Anything He wants

DADDY KNOWS HOW TO PLAY GENTLE.

My bones creak, but there’s no pain. The only thing I feel is my nerves circling my stomach. Even the goosebumps are coming out as a gust of anxiety wafts over me.

Or maybe it’s the wind of determination.

In either case, I’m here because of my stepdad, and I’ll be damned if I don’t go all out to show him just how much I love the man.

I’m still a little stiff when I snap on my garter belt, attaching my white lace stockings to my sheer, lace corset. The look is nearly complete, made all the more striking now that my fiery red hair has finally grown back to my shoulders.

They had to shave it all off during the surgery, and it’s taken months for it to grow back to a satisfying length. Not that daddy would judge me for it he’s the kindest soul I know-but I wasn’t interested in making my move when I was bald and nearly paraplegic.

I know he wouldn’t judge, not one bit. He’s the one who pulled me from the wreck; he was the one who was at my bedside in the hospital day in and day out; he was the one who’d help me walk when the physical therapist finally sent me home.

When I felt like a monster, when I walked around with stitches in my scalp, broken bones in my legs, a nearly severed spine, and when I didn’t have the resolve to go on anymore, daddy always met me with a smile and said the day’s barely started. He’d tell me there’s no reason to be sad when you still get to wake up every day and look at the sun.

I’m sure if I’d gone blind, he’d tell me it was the smell of the air instead that would cure my sadness.

And he’s right, but not in the way he intended. Daddy was the one that removed all doubt, the one who brought me back to life, and there’s nothing in this life I wouldn’t do to repay him for everything he’s done for me. Even if my body is still… somewhat recovering from a devastating

injury. I don’t really have anymore pain, but I’m still stiff, and my body’s still pretty weak; I’m still shaky on my legs when I stand; Putting my lipstick on was a bit of a task, requiring numerous tries not to come out looking like a clown. But even with all that, I don’t feel like waiting anymore. I grab the black lace blindfold, take a deep breathe, and strap it across my eyes, tying it behind my head. I lie down on the bed, doing my best to

shake the nerves from my arms. Daddy should be walking in at any moment, ready to start our day of therapy.

I breathe through my nose and run my hands down the middle of my chest, feeling the contours of my breasts encapsulated in soft fabric. The caress of the see-through mesh as I pass over my stomach is tantalizing, a tingle that follows my hands as they continue south. I press over my pussy and cup my inner thighs, envisioning daddy’s touch on my body. To feel the touch of someone, that flush of life passing through me, is something I’ve been dreaming about for a long time. Trapped in casts, stuck

in bed, all it does is remind you just how important human contact is to a sane mind. Throw in the feebleness of recovery and you can feel like the world’s forgotten about you.

Well, everyone but your daddy…

There’s a knock at my door. “Babycakes, you ready to start the day?” I sit up in bed, lift my blindfold above my eyes, and run my hands down my lingerie, flattening out any ruffles my inappropriate fantasies might have produced. “Yes, daddy,” I say, “I’m ready for you.”

As he walks in, he glances at me, turns to close the door, glances at me again, and his lips turn inward as he stifles a laugh. “Babycakes, what are you wearing?”

I blush, my face burning. Oh no! Was this a bad idea or what?! “Daddy!

Don’t laugh!” I cry out, pushing the blindfold down so I don’t have to look at him.

In my world of darkness, I try my best to hide away from my feelings.

Oh god, I hope I didn’t make this weird! I knew it. Daddy’s too old for me: he doesn’t want someone so young and helpless, someone who’s spent the last few months being fragile and a drain and taking up all his time… His fingers pull up on the blindfold, revealing me to the world once again. He’s crouching next to me, his smile filled with tenderness and humor.

“Babycakes, I was just asking a question. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

Looking into his brown eyes does nothing to alleviate my anxiety. If anything, his closeness makes me dart my eyes away, and my face burn even hotter.

“Here, lets get you thinking about something else.” He stands up, lowering his hand for me. “Come on.”

I grab his hand, the routine of every morning taking hold. He waits as I slowly pull myself up to my feet. My knees feel even weaker than usual, and as daddy takes a few steps backwards, I follow him uncertainly, watching each footfall so I don’t lose my balance.

As he guides me around the room, he says, “So, what’s your big plan for today? It’s not like I’m taking you out while you’re dressed like that.” “Why not?” I ask, so focused on my movements I don’t realize how silly the question is.

“You’ll get way too many stares from all the men.”

“Would you stare, daddy?”

“Of course I would.” Daddy pulls me into him, his hand holding mine as his other finds its way to my lower back. Slowly, he leads me around the room in the gentlest dance, half-carrying me, half-waiting for me to follow his steps. “You’re too precious to me to let go so easily.” “You wouldn’t like it if other guys were looking at me?” I ask, mustering my strength to follow daddy wherever he takes me. “Not. One. Bit.” Daddy dips me slowly, before just as smoothly returning me to my feet. It’s the simplest move, but it’s one of those things that daddy does that makes me feel alive, as if I’m actually part of this dance, rather than a girl struggling to maintain her balance.

I rest my head against his chest, his muscles tensing as I lie there. I can hear his heart beat, slow and steady, at no point perturbed. Daddy is a mound of confidence, even when I stand before him, dressed the way I am. Am I even having an effect on him?

I look up at him. Our eyes meet and we pause. I want to speak, but I’m captured by him. The rough stubble, the square jaw, the cut cheekbones, the thick adam’s apple. So many manly things, so many aspects of testosterone, but they’re all held together by the soft dimples leading to his eyes, eyes that offer nothing but solace and affection. His eyes that speak more than anything he could ever put into words.

They make me realize exactly how I feel. This isn’t payback for me; this is a dance with my soulmate.

“Daddy,” I clear my throat, licking my lips, “I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you, too, babycakes.”

“No, daddy, I mean more than a daughter loves her father.”

He touches his thumb to my lips, dragging my lower lip with it. “I know, babycakes.”

“You do? How could you tell?”

“A father should know these things.”

“Well,” I swallow, “I don’t want to be your daughter if it means I can’t love you how I want.”

He smiles, “You’ll always be my daughter.”

I don’t know what I should feel. Those words ring heavy within me, making my skin prickle. I do always want to be his daughter, but is he denying me? What does it mean? Are we not able to… be together?

“Daddy, I… want to be with you.”

His eyes make no movement, but his fingers dig just a little harder into my back. Does he want what I want? Will he take me if I offer myself?

I stand on my tippy toes, which is incredibly difficult with my fragility. It takes every bit of energy to keep my body up on my unstable legs, their violent shaking only mitigated as I lean into daddy’s chest.

But it’s all worth it when my lips meet his. He’s caught by surprise, his lips merely replying stoically to mine. My breath disappears into his mouth as I push into him, letting passion take over and lead me, diverting my attention away from the struggle of my legs keeping me afloat.

“I want you, daddy.”

His pupils contract, as if he’s seeing me for the first time, as if he’s focused on nothing else but me. He leans in, reintroducing our mouths, but

follows his platonic performance with one fused with sexual energy. Our lips mold, our tongues penetrate, and my legs give out.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

I nearly crumple before daddy snatches me by my arms, saving me from my weakness. With an easy lift, he picks me up by my legs, cradling me in his arms.

“Are you okay, baby?”

I nod. “Please, don’t stop.”

He carries me over to my bed, placing me down on the mattress, butt first and then lowering my head, as if I’d break over any sort of force. He runs his hand through my red locks, softly combing my scalp. I turn my head into it, closing my eyes and enjoying the first real tactile sensation I’ve had in months.

So soft, so calming.

“Relax, babygirl. Let daddy do all the work.”

He peppers me with tiny kisses, moving from ear lobe to cheek to chin to lips. Daddy’s fingertips graze my arms, a simple act all the more powerful to my excited body, making me shiver as he passes up my arm to my neck. He traces my collar bone, running down my sternum, circling his fingers under my breasts.

It’s like torture! So long without touch, so long pining for daddy as I worked my ass off to get my body moving again. And now… now he teases me! He torments me, my body struggling against the bed, wanting to rise up

and take charge. But daddy knows I can’t. He knows I don’t have the power to overcome his foreplay.

I’m merely forced to endure, waiting with bated breath at every slow inch of my aching body daddy explores.

It’s made all the worse as his fingers pass over my corset, pressing the mesh fabric into my stomach. The coarse weave scratches and tickles at the same time, a fabric designed to afflict the recipient with agonizing desire. I want to scream out, I want to cry from pleasure. I grab daddy’s hand and push it over my panties, laying it on top of my pussy. “Please, daddy,” I beg him, “touch me here.”

“Anything for you, babycakes.”

The first swipe of his hand is like heaven, a pulse of energy firing through my cunt. Even though he’s still pressing against fabric, it’s all the more rewarding when it’s striking my clit directly. Daddy drags his nails across my inner thigh, provoking a giggle from me.

“Now we’re having fun,” he jokes.

I burn. Daddy’s sexual advances are even more potent when he still treats me like his daughter. I was willing to give it up, be something more to him, but now all I want is for him to fuck me as his little girl. No thought in my mind ramps my libido like the one where I’m helpless before daddy’s paternal instincts.

“Daddy, I want you to touch my pussy.”

He smirks. “What do you think I’m doing, babygirl?”

“No, daddy. I mean really touch me there.”

“You mean like this.” Daddy unclasps each garter belt before lazily tugging my panties down my thighs. The air hits my pussy like a cold front, snapping my attention to just how wet daddy’s comforting touch has made me.

Gently lifting one leg, daddy proceeds to pepper my inner thigh with kisses, making his way down to my soaking cunt. But he makes a detour just before hitting it, circling my mound with his mouth, prepping me with the tenderness of his lips. He kisses the creases of my thighs, he kisses to the side of my lips, he kisses just above my clit, he reverts back to my inner thighs, and like a bolt of lightning his lips form around my swollen nub. His lips

wrap around it, kissing it just like any other part of my body, which does way more than I thought possible. The sensuous movement of his mouth on me, the soft puckering against me, the subtle suction as he pulls his lips in and away.

I moan, moan hard, knowing damn well daddy’s on his way to making me come at this rate. His kisses alternate with him pressing his nose into me: he dives his face between my lips, rubbing the bridge of his nose into my pink flesh, nuzzling me like a dog does. The hard cartilage slides over my clit, darting it from one side to the other.

And when it gets intense, daddy switches back to his mouth, kissing me, licking me, and sucking on my clit. His lips wrap around, drawing my button in for his tongue to flick. My back arches to the best of its ability, pushing off the bed with whatever muscles I can manage.