It’s ridiculously fun, aiming someone else’s pee around the bowl. His cock feels different like this, only half hard. He’s still big and veiny, but less… threatening. I dunno if threatening is the right word, but it’ll do.
The spray eases to a trickle, and then just a drip, and I wonder what I should do next. Maybe shake him, or wipe him? I don’t have a clue. I squeeze him instead, and it takes him by surprise. He grunts, and shifts on his feet, and there’s a thrill right through me as I feel him swell in my grip.
“Dirty girl,” he says, and I’m beginning to believe it. My pussy clenches and it feels different than usual… tender, and achy, and… horny. I keep squeezing, moving my hand up and down him with the sweetest smile on my face I can manage, and he likes that too. He can’t stop looking at me.
His hand tightens around mine, and he moves me harder, faster.
“Want to jerk Daddy off in the bathroom? Is that what my dirty little girl wants?”
I nod. I do want that.
I feel more in control than I’ve ever felt around him, wrapped up tight in a fluffy robe while he stands naked, his dick in my hand. I’ve been learning, trying really hard to do it just as he likes it, and it’s working. His breath is fast, and the muscles in his thighs are so tight, his eyes staring at my fingers as they work so hard.
“That’s so good,” he groans. “That’s really good, Laine.”
I don’t feel so much like his little girl this morning. I’m a woman, not a prudish little virgin. I’m the one giving him all the pleasure as he thrusts in my grip.
“You want to make me come? Like this?”
“Yes.” My voice sounds more confident than usual.
His eyes meet mine, and I smile but don’t add a please or a Daddy or even a Daddy Nick. I can tell he’s thinking about it, I can see it in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything and I take it as some kind of silly victory. I can’t explain why, it just is.
Not being a virgin anymore has definitely gone to my head.
I nearly snort giggle at the thought of me in slutty underwear and ridiculously high heels as I morph into some sex siren, but when he arches his back and his cock twitches, everything becomes so serious.
I’m going to make him come, without his help, without him taking over, or putting it in my mouth, or gripping my fingers and showing me what to do.
“Fuck, Laine,” he groans. “That’s so fucking nice.”
My heart swells with pride, knowing I can do this. I’m not such the silly little prude I thought I was.
My wrist is aching but I don’t slow down, I concentrate on the tip of him, where he’s getting wet, and that makes him grunt and sway and curse. I love the way it makes him curse.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he tells me, but I already know that, I can feel it in the way his cock jerks, in the rasp of his breath.
I could explode with joy when the first spurt of cum splatters the cistern. It’s not even close to the bowl, but that doesn’t matter, Daddy Nick isn’t even looking. His eyes are screwed shut, his voice nothing more than grunts as he spurts again and again.
I made him come.
A milestone that seems like such a big deal.
I can’t stop grinning.
“You look like the cat who got the cream,” he laughs when he’s gathered his breath. “Well done, sweetheart. That was perfect.”
Perfect.
My cheeks tickle from smiling so bright. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be expecting that kind of treatment every morning, if you’re not careful,” he says, but he’s joking, his eyes sparkle. “Now, let’s go and get you some breakfast, you’ve certainly earned it.”
He slaps my ass as he passes me by, and grins as he grabs his robe.This isn’t the morning Daddy Nick I’ve come to know. He makes breakfast and hums a song I’ve never heard. He’s relaxed today. Today I help him, chopping up mushrooms as he fries the sausages, and getting the bread ready for the toaster.
“Teamwork,” he says as I drop the mushrooms into the pan.
“Teamwork,” I agree, and raise myself on tiptoes until he presses his lips to mine.
The bacon smells incredible, and I really am ravenous. I let out the most contented sigh as we sit down to eat our meal, and he smiles over at me before he tucks in.
“I used to hate the weekends,” he tells me. “They felt so empty. I’d work, just to fill the time.”
“Mine too,” I admit. “I mean I babysat, but Kelly Anne is normally busy in the daytime, and Mum would be out. Crappy TV was my friend.”