Daddy’s Second Chance Little by Scott Wylder

CHAPTER ONE

 

Jocelyn

 

I just can’t keep my hands off my body.

Michael.

Dear God, Michael!

He has no idea that I’ve spend years touching myself and thinking about him. Then out of nowhere, he’s back!

Actually, I guess the truth of it is I’m back. I’m the one who left after high school. The two of us were inseparable in our Junior and Senior years. He was my first kiss, and we went a little farther, but mostly just petting through our clothes. Then college arrived and I left.

I’d planned to sleep with him right before I left. I would have too, if my older sister’s long distance relationship hadn’t ended in tears, on the exact day I finally wanted to pull off my shirt in the middle of making out with Michael. So, instead, we kissed and a week into college I called him and broke up with him.

And now, I’m back, so to speak.

I’m actually about sixty miles from our hometown, starting up my little online gift business. My neighbor, Lena, who is quickly becoming my best friend, noticed I was moping around all the time and told me about a club she loves. It’s laid back and the music is great.

Then, she told me all about something she calls ageplay.

Daddies.

Little girls.

I used to think it sounded kinky and fun. Now, I think it’s absolutely amazing, even though I haven’t experienced it, yet. So, I went to the club with her. She told me, right from the outset, that she was going there to find a Daddy. I just wanted to get out of the house. And then, Michael appeared like some kind of dream!

He’s a bartender there, and when I saw him, I determined to go to the club as many times as I could. A week ago, Michael sat down with me and asked if I would like to give us another shot.

Dear God, I like that idea!

So does my body, and I am in bed on a Saturday morning running my hands over it and thinking about just how good that idea is. As my fingertips lightly roll over my skin, I think about every time Michael and I made out. I transform those memories into fantasies, of course. Instead of massaging my breasts through my shirt and my bra, his hand slips up underneath and her pinches and squeezes my nipples.

Instead of the very brief moments when we might have ended up rubbing against each other through our jeans, I imagine him reaching right into my pants and rubbing my pussy with his hands, driving me absolutely crazy with his touch. I move my fingers down over my naked body and gently tease at the folds of my pussy.

This is where my fantasy changes from what it was for so many years. Suddenly, he isn’t just Michael, my high school sweetheart. He’s my Daddy and I’m his little girl. I imagine him kissing me fiercely and looking at me with hungry, possessive eyes, as I slip fingers into my pussy. I imagine they are his fingers and I writhe on my bed, breathing out, “Oh, Daddy!”

I don’t even know if Michael is in the lifestyle, because Lena tells me not everyone at the club is part of the Daddy/little girl thing. Nevertheless, all of my fantasies are about a man who calls me Little Girl; my Daddy, and that Daddy is Michael, now.

We are boyfriend and girlfriend again.

So far, we have only had one date. After we talked, we went out for a late meal at an all-night diner and then he was called away, for five days, to an emergency with his brother who lives three hundred miles away. There was a wildfire heading in his brother’s direction. He and his brother’s family are safe now, and all of their things are in storage, while they stay in a hotel outside of the path of the fire.

God, I want him!

I think about the date, and the goodnight kiss. If he’d pushed in that direction, I would have slept with him. As I masturbate, I imagine we did.

I’m just getting into it when my phone rings. I groan and roll over to grab it. I’m cursed with an inability to let my phone just ring, as much as I might want to.

Damn it all, it’s my friend, Tina, from college. I love her, but she’s a big bundle of drama. I’m tempted just to let it go to voicemail, but that’s another thing I don’t have the ability to do.

I groan again, and try to appear as cheerful as I can as I answer with, “Hi, Sweetie!”

Then, I spend about an hour on the phone with her and hear all about her latest breakup. I love my friend, but damn it’s frustrating. I was probably about five or ten minutes away from an orgasm I definitely wanted and desperately needed.

I’m still thinking about Michael the whole time I talk to her, and that makes things even more frustrating to deal with. The only thing I can think about is getting off the phone and getting back to touching myself. Finally, and thankfully, she finishes up and then there are about ten more minutes of pleasantries before I can finally hang up. I set my phone down and almost leap onto the bed. I let out a low breath and picture Michael again.

My damned phone chimes. I check. It’s an order for a gift basket. Damn it all! I quickly run to my computer and enter the order information into it. Thankfully, I make my orders first thing in the morning, so this one will be made tomorrow, and I can get back to what I have been trying to do.

I lie back down and let my hands trail up over my belly to my breasts. I imagine it’s Michael touching me. I imagine he’s commenting on my body; what he never got to see before, but I definitely want to show him now. In my mind, he compliments me and calls me beautiful. By then, I’m pinching my nipples softly and rolling them through my thumbs and forefingers.

I whisper, “Oh, yes. Yes, Daddy,” and it feels like my pussy has never been more desperate.

I slowly move one hand down, teasingly letting it travel over my ribcage, my navel, and right to where I desperately want it. “Oh God, yes!” I whisper and my fingertips finally reach my clit in an instant explosion of undeniable need. I only tease, wanting it to last. Of course, I can’t do that for long and I increase the pressure.

There’s a damned knock at the door!

It’s as if some magical force is determined to keep me from giving myself release; as I’m just destined to be so horny for Michael all day long and never be able to deal with it. I groan and roll of the bed. My hair’s a mess so I pull it into a ponytail, as I call that I’ll be there in a second. I pull on a tee shirt and shorts and practically stomp my way to the door.

I swear if this is somebody selling something I might end up spending the night in Jail.

I pull open the door and stare in shock.

It isn’t a salesperson.

It’s Michael.

It’s Michael standing right at my door!