My Strict Daddy

God help him, he would have gotten on his knees, there, in front of her on the couch. Michael knew then that he would ask her. He'd ask her properly though, with a ring to seal the deal but to him it was just a formality. Madison had always had all of him. "Til death do us part, little girl," he whispered before he placed a kiss on the center of her palm.

"When are we leaving, Stuart?" she was going to tease him about the name and Michael couldn't care less as long as she was with him.

He had her. That and the two duffel bags of cash that were in the trunk of the Buick SUV that was parked in a garage near Rafael's house were all he needed. It was all he wanted and more than he deserved. "Tonight," Michael told her, "I can't spend anymore time in the city. This is the last place I should be."

Madison nodded. She must have gotten used to this when she was a girl, packing up and leaving it all behind. Michael would have to learn from Madison about starting over. "Can I go get my school stuff?" she asked as she traced her nails on the back of his hand.

"Do you need anything else?" Michael could feel her touch on other places on his body.

"Just you Daddy," it was a purr and Michael wanted her to say that later with her luscious thighs over his shoulders. He wanted to hear her say it again and again as his new, beautiful bride.

He remembered a question that he'd wanted to ask her a long time ago. "Can you drive a car Madison?"

She laughed, "Oh Daddy, of course. Charlotte taught me to drive when I was twelve so that she could go bar hopping and wouldn't get a DUI."

Michael was finally going to get to know his daughter.

***

She had quietly watched him sleep for almost an hour. The sunlight had crept in through the blinds and he was still curled up next to her, softly snoring. Michael's left hand still rested on her hip, it hadn't moved all night, as if he were afraid to let her go.

After driving four hundred miles, even in the dead of night, the temperature had shifted. They had driven into the summer and here, just outside of Gallatin, Tennessee, it was balmy and everything was an emerald green. The old lady had taken cash at the desk last night but she'd asked for identification. After she had scowled at Michael's driver's license, she pulled the cigarette from her mouth and flicked ashes all over the desk. "Thank you Mr. McGuire," she told him with a cloud of smoke.

They'd laughed all the way to the door to number eleven, arm in arm, as if they had just pulled off a prank. "How's it feel to be a nerd?" Madison had asked and giggled as she collapsed on the saggy mattress.

Her father tried to look cross. "Hey, what makes you think I'm a nerd? I'm pretty sure I'm cool," but he hadn't sounded so sure of himself.

"No, you're definitely not," Madison had teased. "Not with a name like Stuart." She had laughed until he lay by her side, his warmth had permeated into her skin, into her pores. "Stuart," she repeated in a whisper, their mouths just barely touched.

Once they kissed though, especially that long, soul searching kiss that made her inner thighs tremble as he moaned and devoured her, then he could only be Daddy.

It was the first time that they had ever been behind closed doors and Michael hadn't shredded her panties in minutes. In fact, he had seemed almost shy. He had touched her face with an incredulous expression, as if she might disappear at any moment. Madison had melted under his fingers no matter where he had them. She had to know though, "Did you miss me?"

His dark eyes had shone with tears. Michael answered with words mixed with kisses, "My god, honey, I've missed you more than I can say."

She had touched the center of his chest, where his heart was, where she wanted to lay her head tonight and every night. "Can we make love?" she had never asked before, she'd never had to. Madison had never said those words out loud and she could feel how warm her cheeks were.

Michael hesitated and then finally admitted, "You haven't seen me in a while, my love. And I don't even walk right yet." After being her first, Madison had realized that the tables had turned. It had been her turn to seduce him.

She had unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and whispered, "You don't need to walk though Daddy." Her mouth had been too hungry to be stopped. Everywhere she had peeled back his clothes, she had tasted his flesh. She had let her tongue linger on the goosebumps that she had felt there. He was scarred and the one over his heart had still hurt to touch and Michael winced when she lay her hand there.

She had given him her lips instead. Michael had shivered under her and begged in a hoarse voice, "Please, please little girl."

Madison could still taste him as she curled up behind him and listened to him breathe. She'd couldn't wait to start their new life.

***

When they had first arrived, she had fallen in love with a 1965 AMC Rambler. It was aquamarine, almost the same color as the ocean and it smelled a little musty and sometimes the driver's side door stuck. One smile from her though and he always agreed.

Although Jennifer McGuire was an adequate driver, her doting husband always picked her up promptly at six pm from the Ponte Vedra Beach library. Tonight was no exception and as she made her way to the car, her boss Dorothy called out, "Good night, Jen."

He watched as Jennifer turned and waved, "See you tomorrow, Dorothy." Everyone loved Jennifer McGuire. It was plain to see and Stuart absolutely agreed with them.

Stuart stood outside the open passenger door and watched every step his young wife took toward him. He hoped that the aviator sunglasses were enough to hide the lecherous look he must have in his eye.

She was just so fucking beautiful.

Now that they lived in the sunshine state, a place where they had easily thawed in the perpetually balmy eighty degrees, Mrs. McGuire lived in flowered, cotton dresses. Mr. McGuire insisted on it.

Today was no exception and if Dorothy had known what a hard-on Stuart had, he was sure that she'd disapprove, husband or no husband. With every click of Jennifer's tan heels, his heart raced to keep time with her rhythm. The click of the heels and the swish of the fabric that hugged her voluptuous hips and floated around her thighs, ending just above her knee worked magic on him. Her black hair was up today and the humidity had caused little, curly tendrils to escape during the day and caress her neck. Stuart noticed each one.

Her dimpled smile was timeless, the same in all of her past lives. She paused at the car door and placed a small hand on his tanned forearm. She was still so white, her skin was like butter and he wanted to lick her. "Hello Mr. McGuire," she said in the little girl voice that she knew drove him mad.

"Mrs. McGuire, looking lovely as always," he took her hand in his own and guided it to his mouth and kissed her soft, elfish fingers. On the third finger was the ring that Stuart had proposed with and Jennifer hadn't taken it off since.

Now she belonged to him in every way.

Stuart still walked with a limp but the warmth made it less painful. He told anyone who asked that it was an old injury, which was the most truthful thing about his fake life. Still, he walked slowly because he wasn't ever in a hurry here.

Stuart almost never put the top up on the convertible but he kept a scarf for Jennifer to wrap around her hair. Personally he loved her hair wild and wind-torn but more importantly, in the months since they had become man and wife, he had decided that he had all the time in the world to get to know her. He considered it the substitute for real work. Once he had slid into his seat, Stuart reached behind him to the pocket on the back of her seat and passed her the pink, flowered scarf. With her hair tucked underneath and the Raybans on and her full, red lips that blew him a kiss, it was a scene from a movie.

Either way, it was all fake.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he asked as he made a right onto the main drag.

"Good, honey," she hummed as she wiggled back in the seat. "And yours?"

"Can't complain," he smiled and glanced in the rear view. It was a habit but lately, he had begun to notice that it happened less and less. Sometimes he forgot to do it all. The paranoia had begun to melt in the heat of the summer sun and in its place was something unfamiliar. Peace for one thing, he thought, as he glanced over at his wife. She was wearing flesh-colored thigh highs and he knew that up above, right out of sight, were the buckles of her garter belt. He'd requested it and he'd had to stop himself from thinking about it more than once that day or he would have taken matters into his own hands.

Happy, that's what it was. He'd never realized until the last few months slid by in this small life that they'd made, it was a happiness that he'd never known before.

"I made the chicken you like," he told her as he took a left on the street that ended at the beach. The joy of studying her was discovering what his wife liked. She liked his barbequed chicken. She liked to drink lemonade as they sat together on the porch swing and listened to the waves. She liked taking a long, cool bath before bed and she liked to have her husband wash her while she was there. She liked the sponge against her juicy, pink nipples and she liked to feel its roughness between her thighs in a slow, steady rhythm, back and forth until she trembled in the water.

She liked to call him Daddy when he touched her with his fingers instead of the sponge and he loved how her clitoris pulsed every time she whispered the word.

Jennifer giggled, "You're spoiling me, honey. I love when you cook." She adjusted the front of her dress. She knew full well that the top two buttons could hardly contain her breasts. Now that they were away from prying eyes, she flicked the top button open and the line of her cleavage came into view. "I guess I'll just have to think of a way to show you how grateful I am," she murmured. Her voice melted into his flesh and his cock lurched in the front of his worn blue jeans.

He'd been thinking of several. She'd always been a little bit psychic and it was almost as if Jennifer could read his mind when she licked the tip of his right index finger. Her full, round mouth, her tongue dripping and pink, so willing and open and best of all, his. "Yes," he nodded, out of breath as he watched her close her lips around the tip of his finger and suck, just for a couple of seconds. "Yes, little girl," of all her names, that was his favorite.

He turned into the driveway at 244 Alsace Court and pressed the button for the garage. His dream home was modest enough and nowhere near as grand as the graystone had been. Two bedrooms and two baths, tucked into the cul-de-sac, they could smell the ocean salt from the patio. Most importantly, home was with her. He parked in the garage and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, a move that always made her laugh, "Now where were we?"

Today was no exception. Jennifer tossed her head back, laughing as she unknotted the scarf revealing her creamy, white throat. Her dress was open just enough to make him parched and Stuart couldn't wait until after dinner. "You mean this?" she asked coyly before she took his finger once again and slipped her lips around the tip. This time her tongue delved down past the second knuckle and he moaned as he watched her and adjusted his cock.

His wife took the lead. Jennifer got out of the car and practically danced to the kitchen, she knew that he was in close pursuit. What could he do? It was the sound of the stilettos, the trail of her sweet, girlish perfume, the line of her garter belt in the back of her dress. The combination was her siren's song and he was helpless to resist.

Once they were in the kitchen, he crushed her to his chest. "I missed you today," his breath was hot on her face as his mouth touched hers. A tease, a flit, the tip of his tongue flicking the center of her sweet upper lip, "I haven't stopped thinking about you all day," he confessed before nibbling her bottom lip.

His wife purred as she returned the embrace. Her small tongue lingered on his as she pressed her hips into the beastly erection he had for her. "Me either," she told him as she began to trace the outline of his dick in the jeans.

"Show me," it was somewhere between begging and a command.

She was quick to obey, she succumbed completely and he loved that about his adorable wife. On her knees on the cool porcelain tile, she looked up for his approval as she unbuttoned his jeans. Since they'd moved to a more temperate location, he'd given up underwear for all but the most formal occasions. It just got in the way and sometimes his daughter was impatient to get at him.

She gasped when his cock was freed and the jeans were around his ankles. "Daddy," she cooed and looked up through her thick, black lashes and then looked back down to the throbbing dick in her tiny hand. "Daddy, you did miss me," she opened her mouth and licked the salty droplets of precum that he already had for her.

He held onto the countertop behind and moaned as he watched her. She bathed him, slowly and steadily, just the way she'd done it from the very first time. Her tongue started at the base of his shaft and teased him all the way to his slit. "Like that, Daddy?" she asked. Even after all of this time, her blue eyes were still completely innocent, like a fairy princess would have asked long ago.

"Just exactly like that, little girl," he said, his voice trembled as well as the rest of his body as she continued. She licked her way up, her tiny fingers resting on his pelvis and running up and down his thighs, sending electrical impulses through him.

His wife also liked to tease him.

She brought her tongue back up to his swollen tip and massaged it slowly. She wet him completely before she closed her lips around the head of his cock. She sucked voraciously until he thrust back into her mouth, he wanted nothing more than to fuck her throat. Then she would ease off and just give him the tip of her tongue. He panted, "God yes," and she opened up and took him even deeper.

Halfway down on his cock, her head bobbed up and down and her small hands moved behind him and pushed him deeper inside. Her sticky lips had him in her rhythm. Her skillful tongue played him like an instrument, up and down, the tip, the length of it. All of her mouth was his and when his balls drew up, he arched his back and fucked her to the top of her throat.

She looked up at him like this, on her knees, completely full of him. The angel eyes and the mouth that were hot and hungry and she sucked him down to the tips of his toes. It was enough to bring him to his knees, to beg her, to fill her with every last droplet of his boiling, hot seed as he pounded it into her depths. He couldn't get enough of her, never even close. His legs vibrated and his fingers curled in her hair as he exploded. The words came between animalistic grunts and groans of his unending lust were, "Yes, little girl, yes, little girl."

She still looked up at him as she drank every last drop of his seed. He convulsed, he twitched as she finished, softened just a little between her lovely lips. He pulled her to her feet and he drew her to him. She was disheveled and lovely, her hair was mostly wild and free and her red lipstick was mostly at the base of his cock. She was perfect this way and she nestled her face in the crook of his neck and called him his favorite name, "Daddy, oh my Daddy."

Now he could take his time with her. With the desperate, almost necessary first orgasm out of the way, he had all night. He left his pants as well as the tee shirt on the kitchen floor as he held his hand out to her in an invitation, "come to bed, little girl?"

She nodded and followed his lead. Her heels clicked down the hallway to their bedroom. The ocean breeze was cool in the room and he'd drawn the curtains hours ago to keep out the afternoon sun. He liked it cool enough to watch her nipples rise under his gaze.

His little girl stood at the foot of the bed. She was breathless, her eyes on him as she waited for his command.

He took a seat on the bench and watched as the shadows from the shutters danced on her face and arms. "Take your hair down for me," he said in a low voice. He loved to watch the curls caress her neck, her back, her shoulders. She'd let it grow all summer and when undone her curls caressed her round bottom and moved with every step.

She obeyed with a whispered, "Yes, Daddy."

"Unbutton your dress for me," he was lost in the sight of her small, pale fingers as they nimbly opened buttons for him. The second button opened and the satin fabric of her pink bra appeared. The third and the fourth revealed her pale belly and the shape of her waist. The fifth button opened and there was the white lace of her garter belt that had teased him from beneath the fabric. The last three buttons opened, giving him the full view of her stockings and the tops of her curvy thighs and the lines of the belt that hugged them. At the center of it all, there were her pink panties that were reminiscent of the ones that he had stolen long ago.

Was it time to confess? His cock was pulsing at the thought, as if he hadn't just emptied his orgasm in the sweetest, most salacious of embraces.

"Take it off, darling," he watched as his daughter slipped her arms from the sleeves and placed the dress on the bed. "And the bra," her tiny nipples were succulent little strawberry droplets that were sensitive and hard and sweet and melted in his mouth. They must be on display. Her breasts were large and heavy, creamy and soft. They were too big for his hand and the contrast of the full, womanly breasts with the little girl nipples sent waves of desire rushing through him every time.

She revealed her nakedness and tossed the bra behind her. She asked in her breathy, small voice, "Like that Daddy?"

There was one thing that was possibly better than sucking the tips of her stony nipples. Just possibly better than grazing them with his teeth and that was watching her touch them. He shook his head, "Touch your nipples for me. Sit here," he patted the edge of the bed, "show me."

His wife took a seat in front of him. She wore only the stockings, the garters, the panties and her heels. As far as he was concerned, the panties would be torn off her gorgeous ass soon. He liked the feel of the pointy heels that dug into his shoulders as he took her hard and deep. He had always enjoyed riding the wave of pain and pleasure. There was no hurry though and for now, it was time to sink into her bliss. He watched as her fingers meandered over her breasts, her face upturned as the sensation pulsed in her skin. His fingertips stroked the velvet flesh of her inner thighs, satisfied that he could feel her quiver there in anticipation.

"I love your pink panties, honey," his voice was hoarse with need. He was already making a new puddle of precum on the bed.

Her eyes were heavy with lust, storm clouds that ached to rain, "Do you, Daddy?" She asked as her fingers made trails around two little rosebuds.

"Yes," he touched the top of her stockings and traced the line of it, the cool, slick fabric felt so different from her sweltering skin. "They remind me of your panties that I stole when you first came to live with me," and he'd used them so many times, his fantasy always ended in the same conclusion.

He'd been in way too deep, all too quickly. Head over heels in love with her, he had shuddered with his need and exploded in his hand with the panties in his mouth, dying just a little bit every time. She shivered from his touch and her own and the scent of her wetness rose to beckon him to come closer. "What did you do with my panties, Daddy?" she had to ask.