Anything He wants

DADDY CONSUMMATES OUR MARRIAGE

“My god, I can’t believe I finally got to wear this today,” I say to myself, running my fingers over the lace wedding dress. It was only a few hours ago, but it all still feels like a dream. I’m still in shock it’s finally happened. I’m married to my stepdad. Or he was my stepdad… I don’t know. Who knows if I can adapt to thinking about him in any other way. The thought is so new I can’t wholly wrap my mind around it.

He spoils me, as this eight thousand dollar dress attests. I think even now, as I wait in our hotel room, he still treats me like his daughter. I didn’t like the champagne they had delivered to us, so he made it his mission to go to the desk and demand a new bottle with a better taste. Still, he treats me like his little princess.

Can I be both his wife and his little girl? Does it even matter if I’m both at the same time?

I think everyone else cares rather than me. The looks on their faces at the wedding. Yeah, they played it nice at the rehearsal dinner and at the

reception itself, saying congratulations and all that. But when I walked down the aisle in my dress, my god… the looks they gave me showed their true intentions. They were like the snarls of wolves watching the lamb go by. They couldn’t hide it then, no matter the coy words they used before and after.

And I don’t know who gave it to me worse, my side or daddy’s side. I don’t know what they were thinking, but I’m sure the word nympho came up a number of times in their judgmental little heads.

But I’m not. Daddy and I haven’t even had sex yet. I just… love him, with all my heart. When my mom cheated on him and ditched me-and I

mean ditched me, as I haven’t heard a word in the past year from her-he was there to pick up the pieces. I’m a grown woman, but I was sheltered throughout my life, and my mom disappearing on me was shattering to my

psyche. I’m sure it hurt him like hell when she left, too, but in his strength he pushed it all away to take care of me. He was the man for me, I knew it then and there. You can’t choose your parents, but you can choose the man you want to be with.

My only blood parent absconded with the last piece of my naivete. I’m not an idiot little girl as all these people believe. I’m not some sucker who’s fallen on hard times and turned to the only person in my life looking for love.

I’m a woman who’s realized the good things in life could disappear at any moment, and I’d be foolish to let him slip from my grasp.

I guess I was also worried. If my mom wasn’t around, then what was keeping him from being my daddy anymore? It scared me more than I was willing to admit for a while.

I love him, but I won’t be afraid to admit anymore that if he wasn’t goingExclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

to me my daddy, then I was going to make him my husband. I want him, even if it’s all to myself.

Although, I don’t think it’ll be just the two of us for long. When the door opens, I’m no closer to an answer than I was this morning. But the man in front of me gives me his patented smile, curled at the end in a devious smirk, glad to have achieved something that makes me happy.

“I got it, babygirl,” he says, proffering a bottle in the air, “freshest champagne in the whole state, I’m sure.”

“I’m certain it is.” I clear my throat, “David.”

He smiles. “It’s hard to say, isn’t it?”

I nod, embarrassed I’m so easy to read.

He shrugs. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“But you’re my husband.”

“But you can still call me daddy all you want. I’m not going to judge, and I’ll show anyone the curve of my knuckles if they have anything to say about it.” He throws his fist up, half-threatening, half-joking. “Are you sure?” I fidget with the champagne flute. “I… don’t want you to feel weird, either.”

“Babygirl, I’ll never feel weird with you.” He cracks open the bottle, fizzy alcohol spilling over the edge. He takes my glass, filling it for me before filling his own. As he hands it back, his hand meets mine, and his other caresses the curve of my jaw. “You and I. Forever. No matter what.” I blush, oddly flustered by the sentiment. I just married the man! I shouldn’t still feel like this, but something about daddy makes me all bubbly inside, and I haven’t even tasted the champagne yet!

I do, trying to wash away my own awkwardness. The bubbles tickle my nose, and as I set the flute down, my stupid anxiety acts up, wanting to deny me the happiness of the day. “I don’t want you to settle for me if I become too hard for you.”

I spent the last few minutes decrying everyone for being so negative, and here I go doing the same damn thing, thinking of myself as a burden that’s only going to weigh daddy down in the future. What if he’s doing it all because he feels bad for me?

But daddy doesn’t play my silly games, his voice stern and unrepentant.

“That’ll never happen. Understand?”

I nod. His tone is so strong it reminds me that we’re both going through the same thing. We both saw those people, we both saw how they criticized us while we weren’t looking, knowing deep down that everything out of their

mouths was trivial placating. Daddy felt it just as much as I did, and my own doubts steeled him even further.

“I love you, babygirl, and I wouldn’t give you up for anything. There’s nothing wrong when a man and a woman love each other, no matter their circumstances.”

“I know, daddy.”

His face softens immediately, his eyes relaxing into a focused pleasure. “I love when you call me that. You shouldn’t worry about calling me

anything else.” His hand slips around my side, brushing over the sheer corset I wore under the wedding dress hanging in the closet.

I shiver. This isn’t just daddy’s love touching me; this is daddy’s lust.

Something he’s kept from me for the most part, keeping our relationship pure and uncorrupted. He’s never pushed boundaries with me throughout all our time together, even though I’ve always known he’s wanted to. But he’s never imposed, instead refraining until this very moment. In fact, if I hadn’t have broached the idea of marriage (a conversation as nerve racking as this one!), he never would have pursued anything further.

“Are you serious?” I ask.

He nods. “More than anything.”

“Well, I don’t want to call you anything else.”

“Good,” he says, swaying me in his arms.

Our closeness is magnetic, something I’ve never quite felt before with him. I mean, being next to him has always been amazing, but something right now is way more powerful.

Maybe because it isn’t tension between us; maybe it’s because the tension we once held has resolved into sexual desire. It’s what we both want, we’ve both acknowledged, and we’re both able to act on for the first time. The desire, though, is slow and meticulous, with daddy moving in at a measured pace, leaning down and pressing his lips into mine with careful motion. It’s like the touch of ambrosia on my lips, sweet and burning, crackling with forbidden energy. The longer our lips twist together, the more the energy begins to circulate through my body, pushing deeper into me, making it’s way down my throat until it settles in my stomach. A hot desire rests in me I’ve never felt before, one working to take over every aspect of my body. It begs me to give in, damn near demands it! It wants me to bend, to break, to let the man touching me take me. It’s like my body is melting so I don’t put up any resistance.

And I think daddy feels it in me, because the second my muscles go lax and I fall into daddy’s arms, he picks me up with no effort. I wrap my legs around his waist as I hold onto his shoulders, supporting myself as daddy carries me over to the bed. I stare into his eyes, my anxiety giving way to lust, an infatuation with daddy so powerful it crushes all hesitation. I expect him to lay me down, but instead he drops me suddenly, and I

bounce off the firm mattress. The sudden fall makes me cry out and burst into laughter, the rush of adrenaline doing nothing to curb my desire. If anything, it sparks me further, and I bite my lip, hungry for what awaits me. Daddy crawls up to me slowly, and I scamper backwards, scooting and taunting him to follow me up the bed. For a moment, I feel that childish delight of playing a game with my protector, but it dissipates as daddy pins me against the back wall of the bed and pushes my hands up against it.

He points to my hands. “No moving, you naughty girl.”

I keep my hands up against the wall above me as daddy lets go. With my hands phantom subdued, daddy’s hands fall to my corset.

His fingers pinch one of the threads holding the corset closed in the front. “I wonder what my little girl has under here.”

“I don’t know, daddy. Maybe you should find out.”

“I think I might just do that.”

With an easy tug, daddy undoes a bosom-compressing knot in the fabric, causing the corset to explode outward in a fantastic show of release, even if my breasts aren’t as large as the show. Daddy pulls out all the strings, unveiling the second of a number of firsts. He kissed me for the first time, and now he can see my tits for the first time.

Heat rises in my face as daddy pulls the corset apart, exposing me, and says, “Oh god, babygirl. Those look so good.”

I think every girl’s self-conscious of her chest, but something about the man you love making silly cooing noises as he admires your body is enough to trump years of self-esteem issues.

“Do you really like them, daddy?”

“Babygirl, your tits are so small and perfect. Look at these nipples,” he says, pinching the nubs in his fingertips. My body’s response is immediate, a tingling numbness radiating outward from the source of contact. “They’re so precious.”

“Daddy!” I giggle, the shock of his touch forcing my hands to cover my chest.

“Ah, ah, ah”-he wags his finger-“hands where I left them.” I hesitate, but my hands leave my body and go back to the wall behind me, my fingers slipping behind the backboard of the bed to give me something to hold onto, but also to remind me not to remove them again until

daddy says so.

Daddy’s hands circle around my small tits, cupping them as he enjoys my body. Gently he holds them aloft, kneads them in his finger, stroking his tips over them in a faux massage ending at the thickening pink nubs. As daddy tortures my flesh, I fight my hardest to keep my hands restrained, so badly wanting to bring them down. Not because I want to stop him, but just because it’s so hard to stay still when I’m being fondled. I just want to move and squirm, so the restriction of my hands is something I have to focus on in order to keep true to daddy’s command.

And when he finally takes the nubs in his mouth, the grunt from my lips is both pain and pleasure. Oh god! I can’t stand it!

“That feels so good, daddy.”

His mouth nibbles on my tits, kissing around the edges of my nipples before sucking them into his mouth and binding them in his teeth. He then uses his tongue as a probe, dancing over the nipple, flicking it. His teeth let go, allowing his tongue to circle the nub, until his lips close around, sucking it into his mouth, the pressure intense.