Reality is Different Ch. 01

Better just as a fantasy, just inside my head. Safer. I don't have to feel guilty for wanting something like that, because I don't want it, really. I'm just thinking about it. Just making up little stories. And in a story, in a fantasy, things can always work out perfectly. I can be just as self-assured as all the girls that I've read about, imagining what could happen if I slipped out now from beneath my covers, padded barefoot down the hall and to my father's door. If I pushed it gently open to find him standing there in boxer shorts, just about to go to sleep.

"Hey there, sweetie." I can almost hear the loving rumble of the words, see his pearly smile as he turns to greet me. "What's up?"

"Hey, Daddy." I let the feeling of title linger sweetly on my tongue. Daddy. My Daddy. Stepping further into the room, closer - I'm dressed for bed myself, a long and faded nightshirt that I've had for years. My light blue pair of panties there beneath it, hidden from the eye. "I just wanted to think you again, before you go to sleep. For my present, for dinner...for everything."

"Aw, you don't have to do that." A breath of laughter, low and cheerful. "It's thanks enough for me just to see you smile." Humble as he always is, kind and selfless - the love I feel for him thumps loudly in my heart, deeply. Pushes me in his direction like waves into the shore.

"I do too." I'm close before him now, close enough to law my head down on his chest, the way I did before. Except that this time, my cheek is touched directly to his skin, the hand I bring up there beside it roaming slowly in his bed of curly hair. "You've been such a good daddy to me. Perfect. But I've been such a bad daughter..." The words begin to tremble weakly, emotion clotting in my throat.

"What?" He sounds concerned, appalled. Just as I'd expect him to, if I told him such a thing. "No you haven't. What do you mean?" His strong hand already stroking softly there behind my neck, and it makes me feel so good for him to gently pet at me like this. Better than I deserve, with how I've failed him.

"You're a man, daddy." I look up sideways to meet his gaze, as I speak the truth he can't deny. "You have needs. And no one's been here to handle them for you since mom left. Or even since before she left." The corner of my lips touch barely to his chest, an almost kind of kiss. "It was my job to help you, and I didn't do it."

"Princess," he chuckles nervously. Moreso, as my hand descends across his belly, slides onto the silky fabric of his boxers. My fingers finding soon the heavy rod that dangles down on his right thigh, that I can feel twitch and harden as they curl half around it through the cloth. "That's not...ah, you aren't really supposed to-"

"I want to, daddy." Pleading at him with a tone of distant anguish, his demurral interrupted by a sudden inhalation as I squeeze his manhood in my grasp, gentle but emphatic. "I need to...you've always taken care of me. You've had to stress so much about your work and about money and - and it's my turn to take care of you. To make you feel better. To show how much I love you."

My cheek strokes soft along his chest as I sink down to my knees before him, heart pounding with excitement, as he stands there tall above me with his arms frozen at his sides. Saying not a word while I carefully tug down the waistband of his shorts to find his organ there already thickened with arousal, hanging down turgid and tumescent. Hot beneath my fingers as I pull it out, a pulsing, veiny slab of flesh, larger even in this halfway state than the ones I've seen before. Pendulous and heavy like a totem there before my eyes. A thing of worship.

"Oh, daddy..." There's a shiver in the words, in my voice, along my spine. Electric and alive. I want to worship it, kneeling here before his altar. Glancing up adoringly into his strong brown eyes as I bend down a little lower to plant a tiny kiss upon the bulbous head. Loving. Tender...the sweaty scent of him wafts up into my consciousness, rich and rough, dirty and delicious. It's a stab of sheer exhilaration to let my tongue slip out between my lips and briefly touch his manhood, trailing along it as it stiffens here before me, rises tall and proud. A single lick along the bottom of his cockhead - the delight that thrills inside me as his salty tang spreads across my tongue like butter is only strengthened by the quiet groan of pleasure that floats down from above, by the fingers I can feel sliding on my scalp, weaving into my hair. By the knowledge that I'm making my Daddy happy.

"Sarah, sweetie, are you sure?" His voice above me rumbles rough and strained, almost devolved into a growl. Caught between conscience and desire, even while his big hand caresses strong behind my skull. "Do you really want to do this for me?"

"I'm sure, daddy." My own voice comes out high and pure, squeezed into a youthful pitch by the joy that's wrapped around my throat. My thumb running slow along the bottom of his shaft, tracing out its grand, imposing arc. "I want to make you feel good." And as though to prove it, I lean inward to plant another kiss upon the tip of his erection. Deeper this time, lingering, my lips a little parted - and growing only moreso as I permit his smoothly-rounded head to push up slow between them, to force apart my jaw as his thickness starts to make its way inside. His scalding flesh rubbing so deliciously against my lips, upon my tongue as he languidly invades my mouth, as I stroke encouraging at the base of his arousal, and I can feel his fingers tighten in my hair.

"God, Sarah," his grunts of satisfaction just inflame the feverish intoxication burning in my stomach.. "You've got such a sweet little mouth..." And it makes me feel so good, so proud to hear him say it. To taste his manhood laying full and heavy on my tongue, growing slippery with my saliva, pushing forward inch by inch until I almost gag to feel it pressing solid at the back of my throat. Still staring down its last few inches, my gaze gone crosseyed in their struggling to focus on the thick and jagged vein protruding from its surface. It seems no surprise at all to find that he's more that I can take, that my tongue scarcely even has the room to lap devoted at the bottom of his shaft. To suckle on it gently as I withdraw again, my lips neatly sealed around his crown.

I can't talk like this, of course, can only moan and purr around his cock, my eyes turned up adoringly to his. He has to speak instead, the pleasant rumble of his voice now taken with a certain smirking satisfaction, a lustful pride that I can already feel in his grasp upon my skull. "You look so sexy like that, babygirl." Husky words, his breathing thick and ragged. "So beautiful...you like sucking on your Daddy's cock, don't you?"

I can only barely nod in answer, hum around his organ with vague and forceful affirmation. A tingle running hot inside my veins, dripping slow between my thighs, throbbing slickly in my puss. Servicing my daddy, being used by him, taken for his pleasure..."Yeah," he grunts out rough and masculine as his hips begin to move, thrusting on his own inside my mouth. "You're a good little cocksucker. Daddy's little fucktoy." The harsh words thrill me, scare me - dad never even swears. But that's just part of the excitement. That I would drive him wild with desire, feral, uncontrolled. Awakening the beast inside him. "You want that, don't you, baby? To be your daddy's whore?"

This time I can't respond at all. Can't even nod, his other hand dropped down beneath my chin, holding me in position as he slowly fucks my face, as his swollen shaft slides back and forth between my lips. Battering my throat with every thrust - I gag and choke on it, can hardly find my breath, but it only makes him fuck me harder, faster, obscene sounds of slurping filling up the room. "Take it, you slut." His voice guttural and harsh, stinging like a slap across my face - but there's a feeling so electric, so thrilling in the pain of it. "Take your daddy's cock like a big girl...oh, fuck..."

My hands clutch desperate at his legs, helpless as he mercilessly pounds into my throat, as my spittle smears frothy on his thickness and tears well up in my eyes from the strain of his assault. I don't even try to breathe now, just kneel there before him, his toy, his whore. All my body tensed and aching, burning with arousal, his every thrust into my mouth sending down a shivering of bliss to buzz exultant at my clit. All of my awareness focused on the feeling of his manhood squeezing wide my jaw, fighting to relax my throat, to take him all the way inside. I want so bad to make my Daddy happy, to do as he commands.

"Getting close now, baby girl." His voice is all I hear, louder in my head than my own pathetic thoughts. His fingers tangled in my hair and tight around my neck, forcing me to meet his every thrust. My mind is hazy, my heartbeat pounding like a swallow's wings - it's been so long without a breath, with his rough treatment battering my thoughts, the muscles of my jaw and throat already sore from their abuse. Darkness flutters on the edges of my consciousness, while the core is full with pulsing, pounding bright. Full with Him. The sole control I have is just to stare up at him adoring through my damp, disheveled hair, to tell him with my gaze how much I love him, how he can use me any way that he desires.

"You want my cum so bad, Sarah." Not a question - it's a command, and instantly it's true, it's always been true. I'm starving for my daddy's cum, I'd beg him for it if my mouth weren't full already. A pleading in my eye instead as his pace accelerates before the end, becomes wild and unsteady. My own body quivering beneath me in anticipation of its prize.

It takes him, then. One last thrust, two - his groan is like a wounded animal's, a roar that resonates so wonderfully along my spine as my face is forced into his groin, as his cockhead swells and seals itself behind my tongue and I feel that first hot and gluey jet shoot halfway down my throat. My Daddy's cum, his seed, his deepest essence...then it explodes in me as well, a rolling crack of thunder breaking in my mind, ecstatic and divine. My hand is buried in my panties, sawing madly with one finger on my clit as rapture hits me hard enough that I can almost see the angels coming down. "Oh god, daddy...!" It's a whisper on my lips, my eyes still closed, still seeing him stand tall and powerful above me while the covers tangle in my thrashing limbs. Imagining his semen sliding down my throat, worshipfully swallowed...it goes on and on, the shuddering of joy, stronger than I've felt in years, longer than I think I've ever had, only half conscious even of what's really real and what's just my fantasy. "Daddy..."

It feels like minutes there before my tremors start to settle, before the manic energy of orgasm begins to be exchanged for tired afterglow. Before reflection comes to join my consciousness again...christ, Sarah. Breathless still, my heartbeat racing as I cast a worried glance across the room, making sure the bedroom door was closed. A certain shocked embarrassment set to mingle with the flush already on my cheeks, the feeling of it slowly leaking through the haze of weary satiation that nestles warm inside my bones. I can't believe I just imagined that, fantasized about my father taking me so roughly. Using me. Can't believe how much it affected me, how thoroughly the image of it captured my attention. It's absurd. So absurd. He's nothing like that, an almost dominatrix, dominator, whatever the right word for it even is. And he's my dad. And I've never been into that kind of thing before. Not really. I mean, I've thought about such things a little bit, sometimes. The idea of being...forced, of being grabbed one evening off the street, made to do things with some strong and sneering stranger in a dirty alley. Brief and guilty fantasies - but nothing half as powerful as this, nothing so vivid and compelling.

God, I can almost feel it still, hear his growling commands, see the look he gave me as I found my place there at his feet. Ownership and love, blended perfectly together, a look that said so plain and clear that he would take care of me, that he would keep me safe. And the yearning that I felt as answer, to be worthy of his love, of his care, that I should do anything at all to please him...I could call the feeling up again, if I wanted to. The glow of adoration, the fervent need to make him happy, to be his baby girl...

A low and quiet creak slips sudden through the darkened room, snatches back my attention to the world around me as I cast my gaze nervously appraising at the bedroom door. It's just the house settling. I know it is, does it all the time. But what if it isn't? I can't help remembering the host of stories where a father stands outside his daughter's room, spies upon her as she pleasures herself. Hears her when she calls out 'daddy' at her climax, the way I did just a few short moments past.

He wasn't out there listening. He went to bed before me, and he wouldn't spy on me like that in the first place. But if he were, if he had been...in the stories, a father might be shocked to learn his little girl's dreams, to find out how they mirrored his. He might step away, his mind aflame with possibilities, with promise and with guilt. But he would always come back to her door. If I were in a story, it might be only moments before I saw the knob begin to turn, before the wooden poor pushed slowly open, revealing the familiar form of my Daddy standing there, come at last to take what's his.

A moment passes, staring in the darkness. Barely breathing, waiting for the quiet catch of a doorknob turning. Two. Three. Four...it's far too long like this, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, before the truth is plainer than my imagination can deny. Before it's clear that nothing's going to happen, before I lay down slack again upon the mattress, relief and silent disappointment mingled in my veins. Yeah. Maybe it would be like that in a story.

But this is real life.

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Trying something slightly different here than my usual fare, a little rougher. The snippet of a story Sarah's reading at the beginning is heavily inspired by youbadboy's 'Date, Interrupted,' which is about as powerfully erotic a thing as most everything else he writes.

If you've enjoyed this so far, or even if you haven't, please give feedback. It's why I post these here.