Good girls get cuddled. Bad girls get spanked… then cuddled.
Do you know how fucking difficult it is to concentrate when you have the ass of an eighteen year old girl wearing yoga pants in your face? Seriously, do you?
I didn't ask for this. I wanted to do yoga. Legitimate yoga. This isn't supposed to be some kind of set up for an x-rated movie. I'm not supposed to be staring at Fiona's fine as fuck curves, and I'm definitely not supposed to notice that her yoga pants are so tight that I can literally see every inch of her pussy in glorious detail through the thin, stretchy fabric.
I probably shouldn't add that this girl's camel toe is to die for.
And, hold up. Let's take a break for a second. What do you think's going to happen when I die from it? Obviously I'm going to hell. There's three very good reasons for that, too.
The first reason is that I'm twelve years older than her. The second is that she's my younger sister's best friend.
What about the third one? Are you really going to make me tell you? Fuck you. This is already hard enough as it is.
“Am I doing this right, Daddy?” Fiona asks, looking over her shoulder at me?
Yeah… I'm screwed.
Before you judge me, I want to explain how this all happened. It's not like I go around staring at girls that are younger than me. I don't go to yoga class just to check out hot eighteen year old girls, either. I'm not that kind of guy. Fiona's an exception, and there's one huge reason for that, but I need to tell you how it came to this.
My sister and I grew up with just each other. Emily, I mean. Fuck! Emily's my sister, and Fiona is Emily's friend. I'm not that fucking twisted. Holy shit, get your mind out of the gutter. I am not related to Fiona. I don't even fucking know why I have to explain this shit.
Anyways… my parents died when I was younger. Yeah, let that sink in for a second. I'm this eighteen year old kid and I'm sitting at home one night babysitting my six year old sister. Suddenly a cop comes to the door and I think it's some kind of prank or something. My friends liked to do that shit sometimes. Call the cops on each other saying the music was too loud or whatever. I wasn't playing music, and Emily was sleeping, so this is how that went:
I answer the front door wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt. This pair of cops is standing outside, looking serious as fuck. Like, I have no reason to be scared of the police, but whatever is going down right now needs my full attention.
“Grey?” one of the cops asks. “Are you Grey Royal?”
“Yes,” I say, but I regret my decision instantly.
The cop next to him makes this sound that's kind of somewhere between pain and horror. It's like this whole ordeal physically hurts him and also he's terrified at what's coming next. I don't even know why, because I feel like I'm the one who should be terrified right now, but whatever.
“Can we come in?” the first officer asks. “Is your sister home? There's something we need to tell you, son.”
I've always heard it's a bad idea to just let police come into your house. I have nothing to hide, though. I'm a pretty good kid, especially at eighteen. I'm not going to say I've never smoked pot or drank while underage, but I'm not hiding anything now and I don't make a habit of it. I have pretty good grades, I play on the football team in school, and…
Well, none of that matters right now.
The police come into the house and we go sit in the living room. I offer them the couch and I take the recliner next to it.
“Do you guys want something to drink?” I ask.
“Sure,” the first says.
“Water?” the second asks. His throat sounds dry.
I go to get three glasses of water, because I think I need one for myself, too. It's a little hard bringing them all back to the living room, so it takes me awhile. On my way there, before I turn through the door, I hear them talking.
“Seriously, how are we supposed to tell this kid his parents are dead?” I think it's the second cop, because I don't recognize his voice. The only thing I've heard him say before now is “Water?”
“That's part of our job. To protect and to serve. It's not all glamorous, buddy. You have to deal with the hard problems that no one will ever thank you for along with the heroic ones that'll get your name in the news.”
That's all great. I appreciate his work ethic. But…
My parents are dead?
I dropped those glasses of water, by the way. I stood in the doorway to my living room, staring blankly at nothing, and I dropped the glasses of water I was carrying. The police officers helped me clean everything up and then they sat me down and quietly explained everything.
I didn't tell Emily about our parents at first. How the fuck do you explain to your six year old sister that she's never going to see her parents again? I mean, I guess you just do it. You sit her down like the cops sat me down and you explain to her that a drunk driver crashed into our mom and dad's car when they were on their way back home. Smashed up everything, destroyed the car, ruined two people's lives.
The drunk driver died, too. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse. Sometimes I kind of wish the guy was rotting in prison for the rest of his life, and sometimes I'm grateful that he's dead so I don't have the urge to murder someone.
I told Emily eventually. It didn't take that long. I told her a few days after it happened, when she was starting to get real skeptical about the fact that I kept insisting our parents went away on a vacation without telling her. Also, the fact that more of our relatives kept showing up at our house and acting sad and depressed didn't help.
“Yeah, so…” I say to her. “Uh… that vacation I told you about? The one mom and dad are on?”
“Uh huh?” she says, looking up quietly from her Barbie Dreamhouse.
Ken's just chilling outside while Barbie takes a nap and Stacie plays with the cat. The rest of Barbie's sisters are packed up in Emily's toy chest, though.
“The vacation is in heaven,” I tell her. “They… they're not coming back, Emily.”
“I know,” she says softly. “I heard Auntie talking about it the other day.”
“Wait, what? Why didn't you say anything?”
“You looked really sad, Grey. I didn't want you to be sadder.”
So I'm over here worrying about how to tell my little sister that our parents are dead and she's worrying about me being sad? This is deep. I can't deal with this right now.
“I am sad,” I tell her. “It's not because of you, though. I just…”
“I miss them, Grey, but I didn't want to cry in front of you because I didn't want to make you sad,” Emily says.
“Hey, come here,” I say, except we both kind of go to each other. “You can cry in front of me. I'm sorry. I was worried about crying in front of you, too, but… you can cry, Emily. It's alright. I'm still here, and I know mom and dad are gone and it's going to be rough, but… I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere, and–”
She cuddles up against me and I'm not sure if she's crying or not at first, but she is. I'm crying, too. I don't know when that started. It just did. Don't ask. The next thing I know I'm laying on the floor, waking up. We both fell asleep. Emily's still sleeping, too. Ken's still outside the dreamhouse, and Barbie's taking a nap, and Stacie's still hanging out with the cat.
This is all real depressing, and I completely understand that. I'm older now. I'm not trying to make you cry over here. I'm just trying to explain to you how I became a father.
Wait, what? I know that's what you're asking yourself.
Yeah, sort of. I mean, I'm technically a big brother, but Emily was young, and over time she started calling me Daddy. I think it was easier for the both of us. You go to a parent-teacher conference for your younger sister, because you're her guardian now, and it's kind of like, what the fuck am I supposed to say?
Do I explain the whole drunk driver accidental death thing? I really don't want to bring that up again. So I just introduce myself as Emily's dad, and Emily starts calling me, Daddy, and I get that might sound kind of weird, but whatever. I'm doing my best over here.
When Emily started going to high school, she met this girl named Fiona. They became best friends pretty quick, too. Emily had a hard time making friends before that, but she made friends with Fiona in like… a day. They were always together after that. Fiona starts hanging out at our house all the time. It's cool. Whatever.
I wasn't supposed to hear it, but I overheard her talking to Emily about her mom once. Apparently it's kind of bad over there. Not all mom's are created equally, and not all dad's are the best, which is evident by the fact that Fiona's left her and her mom before she was born. Great guy, obviously.
And… instead of explaining my own kind of screwed up situation to Fiona's mom when Fiona wanted to sleep over or come over or do whatever, I ended up introducing myself as Emily's dad. Same thing as with the teachers. It's just easier, alright? Don't fucking judge me.
Fiona knew, though. Emily and her share everything. Literally everything, as you're about to witness.
“Can I call him Daddy, too?” Fiona asks Emily one day. They're just sitting in the living room, doing homework while listening to music.
“I don't know. I think so?” Emily says to her.
I'm sitting there doing work on my laptop, but nobody's asking me what I think, so I just keep at it.
Until Emily says, “Grey, can Fiona call you Daddy, too?”
“Uh, I guess so?” I say.
In my head I'm thinking this is just two teenage girls being weird and the fun is going to die down quick. If you just give in and accept it, they'll get bored faster, it won't be entertaining anymore, and they'll move on.
Right? I'm not crazy thinking that, am I? Pretty fucking sure that's how it works.
“Alright, Daddy,” Fiona says, curling her tongue around the word.
Emily laughs like they're sharing a joke. Fiona giggles, too. It doesn't take long for them to go back to their homework, though. That's it then? I don't have to deal with this anymore?
Good. Real fucking good. Because I don't know if I can. There's something about the way Fiona said it, and the way she looked at me, and… with her lips quirked into this wicked grin while she looked up at me under her lashes and her voice took on this teasing, sexual tone.
Holy shit. I don't think my cock has ever twitched that hard before.
To be fair, I never had much of a chance to date while growing up. I had to take care of Emily, remember? Now that she could sort of take care of herself, I was trying to get back into the swing of it, but it's not like it's easy. You try going from having a high school girlfriend to a bunch of quickly failing relationships while attempting to go to college, run a new company what with your parents giving it to you in their will, taking care of a six year old for eight years until she's mostly able to take care of herself, and…
Let's add the fact that with Fiona over here all the time, she had a serious knack for popping up at the worst possible moment whenever I had a girl over. I swear this girl has a sixth sense. I'm sitting on the couch watching a movie with some girl I met last week, and things are progressing, or I think they're going to, and I'm about to go in for a kiss, and…
Fiona shows up. To be fair, Emily does, too. Sort of ruins the mood, you know? I can't exactly complain about being cockblocked by my sister and her friend, though.
Except then Fiona starts calling me Daddy, so…
New scenario for you:
I'm making dinner with another girl, and Fiona and Emily are out. This is going well. I'm making out with this girl while we're waiting for the timer on the oven to go off. We've got a few minutes. It's getting hot and heavy. I lift her onto the counter, she wraps her legs around me.
Suddenly she whispers, “By the way, Grey… I'm not wearing any panties…”
Which is basically my cue to unzip my pants, pull out my cock, and fuck her on the counter. Right? Which I'm doing! Or I'm trying to. This is going places.
And then Emily and Fiona come home early. Fuck. I zip my pants back up and slide the girl I'm with off the counter. She fixes her skirt, but looks pretty fucking annoyed. I get it. I feel the same.
“Hi, Daddy!” Emily says, skipping into the kitchen.
“We're home, Daddy,” Fiona adds. I swear she just says this because I'm with a girl.
Also, my cock twitches right then, too. Fuck.
“Ummm…” the girl says, obviously confused. “You didn't tell me you had kids?”
“No, uh… this is my sister,” I tell her. “My sister and her best friend. It's…”
It's complicated, which is why I didn't get into it yet. I was going to, I swear, but can't I just have one night to myself?
If that's not the worst, you know what else is complicated? I had to raise Emily by myself for eight years, I had to deal with having almost no dating life, and then getting cockblocked by my sister and her best friend for another four years. And now, after all of that?
Emily's eighteen. She's an adult now, I guess. Something like that.
Fiona's eighteen, too. And she keeps hanging around my house, going swimming, wearing a bikini, wearing the skimpiest fucking pajamas I've ever seen. Legs for days, the poutiest fucking lips, eyes I could stare into forever if I didn't stop myself, curves in all the right places.
And she still calls me Daddy.
It started out as a way to tease him. I know Grey is Emily's older brother, even if she always calls him Daddy. It doesn't mean anything to her except that he's always been there for her. He's like a father to her, and…
I've never had a father. I've never called anyone Daddy before. I think that's what the original appeal was for me. My mom always dated these new guys, usually a new one every couple of months. Sometimes they'd get cocky and tell me I could start calling them Dad if I want. They never stuck around, though. Also, they're gross old men and I seriously can't ever see what my mom sees in them.
So the day I asked Emily if I could start calling Grey “Daddy,” too, um… I was doing it more to tease him than anything. Grey's nice, and he's sweet to Emily, and he's always been great to me. He lets me stay over whenever I want, which is nice because of that whole thing where my mom has another sleazeball over all the time every few months.
I guess the thing is that I never really understood what it was like to call someone Daddy before, so…
When I did it for the first time, it was like all of a sudden something strange happened to me. I didn't even mean to, but the first time I said it to him, I felt it, too. Do you know what that's like? When you call someone something and you immediately feel an intense emotional connection to them? That's the only way I can explain it.
I'm not saying I thought of Grey as my father, either. I still don't. Not really. It's just, um…
I really like calling him Daddy…
I only meant to do it a few times to tease him. A few times turned into doing it basically every time I saw him, though. For a month, then a year, and Emily and I have been best friends for over four years now, and I've known Grey for almost that long, too.
It probably helps that he's the exact mental picture of a daddy to me. And by that, I don't exactly mean I want him to be mine. Um… I mean…
I do want him to take care of me. I wish he could. I know that's not going to happen. He's Emily's older brother, and he's twelve years older than us. He has girls around the house sometimes and I try not to get jealous, but it's hard.
He's just a great daddy, you know? He's a good father figure, I mean. If I were going to have children, I'd want it to be with someone like Grey, because I'd want my babies to have a daddy like him and not like the father I have.
I don't even know my father's name. I think part of the reason is because my mom doesn't know his name, either. She refuses to admit it, though.
Grey, my fake daddy, is strong, he's sweet, he's always looked out for me. He doesn't treat me like I'm annoying or that he doesn't want me around. He spends time with me and Emily. He's got really sexy abs. We've gone swimming at the beach together, and I used to just wear a one-piece swimsuit, but I bought a bikini just to see if I could get Daddy to look at me. His jaw has that chiseled look that comes with age, and a stupidly handsome scruff of facial hair. Not a full beard, but he's not clean-shaven, either. It's just enough that you can feel a prick of it as it tickles your lips when you kiss his cheek.
Which, I do, because, you know, Emily does it sometimes, and I want to do it, too.
What's wrong with kissing Daddy's cheek?
The thing that's probably wrong is I'd like to kiss him all over, and I'd love if he kissed me everywhere, too. My cheeks, my lips, kissing a trail down my neck, cupping my breasts in his hand and kissing around them in circles until he reached my nipples and pulled them into his mouth… and lower… oh my…
Sorry, Daddy. I want to be your good girl, but sometimes you make it so hard.
Or I want to make you hard…
It's definitely one of those things. I think you know which.
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I hope you enjoyed this teaser! How do you like Grey and Fiona so far? ^_^