This story is purely fictional in nature. Any resemblance to actual names or situations are purely coincidence.
*
Prologue:
A story I had written about incest- daddy and daughter incest to be exact, had just been published on an erotic site I wrote for on occasion. A bit of a creative outlet during my study breaks in my last semester of college.
His email came on the second day the story was out. It intrigued me.
It was a simple email really, commenting on my writing style, the character development, etc. He didn't come on to me, or tell me how hard the story made him, or that he wanted to be my daddy. But he did mention that he also wrote for the site, and gave me his screen name, as well as his email address if I wanted to correspond. I checked him out.
His stories were about women and older men, a couple about daughters and their daddies. They excited me. Made me wet. I found myself extremely turned on reading about what I would soon learn were his fantasies.
I have a thing for the older male/younger female scenario. My last lover had been a visiting professor, an older guy who intrigued me with his brilliance. I loved the way he would take control of me, the way my body yielded to his commands during the long afternoons we would spend in my apartment. He initially came over under the premise of working on a research project.
We did manage to get the project done that year, but what I took away from it mostly was hat I loved to be with an experienced man. It was completely different than with my previous boyfriends, who had all been around my age. They paled in comparison to the way Dr. Conner had used his tongue on me, the way he moved his cock in and out of me real slow, taking his time to tease me, making me beg for him before he would fuck me hard the way I wanted him to. He liked the fact that I was young and impressionable and could teach me a few things about the art of loving. I think too he liked the audience I provided for him as he spoke about his theories on the development of the human mind.
My correspondence with Danny began the same day his first email came in. Immediately after I read his own stories, I was compelled to respond to him. To tell him how impressed I was by his story-telling ability. He had a keen sense of creating characters that came alive. I felt the young women in the stories were me. It amazed me how they mirrored some of my own fantasies. I was intrigued by his mind.
He in turn replied, thanking me for my comments, and thus began our venture. It was professional and almost polite at first- discussions about writing, the power of the mind, and minute, general details about our personal lives.
The way he used words turned me on. Short sentences that reverberated in my body with the volumes they spoke. They made me hungry for more of him. He was cotton candy melting on my tongue; a sweet taste of spun sugar that went away too quickly, leaving me wanting more. That was what each of his emails was like. I found myself eagerly checking my inbox dozens of times in a day, hoping for a message from him, and often being pleased with having one.
He told me that my own words danced within his head, struck a chord within his body. I told him he gave me shivers. He suggested this could lead to heat...
Somehow the tone of our conversations had turned suggestive and sensual. It was completely delicious.
We began writing stories with each other, finishing a scene where the other left off, and adding onto to it. It was the most erotic, intense experience of my young life.
Quickly, we added the phone to our repertoire of sexual mediums. He would call me every night before I went to bed. He told me stories of past seductions and I listened, rapt with attention. I liked that he was experienced. It turned me on. When I told him about my professor and the things we had done together, sometimes pretending that I was his daughter and he my father, he came so hard; he was breathless and silent for a long time afterwards. I had to call out his name twice before he answered me.
I would hear his voice and immediately become wet, my panties soaked with excitement, with juices the tenor in his voice released. He said he walked around all day with a hard on, thinking about me. We made each other cum every night, masturbating to the sounds of one another moaning as we explored our hidden fantasies. I felt myself begin to blossom sexually, my soft petals unfolding with every word he spoke.
Our need for each other built quickly and the conversations became more intimate, with more and more personal details revealed. We came to realize that we lived within two hours from each other. But we kept it to phone and computer contact, only suggesting that perhaps one day we would meet.
Months passed. I had no idea what he looked like, nor he, me. That was part of the fantasy.
We went as slow as we could, trying to revel in every moment of our faceless fantasies. He never pressured me and knew instinctively that I would become freer this way.
He was a perfect fit for my fascination with taboo subjects. He was the older man, witty with words, strong in character and willing to lead. I was a blank canvas he wanted to paint.
Somewhere along the way we started painting together and I no longer knew where he stopped and I began. We were living in the grey area where fantasy and reality collide.
But fantasy soon was not enough and I ached for his touch with every fiber of my being. Our physical attraction had also become emotional. We had to meet.
We agreed to make some of the fantasies we had spoken of come true at our first meeting. We would meet at a club. He would recognize me by something I would wear and watch me from a distance. He wanted to see me seduce someone, to act out my fantasy of being completely free and loose, to watch me suck a stranger's cock as I played with myself while he watched, unnoticed He wanted to see me with another woman. I longed to feel the soft curves of another woman's breasts beneath my fingertips; nipples pressed against my own...the taste of a pussy against my mouth.
He would tell me exactly what to do and I would be daddy's good little girl and obey. I wanted all the same things. I just never said them aloud before him. He knew this and loved the thought of me doing the things we had together fantasized about. We would then meet in a hotel room, and he would fuck me. Make love to me. Hold me the way he longed to. The way I dreamt about at night as I fell asleep.
* * * * *
My pussy was trembling with excitement as I entered the club. I flashed my ID to the bouncer at the door. He looked at me approvingly and nodded, opening the door, allowing me to squeeze past him so that my breasts slid across his thick forearm. They stiffened with the touch and he winked at me as I entered the darkness.
I wasn't scared. I knew he was watching. Protecting me. But I was a little nervous, having never done this sort of thing before.
I was to wait for his call. I held my cell phone close, gripping it in my hand as if it were my life line. I made a bee line for the bar and ordered a drink. I drank it fast, needing the alcohol to calm me, to soothe me and allow my inhibitions to dissipate.
I ordered a second drink. That was when the first call came.
"Hello,darling."
My head pounded and my heart hammered in my chest at the sound of his voice.
"Danny," I breathed into the phone, holding it close to my mouth.
"You look very sexy tonight," he continued. I looked around the dimly lit club, searching for him, eager for him to reveal himself to me. I saw a number of men sitting at tables, but couldn't be sure which one was him, and it was too dark to make out any specific features.
"I like the outfit."
I was wearing a short plaid, pleated mini skirt, which rested right at the top of my thighs. My white blouse was sheer; exposing the lace bra I wore underneath and tied under my breasts, exposing my navel and unbuttoned to the second button, allowing a hint of cleavage to be seen. White stockings met my knees and a pair of Mary Janes cloaked my small feet. It was the perfect school girl look. Every little girl/older man fantasy come true.
"I can't believe I am finally seeing you in person. You look like an angel. Daddy's good little school girl. But, you're so bad, baby. You are going to do very bad things tonight for Daddy. Aren't you?"
"Yes," I said, barely a whisper. I could feel the heat pulse between my legs. I was trembling, from both anticipation and nerves.
"Sit at the table in the corner. I want to watch you a while. Drink you in."
