CHAPTER ONE
Annamarie
I feel my body responding to my touch as I let my fingers tease along my slit and very, very lightly caress my clit. I am so alight with need and desire! That is not something that happens very often with me. Oh, I am a sexual being as much as any other girl but, in my experience, nothing has ever turned me on the way the concept of a Daddy/little girl relationship does. I am here in America because of a Daddy/little girl relationship.
That’s a bit of a stretch.
A better way for me to think about it is that I am living right here, in this guest house, because of a Daddy/little girl relationship. My friend, my very close friend, Candace, owns this guest house and the main house with her husband. He is her Daddy. She is his little girl. I am here because it is perfect for me and for my parents, who live in the guest house, too. Candace and I became close when she was in France, and she insists on us living here while my father settles into his new job here in the U.S.
I am touching my pussy and driving myself wild with need because of a Daddy/little girl relationship. That isn’t a stretch at all. It is a fantasy relationship, but I envision it very clearly. I grew up in France with private schools and a great deal of high society. I have had my share of overly romantic notions and fantasy relationships from professors to powerful businessmen. None of those fantasy relationships turned me on the way this one does.
I slide my hand down a little so I can rub against my clitoris while I continue to tease with my fingertips. I slip a finger into my pussy and breathe out, “Daddy… Oh, Daddy, you feel so good.” I lick my lips as I imagine his big, strong form on top of me and push a second finger into myself. I still move gently. The Daddy I envision is a very big, very strong man, and I imagine him moving very carefully because I am very petite, very tiny. “Daddy! Oh, Dennis!” I whisper.
Dennis.
Dennis Lannister.
He is Candace’s Daddy’s best friend. They grew up together and he has moved here. He lives in the main house right now, and I hope he does not move out too soon, because there is nothing I love more than seeing him every day. He runs every morning and before he does, he stretches and does some exercises on the back porch, directly in my line of sight if I look out the bedroom window.
The sight of him stretching is impressive.
The sight of him doing pushups is breathtaking.
The sight of him jumping rope quickly is overpowering.
The sight of him launching himself into his run is pure perfection. His muscles all tense for a moment. He does not get down like an Olympic sprinter, but he does prepare to start. He puts his hands on his thighs as he bends over slightly and then his right leg comes back as he straightens up. His body is like a spring, wound tightly. Then, his right leg shoots forward and, as though it is the same act, his left leg follows.
He is strong, fit, powerful, muscular, and… Well, this man is the perfect man.
And he is a Daddy!
He is a Daddy, and I want a Daddy so badly it almost hurts!
Right now, wanting a Daddy does not hurt at all. “Oh, Dennis,” I whisper as I move my finger a bit faster. “Oh, Daddy…” I abandon gentleness and move my fingers with more force, imagining Dennis growing too overcome by the feel of me to be careful anymore. I thrust hard and lift my hips to him. “Yes, Daddy!” I squeak out. “Yes!”
I use my other hand to grab hold of my breast and squeeze hard. Dennis is just unable to hold back now, and he fucks me and squeezes me with no regard for the difference in our sizes. “Yes! Yes!”
I imagine his face completely overcome with lust, his eyes narrowing hungrily as he moves with power and strength and absolute abandon. I think of his muscles all tensed right before he runs and imagine that, as he makes love to me, he is coiled tightly and ready to explode. “Yes!” I say and I feel my climax rise right to the edge. “Yes! Yes!” I move my fingers even more roughly, almost violently now. “Tu me fais me sentir si bien, mon amour. Mon amour!” You feel so good, lover. My love!
“Daddy!” I scream as the orgasm hits. As pleasure rushes over me, I imagine him exploding as well, my body beneath him driving him to climax just as powerfully as his above me drives my body to climax. “Dennis! Daddy! Dennis!”
I am lost, moving my fingers so quickly and squeezing my breast so forcefully. My body bucks on the bed and I feel like I cannot stop even though I am already feeling oversensitive. It is already too much for me to handle, but my fingers move without any regard for my brain’s commands to stop. I feel overwhelmed in ways I never even imagined before and, in my mind, the sight of Dennis’s face above me is so clear I almost believe he is really making love to me.
I do not know how long I keep moving my fingers. At some point, my body relaxes, though, and when it does, I finally realize I am not moving my hand anymore and not squeezing my breast very tightly at all. I let go of breast and realize it hurts quite a bit. I giggle at the thought that I have bruised myself masturbating. I also giggle thinking about how much I wish it was Dennis who bruised me. As I giggle, I pull my fingers from my pussy and the sensitivity is so intense, I shriek and end up just lying on the bed, shaking, and willing my body to get back to a state of calm.
I do not have much success.
At least I do not remember having any success.
I wake up several hours later, hearing my mother calling me and heading toward my bedroom. I rush and get the blankets over my body and pretend to be asleep when she opens the door. She closes it again and I roll from the bed, get clothes on and head out to take care of my obligations as a daughter.
That evening, though, I touch myself again as I think about Dennis. He does not know it, but I want him.
I need him.
If there is any way at all for me to make that happen, I am going to do it. It is that simple. I want him and I need him, and as far as I am concerned, absolutely nothing will stand in my way. I will make him notice me. Of course, I do not have the slightest idea of how to do that. If he were French, I would at least know a few tricks I could use to attract him. He is not, though, and that means all I can do is be myself.
I hope it is enough.