When I first realized what kink was all about, I was one of those types who thought “I’ll never refer to any Top or Dom as Daddy.” I thought it was odd and directly referred to the relationship that I had with my Father. Taking into consideration that my Father had just passed away the year before, it was also a touchy subject.
Years went by, still no interest. I discovered my love for some of the more taboo types of kinky activities, knife play, rape play, etc. but still I resisted that one word that seemed so filled with disgust and filth that I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.
It started out in my head, after reading some Twitter posts. In actuality, I had gotten off to something I’d read about ageplay a few years earlier. I had never cum so hard in my entire life, but I wasn’t up to admitting that just yet. The Husband wasn’t a ‘Daddy,’ but I had started calling him that when we fucked. it lit a fire in me. Still, I wanted more.
I wanted to hear the most perverse of things from the calm, lowered voice of a man with unethical intentions. I wanted to be completely innocent as he took hold of me gently, yet firmly …all the while his reassuring whispers in my ear, telling me that what he was doing was completely natural, shushing and stroking me as I whimpered and occasionally grunted.
This is what I wanted when I touched myself. This is what I needed along with the bought vibrations that the online stores couldn’t provide and the toy makers couldn’t design.
I wanted a Daddy.
Secret touches. Unwilling spankings. Stolen innocence. My virtue out the window and all the while my legs spread wide and my cunt gasping for more ….just one more touch, one more stroke of Daddy dick. I’ll quiver and moan. I’ll keep it slick and shaved, anything for Daddy.
Now, nothing is enough. It’s like a thirst that can’t be quenched.