Page 27 of Daddy Issues

  “It feels good,” I told him, bit­ing my lips. “You’re really big, Papa so it’s a tight fit but…I like it. I want more.”

  “All right, but go slowly,” Salt said sternly. “Don’t hurt your­self, mishka. Come down care­fully and let a few more inches slide into your tight little Baby­girl cunt.”

  Moan­ing again, I did as he said. I could feel his thick­ness stretch­ing my in­ner walls but I loved the sen­sa­tion—wel­comed the feel­ing of my part­ner—my Papa—slid­ing so deeply into me.

  Salt stopped me again when he was halfway in­side.

  “How does it feel?” he asked, search­ing my face. “You are very tight around me. Am I hurt­ing you, mishka?”

  “No, Papa.” I wiggled a little, twitch­ing my hips to get him a little deeper into me. “No, I like it—I want more.”

  “You can have more, Baby­girl,” he mur­mured, his eyes blaz­ing. “You can have as much as you want—as much as you can take. Come down all the way now but do it slowly.”

  I did as he said, lower­ing my­self onto him as inch after thick inch of his long shaft slid into me. At last I felt the broad head of his cock kiss the mouth of my womb and I knew he was as deep in­side me as he could pos­sibly go.

  “Oh, Papa,” I moaned as I settled fully into his lap. “Oh God, you’re all the way in me now—so deep in­side me!”

  “Mmm, so I am.” Salt reached between us and spread my pussy lips, show­ing the place where we were joined. I bit my lip at the erotic sight of his thick shaft spread­ing me so wide and pen­et­rat­ing me to the hilt.

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  “Look at what a good girl you are, mishka,” Salt told me, look­ing up and strok­ing my cheek. “Look at how you took all of your Papa’s big cock deep in your tight little cunt.”

  “God, Papa,” I whispered, put­ting my arms around his neck. “It feels so good to have you so deep in­side me. Are…are you go­ing to fuck me now?”

  “No.” Salt kissed me ten­derly. “Now I will make love to you—we will make love to­gether,” he mur­mured. “Look into my eyes, mishka. Look at your Papa while you ride his cock.”

  “Papa,” I whispered and then he began to move in a slow, hip-rolling rhythm that made me moan every time his cock thrust home in­side me.

  Keep­ing my eyes locked with his, I braced my­self against his broad shoulders and tried to meet him thrust for thrust. Tried to be open enough for his thick­ness as he fucked me—as he claimed me com­pletely.

  The pleas­ure went on and on, build­ing as Salt thrust in­side me. We worked in si­lence for a time, find­ing each other’s rhythm, learn­ing each other’s bod­ies in a way that was com­pletely new and ut­terly amaz­ing. Salt watched me the whole time, his eyes trained on my face as he filled me. I loved feel­ing all of his at­ten­tion centered on me—know­ing that we were fi­nally giv­ing ourselves to each other in the way both of us had longed to do for so long.

  “That’s right, my darling,” Salt mur­mured as he thrust slowly into me. “Open all the way for me. Open your sweet little pussy wide to take all of your Papa’s cock.”

  “I…I’m try­ing,” I whispered, spread­ing my legs a little wider. “Get into me deep, Papa—I want to feel you all the way in­side me.”

  “And that is where I want to be when I come. Tell me, mishka,” he mur­mured. “Do you want your Papa to come deep in your pussy?”

  “Yes, Papa,” I moaned, grip­ping his shoulders tighter. “Yes, please—I want that so bad.”

  “I can al­most feel your tight little pussy suck­ing the cream right out of me,” he groaned, still thrust­ing in­side me. “You are so very tight, my darling. And such a good girl to let your Papa come in­side you.”

  His con­stant stream of dirty talk and the feel­ing of his thick­ness filling me over and over was push­ing me to­wards the edge all over again. Then Salt upped the game by find­ing my throb­bing clit with his thumb.

  “Oh!” I gasped as I felt him start to slip the broad pad of his thumb over and around my swollen bud. “Oh, Papa!”

  “Are you close, mishka?” he asked, his deep voice hoarse with de­sire. “Are you close to com­ing all over your Papa’s cock?”

  “Yes,” I whispered and as I spoke, I felt the or­gasm spill­ing over me, drench­ing me in pleas­ure like warm honey. “Oh God, yes—Papa, yes, I’m com­ing.”

  “I can feel you, Baby­girl,” he groaned, his hand tight­en­ing on my hip. “Can feel you com­ing with my cock bur­ied so deep in­side you.”

  “You come too,” I begged him. “Come with me, Salt.”

  “Andi,” he groaned and crushed me to him. I moaned in his ear as I felt him throb in­side me.

  And then he was com­ing too, com­ing hard and spurt­ing deep in my pussy—claim­ing me forever as his. His Baby­girl, his part­ner, his lover, his friend…his mishka and his Andi. I was his—his com­pletely and there was no one else I would rather be­long to than my part­ner who was also my Papa.

  Epi­logue

  “I still don’t un­der­stand why you wanted me to dress like this.” I looked down at the frilly blue party dress my part­ner had brought home for me to wear to wherever our Valentine’s Day date was be­ing held.

  The dress wasn’t quite as ob­vi­ously a little girl out­fit as the dresses I had worn at the In­sti­tute but it wasn’t far from it. It had a short skirt with a bow in the back and Salt had re­ques­ted that I wear the san­dals he’d got­ten me at the In­sti­tute with it. I felt con­spicu­ous in it and not just be­cause I don’t nor­mally wear dresses.

  “You look beau­ti­ful.” Salt smiled at me ap­prov­ingly as he steered the car. He had picked me up at my house at ex­actly seven o’clock and I still didn’t know where we were go­ing. No place too pub­lic, I hoped. Valentine’s Day or not, I didn’t want any­one I knew see­ing me dressed like this. Not that they would prob­ably guess at our hid­den re­la­tion­ship of “Papa and mishka,” but I would know and that would make me un­com­fort­able.

  Salt him­self was dressed in an im­macu­late black suit—what I now thought of as his “Papa out­fit” since he rarely dressed that way un­less we were “play­ing.” He seemed much more at ease in our new roles than I was, al­though I was try­ing to let go and re­lax—try­ing to trust him more as time went by. It had been nearly three months since our time at the In­sti­tute and I was still get­ting used to hav­ing Salt as more than just a part­ner—at home, any­way.

  At work, we ab­so­lutely never played—there we were just two good part­ners as we had been for the last three and a half years. But on our off hours…well, that was a dif­fer­ent story.

  We weren’t al­ways Papa and mishka but I had learned that Salt was will­ing and able to slip into the role any­time I needed him to. At first I felt nervous and shy about ask­ing for what I wanted. Part of me still saw it as a weak­ness—a sick­ness that I shouldn’t be in­dul­ging.

  Salt, how­ever, had ab­so­lutely no shame about it. If I wanted him to be my part­ner and talk shop about whatever case we were work­ing, he was will­ing. If I needed him to be my Papa and cuddle me in his lap, he was more than happy to do that too. And dur­ing sex, he fell into the role nat­ur­ally, keep­ing up a stream of dirty talk in his low, gut­tural voice that made me help­lessly hot, even when I wasn’t quite sure I should be.

  I couldn’t com­plain about our new and ex­pan­ded re­la­tion­ship—deep down I seemed to need it and Salt al­ways made it so good for me. He made me come over and over and lately he had re­in­tro­duced the plug, adding a whole new di­men­sion to our play.

  He hadn’t spanked me again though—that was one place he drew the line. I un­der­stood why. The way he had spanked me at the In­sti­tute had nearly ended our re­la­tion­ship. So I didn’t blame him but still, I couldn’t help feel­ing like there was a tiny piece miss­ing from our Daddy/Baby­girl dy­namic be­cause of the lack of dis­cip­line.


  Don’t get me wrong—I wasn’t com­plain­ing. Quite the op­pos­ite, in fact. After all, it’s not like I en­joyed be­ing spanked—at least, I didn’t think I did. And I ad­ored the time I spent with Salt and the new re­la­tion­ship that was blos­som­ing between us. Everything was just so won­der­ful I guess I was won­der­ing when it would all end. If I was hon­est with my­self, I still had my father’s deser­tion in the back of my mind. Everything had been won­der­ful with him too…un­til it sud­denly wasn’t any­more and he’d left, never to re­turn.

  I think part of me was wait­ing for that to hap­pen with Salt. After all, he’d already tried to end our part­ner­ship once and though that had been cleared up as a mis­un­der­stand­ing, it had left a gap­ing hole in the already flimsy fab­ric of my trust. I was try­ing to have faith that everything would be okay, but it was hard—so damn hard.

  What it boiled down to is that things were too good and I was wait­ing for them to go bad. Wait­ing to see if Salt would get tired of this little game I needed so des­per­ately it made me feel sick in­side—and leave me for someone who didn’t have so many is­sues.

  After all, we had never clearly stated that we were ex­clus­ive or a couple, al­though I was cer­tain we were, at least in Salt’s mind. And though my part­ner of­ten told me how much he cared for me and needed me, both of us were care­fully skirt­ing around the “L” word like it was a bomb that might go off in our faces if we in­voked it too soon. Part of me was scared to death be­cause what I had with Salt was both the longest ro­mantic re­la­tion­ship and the best friend­ship I’d ever had in my life—I didn’t want to do any­thing to ruin it.

  And above all, I didn’t want to get hurt.

  These were my rather mor­bid thoughts as my part­ner drove me through the darkened Tampa streets, headed for an un­known des­tin­a­tion.

  “Salt,” I said, try­ing to put the de­press­ing thoughts from my mind. “About that Pear­son’s case—”

  “No.” He held up a hand and shook his head. “No talk of work to­night, please. And you will call me ‘Papa’—Da?”

  “What?” I looked at him un­eas­ily. “Come on, Salt—you know we don’t do that out­side—don’t call each other those names where any­one can hear us.”

  “Be­cause no one else would un­der­stand. I know.” He nod­ded. “But we are alone to­night and I would like you to call me Papa—is that clear, mishka?”

  I felt the fa­mil­iar twist of pleas­ure in my belly at his low com­mand­ing tone. It was time to put all the doubts and wor­ries out of my head—it was clear that at least for now, Salt wasn’t tir­ing of our little game—not a bit.

  “All right, Papa,” I said con­tritely. “So can you tell me where we’re go­ing?”

  “No, I can­not. You must find out for your­self.” He gave me one of his rare smiles and then turned the car into a darker street.

  “Where are we head­ing?” I couldn’t help ask­ing again. I hoped he wasn’t tak­ing me to an Age Play con­ven­tion or some­thing like that. I had seen such things on the In­ter­net but I had no wish to “play” with any­one else in any kind of pub­lic set­ting. I’d had enough of that at the In­sti­tute to last me a life­time, thank you very much. Just be­ing “mishka” to Salt’s “Papa” was enough to sat­isfy my crav­ings without in­volving any­one else.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Salt told me. “In fact—we are here.”

  He turned the car to­wards a darkened build­ing—well, mostly dark—one area of it seemed to be lit up and that was the part he headed for.

  “What is this?” I asked, frown­ing. Then I caught a glance at the sign out front. Parker Davis High School for Gif­ted Youth, it said. “Hey, why are you tak­ing me to a school?” I asked, look­ing at Salt, com­pletely mys­ti­fied.

  He gave me a mys­ter­i­ous smile.

  “You will see. Is private school and they rent out their aud­it­or­ium for events some­times.”

  “Events?” I looked around the deser­ted park­ing lot as he pulled in. “What event? We’re the only ones here.”

  “Which is the way we like it, Da?” He raised an eye­brow at me. “We have agreed that oth­ers would prob­ably not un­der­stand the way we like to be to­gether so this is a private event—only the two of us.”

  “But what—?”

  He got out of the car and came around to open my door. This be­ing Feb­ru­ary it was a little chilly—about as cold as Tampa ever gets. I shivered at the blast if cool air as it gus­ted into the car, lift­ing my short, frilly skirt.

  “Come in­side where it’s warm, my darling,” Salt said gently. He offered me his arm in a gen­tle­manly fash­ion. I took it, still com­pletely mys­ti­fied, and let him lead me to­wards the aud­it­or­ium.

  My little girl san­dals crunched over the gravel in the park­ing lot and I saw that the lights leak­ing out of the build­ing were dim and multi-colored. It was the same kind of light­ing I re­membered from the school dances I’d been to back in high school.

  We got to the door and Salt drew a key out of his pocket and opened it with a flour­ish.

  “Come, mishka,” he mur­mured. “Come in­side.”

  I stepped in, com­pletely be­mused by his strange be­ha­vior. The aud­it­or­ium was a small one but it seemed large be­cause it was just the two of us in­side.

  After Salt closed the door and my eyes got ad­jus­ted to the dim light, I looked around and saw that all the chairs had been ar­ranged around the edges of the floor, leav­ing a large, open space in the middle. There was soft mu­sic play­ing and the colored lights were com­ing from above, slowly blink­ing and chan­ging as they il­lu­min­ated the make­shift dance floor. Heart-shaped bal­loons and sil­ver and red stream­ers dec­or­ated the walls and in one corner a small round table was set up with a punch bowl filled with pale pink punch. From the ceil­ing, a ban­ner was hanging.

  I looked up, try­ing to make out the words in the dim light­ing.

  “Father…daugh­ter…ban­quet,” I read aloud and looked at Salt with wide eyes. “How did you…what did you…?” I couldn’t get the words out.

  “I am sorry.” He shrugged apo­lo­get­ic­ally. “I could not find ban­ner that read ‘dance’ in­stead of ban­quet. Was the closest I could get.”

  Sud­denly it all made sense. In a startled rush, I felt my­self whizz­ing back­wards in time—back to a sad little girl who was sit­ting on the curb out­side her house wear­ing her pret­ti­est party dress and wait­ing for her Daddy to take her to the Valentine’s Day dance. That little girl waited un­til her heart broke and her Daddy never came. But Salt—my Papa—had come for me. He had dressed me up in a beau­ti­ful blue dress and taken me to the dance—the one I had never got­ten to go to back when I was only nine.

  “Salt,” I whispered. “Papa…”

  “Dance with me, my little sweet­heart,” he mur­mured.

  I thought my heart would burst. My little sweet­heart—it was what I had told Salt my father used to call me. Back when he was still in my life and everything was good.

  “I…I…” I was frozen in place. Memor­ies of the past were still swamp­ing me. Wait­ing and wait­ing for a Daddy who never came. Wish­ing so hard to go to the dance and be held in his arms. And now Salt had made my dream a real­ity—he had righted a wrong so old it had nearly eaten a hole in my soul.

  I just couldn’t be­lieve it.

  Salt came to me and put an arm around my waist. Numbly, I put my hand in his and we began to dance, just the two of us in the empty aud­it­or­ium dec­or­ated with bal­loons and stream­ers and big red valentines.

  “Do you like?” Salt mur­mured in a low voice after we’d been sway­ing to the mu­sic for a few minutes. “I hope it is not too much.”

  “It’s…I can’t be­lieve you went to all this trouble,” I said, look­ing around the dim aud­it­or­ium. I still felt stunned, blind­sided by the ef­fort he’
d put into this even­ing.

  He shrugged, smil­ing a little.

  “I wanted my Baby­girl to go to the dance. The dance she missed so many years ago.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, look­ing up at him earn­estly. “This is bey­ond any­thing I ever ima­gined. Thank you, so much…Papa.”

  Salt cupped my cheek in his big hand.

  “I must con­fess, I had ul­terior motive for do­ing all this.”

  “You did?” I looked at him un­cer­tainly. What reason could he have to re­cre­ate this scene from my past?

  “I did. Is this.” Salt let go of me and sud­denly went down on one knee, right there on the dance floor. Reach­ing into his breast pocket, he pulled out a small black vel­vet box.

  I felt like my heart had stopped beat­ing.

  “Salt?” I whispered in a shaky voice. “You’re not go­ing to…”

  “My darling,” he mur­mured, open­ing the box and hold­ing it out to me. “Will you marry me?”

  “You…you’re ser­i­ous?” I took the box from him with trem­bling fin­gers. There was a gor­geous square cut dia­mond ring in­side—I didn’t know how many car­ats but it looked big.

  “Da—of course I am ser­i­ous.” He nod­ded. “I want you—I have since we first met and the Cap­tain put us to­gether.”

  “But…but what about the way we ‘play’ to­gether?” I asked. “What about that?”

  “I want that too,” Salt said softly. “I want you as Andi, my tough part­ner who I can trust when we are out on the streets. And I want you as mishka, my sweet Baby­girl who likes to cuddle in her Papa’s lap. I want all of you—be­cause I love you.” His voice went low and hoarse as he spoke. “I love you so much, my darling.”

  “Oh…Oh, Salt…Papa…” I didn’t know what to call him. I only knew my eyes were welling up with tears and I could barely breathe I was so filled with emo­tion.

  I sank down on the floor be­side him and Salt pulled me into his lap. We sat there on the dance floor to­gether with no one to judge us or say the way we loved each other was strange or wrong be­cause we were alone.