I was both empowered and turned on by his words, "cocksucker" all I could think of on my train ride home. "Cocksucker," it just made me smile.
It also made my dick scream for attention.
As soon as I got home I went directly to my bedroom, shucked my clothes and grabbed my hard dick and blew a load so quickly I couldn't catch my breath to scream. I just grunted out a word,
"Daddy."
He's there before I arrive and he stays long after everyone leaves and I never knew why. I think I have that one figured out. He likes to play with his prey before he eats it.
"Oh god, I'm next," I said out loud after licking cum from my fingers.
The best part about my daddy story is that I can tell you from the start that he knew exactly what he wanted...and he went after it.
Every day I pass by his desk. Every day I look at him and smile, I usually get a grin in return but today was different. I got a wink. Of course this wink came from a very handsome bear of a man. A man who thrills me to no end in a rich fantasy of lust and service.
The funny thing, he's only a year older than my twenty nine. Really, you'd think a years' difference wouldn't mean much at twenty nine. You are most certainly a man, capable and culpable!
His name is Greg.
He's about six feet tall, broad shouldered and not exactly thin. He's more of a lineman gone ever so slightly past prime. Stubble casts a shadow across a strong jaw and cut chin, and curly brunette hair with only the slightness of unkempt due to a baseball cap. I think he must wear one and forget to comb when not at work.
I wonder how often he showers...but we'll save that for later.
I can smell him from about ten feet away, not his overt masculine odor, but his cologne. He puts it on like a fourteen year old sprays body spray when he hasn't showered in a week. Underneath that pungent waft I do get just a hint of musk. The kind of hint that says, "I go home and fuck my bitch stupid and don't give a hell to what I smell like and don't shower either."
Perhaps that's just my way of fantasizing about him. I imagine myself as his bitch and that my only job in the world is to be available for each and every desire my daddy has that I must satisfy.
"Daddy Greg."
Sometimes it comes out as a purr when I masturbate. I can't help but let my tight hole twitch when I say it, Daddy Greg, the boner of a lifetime all rolled into one manly package. The perfect example of all that is right in a man, the mix of features you come to associate with desiring the male sex.
This man, this daddy, this Greg...he won a fight within me I didn't even realize was there for the taking.
I imagine his breath on my neck, the smell of his dusty truck and un-brushed mouth after a long day at work. The odor of coffee and sweat that mixes with his natural musk...mother fuck is it overwhelming just having him stand behind me...
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