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Pillow Stories

Daddy-Oh!

by Savannah Stephens Smith
(12/15/04)

"What do you want to do tonight? Do you want to play daddy's bad little slut gets a very special spanking?"

Tom's hand stopped in the air, glass halfway to his lips. Julia's words lingered in the evening quiet. He didn't know what to say. Was it a test? What would be the right answer? Yes, please? Very badly?

"Uh...Well...I..."

Julia's gaze dropped to his crotch and lingered there. "The hard-on you're getting tells me you'd like to play that game," she said. The scrutiny seemed friendly enough. So did her smile. She drank wine, her lids closing in pleasure as she swallowed. Her lips were red. Her hair was dark and shiny, and when the sun caught it, he couldn't name the color it blazed. She'd kicked off her shoes at the door, and now sat across from him, curled up in the loveseat like a sleek black cat. He almost expected a narrow tail to emerge and twitch once. Twice.

And she was right: his cock was a quarter to hard. "I...er."

"It doesn't mean you secretly harbor a desire to do bad things to children, you know." Her voice was crisp and matter-of-fact, the same tone she used with clients. He'd heard her in her office, projecting just the right combination of warmth and professionalism.

He'd never dreamed that she had a side of her that was daddy's little slut. Daddy's bad little slut, that is. Had she been? No. Just a game.

An intriguing game. He eyed her, slim and contained, legs tucked neatly beneath her. Her curves were subtle, a gentle swell at the breast and hip. She was graceful, even when casually accompanying him to his place after work. "It just means that you like the idea of playing with taboos. With roles that you wouldn't in real life. But for sex..." She smiled. His stomach fluttered, then settled.

"I've never done anything like that." Tom's voice was husky. Daddy's bad little slut... Oh, what a naughty girl. He shifted on the couch, noticing that Julia's pantyhose were black. Her skirt was grey, serious and suitable. Or were they stockings? He hadn't expected the thigh-high stockings she occasionally wore. But he enjoyed them. He enjoyed most of her surprises. Being with Julia was like being in a movie whose plot twists he could never anticipate. So maybe he'd like chastising Julia as a naughty girl. Daddy's girl.

But then she steered the conversation back to the office, and Tom's erection relaxed. She was teasing him, but he'd wait. He drank -- scotch and soda, nothing sweet -- and they exchanged work gripes and triumphs. They worked for the same company, on different floors. The western sky reddened. He got them another drink, comfortable with what had become a Friday ritual.

In the kitchen, he thought of the evening ahead. Sex, yes. But with daddy's bad little slut? That would be new. Tom shook his head. It just showed you never really knew someone. He dropped ice cubes into his glass and topped her wine off. Desire was dark red, like falling into a velvet embrace. Julia's cellular phone sat on the counter, slim and sophisticated as the woman herself. He turned it off. She needed to forget about the office for an evening.

Tom returned to the living room, and placed the drinks on the coffee table instead of handing Julia her glass. He patted the couch beside him. She sauntered over, sitting close. He could smell her perfume, exotic, like a breeze from somewhere foreign, or a flower that only blooms once a decade.

He put his arm around her. It had been a long week, but it was over. They deserved to sink into desire, to embrace skin and pleasure instead of paper and confrontation. Julia turned to him and smiled. She tilted her head and kissed him. His hand landed on her thigh and stayed there. Before dinner, then.

Whatever Julia wanted.

For they were kissing, and their kissing never failed to get Tom worked up. Still new, not yet grown too easy, careless with each other. Julia's tongue was quick and hot, and she teased him to helpless erection without even touching his penis.

Half a drink and several long kisses later, he was hard and Julia was almost in his lap, wriggling. Tom had tried to unzip his pants, to coax her into taking him into her hand, but she shook her head. Accidentally-on-purpose, she moved against his erection, stoking him to further want. She'd given him a cue earlier. What should he say?

Drink loosened his tongue, made him braver.

"Bad girl," Tom said. "Get off daddy's lap. You're too big to do things like that."

He heard a sharp intake of breath as her eyes closed. Oh, shit. I've screwed this one up.

A sigh. A movement of her body, a slow sway, as she relaxed. "Aw..." Julia's eyes glinted with mischief. She chewed a knuckle, aptly imitating a petulant child. "Don't be mean, daddy. Let me cuddle with you." She moved, deliberately straddling him, her skirt riding high up her thighs. She centered her crotch over his. Warmth bloomed over his stiffness, and he yearned all the more. He slid his palm up her leg. He found no edge of lace. They were pantyhose, not stockings. Oh, well. The heat from her body pinpointed his erection.

"Off." He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Off or on?

"I'm too big now? Aren't I still daddy's little girl?"

"Yes. Daddy's bad girl."

"I try to be good." Julia thrust out her chest, and Tom eyed her cleavage. The cream blouse was unprovocative in itself, buttoned up, but the way her breasts pressed against the fabric was enticing. Julia arched, and the buttons strained. "Off," he rasped.

She slid against his stiff penis. "Right, daddy? I'm a good girl."

"No. You're very naughty. You need to be punished. Off. Now!" Tom barked the last, surprised at how stern he sounded.

Julia disembarked, and stood before him. He noticed she pointed her feet ever so slightly inward, coy. Who knew she was such an actress? She revealed herself to him in layers, as if she were undressing for him. She'd been undressing for him for months, ever since she picked him out, plucking him from the beige-and-grey, always-Monday world of the Accounting Department, and rocked him until he was dizzy, panting and hooked on her. He was still swaying.

"Sit down, young lady." She sat, modest as a geisha, and just as full of erotic promise. Her back straight and knees together, eyeing her wine.

"It's okay. You can have a taste," Tom said. "Just this once."

She smiled into her glass as she finished off the Bordeaux.

Tom stood over her, and fumbled with her blouse. The silk felt fragile beneath his fingers. He couldn't wait to get out of his shorts. He felt held down by his business uniform, trousers straining. As he worked the buttons of her blouse open, Julia didn't protest or take over. Her docility excited him, even as each button infuriated him, the slippery fabric-covered half-moons too small for his fingers.

Her bra, a front closure, sprung open next. Her bare breasts were exposed, ripe nipples swollen and dark. Hungry as a schoolboy, he yearned for her skin. He brushed a nipple with his fingertips, and she smiled up at him. He imagined a ring on it. He could see her doing that, piercing the tender skin with a fine gold hoop, creating another hidden surprise. He could imagine that more easily than he could a gold ring on her finger. Maybe. Maybe she could wear both.

"Bad girl," he croaked. "What kind of bra is this? Do you want the boys to follow you around, looking at your tits?"

"No, daddy," Julia murmured, and Tom's cock twitched. His balls felt heavy and full. He felt bad -- and very good, too.

He reached down and squeezed her breast. Familiar flesh was newly exciting. "Are you a slut?" he whispered. "I raised you better than that."

Julia didn't reply. He ached to suck on her puckered nipple, to feel the hard bump of want against his tongue. He'd trail his tongue slowly over her skin, and hear her sigh. She liked that. His cock was stiff, urgent against his clothing. In a minute. Just a minute. "What kind of underwear are you wearing? Is it as sluttish as that bra?"

"No, daddy, of course not." Wide-eyed, Julia looked up at him, face innocent, but shameless from the neck down. Her thighs drifted open. He could almost imagine a pair of -- what were they? He didn't know the name. Maybe she could wear flat shoes sometime instead of office pumps. He could see the dark red of her polish peeking through black hose.

She really was a bad girl.

"I don't believe you. Show me."

Julia slid her skirt up, slowly enough to appear reluctant, as he narrowed his eyes. Was he being stern enough? He was dizzy with this new role, prick-led and wanton.

"I can't see." Obedient, she stood and wriggled out of her pantyhose. They slipped to the carpet like an afterthought, a puddle of shadow. She kicked them away, and sat again. He could smell her perfume, and something else, too -- desire, a musk unique to Julia, yet universal: woman, in heat. "Good girl," he said, cock throbbing like his heart.

Wait. She was supposed to be daddy's bad girl. Her hands were creeping to her nipples, nails polished wine, nipples flushed berry. Her skin was peach. She was good enough to eat -- especially when being so very bad. Julia looked up at him, trusting that he knew how to play her game.

How often had she played it before?

"Let me see your bush."

"What?"

"Your pussy. Between your legs. Show me."

"Daddy!" But she wiggled her ass forward, and pulled her panties down. They weren't white schoolgirl cotton, but dark blue bikinis. She wasn't in costume. Her belly, a gentle swell, and then the dark shadow of hair on her mound. No glossy magazine landing strip: Julia was proudly unshorn, shamelessly unshaved. Tom found the sight bluntly arousing. To him it signaled woman, not girl, despite her game. Her lips apart, Julia's tongue flickered quickly, as she opened her legs wider, showing him the hidden cleft. Bad girl.

"Slut. Look at that," he hissed. "You're wet."

"Wet?"

"You want to be fucked, don't you?"

"Daddy..."

"Stand up. Turn around. And bend over. Bad girls need..." The triangle made of her spread thighs and the lowered panties incited him. Her rump beckoned.

Smack.

His palm connected with her ass before he knew it. Impulse, striking her as swiftly as the idea had. Julia squealed. He liked the sound, both of his hand's crisp thwack against her skin, and her surprised squeak. She didn't sound like an assertive, professional woman. "...to be punished," he concluded, curiously light-headed. And heavy-balled. His cock felt like a truncheon; he was harder than he'd been in ages.

She stayed where she was, bottom blushing pale rose where he'd smacked her. Tom unbuckled his belt, moving slowly. He slid it free from the loops of his trousers and considered her. Rounded curves beckoned him to take her, to try all sorts of new things. He enjoyed the symmetry of her body: twin globes, a puckering ass...asterisk. It even looked like an asterisk. He grinned, glad she couldn't see, for he couldn't carry off the role of bad daddy with such a giddy pleasure in his own foolishness.

What would Julia's 'daddy' do? He heard a quick breath in, not quite a gasp, when the leather, cool and heavy, first met her skin and slid over it with the menace of possibility. He caressed her with his belt, dragging it over her bare, vulnerable cheeks. "Such a bad little girl..." he said, summoning regret, something he didn't feel, to stain his voice. "Do you deserve the belt?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?" Decisive, he unzipped himself and freed his taut cock. Erect, Tom pointed at her, his desire an arrow of flesh.

"Yes...Daddy."

Another surge of want. It was dirty, secret and thrilling. "Are you a slut?" He said it slowly, lingering over a sibilant 's'. A long stroke of his skin, then he squeezed, playing judge and punisher. She'd wanted this. Maybe for a long time.

"No."

"Yes, you are. Turn around. Suck this."

This was urgently erect, skin and veins pulsing with the call of hot blood, focused on one thing. It was a ramrod testimony to the appeal of Julia's new game.

Her eyes widened as if she'd never seen him before, and she went to her knees, still wearing her undone blouse and bra. Her breast curved sweetly, then disappeared behind the curtain of cream silk. Her nipples lifted the blouse. The sight of her half-clothed was more exciting than if she'd been naked. Her skirt had dropped, concealing her vulva. Her panties would still be down, pulled down to her thighs, because she'd shown Daddy her bush.

Oh, she was a bad girl. "Why?" Her fingers alit on his skin, gentle as a feathered wing. She touched, then caressed, tormenting him with feigned tentativeness.

"Because I say so."

"Oh."

Impatience drove him. Tom squeezed his cock, aimed, and moved the flushed, velvety head of it closer to her lips. "Suck it," he demanded.

"How?" Her mouth hovered, tantalizingly close, but not taking him in. Tease. He wanted to grab her hair, see her jaw drop, thrust against her tongue. Want bound him to follow her scenario and desire kept him in it. Blood surged. "Put it in your mouth," he rasped. "And suck. Lick."

She obeyed. Julia's mouth was perfect: hot, wet, and tight. And she sucked, and though she was pretending to be someone she wasn't and he was pretending too, it was her same care she lavished on his yearning skin. .

"Good girl," Tom groaned, forgetting that she was daddy's bad girl. Little slut. She fellated him with slow sureness. Tom loved watching this cool, beautiful, professional woman, with his prick in her mouth.

Close to coming, he wanted more. But not like that.

He pulled away, leaving her kneeling, mouth slack, lips soft, the delicate tip of her tongue still poised to rasp gently along the underside of his rigid skin. Her lids were heavy, and he could imagine her pussy, plump with want and slick beneath the twists of dark hair. "Kneel on the couch. Facing away from me. Pull up your skirt."

He never told Julia what to do. "For daddy," Tom added.

He stood, stroking his cock, enjoying the sight of her, scrambling around to position herself on his couch, poised for his entry. She waited, panties off, skirt up, pussy pouting open. He had a vision of fucking her, then pulling out and coming over her skin, marking her with his glistening semen, with everything primal within him. Stay, girl. Beg. You are mine. I broke you like a wild horse.

No. He'd never do anything like that. But he wanted to fuck her, to do it while deep in the sordid scenario. And in the living room. Who'd see in up here? Only the last red of dusk over the city.

"Mm... Are you sure you should do that, daddy?" Julia murmured, and his prick twitched. He was hollow and hungry.

"You're such a bad girl," he said, and he didn't know if it was the game, the truth, or both.

"Oh..."

"Yes. Daddy's going to fuck you," he muttered. With that, he guided his erection into her, hot as she looked, wet as she was. He pushed deep, and Julia sighed, twisting onto his penis. His belly smacked against her ass, and the sound reminded him of how his hand felt against her cheeks. Tom groaned, clutching her buttocks, round and pale, his fingers leaving red marks. He groaned again, slamming inside her, wet like her mouth, like want. Julia was desire personified, arching back to meet his prick, taking him..

She moved with him, holding onto the back of the couch where they'd discussed their day, ordinary corporate warriors, home from the battle. Her blouse shimmied with their movement and he hadn't even taken his clothes off. Julia's skin was peach-tinged against the misty grey of her skirt, and he liked the sight of her, not quite undressed.

"Harder," she said, sliding against him, his balls damp with her wetness. She used him, moving up and down his penis, rubbing, faster, edging into frantic. Julia was in control again. No. That wouldn't do.

"Bad girl," he breathed. Her skin should blush a deeper rose. Such a bad girl, tempting daddy like this. He smacked her ass even as he thrust into her. Thrust, smack. Thrust, smack. Right cheek. Left. Again. She whimpered. Climax seized her, began to lift her.

"Daddy's fucking you." Amazed, he did. He fell into the rhythm, hands on her hips, slamming. He wouldn't last long, Tom felt it gathering, from his toes to his balls --

He exploded, eyes shut tight, the world come down to only his cock, her cunt. Nothing more.


A week slipped by. It was after five, and there'd been no call from Julia about getting together, for a meal, for more. Tom took the stairs up to her floor and walked through emptying corridors, the weekend quiet beginning to seep into the Monday-through-Friday spaces. He walked against the exiting office workers, swimming upstream.

He stood at her office door. Julia was turned away from him, bending forward in her chair, her hair falling in a perfect line against her blouse. He watched her for a long moment, trying to see the woman who had writhed beneath him. She thumbed through her files, the drawer packed as full as her schedule. Her impatience was betrayed by a sigh. It sounded strangely wistful, not like her at all.

He cleared his throat, smiling as she startled, swiveling to face him. A curtain of black hair caressed her cheek before falling neatly into place again.

"Did you notice it's after five?" Tom said.

"No. I've got a lot going on."

He grinned. "You work too hard."

"Or not hard enough." Her eyes dropped to her desk. "Maybe then I'd be caught up." The surface was covered by a sea of paper; a swell of white sheets, overlapping like whitecaps, crashing on the shore of Friday night. Yellow sticky notes were dotted here and there, bits of sunlight glittering off the waves.

"Too hard. Let's get out of here. Let's go for a walk on the beach, or...something."

An elegant brow arched, a cat's tail curling. "We shouldn't leave together. It's indiscreet."

"Bullshit. And I'm not waiting -- so hurry up." The brow went higher. Julia's lips parted, but he broke in. "Don't be a bad girl," Tom said. "You know Daddy doesn't like it."

Her eyes were steady on his -- what a poker player she'd be -- but he thought new color flushed her cheeks. Then an imp slid in where the executive had been. She relaxed back in her chair, head tilted. "Oh? And if I don't?"

Tom stepped forward, placing his palms on her desk, and leaned in. He spoke softly. "Then daddy's going to make your bottom nice and warm. Except it won't be nice."

"Oh, my," Julia said. But she didn't move.

"I'm counting to three. One..."


Tom lay in bed, sleep beginning to blur his thoughts. Julia. The woman so deadly serious about her work, sweeping the paper off her desk with a joyous laugh, surprised at her impulse. All the paper falling, showering her office carpet like confetti. Julia, pulling her to him by his tie, kissing him, her hand cupping his rear. Fucking her over her desk, violating sacred territory.

She was like a collection of mirrors, showing him a man he'd not seen, one who smacked women on the ass, who demanded. No, she was like a long hall of closed doors, polished brass knobs inviting him to open and peek inside.

No, like a diamond, with a thousand glittering facets, possessing and revealing every color known...

And some he hadn't known.

Like a diamond, then. Forever?

For now.

©2004 by Savannah Stephens Smith

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Savannah Stephens Smith is a secretary by day and writer by night who traded northern auroras for the coastal rains of Vancouver Island. Her work has appeared both online and in print anthologies. She quit smoking, but retains a healthy interest in all the remaining vices, including whiskey and chocolate. See more of her work at her Web site.

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