Daddy's HereBy: Lucy Wild
“Don’t move,” he said. “Daddy’s got something for you.”
“Have you?” I asked as he slid his boxers slowly off his hips. His cock sprang free and my eyes widened at the sight of it, the size of it so much more than I’d been expecting. “Is that for me?”
It looked incredible, the head glistening in the glaring light of the dressing room. My body began to respond to the sight of it, a heat building in the pit of my stomach as my pussy tingled with desire.
“Open your mouth,” he said, his voice cold.
I did as he asked, unable to disobey his commanding tone. He took hold of the shaft as the head of his cock slid from side to side over my bottom lip, the heat of it almost too much to handle. The scent was all him and it drove me wild. I pushed my head forwards onto it until I choked on his length, his shaft filling my mouth. I looked up at his face as he stared down at me, his hands grabbing my hair. He held me firmly in place, making it impossible for me to do anything but focus on his cock in my mouth.
I gagged, my nostrils flaring as I fought for breath. At last, just when I thought I was going to pass out, he pulled back and let my tongue slide along his shaft, flicking over the head, hungrily, before taking him back into my mouth. When the door burst open a few seconds later, it could only mean one thing. Trouble.
The sun was rising when I left the club. It had been a hell of a night. Just making it to the queue for the taxis was a challenge. As I staggered out, I bumped into a gaggle of middle-aged women who scowled at me while I leant back against the wall of the club.
They were talking about me, I could hear them clear as a bell. Did they think I was asleep because I had my eyes closed or did they not care if I could hear?
“If she leans down any further, they’ll be out in the street.”
“And they wonder why guys won’t leave them alone.”
I ignored them. Just because they were unhappy with my outfit didn’t mean I was. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, that’s what I always said. And I had it.
I’d flaunted it too. All night my friends and I had been the centre of attention. It wasn’t that revealing an outfit anyway, short skirt, sequinned halter-neck, platform heels. I’d worn far more revealing stuff before without anyone commenting.
The guys in the club had been impressed. They’d been fawning over me and my friends all night. I’d been there with Charlotte and Abbey but neither of them had my stamina. Charlotte had wandered out at three and Abbey had gone about ten minutes later, looking greener than the liqueur she so pretentiously insisted on drinking.
I stayed on, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to get me to take her home when she went. I had three men taking turns to buy me drinks and I had no intention of stopping them. I only left when the place finally shut, joining the queue for taxis while doing my best to stay awake. I opened my eyes just enough to see how far the queue had moved and that was when I saw that one of my attempted suitors had joined the line and was sidling over to me, hoping to jump the queue.
“You look as good out here as you did in there,” he said, moving too close to me, not looking anywhere near as handsome in the cold light of early morning.
I heard the women in front of me tutting as I twisted in place, doing my best to stop myself from falling over. I was worried that I might collapse if I stood up straight without the wall for support. “I don’t feel that good.” I groaned as I said it, surprised by how slurred my words sounded.
“Oh, really?” he said, taking a step towards me and hooking his arm through mine. “Why don’t we take you somewhere to rest?”
“Saw her in there,” one of the women said, looking straight at me with dagger eyes. “Cheap as her clothes, getting men to buy her drinks all night.”
“Actually I’m Jonathan Fleming’s daughter,” I shouted across to her, feeling the guy’s hand tightening its grip on me, saying it as much for his benefit as for theirs. “One phone call and I could have a limo here to pick me up.”
“Course you could, just taking a taxi for fun, are you?”
“Leave it,” the man said as I began glaring at the woman. “Ignore them.”
I turned back to the guy with his arm still round me. I think he was called Greg but I could have been wrong, I’d had a lot of drinks since he’d introduced himself. “You know Jonathan Fleming, right? You don’t think I’m making it up, do you?”
He paused before answering, a long enough pause to make the women laugh and me scowl. “You do,” I snapped.
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