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Having my heart broken so many times has formed a callous around it. I am emotionally bankrupt.
“It means I like to be in control, but I like to bring my partner pleasure. I like being able to control when they come, how they come, and how often they come.”
“Stop pouting because I told you not to call me that,” he responds. “What?” I ask, feeling obstinate. “Daddy? Why not? Because you like it too much?” With a strong hand on my hip, he grinds my body against his legs, and when I feel the hard bulge in his pants, I let out a gasp. “Yes, Daisy, I do. I like it far too much.”
Call me a sick fuck, but I want to be her daddy. I’d teach her every fucking thing she wants to know. I’d take care of her and protect her and make her feel so goddamn good.
I want her to be mine in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. I want to own Daisy. I bet she would submit beautifully. But if I fuck her, the way I desperately want to, can I promise myself I won’t push her away after? Can I promise my stupid broken heart that it won’t get hurt again? No.
“It’s not that I don’t want you, Daisy. You have to understand just how much I want you.”
“But the things I want to do to you, baby girl, are dirty, filthy things. And you’re too fucking sweet for me.”
“You tell them your daddy said no.” “Oh, so you can call yourself my daddy, but I can’t say it?” I ask in a teasing tone.
“Let me,” I say in a bold request. She stares at me over her shoulder, a rightfully perplexed expression on her face. “Let you what?” I nuzzle closer. “Let me relieve your ache, Daisy.”
“You’re suffering, baby girl. Do you want Daddy to make you feel better?”
A desperate sounding yelp escapes her lips right when I know she’s there. “That’s my girl,” I murmur against her ear. “Come on Daddy’s hand.”
Night will come eventually, but for now, I want to bask in the sun.
“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words, and never stops—at all…”
