Daddy, Let Me
Whoever coined the phrase Sweet Sixteen should have nabbed Sexpot Seventeen too. My senior high school year has so far been dominated by constant wetness. Honestly, horny doesn’t even come close.
I've fucked my way through the team captains. The hot boys. The bad boys. Even a few of the girls in the chess club who were open to some post-game action. A girl's gotta experiment, right?
I know, I know: that probably means I'm a nympho or something. But I can't seem to help it. This mix of hormonal chemistry inside me is constantly churning, taking over my thoughts; turning ordinary situations into a hotbed of wet, panting fuckery. I'd ask my Chemistry teacher Mr Davies about it, but I'd probably want to shove him onto the desk and mount him after.
Maybe it's normal. Maybe it isn't. I talked with my bestie Taylor about it and she laughed. Called me slutpants. So maybe it's just me.
Taylor's awesome. We get into all sorts of scrapes together but we have each other's back. Always. Like when I covered for her the day she went to Manchester for the Rihanna gig. Signed her planner as her mum and wrote she was having period pains, haha. Nobody questions that.
A couple of weeks ago, she was on lookout while I blew Jay in the school changing rooms after PE, his hand curled round the back of my head, urging me to take more and more of his prick with each thrust. I eventually took it all. He's slender but long and it nudged my throat, making me cough a little. He called me a good girl and my insides somersaulted. So I took more of him for longer, until he groaned as he pulsed hot spunk directly down my throat.
Given the revelations above, it might be a surprise to know that me and Taylor haven't had sex. I've thought about it 'cos, well, she's hot and we're both Sexpot Seventeen. But it's just never really come up.
I fucked her dad though. On the couch in their den at a sleepover. He was a game changer. Patient and experienced. Attentive. When his tongue probed my pussy and fluttered across my clit, I quaked and came with my legs wrapped around his head. Taylor thinks it's gross. Says her mum would turn in her grave if she knew. But thankfully, it hasn't changed anything between us.
The absolute best thing about riding her dad to oblivion was that it put all my naïve classmates in perspective. And it kick started my love for older men. Older men like that delivery guy I'm staring at through the lounge window as he lugs the shopping crates up the drive.
I focus on his toned arms, slightly tanned in the short-sleeve company polo top. Imagine them circling me. Clutching my body to his, our skin hot as he nuzzles my neck and cups my bum. Sliding his hands around to the front and tucking fingers inside my shorts. Worming beneath the pink scrap of material covering my hairless snatch. Fingering me as I quiver and buckle in his grasp, moaning hot breath into his ear.
He disappears from view and I skip to the kitchen at the back of the house for a closer look.
Our kitchen has cupboards on all walls except one that overlooks the garden. So when I swan in to stand by the counter alongside the back door, the delivery guy can't see my face: it's obscured by the wall cupboard. But I'm pretty sure he notices my teeny tiny low cut crop top because he stops hopping from foot to foot behind the crates of shopping and steps forward to show Daddy the handheld device, asking about whether the substituted items are okay. All I can see are his tanned legs and torso. And those fingers. Those incredible fingers.
My dad confirms everything's okay. If I'm being pedantic, he's my step-dad. But he'd raised me through my teens so is probably as close to the real thing as I'm ever gonna get. Certainly a world better than ...