Daddy Please Read online

  TWISTING TABOO DESIRES

  DADDY

  PLEASE

  By Holly Michaels

  Text copyright©2018

  Holly Michaels

  All Rights Reserved

  Caution this book contains a confused young girl’s desires for rough sexual contact with older men as a misguided coping mechanism. Content is realistic, uncensored, and intended for open minded adults.

  All Characters are Over 18 years of Age.

  …Down on my shaking knees cleaning the fresh crimson droplets of blood up with a handful of disposable kitchen wipes I was nearly in tears again.

  My mind, no my body just wanted somebody, anybody at all to take me so frigging hard and fast. To feel a man’s massive rough hands forcefully yanking down my briefs and fucking me like a painful jackhammer from behind without a kiss or a single thought of the consequences.

  For them to stick their dirty fat thumb straight into my clenched ass as their fierce fat throbbing cock shreds, my silly saved virginity.

  Being the good girl, the perfect student, and respectful daughter,

  where in the fuck has that ever gotten me?

  DADDY PLEASE

  My mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world to me; I know I should say she is and not was and stop thinking of her in the past tense. It is hard to look at her withered frame with cloudy unresponsive eyes resting on the sterile white hospital bed and think ‘Mom’ the same way as I used to.

  For crying out loud, she smells!

  My fun loving, active mother never smelt a day in her life before this and would never lay in bed all day. She was always up before the crack of dawn cooking me breakfast. Usually free-range eggs sunny side up on wholemeal toast, never white bread as that was so unhealthy. Shit, she is just 38 years old and to my knowledge never smoked or ate that stupid white bread or any over processed junk type food ever.

  I used to get so jealous of my friends at school going to sloppy burger joints or pizza shops with their parents on weekends until I turned sixteen and could see the effects of fast food on their ever-expanding bodies. My friends would complain in jealous snipes about my figure and the natural glow of my unblemished skin, but they could never resist tempting curly fries and other over-processed convenience foods. It kind of made me proud that I didn’t have to continually battle with one fad diet after another that are all destined to fail otherwise they wouldn’t be able to sell the next book or craze for bucket loads of cash.

  Now even our backyard fresh garden with ripe red miniature tomato’s makes me want to cry, food of any description feels like razor blades sliding down my throat to my growling belly. Especially with the thought of my mother withering away to skin wrapped around bones. Some days she doesn’t even awaken properly while I sit in the uncomfortable high-backed chair by her bed.

  It’s not like a cold or worse that she will eventually get better from, it is death looming for the one person I truly love.

  Nothing feels real anymore.

  The teacher talks in front of the twenty-eight students including me about college applications and I cannot bear to think of the future. My idiotic stepfather goes to work each morning in a suit and fills the uncomfortable silence between us with meaningless quotes from a stupid self-help book he has been reading. Shit like, life goes on, your mother would want you to keep going, and stuff I can’t be bothered remembering. It takes all my self-control not to pick up a plate and smash it into his ruggedly handsome face. So that he can feel the lacerating pain pounding in my heart right across his god damn pompous head.

  I know he is sad, I have walked in on him with his head in his hands crying when he thought I was asleep, but I still hate him with all my heart and mind. Why didn’t god strike him with the cursed cancer instead of my dear mother?

  Why isn’t his black hair with streaks of grey falling out and that gym fit body the one cruelly shrinking with mush being forced down his gullet that resembles yucky baby food?

  My eighteenth birthday was sitting beside my mother’s hospital bed in General with two of my best friends Kelly and Sally-Ann in tears trying to show support. They looked so uncomfortable with tears welling in their eyes, but I felt nothing but vile burning in my empty belly threatening to rise. My head hung, and my hand held my mother’s cold wrist with the gold angel bracelet my stepfather, and I picked out for her when she was first diagnosed with cancer after spitting up just a little blood after a nasty coughing attack. That was a little over nine months ago, maybe a little longer and it has been a slow painful sludge of doctors, tests, trials, medications, hope and hell for her and me ever since.

  I wanted God to take my mom into his warm embrace as I sat there ignoring my friend's requests to go out just for a little while with them and continued flicking the small gold angel on the bracelet. She made it to my eighteenth birthday and suffered more than any person should have to, but God didn’t take her, and my whole body was numb.

  My stepfather must have picked me up; I must have fallen asleep at some stage because I woke up in my little single bed with my shoes taken off but fully dressed beneath the pink comforter.

  With raging evil thoughts and seething hate of god, I felt something, at last on that morning; I hated god!

  Do this to my mother, a woman that never hurt a living thing, that always turned the other cheek and thought of others feelings, will you! Hating God took a little of the sorrow from my heavy heart, and my hands balled up the bed sheeting into fists looking for something to punch.

  Hating an invisible force or entity made no sense, but the life it gave my hopelessly wandering shell of existence was real and palpable. That morning in the shower I felt the heat in the scolding hot water splashing over my naked body and could taste the organic honey on the toast being torn into small chunks by my teeth at the breakfast table. I even checked my phone and the umpteen birthday messages from friends and kids at school that I was ignoring. Hate of God, hatred of my still healthy stepfather James and of this life gave me power.

  My stepfather James touched my shoulder as my mouth with taste buds finally working was destroying the second piece of toast off the shiny white plate with “That’s it, sweetie, eat up and keep your strength for a bright day.”

  As he left for work, my mind instantly flashed a picture of my small hand with its pale pink nail polish picking up that plate before me and smashing it down hard on the wooden tables surface. Maybe even picking up a sharp ceramic shard and sticking it hard into the side of his neck just to see him bleed like a stuffed pig. Of course, my hand never moved, but my mouth let out a little evil chuckle at the moving pictures that were playing and dancing within my mind.

  That would make God look, murder is the worst sin possible but spending the next seventy years or so in jail wouldn’t help anyone. For a split second my eyes nearly welled with tears again but shaking my head quickly defused the surfacing avalanche of self-pity.

  I needed to feel pain, and without thought, my little hand had hold of the serrated bread knife as my legs pushed the wooden chair back away from the table. My eyes scanned my wrists, but I didn’t want to die. I wanted to cut, to see blood but not to have to go to the darn ugly hospital.

  My head arched a little backward as my eyes clenched shut feeling the cold metal blade on the inside of my thighs pushing my skirt upward. The flat side of the knife twisted on my skin until I could feel the pointy edges press into my flesh. It hurt just pressing down but felt exquisite at the same time. A cut here that nobody would see was a burning thought as my lungs held a deep breath in. The blade moved, and my body expelled every ounce of oxygen in a scream that could have woken the dead.

  The bread knife fell to the floor, and I could feel small rivulets of blood streaming
down the inner thigh of my right leg. My head hung back against the back of the chair as the pain from the self-inflicted cut eased and all I could feel was blood dripping from my flesh to splash on the white tiled floor below.

  How long I stayed with my bottom pushed forward on the chair and my eyes closed is anyone’s guess, but the blood on my thigh was dried, and the cut now looked no worse than a nasty scratch from a wild household cat or something. I took the blood stain skirt off, so I was in the kitchen with my white cotton panty’s and school blouse on.

  Down on my hands and knees cleaning the fresh crimson droplets of blood up with a handful of disposable kitchen wipes I was nearly in tears again. My mind, no my body just wanted somebody, anybody at all to take me so frigging hard and fast. To feel a man’s massive rough hands forcefully yanking down my briefs and fucking me like a painful jackhammer from behind without a kiss or a single thought of the consequences.

  For them to stick their dirty thumb straight into my clenched ass as their fierce fat throbbing cock shreds, my silly saved virginity.

  Being the good girl, the perfect student, and respectful daughter, where in the fuck has that ever gotten me?

  With my bent knees on the cold white tiles, this virginal pussy of mine ached to be touched like it was in control of my every thought. Awoken like when the first boy kissed me at last year’s school social, but my stupid fear and my mothers nagging voice in the back of my head stopped me. Charles Saint had lured me away from the dance by hand and made me feel special while running his strong fingers through my long hair and kissing me without hesitation. My knees more than buckled when his hand caressed my side and warmly rested on my super sensitive hip. I could feel my center become slick with heat as our bodies moved closer and closer and he told me that I was the most beautiful girl in the world.

  It was like I was floating, and my goody two shoes mind burst that bubble as his hand cupped my breast over the brand new black dress I was wearing. I slapped him hard without proper thought, really hard!

  There were genuine tears welling in the corners of his intoxicating blue eyes as he stood there looking with mouth open in shock or pain at the cute girl that just slapped him. I could have just said NO, he would have stopped but I had to swing back on one foot and smack with my open hand and all my might. A drop dead gorgeous young man that wanted me and I left him there with a bright red smarting cheek for his innocent attention.

  Good is so, so stupid!

  I should have let him touch my breast or whatever he wanted, I could have had a serious loving boyfriend to hold my hand and catch my tears after visiting mom, but I was so scared to be labeled a tramp, a slut or to lose something my mother told me was best saved for marriage.

  My pussy wanted it right now, right or wrong down on all fours cleaning my spilled blood from the white tiles of the kitchen floor.

  Fucking tiles, they remind me of the sterile yucky hospital my always good mother would most likely see out her last pain filled days in.

  The knife was the last thing I wiped over with the now pinkish red wet cloth before standing up. Placing it in the large wooden block with the sharpener on the side I knew I would be late for school, but I didn’t care.

  Tapping a message out on my smartphone to my friends that I wasn’t coming to school and making a profile on Tinder seemed like an everyday thing for the new hateful and sexual girl bubbling up within me.

  My suppressed sexual urges wanted to feel real pain and to be used as a worthless cum catching whore.

  Tinder was shit, what’s your favorite color, what do you do for work, do you want to catch up for coffee, can you send nude pictures and other mind-boggling shit. Laying on my mother and stepfathers bed with nothing but my bra and panties on fantasizing about being tied face down on it with older men lining up to fuck me hard in both of my holes while my body tensed in unbelievable pain, but each and every ting of the phone brought nothing but utter disappointment. Ugly pictures, boring by lines and descriptions of dull men that showed no immediate backbone to be up to the challenge of pounding me senseless.

  I want to be taken, not swooned, not love and commitment but pain and too sin against God above.

  To be forced down on all fours on the smelly urine coated floor of a truck stop by greasy men that won’t take no for an answer if I chickened out. To be bound by escaped convicts that need to tear open my saintly holes and erupt their hate for the civilized world into my unprotected womb. Nasty, self-centered bastards that couldn’t care less for a girl in sobbing tears pinned helplessly beneath them that was what I wanted and wanted right now!

  I didn’t want to masturbate even if my pussy ached terribly to be touched.

  It was proving pointless; nobody was coming from stupid tinder and tears streamed down my face. I didn’t want to send nude photos, have men know my family address, but in the hours of looking and hoping I did for a little time feel alive. Even more so then when the knife broke my skin downstairs when my stepfather left for work.

  These tears even felt right, I didn’t get my immediate wants, but the water cascading down my cheeks weren’t for my dying mother they were for me.

  ----------

  My stepfather came home at five thirty on the dot like always and was a little surprised to see me home and not at the hospital keeping a vigil by my mother’s bed. Our eyes met as he peered at me watching, so mind-numbing stupid sitcom on the flat screen television.

  “Are you ok?” muttered with concern as his eyes looked heavy inside his skull.

  My lips pulled back a little in half-hearted pretend smile “Yes but…”

  “What sweetie” he replied while still showing concern.

  Maybe it was the first time I had looked at him as anything but the man that married my mother, but tears instantly pricked at my finally dry eyes without warning.

  “Come on tell me, did the hospital ring, please I am here for you…”

  He sat down beside me in his business suit and put his arm around my shoulder. My eyes couldn’t hold back the confusing torrent of emotion, and it was like a dam wall inside of me exploded. I was shaking from my toes to the tips of my fingers as his one arm around me turned into two bringing me closer. Snot was bubbling from my nose as air had trouble filling my lungs and I felt him start to cry with his face buried in my long hair.

  I could hear his heartbeat even as the sniffles and whimpers leaving my body became louder in our embrace. Some of his firm fingertips innocently pressed into the sides of my breast in the comforting hug as my hands reached up and grasped his sad face and I kissed him squarely on the lips. His arms eased as I shimmied and twisted onto his lap, but he didn’t pull away.

  We kissed, cried, and shook together until his wet cheek with light stubble slid over mine to rest in the crook of my neck. I was sitting on his knee with my thighs spread over his legs and both of his arms wrapped around me so tightly. My breasts were mashed flat against his muscular chest, and I didn’t want to move a single muscle. My mind played everything out on repeat in racing thoughts from hating God, wanting to sin, wanting to hurt myself and wanted to tell this man holding me so dear everything but not a word left my lips.

  I will remember that kiss and the way I felt safe until the day I die.

  “Daddy, the hospital never rang, I couldn’t go, I couldn’t do anything today.”

  “It’s ok, its ok, there, there sweetie, I understand.”

  The cheerful comedy show taped in front of a live audience finished, and the news had started when my cheek rubbing against his tear stained face pried itself away. Somehow, he must have read my thoughts as our lips locked again in a passionate kiss. His warm, sweet breath was caressing my lips, and the very tips of his fingers ran under my eyes to brush the last of my tears away.

  Our hearts beating so close together as his lips parted against mine and the kiss became more deliberate. My hands clutching at the hidden muscles beneath his pale blue shirt nearly scratching and my shaking knees clamp toget
her over his muscular legs.

  What was he thinking as his hands clutched the edges of my white shirt pulling it up over my head without undoing a single button and our lips weren’t touching? Was he thinking of anything?

  Our heartbeats were so loud, and I think we were both too scared to say a single word in case it let reality back into this frantic moment. We weren’t breaking any laws and the sadness and confusion we shared made everything seem so right.

  The back clasp of my little push-up bra released between his fingers and I was resting with my hands on his broad shoulders as he took each small puffy nipple into his mouth gently sucking and licking. My sensitive mounds of flesh swelled with more blood each time his wet face and tongue swirled around them. Even his lips and breath had me bracing myself with my head flung back and my back curving further into the ravishing attention.

  He picked me up in his strong arms with my legs wrapped around his waist and carried me up the stairs like I weighed nothing at all. Laid me down on the bed I had been laying on with the filthiest fantasies nearly all day and broke the comforting silence we had between us.