Daddy Knows Best Read online

  Daddy Knows Best

  Vincent Drake

  Daddy Knows Bestt © 2015 Vincent Drake

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs http://designs.romanticbookaffairs.com/

  First published 2015

  Here comes the obligatory warning. This is a dirty read; containing sexual practices and roleplay that may disturb some readers. Please don’t pick this up if it doesn’t sound to your liking. I fear you’ll be sorely disappointed, and possibly quite pissed off.

  This is also a short read, one of those hot little numbers to give you a filthy thoughts before bedtime, or a welcome distraction on the train.

  There will be full-lengthers to come, but this is most certainly not one of them.

  This is not one of life’s epic romance stories, but I hope you enjoy it for the dirty little snippet it is.

  “Bite me, Daddy.” Georgia’s eyes shone bright with defiance, her mouth curling into a grin of pure fucking disrespect. She leant against the doorframe, freeing up my view of the half-naked prick beyond as he struggled to get his clothes together.

  I took a step forward, close enough for her to catch the gravelly menace in my voice. “If he’s not out of this house within thirty fucking seconds, I’ll do more than bite, sweetheart.”

  I saw her breath hitch, the beautiful flash of surprise as it swept across her face. “You wanna play big, tough stepdad now Mother’s not around, hey? Is that it?”

  My eyes narrowed, slicing into hers with the full force of my irritation. “I’m not playing.”

  “Screw you,” she hissed. “Mikey was leaving anyway.”

  “He’d better get a move on, he’s twenty seconds left to get the hell out of here.”

  “Fine, jerk.”

  She slammed the door but I let it slide, loosening my tie as I stomped my way back downstairs. I’d been flying high with that Friday feeling, knocking off work early to the call of a cold beer straight from the fridge, but my high had dissipated into nothing. I grabbed the beer anyway.

  Day one of twenty without Cynthia and we were already at war. Bloody brilliant.

  If I’d have met Georgia Catherine Tate before I married her mother, she’d have been a proper fucking deal-breaker. Petulant, spoiled to shit, un-fucking-disciplined. An only child to a single mother who’d had plenty of money but not enough time, and a legend in her own tiny mind. But that wasn’t the deal-breaker. Not even close.

  Georgia Catherine Tate was an accident waiting to happen; the ultimate honeytrap for a dirty sonofabitch like me. You’d think she was an angel, with her bouncy blonde curls and baby blue eyes, the light dusting of freckles high across her cheekbones, but she was anything but angelic. The glint in her eyes said dirty girl, and I’ve always been a sucker for a forbidden fruit. It doesn’t get much more forbidden than hot, tight step-daughter pussy.

  A racket of footsteps sounded loud on the stairs, followed by the slam of the front door. Good fucking riddance. I was enjoying my beer when Georgia stuck her pouty face around the doorframe.

  “I’m going too.”

  “The guy’s a loser,” I announced. “A stupid kid. He wouldn’t even know what he was doing.”

  She presented herself in full view, hands on hips, trademark spiky demeanour aggravating the shit out of me. I struggled to ignore the smooth curve of her waist. The tight, young promise of her thighs as they tensed under her skirt. I swear the girl had the perkiest little rack I’ve ever seen on God’s green earth. Her mother was a looker, but whatever genes had spliced in with Georgia Tate’s DNA had served her well. Daddy must have been one hell of a pretty boy.

  “I’m hardly planning on marrying the guy, I don’t even know him,” she snapped. “I’m not my mother. I don’t get involved on a whim.”

  “I don’t know what you inherited less of; her work ethic or her common sense.”

  “I don’t want her common sense. Not if a guy like you is the result of her superior decision making skills.”

  I looked at the girl in front of me. There was rage in her eyes, for sure, but there was something more than that.

  “Why do you fight me all the time, Georgia?” My tone was flat and calm, genuinely curious. “Haven’t I tried to be nice to you?”

  “Urgh,” she said. “That’s enough family bonding for one day. Don’t wait up, Andrew.”

  “I hope Mikey lives up to your expectations.”

  She gave me the finger on her way out.

  ***

  I slumped back on the sofa and flicked through the TV, pondering again just how the fuck I’d ended up in this situation. I’d met Cynthia Tate at a conference out in Kefalonia six months earlier. Some team-building shit the assholes in senior management claimed would lead to ‘improved corporate communications’. For me it lead to a damn sight more; a beach wedding and a brand new family of three in the heart of London suburbia. Peachy, or so it seemed.

  Cynthia appeared to be just the woman I wanted; career-focused, sharp, confident... non-hysterical. She’d seemed to be a lot of things, and at thirty-nine and two years her junior I’d happily signed up for the experience. Why the hell not? I had no ties, no better options... why not give family life a shot?

  I didn’t count on Cynthia having a daughter like Georgia. A daughter I craved to discipline, educate, and shape to my filthy twisted will. I didn’t count on my new bride having a daughter who was a slutty little mantrap, the kind of girl who lived for cock but didn’t yet know it, who danced around idiot young men because she didn’t know any better, didn’t know what a real man could do for her.

  The wedding spell had broken quickly back in England, and I suspected by now that both Cynthia and I had realised the error of our ways. Her agenda had been clear, and after doing the rounds of trophy husband I’d soon been discarded. Show over, she was off again, another big corporate event to co-ordinate. More places to go, more people to see. She’d barely even waved goodbye to either Georgia or I, and I’d wondered whether, deep down, she’d ever really gave a shit about anyone but herself.

  She’d admitted when we met, after sinking too many sangrias, that she’d never set out to be a mother at all. An accident, by all accounts, just like our impulse marriage was turning out to be. Now her two accidents were holed up under the same roof, locking horns at every opportunity.

  I should have walked out of that shit, packed a bag and returned to my old apartment. It was still on the market, technically, buyer negotiations still going through. I should have been out of there, stopping at the nearest divorce lawyer en route, but something held me tight.

  I suspected, despite my constant irritation, that something was Georgia.

  ***

  It was gone 1am when her key sounded in the lock. I’d decimated the beers in the fridge and switched over to Channel XXX, stroking my cock to a horny little threesome with three young blondes. I stuffed my prick out of sight, flicking through the channels to something innocuous. Georgia was trashed. She smacked her shoulder on the doorway as the teetered her way in, pirouetting gracelessly on the rebound and landing in a heap at my side. I caught a glimpse of white lace panties under her skirt, and if she’d been sober she’d have seen how my hungry eyes lingered, my palm
brushing the hard-on under my suit trousers.

  It was only when she pushed the curls back from her face that I saw what a train wreck her make-up was. The unmistakable trail of ruined mascara smeared from her eyes, and her cheeks were blotched pink. Her lip quivered, despite her efforts to keep her composure.

  “What’s up, pussycat? Mikey not the big, hot stud you thought he was?” I tried to be cocky in my questioning, but it tapered into nothing. Her dishevelled condition knocked me hard, right in the pit of my drunken stomach. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to fuck her, hold her, or go after that Mikey sonofabitch and find out what the fuck he’d done to her.

  “Like you care,” she snapped.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She rolled her eyes, swatting away a tear in the process. “No, Mikey didn’t hurt me. I hardly even saw him all night. Turns out Mikey has a girlfriend, the perfect Imogen Delaney no less. He works for her Dad, apparently that’s the only reason he’s with her. Like I care fuck about him anyway.”

  “So why the tears?”

  Her lip trembled again. “Do you actually give a shit, Andrew? Do you?”

  I turned in her direction, pulling up a knee to hide the remnants of my hard on. “Yes. I give a shit. Tell me what the fuck’s going on.”

  She edged closer, her knee coming to rest dangerously close to mine. “I thought they were my friends, but they hate me. Why do they hate me?”

  “What happened?”

  “The usual. They called me a slut, said I’m a piece of trashy shit, that guys only want me coz I’m an easy lay. Beth went all psycho on me, said I was eyeing up her boyfriend, but I wasn’t. He’s a loser and she already told me he can’t keep it up. Why would I want to get on a useless sack of shit like that?”

  “You’re drunk, they’re drunk. It’ll blow over in the morning and you’ll be laughing it off over Facebook by lunch.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” she said. I pondered her question, and found that no, I didn’t get it at all. “Everyone hates me!”

  “That’s bullshit. Of course your friends don’t hate you.”

  “They do!” she cried. “This always happens to me. Even my own mother hates me. And you, you hate me too, don’t pretend you don’t.”

  I turned off the TV, and her ragged breath sounded so much louder, so much closer. I’d never seen her like this. Drunk, sure, drunk and cocky, but never like this, not once in the six months I’d known her. “Your mother doesn’t hate you, she loves you.”

  She laughed a bitter laugh. “You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

  “Your mother is busy with work, and she gets pre-occupied.”

  “And you?” she asked. “You hate me, don’t you? Admit it. You can’t stand me.”

  She looked so young sat there. Her eyes so big and sad, and so fucking pretty with her sweet little fingers curled in her hair. “That’s a bit rich, don’t you think? It’s you who’s gunning for me every time I step through the door.”

  “So, you do hate me.”

  I smiled. “You drive me fucking mental sometimes, Georgia, but no, I don’t hate you.”

  The hairs on my arms stood on end, clocking the danger in the room before I did. Georgia shifted in her seat, raising the hem of her skirt just a fraction. I soaked in the milky white perfection of her thighs. Shit.

  Her eyes met mine, and there it was again, the dirty girl glint. “Do you love my mother?”

  “I married your mother, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t think she loves you.”

  “Thanks for that.” I feigned chest pain.

  “She doesn’t love anyone, only herself. Sorry. If you do love her, I mean, if you don’t it doesn’t matter shit.”

  “I’m not drunk enough for this,” I sighed. “Not for a conversation about the reality of love in modern suburbia.”

  “You think I’m a silly little girl, that I’m just the spoiled little brat you see every day. You think that’s all there is of me.”

  “You make it really damn hard to see anything else.”

  “Maybe I don’t want anyone to see anything else. Maybe it’s easier that way.”

  “Easier to be a cocky little brat than show a little common courtesy?”

  Her eyes pooled with fresh tears. “See, you really do hate me after all.”

  My hand was on her knee before I’d even registered. Her skin was silky soft, warm to the touch. “If I hated you I wouldn’t be here.”

  “I don’t hate you, Andrew.” Her eyelids fluttered, her breath shallow. “I just pretend I do.”

  I swallowed hard, trying to focus the resolve behind my eyeballs. “Convincing act, sweetheart.”

  She twirled her hair. “You know, when I was little I thought my mum bought me things because she loved me, now I know it was because she didn’t. Compensation.”

  “People show love in different ways.”

  “She doesn’t show love in any way. I’ve been bad my whole life and nobody says a thing. Nobody stops me. Nobody cares.”

  My heart thumped like a jackhammer, pulsing right the way through my cock. “That’s crazy talk. Your mother is your mother. She cares. People care.”

  “I am a bad girl, Andrew. I’m really bad.”

  “It’s always a choice, sweetheart. You choose who you want to be.”

  She spread her legs, almost imperceptibly. Almost. “Maybe I want to be bad. Maybe I hope one day someone cares enough to stop me...cares enough to put me in my place and make me behave.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “So?”

  “You need to go to bed,” I said.

  “I have secrets, Andrew...”

  “Don’t we all,” I muttered.

  “Real secrets. I write about them in my diary. I write about you, too.”

  “Go to bed, Georgia.” I fixed her in the most serious stare I could muster, part of me begging her to leave, the other part daring her to stay.

  She sighed and steadied herself, pulling her legs away from me and raising herself from the sofa. “Fine. Goodnight then, Daddy.”

  I held my breath until she was long gone.

  ***

  Georgia’s bedroom light was on as I made my way upstairs. I walked past quickly, not entirely trusting my urges. Stepdaughter, stepdaughter, stepdaughter. The mantra should have rammed some perspective into my swollen fucking balls, but all it did was stoke me higher. I ditched my suit and took a shower, a cold shower; scrubbing my skin to citrus-scented purity, desperate to scrub her out of me. But the glimpse of her white lace panties held firm, blazing bright behind my eyeballs. My mouth watered, hungry for the scent of silky young snatch; hungry for the dirty little girl down the hallway. She’d be satin soft, her tight little cunt so eager for my meaty fingers, so eager for me. I turned up the shower to hot, lowering my head until the force of the jet scorched my shoulders. The water surged around my ears, drowning out the world, but I was all out of fight.

  With a groan I relented and reached for my cock. In my deviant mind Georgia was reclining on her bed, head lolling back against frilly white pillows, blonde curls splayed like a golden halo. Her legs were spread wide, nightdress hitched around her waist as her glitter pink nails diddled her sweet clit. She’d look at me through hooded eyes, breathing hard and fast. And then she’d say the words; words I should never hear but fuck, they’d sound so fucking sweet. Fuck me, Daddy, please. Please, Daddy, give it to me. Jesus Christ. My cock leapt in my hand, jerking and twitching and pulsing into oblivion. White hot release shot through my balls until I was a wreck, a grunting hulk of sin, cumming like a train. Dirty girl, so fucking dirty.

  I caught my breath, fists clenched in frustration. The forbidden fruit always tastes so fucking juicy. Hell don’t I know it. I’ve been filth my whole life.

  I slung a towel around my shoulders, stopping at the sink to brush my teeth. I wiped a streak in the steam on the mirror, ready to meet the eyes of the dirty, rotten beast who’d shot his load over stepdau
ghter pussy, but instead I saw beyond. Beyond to the crack of light in the doorway and the flash of blonde hair stumbling through my bedroom.

  Shit.

  ***

  Georgia was fragile in the morning. She was waspier than usual, scowling at me as I fried up egg and bacon.

  “Do you have to cook right now?” she snapped. “I think I’m gonna barf.”

  I pushed down my indignation, turning to face her with spatula in hand. “Did nobody ever teach you manners, or are you simply this obnoxious by choice?”

  “I feel sick and you’re cooking dead pig in front of me, it’s you who has bad manners.”

  “It’s called making breakfast. A totally normal occurrence in a kitchen last time I checked. Clear off if you don’t like it.”

  She made no attempt to move while I dished up my food, granting me just a cursory glance as I took a seat opposite. Angry fingers jabbed at her mobile as it buzzed and flashed in her hand.

  “Have you made up with your friends?”

  “They’re not my friends. I don’t give a shit about them.”

  “That’s not how it appeared last night.”

  “Yeah, well, I was drunk,” she groaned. “Fuck those losers, anyway. I need some cash. Fifty should do.”

  “What for?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Fine, then it’s not my business to give you any.”

  She didn’t even look up. “You’re supposed to be taking care of me, aren’t you? Dads give their daughter’s money, so cough up.”

  “Dads give their daughters whatever they deserve. All you deserve is a tanned fucking backside, sweetheart, Maybe I should cough one of those up instead.”

  Blue eyes finally met mine. There was long moment of silence as she stared across at me. Her mouth was still set in an angry little pout, but her demeanour had shifted. Her words from the night before echoed around my brain. Maybe I hope one day someone cares enough to stop me...cares enough to put me in my place and make me behave.