Daddy’s Shy Little Girl by Jess Winters




My fingers feel cool to the touch because I’ve had them outside of the blankets and I always have the air conditioner on full blast when I go to bed. I think it has to do with growing up in a mountain. Even in the summer, nights were cold, and I always had the window open a little when I slept. There’s nothing in the world that beats clean, pure mountain air. This little town doesn’t have much pollution but the nights aren’t cold, and so the air conditioner is always on for me at night, and I always have a lot of blankets.

My fingers feel cool to the touch because I’m letting them wander, imagining someone in the bed with me. I feel a little guilty because at the moment I’m imagining Brittney’s Daddy. Brittney is a good friend of mine, a little girl just like me, and her Daddy Timothy is handsome and strong and just dark and dangerous enough to turn me on. I’m not imagining him, really. I’m just imagining my own Daddy who at the moment looks exactly like him.

Sometimes, when I imagine my own Daddy, it’s my friend Lydia’s Daddy I imagine. Sometimes, it’s her sister Wendy’s Daddy I imagine. Sometimes it’s Tiffany’s Daddy. Sometimes it is one of the other Daddies. I don’t think of Timothy or Richard’s personality. It’s never Lawrence I imagine. It’s my own Daddy but their bodies happen to fill my mind at the time.

I’m imagining Timothy’s face and body belonging to my own Daddy as my fingertips reach my nipples. By now, they’re not as cool but they’re still lower temperature than my breasts. When they gently caress my nipples, my nipples turn into hard little bullets and pleasure teases down my body to pool at my pussy like there’s some kind of a pathway on my skin from breast to clitoris. I moan softly and become a little more aggressive with my nipples, using my right hand to roll a nipple between thumb and forefinger and the left to pinch the other nipple, hard.

“Daddy!” I whisper as one nipple explodes with wonderful pleasure and the other sparks with delicious pain.

I don’t have a Daddy.

I have my imagination and my fingertips.

I keep one hand at my breast and alternate pinching and rolling so I get a steady stream of intermittent pleasure and intermittent pain. With the other hand I slowly trace that magical pathway down over my skin. “Oh, Daddy,” I whisper. “Oh yes, Daddy. Yes! Please, Daddy.”

I don’t imagine my Daddy’s fingers moving down. I imagine his mouth. Nobody has ever gone down on me before and most of my fantasies tend to focus on that. I have no idea how it feels but I know all of my friends act like it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Heck, I don’t even know what best thing since sliced bread means. Haven’t people always been slicing bread? It doesn’t matter. I know I want to experience oral sex. That’s easy to understand.

As I continue to trace lines down my navel, I allow my fingertips to softly brush over my clitoris. The contact sends sharp bursts of pleasure through me, causing me to gasp and twitch with the intensity of the feeling. I allow my fingers to linger over my pussy and trace soft, slow circles over my clit. The pool of pleasure in my stomach becomes a growing ball centered deep inside my pussy that radiates sparks from my pussy up my stomach to my nipples then up my neck and back down my spine through my legs to my toes, which curl inwards from the sensation. My back and neck arch as well and I rub my thighs together in a slow scissoring motion.

My fingers play over my clit like a joystick on a video game, controlling the sensation and intensifying or reducing it depending on the speed, pressure and motion of my hand. I imagine my Daddy controlling my sensations, and even though I am anxious to finish, I slow down and soften the pressure on my clit so I stay close but am unable to finish.

“Daddy, please,” I whisper. “Please let me cum Daddy.”

I imagine his voice—Timothy’s voice but not really Timothy’s voice—growling back, “You’ll come when I’m ready,” and even though the voice is in my head it sends a shockwave through me that causes me to stiffen and gasp.

“Please, Daddy!” I cry out. “Please let me come, Daddy!”

I quicken my movements and curl my hand so I’m cupping my pussy while my fingers brush my clit and gently massage my lips. The heel of my palm puts pressure just above my pussy and I feel the ball in my stomach travel directly under my hand and immediately intensify. I feel a tingling sensation in my toes and the back of my neck and I whisper, “Oh Daddy. I’m gonna—”

Then I do, harder than I can ever recall coming before. The entire upper half of my body lifts off of the bed as my stomach contracts over and over and over. I can’t recall ever screaming before when I’m cumming but I scream now as rolling waves of pleasure cause my thighs to clamp together and my pussy to contract in rhythmic pulses. I can’t recall ever being so aware of my own body before. If this is what it’s like just thinking about having a Daddy, imagine what it must be like to actually have a Daddy!

That’s the only thing I’m missing and it’s the only thing that detracts from the pleasure I feel as my body slowly relaxes. Finally, I am able to move my fingers from my pussy and lie still, though my pussy still twitches every few seconds from aftershocks of pleasure that continue to radiate through me.

My phone rings suddenly, shocking away the last of my orgasm. I glance ruefully at the phone and see Brittney’s name and number on the screen.

She invited me to a get-together tomorrow at her house. Her Daddy’s friends are coming over and the little girls are going to play games and color while the Daddies cook. When she asked me the day before I said yes because I’m new in town and I really want to make friends but now that I’m only hours away from the get-together, the old familiar doubts rear their ugly head.

What if they don’t like me? What if they’re mean? What if I say something stupid? I don’t know what to talk about!

I’m so paralyzed by these thoughts I allow Brittney’s call to go to voicemail. Instead of leaving a voicemail, she calls me back and by the fourth ring I finally work up the courage to answer.

“Hey Janna!” she says brightly. “Don’t tell me you’re asleep already?”

“Not yet,” I say. “Just about to go to bed.”

“Okay, well, I just wanted to say I’ll be by at eleven tomorrow to pick you up.”

“Oh, okay,” I say lamely.

“I’m excited!” she says, giggling. “I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. It’s going to be so much fun.”

“Yeah!” I say. “Looking forward to it.”

The phone is silent for a while. Then Brittney says, “Okay, well, sleep tight! I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you,” I croak.

She hangs up and I bury my face in my pillow and groan.

I always do this. Every time I’m about to make friends I say or do something awkward and ruin it. I don’t know why, I just can’t figure out how to talk to people. Maybe I shouldn’t go.

I reach for my phone to call Brittney and tell her I can’t go but at the last moment I put the phone down. I told Janna I would go. She invited me and I told her I would go, so I will. Maybe I’m too weird to have friends but by golly I’ll at least try.

I make a mental note to avoid using the phrase “by golly” tomorrow and drift to sleep. My hand travels back in between my legs and soon my mind is no longer on my anxieties.