The nice police officer told me to call him daddy. This was two months ago and I thought that it was a strange request a first. I trusted this man, a respected officer and a protector by heart. He started visiting me to "check in" on me a few months back. He expressed concern that I was a woman living alone. He became a friend. Intelligent, insightful and blunt, he challenged me and encouraged me. He was also older than I but when he leveled his eyes at me and firmly directed me to call him daddy, I wanted to ask why. My heart started racing and I complied with the request, finding that it felt natural.
He was a good daddy, bringing me presents and encouraging me to carry out various assignments when he left. When he would stop by with a present, he would smile excitedly and he always asked what I'd accomplished since his last visit. Now, my daddy is tall and handsome and when he presented me with a little gift, his intense eyes would light up and I would hug him, touching his salt and pepper hair.
I never felt safer than when he pulled me into his strong arms. A stillness came over me and I breathed in his smell – a mix of soap and fresh air. He made me feel small and nervous and unsure. This was before daddy came over to force me one day.
He visited me one day and he seemed different. When he entered my small space, I flushed and lost my voice. He always had this effect on me. I would get nervous and fidget and look down until I pulled myself together. But on this day, I couldn't manage to lose this apprehension. Gone was the smile he normally greeted me with. He stared directly into my eyes and I willed myself to look back, shrinking into my chair, feeling suddenly naked and exposed. This wasn't just apprehension – I was afraid.
When daddy ordered me into the bedroom, I got up and walked, stunned, head down and hardly breathing. I was alone in the house – he knew I was alone. Where could I go? What could I do? He was daddy, a police officer, and more importantly, I wasn't really sure that I wanted to get away. I just wanted him to smile and tell me he was kidding. I wanted to breathe again.
I was hardly in my room when I felt a hand from behind and another hand pulling my hair back. I whimpered as he rubbed my breasts and held me in place by my hair. My head screamed "run" but my body deceived me by leaning into him. Did I want this? I was shaking as he led me to the bed. His hands were everywhere, all over me, ripping off my pants. His voice was hoarse when he whispered "You love this, don't you...slut."
I moaned when I meant to answer "no". But the word wouldn't come out and I was angry with myself. Angry, because even as he took my breast into his mouth and invaded my pussy with his trusted hand, I arched my back a little and moistened my lips.
A noise outside brought me back to myself long enough to appraise the situation – daddy on top of me, forcing his fingers inside of me. I tried to sit up and daddy held me down hard. "Wait" I said and he held my hands up by my head. As he moved his fingers back to my wet cunt, my head swooned and I felt only his hand, pushing deep inside of me. There was no way that I could stop him and I stopped trying. "You like daddy's hand in your pussy. You've wanted this, haven't you?" I could feel his excitement rise as he explored my pussy and his words echoed in my head.
