Big Daddy

by Daisy Jane

The urge to shove my pants down and stroke myself to orgasm the moment I’m home hits me, but I refuse to indulge. Because thinking about your daughter’s best friend while you jerk off is deplorable.

I now know that Big Daddy is a silver fucking fox.

“What’s up, Big Daddy?” I point the crumbling chicken toward the TV. “Did you come to watch The View with me?” He glances at the TV, pure disgust on his face. “Don’t like this show?” I lean forward, dunking the chicken strip into the flood of BBQ squirted onto the paper bag. “Is it Joy?” I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Or do you miss Babs? Probably helps to have someone your age on the show, huh?”

“If you’re so concerned with your daughter’s best friend being stable, maybe don’t call her a brat.” With his large hand swallowing up the tiny gold door knob, Big Daddy looks over his shoulder at me, eyes smoldering. “I’ll call you a brat as long as you behave like one.” He looks at his fancy leather shoes then back at me one last time. “Goodbye, Winnie.”

Maybe she’s on her period. Would she feel better if she had someone to fuck her good? To slip inside her warmth, to stroke her little clit and fuck her deep, fuck her so hard that her emotional tears turn to tears of need and desire as she begs me to let her come. I envision pulling my cock out of her, seeing her streaked on my shaft, reminding me she’s young, she bleeds, she’s fertile.

She rolls her eyes at my shrug, and my cock stiffens along my thigh.

At forty-eight, there aren’t many surprise erections anymore. Not often at least. And I don’t fuck twenty-somethings. Ever.

“I don’t want men jerking off to your feet,” I tell her,

She casts one look over her shoulder before she leaves, but I watch her ass all the way to the bank of elevators. She turns, and our eyes lock as the doors slide closed. I open a new tab in my browser, navigate through my history to her FeetFans page, and reach into my back pocket for my wallet.

BIG DADDY wants to send you a message. Do you accept? I don’t know why, but for whatever reason, the corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk.

“Do not send any more photos.”

I’m almost scared to click it, because the truth is, I want another reason to talk to him. Another reason to barge into his office and suck up his sexy as fuck rich man smell and give myself a little more to cling to when I squeeze my eyes shut and touch myself later. Again.

BIG DADDY HAS MADE A DONATION OF 5000.00 US DOLLARS.

Getting five thousand dollars randomly from your best friend’s hot dad will put you in a strange headspace. So will being violently attracted to him.

For a split second, or maybe even a short period of time, I thought that just maybe Big Daddy paid me off and told me not to take the photos anymore because he had a little crush on me. Which would be stupid anyway because he’s my best friend’s dad. He's old, and he’s already been married and had a kid.

A good fuck with a hot older man isn’t worth my relationship with my bestie anyway. But still, a girl is curious.

A moment after hitting send, $600 hits my account, available for transfer. There. Now I no longer need to worry or even think about Big Daddy. A few weeks with Harold and I’ll pay Quincey back and be able to afford therapy and meds. Everything is back to normal. Yay.

I can’t help but smirk. 54035forYOU. Shoes for you. Cute. I see what she did there.

I think of that tendril, of wrapping it around my finger while her full lips dust the head of my straining cock.

Possessive and feral, neither of which I am entitled to when it comes to Winnie Collins. Yet they are two emotions I undeniably feel. “I did say no more. You’re right. And then, guess what I did with my female brain?” Why is my dick pressed against my fly like a prisoner waiting to fucking escape? “What?” I growl, playing into her little game. I know it’s a game, because she’s a brat, and brats love to play. “I changed my mind.”

“Where?” She’s hesitant, and that angers me even more. “I asked you a question,” I remind her, loosening the knotted tie at my throat as I now pace the worn strip of carpet behind my desk. “Why? What are you gonna do, storm over here and spank me for being on FeetFans?” We both fall silent at that remark, and I have to grip my erection a moment to calibrate. “Send me your fucking address, Winnie.”

“I can get it from Brielle, you know.” “Oh yeah? And what would be the reason you ask your twenty-six-year-old daughter where her twenty-six-year-old best friend lives? Hmm? Answer me that, Quincey,”

“Yes, you are. Or I will call Brielle. I’ll tell her everything.” “Don’t threaten me,” she balks. “Don’t make me,” I defend. “You’re an asshole.” “And you’re a brat,”

“No feet on the countertop,” I tell her, my voice husky, my cock thickening. I reach out, wrapping my palm around her bare foot. Slowly, I lower her leg and foot back down, never breaking eye contact. Her lips move, and her eyes hold mine as she searches for words, swallowing loudly, maybe even a bit nervously. “Yes, Big Daddy,” she breathes, a smirk dusting her lips.

“According to the rules of Big Daddy, I can’t use my body to make money for necessities, but can I use it just for fun? ” I nod. “That’s one of the things your body is for, yes.”

“It will change things between us, Winnie, if I answer that question truthfully.” “Give it to me,” she replies, swiping her glass from me to take a big drink. “I can take it.” My head falls forward, my eyes on her bare toes curled around the barstool as I fight the image of her riding my cock. Stifling a groan, I can’t stop myself from imagining my thick shaft disappearing between her hairless pink lips as her head falls back and she moans, “I can take it, fuck me hard, I can take it!”

“Your body isn’t a playground for men, Winnie, and you shouldn’t use it as such. Have fun on your terms. Without payment. To make you happy,” I reach past her for the bottle of wine, holding her eyes as I top myself off. “Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully, her seductive gaze following my every movement. “And what if using my body to make myself happy means I am a playground for men?”

I picture every single thing I said. I envision shoving her legs back, seeing her knees near her face as I thrust deep, giving her every hard inch, every hot drop. I see us on Sunday morning, lazy and tired, on our sides, my cock feeding her pleasure one inch at a time. I see her belly swollen, tits full, a baby on one hip, another at her feet. Then I don’t just see her, but instead, us. Our life. My hair has more silver. Her crow’s feet are soft. Time has carried us forward, age has found us, and I spend my days and nights eating my favorite meal, losing myself in my perfect, still young wife.

“I’ve been asking myself what’s different about you,” I admit, standing in front of her, moving the barstool out of the way with my foot. “You aren’t afraid to stand up to me. To call me on my shit. You’re strong, beautiful, and intelligent.”

“I want you to be my playground, Winnie. And I don’t want you taking those fucking photos for other men.” I lean in, dusting my lips against hers, knowing I shouldn’t, knowing it’s fucked up, fully aware that this is a terrible fucking idea. But she kisses me back.

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want to do. That’s my point about FeetFans. You don’t have to do that.” “No?” she arches a brow, boldly reaching between us to fill her palm with my cock. She squeezes, and our eyes go to where she holds me through my slacks. Her fingertips and thumb don’t meet, and that drives me fucking wild. She’s so tiny. Me and my huge cock would destroy her in the best goddamn ways. I’d get her pregnant on the first try. … The fuck? Get her pregnant?

confidence. “I forbid it.” “Forbid it?” Winnie giggles, the little buzz she has going making the apples of her cheeks pink. “You can’t forbid me to do anything.” She licks her lips as her hand continues pumping me, her knees spreading. “You’re just Brielle’s father. You’re not anything to me.” “I’m the man whose cock is in your hand.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” She uncurls her fingers. “Don’t you fucking dare let go,”

“Quit being a brat and take the job. Take. The. Job.” I groan, releasing myself long enough to open my belt. It’s bold, everything about this day is. I wouldn’t be this bold if I thought there was a chance I was misreading her. But I’m not. She squirms on the barstool, eyes glued to my zipper, which I slowly tease down. She nods. “I shouldn’t.” She looks up at me with heavy eyes. “I really don’t even know you.” I reach into my boxer briefs and collect my erection, steely and hot in my palm. “Take the job. Get paid enough to take care of yourself and save some. Be in a safe environment. Get your own apartment. Don’t be foolish.” I take my cock out and her jaw splits, her mouth falling open. “Let me help you, Winnie.”

“Big Daddy, we should stop,” she breathes, sifting her fingers through my hair as I kiss my way down her throat and collarbone, finally dropping to my knees in my own kitchen. I look up at her and she looks down at me. The moment ripples with heated tensions, but her subtle head nod tells me everything I need to know: she’s on board. With her consent, I abandon my egregious erection and tug down her shorts, discovering she is pantiless. “You’re not wearing fucking panties?” the question erupts from me, jagged and vexing. “From now on, Winnie, you better fucking wear panties. Do you hear me?” I drag my nose through her lips, shaved and glistening, just the way I envisioned them. Her pussy is swollen with arousal, her clit blooming, hungry and desperate. She moans as she sifts her fingers through the top of my hair, digging her nails into my scalp. “I don’t want this pussy accessible to anyone. Not while you work for me.” “Strict office rules,”

“Stop being a bossy asshole and make me come, Big Daddy,” she says, thrusting her cunt into my mouth, her order riding a moan. With one hand on her thigh, I use my other hand to jack my cock as I bury my face between her legs.

I wish we'd never met. Because from this fucking moment on, I will not stop until Winnie Collins is mine. All fucking mine.

“Come for me, you little brat,” I encourage, sucking her swollen clit between my teeth, rolling gently as I suckle, urging her to let go. “Yes,” she cries out, yanking my hair as she thrusts herself into my face, coming in violent, unabashed waves, her cries of completion echoing around my kitchen like the most perfect song. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

I grip my cock, my watch sliding down my wrist as I do. “Stop being a tease.” She smiles. “You could’ve had my mouth.” A groan spills out of me as I watch her put her hair into another sexy, messy bun. “When I want to fuck your mouth, I will.” I reach for the remote on the center of the island. “C’mon, let's get you a car. I need to get back to work.” I stop in my tracks and face her. “You start tomorrow at 9. Don’t be late.”

“Do not fucking tease me, Winnie. You hear me?” I remove my fingers and spit on them, returning them to circle her tight hole. She lets out a moan that has my cock leaking, but I can’t stop now. She makes me insane. I sink two fingers up to the knuckle, my balls aching as her ass clenches all around me. “Next time you backtalk me, I’m filling this with my cock. And it’ll burn, Winnie. My cock is huge, and gets really big for brats like you. Isn’t that right? Tell me you know your bratty mouth gets me hard.”

But the truth is I want to please Big Daddy. Okay, not that kind of please but I want that too. Jesus Christ almighty, he’s got the thickest cock I’ve ever felt. How many women have cried out in pain when he’s slid that monster inside of them?

Big Daddy is a jerk. But he isn’t a jerk to me. And feminism aside, I’m pretty sure a big, sexy rich asshole who is an asshole to everyone but you is the damn dream.

“You keep talking like I’m ancient. I’m forty-eight, you little brat. Do you know what forty-eight means?” I shake my head as he scatters light kisses along my jaw and down my neck. My pussy is screaming. “It means I’ve had thirty years to learn how to use my cock to make brats like you melt,”

“I’ll have you crying on my cock, Winnie, I’ll have you riding and bucking and screaming. And after, you’ll be on your knees, begging me to forgive you for ever calling me old.”

Big Daddy groans, and I take that opportunity to size up the pipe between his legs. God. I want that. I want that now. Inside me. In my mouth like a lollipop. In my hands like a trophy. Unloading cum inside me, breeding me to be his forever. “And heels?” he questions, his eyes flaring with hunger. He wants to see me in heels, that much is evident.

“Goodbye, Big Daddy.” “Goodbye, brat.”

I groan as I lean over and nip her lips. She sits back. “You can’t kiss me at work, Big Daddy.” “You can’t call me Big Daddy at work.” She sighs. “Fine, Large Father.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Parker, but what is that?” she points at my crotch while using her free hand to drape over her collarbone, clutching invisible pearls. Using a smaller, quiet voice, one that mimics an adult movie star, she adds, “And does it go inside me if I work really hard? Is that big, hard cock my bonus?” I’m out of my chair and pulling her from hers in what feels like a split second. With my palm splayed against her throat, her back crushing stacks of files on my desk, I press into her, leaning over her. Her whimpered exhale dusts my lips as I stare down into her wide, hungry eyes. “Don’t play with me, Winnie. You hear me? You wanna leave your first day with my cum dripping down your thighs, keeping talking that way.”

“I wore panties, just like you said, Big Daddy. Maybe you can come in those and I’ll wear them all day, nice and warm, nice and full.”

“I’ve been here less than ten minutes and you’re already finger fucking me, Big Daddy.” She licks her lips, her fingers playing at the ends of my hair, making gooseflesh spread down my spine. “Oops, I mean, Mr. Parker.”