Page 10 of More, Daddy
Suede0989
Do you share interest in exploring that dynamic?
A bead of sweat slithers down my temple, and I swipe it away before pouring myself a cup of coffee. Every second that I am not looking at the screen, I’m rewarding myself for not looking.
Your mug is half full, well done, you haven’t checked the chat in at least ten seconds.
Stir in the milk, that’s right. Okay, coffee is now a drinkable color of peanut butter, and now it’s been a solid twenty seconds since you haven’t looked at the screen.
One sip. Take another. Hell, glance out the window and see what Saturday’s all about. There you go. Now it’s been nearly a minute since you haven’t looked.
God it’s wrong how fucking obsessed I am with this anonymous stranger.
You’d know I was lying through my teeth if I said my attractionstartedwith her personality. Obviously fucking not. It started with that fucked up, twisted, sinful, harmless, perfect little screen name.
DaddysGirl.
It’s like she climbed into my soul, rooted around and didn’t stop until she found the one thing to make me wild. The thing that drove a wedge between my former wife and myself. The thing that I have had buried for years, mostly because finding someone to match my freak has been much more challenging than I first thought.
If I only had a fucking choking kink or some shit, I swear.
But no.
The thing that makes me moan, that gets my blood roiling and turns my cock to stone is something that doesn’t sit right for some.
I have adaddyandbabygirlkink. Roleplaying the dynamic, to be more specific.
Yes, I can draw the distinction between myself and a real father, and in no way does my desire to be a kinky daddy conflate with the ideas of parenthood, or fathering a real child when the time comes.
My kink is rooted in control and care; in how good it feels to take care of someone’s most basic needs on a daily basis while also taking care of all their primal and private needs, pleasing them in ways no one else even knows they need or want. Being someone’s everything—the man who makes his partner smile, who makes them feel secure, who makes their toes curl, who gives them babies and takes care of everything—that’s who I want to be. Controlling, I know. My therapist has all but told me I have a kink for control. But there is nothing that feels better than my fist full of silken hair, a beautiful woman crouched before me, waiting for my words, my orders, her breath bated as she stills, calls me her daddy—the greatest role a man can have, and waits for my commands.
It is the hottest thing in the goddamn world and I’ve triedlike hell to decouple the incestually fetishizing aspect from the kink, but for whatever reason, I need that faux-forbidden line. I need my partner to partake in the fantasy of it, to pretend that I’m both caring for her but claiming ownership of her, commanding of her, like a filthy, bad, dirty daddy does.
I wish it were just control and care, but I need to be her daddy, too.
And I need her to be my slutty, willing, obedient and pliable sweet girl.
Some guys like feet, or worshipping big breasts. This is my thing.
Beyond her screen name, which feels chosen to represent my goddamn fantasies, I did quickly start developing real feelings for her. The levity she brought to every conversation, her vulnerability in discussion, the way she never shied away from topics—what started as screen name attraction quickly developed into more, and I realized that she is the perfect personality fit for me.
It’s crazy to say it, so I don’t. I don’t tell anyone—not Dean, not Leah, no one—about my use ofVeiled, or meetingDaddysGirl. They know I’ve used dating apps in the past, but admitting to joining an anonymous hookup app that is two steps belowGrindr? That fact, along with watching and being obsessed withNew Girl, will remain my secret.
Finally, after forcing myself to take another few huge drinks of coffee and put two pieces of bread into the toaster, I look at the screen.
DaddysGirl
Yes I do
My overworked brain echoes in my head, so full of racing thoughts that I’m unable to focus on just one. In my throat,above my collarbone, my pulse hammers and the back of my neck grows damp from an onslaught of perspiration.
We’ve addressed the elephant in the room.
And, despite her screen name confirming for me the entire time, she has confirmed that she, too, is into it.
Beneath my cotton pajama pants, everything grows hot and hard, stiffening, warming, making its desires known. I adjust myself, then type.
Suede0989
