Daddy's Here(43)
My orgasm had barely faded before he moved me again, twisting me onto my back so he could crush me under his body, his cock buried as far into me as it could go. “I’m so close,” he muttered, pulling back and then thrusting in once more. “Oh, fuck. Here it comes.”
“Give it to me,” I replied, clawing at his back as he thrust faster until his mouth fell open and then I felt it, his cock spasming inside me, hot wetness filling me to capacity. He slumped against me as his shaft continued to jerk inside my pussy. “Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered, kissing his ear. “Thank you for everything.”
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Lucy Wild
Lucy Wild is a contemporary romance author who specialises in Daddy Dom and BDSM stories. She lives on the Yorkshire coast with her partner and their border collie in a house full of books and sweets.
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BONUS STORY
LITTLE TIME
Prologue
Abbey lay on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She couldn’t bring herself to look down at him. She wished she was somewhere else, anywhere but laid on her back whilst a furious looking man folded a nappy between her legs. This wasn’t a game, this was real, he was treating her as if she was nothing but his depraved plaything.
She was desperate to cover her chest with her arms, shield her breasts from his menacing glare, anything to protect at least a shred of her modesty.
She dared not move though. Her bottom still stung from the heat of the spanking he had already given her. She knew that moving would mean trouble, he had told her as much. “Keep still,” he snapped as her legs moved together of their own accord.
She sucked on her dummy, the sensation of it in her mouth calming her far less than she’d hoped. He loomed over her, his hand outstretched towards her, ready to humiliate her yet again. How had it come to this? How had she ended up in the nursery of a violent Papa who offered her no hope of escape?
Chapter One
Abigail Moncrieff pouted into her phone as she drove, looking down at the screen, getting the perfect snapshot to upload. Her new lipstick shone in the photos, setting off perfectly the deep blue of her eyes. Taking her other hand off the wheel, she drove with her knees, smoothing her hair just a little more, ready for another snap. You are gorgeous, she thought, as the car veered to the right.
She grabbed the wheel again just in time, swerving round a cyclist with inches to spare. What was he doing on the road anyway? Roads were for cars, not Lycra morons, she always said. There were too many bikes and too many cars in the city anyway. Roll on village life where she could be Queen of the road again.
Scrolling through the photos she’d just taken, she began to upload her favourite, no filter needed. Typing in hashtags, she almost missed the red light in front of her. She hit the brakes, almost dropping her phone as her four inch heel slid off the pedal and thudded into the footwell underneath. The car stopped a hair’s breadth from the one in front, the occupant of that vehicle glaring in his rear view mirror at her, pointing theatrically at his eye whilst mouthing something.
Why did he care about her? She’d be doing him a favour if she wrote off an old banger like that, the insurance was probably worth more than the car. If Abbey had her way, only people like her would be allowed to drive, people of means, people with cars that looked beautiful, driven by beautiful people, not rusty old things like that.
The cyclist she’d come so close to hitting rode past her towards the front of the lights, shaking his fist as he went by. She tossed her hair and blew him a kiss, revving away as the lights turned green.
Reaching down into the passenger footwell as she drove, she grabbed her phone, adding a caption to her photo as she mounted the kerb and then bumped back down again. “This city girl is ready for one last night of madness before the country life beckons.”
When her father had first announced they were moving to the countryside, she’d been furious with him. The news had completely spoilt her eighteenth birthday. “You have to tell me this today?” she asked, kicking out at the convertible he’d just bought her, denting the wing and breaking the heel off her shoe at the same time. “First you get me the wrong colour car, then you tell me we’re moving?” She leaned towards him as he mumbled an apology. “I hate you.”