Daddy's Girl

Daddy's Girl

“I love you, dear.”

Dad nodded, his thumb still caressing her cheek, an intimate touch. Wild thoughts of Dad touching me like that spilled through my mind. A heat ignited between my thighs, wet, molten passion. The urge to run upstairs and masturbate seized me as Dad patted Mom’s ass as she walked away, a laugh on her lips and a saucy look in her eyes.

They were so affectionate.

“Well,” Dad said, staring down at me. He cupped my chin and lifted my eyes. Would he kiss me now? “It is just me and you. Your Mother promises me you will behave.”

“Of course ... Daddy.”

His lips twitched, a smile almost forming. “Good.” He kissed me on my forehead instead of my lips. My flesh burned where he touched me. I shuddered. “Go fetch me a beer, the game’s about to start.”

“Yes, Daddy.” My heart beat in my chest as I turned and raced to the kitchen.

I thought I felt Dad’s eyes on my ass. I wore an old pair of jeans—I was supposed to go school shopping with Mom and Alice tomorrow—and they were tight. They hugged my rear and legs. I had grown since I bought them.

I hoped he was watching. It made me feel so womanly. Mom was gone. It was my place to be the woman of the house and make sure the man was taken care of.

My teachers at school would be horrified. Especially Ms. Gardner and Mrs. Thompson. They were always talking about how women didn’t have to serve men and being a housewife was “internalized misogyny.” But it was nice to serve. It made me happy.

What was so wrong with that?

Nothing.

Of course, I never contradicted my teachers. And I never told them about my mother. She was almost straight out of the ancient TV show that sometimes appeared on Nickelodeon late at night—Leave it to Beaver. But she wasn’t faking her happiness. She was always humming and singing as she cooked or clean.

“Your father earns the money and provides for us,” she would say, “and he works hard to do it. So I work just as hard at home making our life pleasant. Your father appreciates what I do, and I appreciate what he does. We compliment each other.”

Hearing her say it made it sound like the most romantic thing in the world.

My head buzzed with images of me being Daddy’s wife. Cooking and cleaning, waiting for him to come home, then I would massage his feet after his hard day while we talked. They always laughed when Mom massaged his feet. It was their private time. Alice and I were banished to our bedrooms or elsewhere during it.

I brought the beer to Daddy.

“Thank you, Melody,” he said, taking it and giving me a nod.

“You’re welcome, Daddy,” I smiled.

He patted the arm of his recliner while the announcer called the baseball game. The Mariners were playing the A’s, and the first pitch had just been thrown. I sat on the chair’s arm and leaned back, Daddy’s arm going around my waist.

It was wonderful. I smiled, loving being near him even if it meant watching a boring baseball game. Twice more he sent me to get him another beer. I returned with his drink and diet cokes for myself. I even started getting into the game, and when the Mariners won, Daddy hugged me to his chest.

He smelled so manly. The hot itch returned to me. I squirmed, my cheeks burning, suddenly so embarrassed. “I have to go make dinner, Daddy.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” He kissed me on the forehead.

I crawled off the recliner, my thighs squeezed tight. I really did have to start dinner, but I wanted to masturbate so badly. “Daddy, Mom was supposed to take me clothing shopping tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you.” his eyes fell on mine. So strong. “But you won’t buy anything without my approval.”

Part of me wanted to revolt. What did my dad know about clothes? He would probably try to dress me like Mom. Long skirts, loose blouses, nothing to show off my growing body. I liked to dress in tight jeans, short shorts, and daring skirts. But I had promised to be a good girl for Daddy.

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he smiled.

My heart thudded for joy.