Page 125 of Daddy, Sir

Naomi loved pastels when she was young, and over the past year, as she has explored her Little side, Ricardo has kept me appraised of her likes and dislikes. I know that she gradually changed her adult room at home to fit her Little with toys and dolls and soft colors.

There are lots of things about Naomi that might embarrass her when she finds out how much Ricardo shared with me, but I won’t lie. Plus, the information I’ve been inadvertently armed with will hopefully make her transition to my apartment easier.

As I stand here now, I’m worried about what the hell our strange relationship is going to look like. I know too much, and what I know has made my cock hard many nights as I stared at the ceiling.

I know Naomi hasn’t had a Daddy—at least Ricardo didn’t think so. Based on that, I can’t be sure if Naomi’s even sexual in her kink. Maybe she’s one of those adult women who prefers to live Little and doesn’t mix sex into her life at all.

As far as Ricardo was aware, she’s never had a serious boyfriend. She dated boys in high school and college, but she never got into a long-term relationship with anyone.

In the past week, I’ve had a hundred visions of her sliding seamlessly into my life asmyLittle girl. Every time I have those thoughts, I chastise myself. She’s not coming here because she sees me as a Daddy. I’m certain she’s coming because I’m the closest person alive she thinks of as family.

There’s a solid chance Naomi isn’t interested in a man my age and would vomit if she knew how I feel about her. We’ll find out quickly because there is no way I’ll be able to keep my feelings to myself for long. There is no way I’ll be able to keep from Daddying her, either.

Suddenly, I see her, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. Fuck, she’s perfection. With the exception of the fact that she’s lost weight, she looks exactly like I remember from the last time I saw her. Young and so pretty.

Her hair is in a high ponytail, swaying back and forth as she approaches. She’s wearing a pink dress that lands midthigh and a white sweater. She has on pink combat boots and white socks. She takes my breath away as she approaches.

When she reaches me, her eyes fill with tears, and I find myself lifting her off her feet with my arms around her waist and hugging her tightly.

She buries her face in my neck as I rock her back and forth and rub her back. She’s tearing my soul out of my chest, and she can have it. It’s hers. Everything of mine is hers. In an instant I know she’s mine, and I will move mountains to ensure she doesn’t suffer another moment of pain again in her life.

Chapter Two

Naomi

I spot Dagger in the crowd, and my heart starts racing so fast I’m surprised I manage to make it to him before my knees buckle. He’s everything I remember and so much more. Even though I haven’t seen him in three years, time suddenly means nothing.

When he lifts me off my feet and pulls me to his chest, I can’t hold back the tears. They’ve been simmering on the surface since I first boarded the plane. I couldn’t rest during the flight because I was so worried about this encounter.

Dagger. His real name is Weston Knight. He got his nickname in the Army, and most people probably don’t even know his real name. He’s gone by Dagger ever since.

He smells so good, just like I remember. I don’t think he uses aftershave. It’s his soap and his own personal musk. I’ve known it my entire life. I’ve also been half in love with him from the moment I was old enough to notice boys.

When I was a small child, Dagger was larger than life. I loved when he came to visit because he was the fun uncle I never had. My father and Dagger took me on cool vacations, let me eatjunk food the entire time, and taught me how real men treated women.

I was about sixteen the first time I saw Dagger as much more than my father’s friend. He was my first crush. It wasn’t reasonable, and I never told a soul.

When I was eighteen, he came for a month in the summer. That was the summer before I started college. I had dated a few boys in high school, but nothing serious. Mostly, what I learned was that boys are sloppy kissers who have no idea what they’re doing.

Dagger was a chiseled god to me. His muscles had muscles—and they still do. I wanted to catalog his tattoos and run my fingers through his thick hair. I kept my feelings close to my heart that year, too. My father would have flipped if he’d known the thoughts I had about his friend.

That was the year I learned to close my eyes and pretend Dagger was touching me. That was the year I learned to masturbate. Always to thoughts of Dagger—my forbidden Daddy.

I didn’t know he was a Daddy, or what a Daddy even was, until two years later when he came for my twentieth birthday. I followed him and my father to a club one night. It was the most eye-opening experience of my life. When I went back to school that fall, I was a different person.

I had friends, but my relationships with them were mostly superficial. I was gradually cultivating my inner Little, researching everything I could find about age play and visiting clubs so I could watch and learn.

No one my age seemed to have similar interests—as far as I knew. I never told a soul about my preference for ageplay. I didn’t even tell my father. It wasn’t until after I graduated and moved back to the farm that I finally told my father how I hadfollowed him and Dagger. I also told him what I knew about myself because of the experience.

I have no idea if he ever told Dagger. Considering how long it’s been since I’ve seen my father’s friend, I suspect he might be aware of my kinky preferences and stopped coming around because he either thought I was too freaky or wasn’t interested in seeing me this way.

In my overactive imagination, Dagger stopped visiting because he’s secretly always been in love with me and didn’t want to disrespect my father by acting on his feelings.

Pipe dreams. I know.

I didn’t want him to come to Indiana when my father died because I was an emotional wreck, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was his rejection. So, I put on a front every time I spoke to him, telling him I was fine and too busy for him to visit. I’m stronger now, and I need him. It’s been lonely without my father. I’ve forced myself to come here with the intention of laying everything on the table.

This is probably a horrible idea. It could backfire and leave me emotionally distraught. If he doesn’t see me as anything more than his friend’s daughter, I’ll be making a complete fool of myself.

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