a minute or two until she was on the brink of orgasm.
Connie’s arousal translated into a stream of filthy words. She was riding against the probe of my finger and bucking her hips.
“Fuck my tight little ass, Daddy!” she said in a stream of unfiltered passion. “God, I wish it was your cock. I want your fucking cock inside my ass so I can show you what a good little whore your baby girl really is.”
She came an instant later, grinding her hips on my finger to impale herself, and then gasping and heaving for breath until the crashing waves subsided. When she was still and quiet, slumped on the sofa, I eased her legs apart again and used her pliant body for my own aching needs.
Connie lay almost as if she were asleep, still drifting back from the place her orgasm had swept her away to. My cock was harder than ever. I slid myself inside her and watched her face as the pressure in my balls built like trapped lava.
Connie had a blissful vacant smile on her lips, her body swaying like a spring to cushion the impact of my every thrust. Her pussy was tight as a clenched fist and the sensations pulsed along every inch of my cock. She moaned just loudly enough for me to know she enjoyed being used for pleasure, and then she turned her head to the side and began to slowly suck her finger as if it were another cock in her mouth. It was an incredibly erotic gesture and it sparked my passion to new heights. The fantasy of what she was intimating took me pulsing to the very edge.
I watched the sucking movements of her mouth, the strain of her neck muscles and the fall of her golden hair as her fingers plunged in and out from between her lips. Inadvertently, I changed the tempo of my own thrusting cock to match the press of her finger. When I reached the trembling point of my release, I withdrew quickly and pushed my aching cock at Connie’s face. She turned her head willingly and clamped her lips over the swollen purple knob. I felt myself erupt in her mouth, once, twice and then a third time until there was no more strength in my legs to support myself. I collapsed on the sofa, panting for breath while Connie played and licked lingeringly with the cum she had captured before swallowing with a satisfied gasp.
Chapter 26
Connie
The black limousine was parked at the sidewalk a few minutes before we were due to leave for the Russian diplomatic reception. I peeked out between the window drapes and saw Mitch’s new Secret Service man climb briskly from the driver’s seat and come striding towards the front door. He was a man in his thirties with thinning sandy hair and a stern set face, wearing a black suit.
“Mitch, Agent Waddingham has brought the car around.”
I heard footsteps come from behind me. Mitch was wearing a black dinner suit, looking as suave and elegant as an American James Bond. He smiled when he saw the white cocktail dress I was wearing and clutched at his heart in mock pain.
“You took my breath away,” he murmured.
I felt myself puff with pleasure and smiled back at him. “And you look like a lady-killer,” I returned the compliment. He leaned in close to kiss me and I could still faintly smell the musky scent of my pussy on his lips. We had spent the entire afternoon fucking.
We went outside into the cool night. Agent Waddingham held the limousine’s back door open.
“Waddingham, this is my… my girlfriend, Connie Wyatt,” Mitch hadn’t been sure how to introduce me and he floundered awkwardly for a moment. “She lives with me.”
“Evening, ma’am,” the Secret Service man said with a stone face. I smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”
We drove in silence to the Constable – one of Washington’s most exclusive hotels, and the preferred accommodation choice of many visiting overseas delegations who flew into the capital. I was nervous and anxious. I knew this wasn’t a date – it wouldn’t be a romantic evening we could share, because most of Mitch’s time would be spent meeting with the Russians and the hordes of local politicians who flocked to these events.
I wasn’t quite sure what I would do with myself…
Local police had cordoned off the area surrounding the hotel. Limousines, media vans, and a couple of military vehicles added to the chaos. The front of the hotel was lit up in a glittering spectacle, and there were small troops of musicians walking amongst the arriving guests and playing music in the manicured gardens. Cars pulled up beneath the covered foyer, disgorged their passengers, and then sped away, only to be replaced immediately by another vehicle a moment or two later.
We went through the double glass doors into the lobby. The hotel was alive with the murmured buzz of a thousand hushed conversations. Security guards were spread amongst the patrons, and there were more security guards beside a metal detector. Mitch took my hand and we walked towards them.
“Invitation?” a security man asked.
Mitch handed over a printed card and the security man stiffened. “Welcome, sir. Ma’am.” The man nodded an acknowledgement and then ran his eye professionally over me as though I might have a concealed weapon. Apparently satisfied, the guard turned his attention back to Mitch. “The Secretary of State and the President’s Chief of Staff are already in the ballroom, sir. They’re expecting you.”
Mitch nodded. We went through the frame of the metal detector and into a vast room hung with crystal chandeliers and lined with vast bay windows set high into the vaulted walls. The floor area was sprinkled with tables and chairs and at the far end of the room was a stage in front of blue velvet curtains.
“Our table is somewhere near the stage,” Mitch smiled warmly. “Do you want to see if you can find it? In the meantime, I’ll whistle up a waiter and attend to some business.”
I found the table after a few minutes. I saw a place card with Mitch’s name, and beside it another card labeled Miss Connie Wyatt.
I took my seat. The table was large and elegantly set. There was a centerpiece of fresh flowers, and dinner settings for ten other people. Journalists drifted in and out of the milling clusters of guests, like ants feeding on crumbs of gossip.
On the far side of the room I saw Mitch. He was standing with two other serious-faced men, and in each hand he was holding a glass of wine. The conversation looked serious. Mitch had his eyes narrowed, listening. I recognized the man who was talking. It was the President’s Chief of Staff.
I watched with interest, studying the body language and the way the other men reacted when at last Mitch spoke. He was direct. The two other men exchanged glances and nodded agreement to something he had said.
Then another voice spoke from nearby in coarse accented English.
“I thought it impossible that you could become more beautiful, but here I see that it is indeed true.”
I looked up with a start. Sergey Volostok was standing on the far side of the table, his arms outstretched and a smile on his grizzled bear-like face.
“Mr. Volostok!”
“Miss Connie,” his grin radiated genuine pleasure.
I got out of my chair and he gave me an affectionate hug. He was wearing an ill-fitting black suit, but he had a barrel-like physique that would have been a tailor’s nightmare. Impulsively I pecked him demurely on the cheek and insisted he sit.
“You look well,” I said.
The man gave an eloquent shrug of his shoulders. “I am pleased that the work done in Moscow has come to fruition,” he diverted, then looked at me again more closely.
“And you, miss Connie. You look… radiant.”
I blushed. “Thank you. And thank you for what you did for me in Moscow.”
He nodded dismissively then arched his eyebrows. “I did not think that I would ever see you again. I certainly did not expect to see you at such a function.” He was fishing for information in the nicest possible way.
“Mitch invited me tonight,” I said and saw the flicker of something behind the Russian’s eye
s.
“So you still work for him as his assistant?”
“No. It was a personal invitation.”
“Good,” he said firmly, and then his tone became more delicate. “And is your Mr. Stuyversant as honest as you, young miss Connie?”
“About our relationship?”
“Yes.”
I shrugged my shoulders and pointed. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Mitch was coming towards us, carrying the two glasses of wine. One was half-empty. He saw Sergey and smiled.
“Sergey!”
“Greetings, Mitch Stuyversant,” the Russian’s voice was a rumble. The two men shook hands and sat. Mitch set the full glass of wine down in front of me.
“Sergey wants to know about us,” I said to Mitch with a reckless little smile of daring. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the big Russian go pale and cringe at my directness.
“Oh?” Mitch sipped at his wine. He seemed a little distracted.
“Yes,” I was enjoying myself and enjoying the Russian’s awkward discomfort. “He wants to know the nature of our relationship.”
Mitch frowned. “Did you tell him that we fuck each other every night, and that we’ve been living together happily for the past month?”
“No.”
The Russian spluttered a cough and his eyes were huge.
“Oh,” Mitch too was having light-hearted fun at the Russian spy’s discomfort. He looked at last at Sergey. “Well that’s the truth,” he said. “And I’ve never been happier.”
Mitch
Sergey’s dark stern features changed to a look of embarrassed horror. It wasn’t the revelation about Connie and I that had caught him off guard; it was the frivolous manner in which I had admitted it. Sergey was such an experienced spymaster that in his secret world such confessions just didn’t happen. Information needed to be pried from a subject – not blathered willingly without care for the consequences.
I gave him a moment to compose himself. He was a decent man and he had proved his friendship to me. I knew I could trust him to be discreet.