Daddy Issues 101: The time a former student of mine [F] started calling me [M] “Daddy” and coming over to my apartment to learn all the stuff they don’t usually teach you in college (long!)

With all the reverence and care of plucking a jewel from a skull’s eye in an ancient, jungle-bound temple, I affixed my fingers to the emerald green butt-plug in Wendy’s ass and began to turn. She gasped and giggled, arched her back and looked back at me, grinning widely.

“It’s really stuck in there, huh?” she whimpered before letting out another gasp as her ass gave it up with a pop, but not before lewdly distending around the toy. The darkly tanned flesh seemed to pant from the exertion, not closing up all the way, and easily giving way to my fingers. Wendy squealed when I penetrated her, plunging my digits in and out a few times while she fumbled for the lubricant.

“Come on, Daddy,” she whispered, breathlessly. “Fuck my ass.”

Open on me: an academic type from central casting, in a tweed jacket (from England, by way of a thrift shop), dark mauve corduroys, and an auburn beard. Later twenties to early thirties, the humanities PhD playing at tenured professor, without the actual benefits of tenure, as a manifestation of “make it till you break it.”

Pan to Wendy: a cheerful, brilliant but ADHD-addled student at a prestigious East Coast American university. She is, supposedly, a PRC citizen, but her parents shipped her off to Northern California boarding schools as soon as they could. Her hair is a perpetual carousel of colors, none of them her natural black. She has a round face, with pinchable cheeks, and moles well-parceled out in the most endearing of spots—beneath her right eye, on her belly (this I saw in class, in August, as she shifted in her seat, her midriff exposing crop top exposing her midriff all the more), and her pussy—I didn’t learn about that one till later. She is a proud gamer girl (I can’t keep up with modern games—League of Legends, Overwatch, PUBG—give me Chrono Trigger and Goldeneye, please). Though she is double-majoring in computer science and neurobiology, she professes a profound love for “serious literature,” and she shows far more enthusiasm for my course than the majors.

She writes terribly, and though she improves somewhat over the semester, there’s little I can do. Especially when the global pandemic forces our classes online and sends her back to Shanghai to weather the storm in her parents’ palatial condo. Still, she puts in a lot of work, and she makes an admirable effort to attend class, even though it’s at some ungodly hour for her, and so I give her an A, with lots of stern comments peppering her papers and our grainy zoom calls about ways she can improve. She sent me a gushing email at the end of the semester about how much she learned, how helpful my comments were, and how supportive I was during the crisis, and wishing me a good summer. Nothing unusual, and I figured this would be the end of it, unless she came asking for a recommendation later on.

I, like everyone else, hunkered down to socially distance, occasionally going on hikes with friends or some other Fauci-approved activity, but mostly I took the opportunity to get some work done. Although I was briefly tempted to bring my own solitude by venturing onto Tinder, I refrained, always assuring myself that the pandemic would be over soon and I was still relatively young, etcetera, etcetera. This is all to give you a sense of the headspace (dickspace) I was in when a short stack of suitcases bumped into me in the lobby of my building in late August.

“Oh, shit!” the suitcases cried out as the tumbled to the floor. Behind them, far shorter than even the stack, was Wendy, struggling to reattach her mask and trying to right her belongings. I knelt down to help her and she squinted at me, and then gasped, crying out my last name with “Professor,” attached. It’s always jarring to hear that at the beginning of a new school year.

I told her to call me by my first name. I helped her with her suitcases and we went up to her apartment. Really, I was carrying most of them, which left her free to gush up the five floors of our pre-war walk up (I only lived on the fourth floor, and I couldn’t decide if I was jealous or not of her better view).

“I can’t believe I’m gonna’ live in the same building as you. We’re gonna’ be neighbors! We can have movie nights and get drunk and shit!”

I wanted to warn her that these things would be inadvisable for a number of reasons, but mostly I was amazed at how quickly I’d gone from respected professor to drinking buddy in her eyes.

Once in her apartment, she opened all the windows and turned on an overhead fan and we both agreed we could take off our masks, so long as we sat on other sides of the living room. She had an entire two-bedroom to herself, and she explained her plans to make one room her gaming room—she was going to build her own gaming rig in the few days before the semester started; she was just waiting on the parts—and then the other would be for sleeping and studying.

“And, you know, other stuff,” she said and dissolved into giggles. As intrigued as I was, I gently reminded her of the university’s recommendations regarding social distancing and she assured me that it was all fine. She explained that she was part of a pod, her former roommates and closest friends, and that as long as they only saw each other, it would be fine. She’d rented an apartment where she could control who she came into contact with, as opposed to the chaos of the dorms. Presumably, I intuited, she’d be having sex with some of the people in her pod too.

“But what if your friends’ pods don’t match up exactly with yours?”

“It’ll be fine! You sound like a dad, worrying about this stuff.” A dad, I noted. Not her dad. I’d later learn that while her parents certainly weren’t absentee—nothing, in fact, like my own alcoholic Irish-American lawyer parents who not infrequently disappeared for several days, on benders of booze and arraignments—they had quite complex social and professional lives, and opportunities for familial affection were rare.

Still, I scoffed. “I’m just telling you to be careful. I’m not your dad.”

“Wait,” she said, slapping her fist into her palm. “You totally are my dad! You carried my suitcases up the stairs into my first apartment. You’re lecturing me about being safe. You even gave me all those super mean comments on my papers.”

“My comments were not mean!”

“Dude, they totally were! ‘Overall, I’m really disappointed in the quality of this final draft,’” she quoted. “’Based on your previous work and the intellectual engagement you’ve displayed in class and our meetings, I’m convinced you’re capable of much more.’ That was brutal! I, like, cried when I read that. Seriously.” I was about to apologize when she continued: “But it was good. It was like, you were holding me to a higher standard. I actually really liked it. It felt really good. Other professors will just be like ‘Strong thesis statement! A!’ but you actually took me seriously and tried to help me get better. Like, you actually care.”

“I mean, I do care. This is my job,” I started to say, but she groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“Look at me, getting all corny and shit. I’m so lame.” She hustled me out of her apartment, and promised to make me dinner later that week to thank me.

Besides that dinner—I had expected something Chinese but, ha, joke’s on me, she made a bland risotto instead, in true Northern Californian fashion—I didn’t see her for two weeks. While part of me was relieved that she wasn’t actually banging down my door, insisting that we watch a movie and paint each other’s toenails, I was honestly a little disappointed. She was charming and adorable, and with the uncertainty of the new semester and the upcoming election, and everything, her little rays of sunshine would have been nice.

Someone must have been listening, because the second Friday of the semester, only hours after a stern email from the Dean warning against large indoor parties, I came upon Wendy slumped, drunk, against a bush outside of our building. A thin line of vomit dribbled down from her plump pink lips, and into a thick puddle on the sidewalk. Her skirt was rumbled and hiked up, revealing the lacey barely-there thong she wore to the entire street which was, mercifully, empty. Dried and fresh blood streaked one of her tanned legs: she’d skinned her knee somewhere in the process. No face mask to be found.

“Jesus Christ,” I exclaimed. She stirred and mumbled something. I started to get out my phone to call an ambulance, in case her stomach needed to be pumped, but it was then that she recognized me. She cried out my name and then began to sob, launching into her story of the night.

I half-led, half-carried her up the stairs as she detailed a saga of “pod drama” and how she has no friends or something like that. Later, I’d ask her whatever became of it, and apparently whatever strife there was had evaporated over the course of the weekend, but it had seemed serious enough to get hammered at a prohibited frat-party. I couldn’t keep up with the cast of characters, and several of them were nonbinary and used “they/them” pronouns, which doesn’t bother me, but it made following Wendy’s train of thought even trickier. Finally, we got to her apartment and I fumbled around in her purse for her keys.

“Do you have bandaids and first-aid stuff?” I asked once I got her sitting on the toilet in her bathroom.

“What?” she mumbled. I sighed and repaired to my own apartment for provisions. When I came back, she was throwing up in the shower. I bandaged her knee, washed off the blood as I best I could without actually bathing her, and started to leave.

“Wait, no, stay just a bit longer, please,” she groaned. “Just until I fall asleep.”

“You need to stay in here,” and I pointed to the floor of the bathroom, “until you haven’t thrown up for at least an hour. Then, drink as much water and you can stomach, and go to bed.”

“Just like fifteen more minutes, please!”

I scowled. I was glad for my face mask, at least, since it minimized the smell of college-girl puke.

“I’m so sorry. Thank you so much. You’re, like, the nicest.”

“It’s fine. Just be careful next time. Alternate with water.”

She giggled. “There you go again. You’re such a Daddy.”

“That’s really not an appropriate thing to say to one of your professors.” In response, I got a dull-eyed stare. Then, she stood.

“Take off your mask,” she demanded. When I refused, she grabbed at it, petulant brat, and tore it off my face. I wasn’t sure what she was planning on next, and she didn’t seem sure either. She sank back down onto the toilet. “God, you’re like so fucking hot. I would let you do absolutely disgusting things to me.”

Whatever I was expecting—it wasn’t that. I hesitated, weighing my options, and then sighed.

“Wendy, I’m leaving. Drink some water and stay in here until you feel well enough to lie down.”

“Wait, do you have a girlfriend? Come on! Tell me! You don’t, because if you did, you’d be living with her right now.”

“Long distance relationships are a thing,” I argued, purely for the sake of argument. I was decidedly single.

“And they suck!” Wendy declared viciously, fling an arm into the air as if casting all long distance relationships into the abyss. “They’re never worth it!” Okay. Sore subject with her.

She followed me to the door.

“Come on, we’re going to fuck sooner or later, right? I won’t tell anyone. Let’s just do it. I haven’t had sex in like six months! I was fantasizing about you all summer. I’m dying.” She paused, covered her mouth, and dashed back to the bathroom. I took my leave.

The next morning, I had, if not exactly forgotten about Wendy’s incident, then pushed it as far from my mind as I could. I got up early for a weekend morning, went for a run, and had just gotten out of the shower and changed when there was a knock on my door. I tried to ignore it, but the knock was persistent, and then my doorbell rang.

“Um, hi,” Wendy said when I finally flung the door open. “I’m, uh, really sorry about last night. I think I was really obnoxious.”

She looked awful, but in a surprisingly charming way: youth has a way of making bloodshot eyes and unwashed hair romantic.

“Do you have Advil?”

“What?”

“Advil. You didn’t have any first aid stuff, and I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten around to buying Advil either. You probably have a headache.”

She let out a tired giggle. “Yeah, you got me there, teach. Can I have some Advil?”

I let her in and directed her to the bathroom before retreating to the kitchen. “Have you eaten yet? That’ll make you feel better.”

“I had half a candy bar.”

“I’m making eggs, if you want some.”

A moment later, she toddled into my kitchen and slumped onto a bar stool, leaning her head against my kitchen island.

“You can take off your mask too. You breathed all over me last night.”

She apologized again and stuffed the rumpled surgical mask into her pocket. I put a place of something like eggs benedict in front of her and she picked at it for a moment before digging in. She ate ravenously, and I had barely started mine before she’d polished hers off, along with a cup of coffee. She watched me eat, silently, and I watched her transform, suddenly shrugging off her hangover.

“Like I said, I’m really, really sorry. I’m, like, dying of embarrassment. I woke up today hoping it was all a bad dream.”

“It happens to everyone,” I grunted.

“You were really nice to me. None of my friends stayed to make sure I was okay.”

“Get better friends.”

She snorted. “Maybe I should.” She licked her lips, and then seemed bashful. “But, I don’t want to lie. I was being honest last night. About you. Just so you know.”

I sighed and set down my coffee. “Wendy, what do you want me to say?”

“Look, I don’t know! But you’re not really my professor anymore, and we’re both adults, so who cares?”

“It looks bad. There’s still—a power dynamic.”

“I know. I mean, I don’t feel weird about it, but I know other people might, so we don’t have to tell everyone.”

“These things have a way of getting out.”

“Okay, but look, we’re talking about logistics now, so that means you want to, right?”

I was taken aback by her clever argument. Maybe I had taught her too well.

“So, what do you want?” I said, finally. “Do you want to be my girlfriend or something?”

Wendy stared at me for a second and then burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just—the way you said that—it was really funny. Um, not like girlfriend but more like… Friends with benefits?” She giggled again. “Don’t freak out, but like, I just want to call you Daddy and like, you know…”

“I don’t know.”

She groaned. “Don’t make me say it. I wanna’, kinda’ be submissive with you. Like, you tell me what to do and maybe I’m a little bratty and you spank me and make me do it.”

I could feel my cock growing hard at the thought of Wendy’s plump little ass bent over my lap.

“What kind of things do you think I’d make you do?”

“Sex things,” she answered immediately. “At the very least, I feel like I should repay you for taking care of me last night, you know? And breakfast, too.”

Somehow, that was enough to seal the deal for me. Fuck it. I’d throw caution to the wind. The world was in crisis, and who was I to refuse the adorable nineteen-year-old now circling the kitchen island to face me. As I leaned down to kiss her, I paused.

“I brushed my teeth before coming over here, don’t worry!” she said with a giggle and stood on her tip-toes, putting her hands in my still-wet hair to kiss me. She tasted like eggs and coffee and something indescribable—sweet enthusiasm, somehow.

She sank to her knees. I wore sweatpants, which provided her easy access. She traced her finger-tips over the bulge.

“I won’t tell anyone so long as I can call you Daddy,” she teased. She gripped my cock through the layers of fabric and I grunted my assent.

“Daddy,” she began. “This is to say thank you for putting up with my bratty, bitchy little ass last night.” She slid my sweatpants down, and let out an audible sigh of delight as my hair, beveined cock sprung into view. She grasped it at the base, gripping it with her tiny fingers, and ran her hand up to the tip, jerking the flesh along my shaft.

“You’ve like, got a very pretty cock, Daddy,” she continued, eyes gazing at me as she placed my cockhead on my tongue. “Some guys, their dicks look like… I don’t know… Gross little worms. But yours looks nice and friendly. Like it has a face.” She kissed the tip of my cock, and teased her tongue against my urethra, wet and slippery. “’Hi, Wendy,’” she mimed my cock talking. “’I want to beat up your pussy.’”

“You’re too cute,” I murmured and she gave me a big grin before taking me all the way into her mouth. She held me there, and I realized I had slid into her throat when she shuddered, gagging, spit bubbling around her lips. After a moment, she slid off, leaving my cock shiny with her spit.

“See how deep I can take you? Aren’t you impressed, Daddy?”

“You don’t have to end every sentence with ‘Daddy,’ you know.”

“Aww, are you gonna’ give me mean notes on the way I talk too?” she whined, fingers stroking my balls.

“If I have to.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “I guess I’ll just shut up and suck your dick.” And this, she did: she lapped at the base, drawing her tongue up the underside of my shaft to the chubby, plump red tip. She wrapped her lips around it and suckled, swirling her tongue around the head, before bobbing onto it, once again burying her nose in my pubic hair. I could feel her gag reflex quake the first few times but she soon conquered it and sped up, gripping my ass. I felt her hands exploring my butt, and then, suddenly, she pressed a finger against my asshole. I groaned and jumped.

“Is that okay, Daddy? Betcha weren’t expecting that?”

“You’ve got that right.”

“You just showered too, right? I’ll lick you back there if you want.”

Whatever I had been expecting this morning, a rimjob and a blowjob from one of my former students wasn’t it. She led me by my cock over to the couch in the living room and pulled my pants and boxers completely off. She made me scoot my ass towards her and she lifted my heavy balls, resting them on her cheek as I felt her eager little tongue slide along the warm, tender skin and tease my ass. She groped for my cock as she lapped at me and kept stroking me, before emerging a minute later wearing a proud smile.

“Feels good, right?”

“So, is that what the kids are doing these days?” She rolled eye eyes, still jerking my cock.

“Don’t act like you’re that much older than me. But, if you must know, I don’t mind doing it as long as the other person is clean. A clean butt is way less gross than a sweaty cock, you know.”

I couldn’t disagree with that logic. She slurped my dick into her mouth once more and I brushed a few strands of hair out of her face as she worked. How to describe her mouth on my cock? It was like getting a blowjob for the first time, all over again, but far better and less awkward than the backseat of a station wagon after prom had ever been. Wendy definitely knew what she was doing, but the utter enthusiasm, the way she spat on my cock and suckled off her own saliva, as if the taste of my cock were some divine nectar, as if there were nothing else she’d rather be doing at that moment, that was the best part.

“That’s a good girl,” I groaned, thrusting my hips forward. She bobbed her head even faster, and gripped my balls almost painfully, and then pulled off for a second.

“Just so you know, if you say things like that, you’re gonna’ have to deal with the consequences. You can’t call me good girl and then leave me hanging. That’s so fucking sexy.” My cock plunged into her mouth once more and moments later, I was cumming. She affixed her lips to the base of my cock and I felt her swallowing franticly, her tongue scooping up any cum that escaped her throat, before finally, sliding my still swollen member of her mouth with a satisfied grin.

“There, Daddy. How was that for a thank you?”

“You’re such a good girl,” I cooed. “You have no idea.”

She bit her lip and stood up—and wobbled.

“Um,” she said, and paused—she’d started to look vaguely green. “Just a second—can I—”

“You know where the bathroom is.”

I heard her puking up my cum and the eggs, and I poured myself another coffee while I waited for her to emerge. I was wrapping up some breakfast to go in a Tupperware for her to reheat when she finally came out, now pale, and grinning uneasily.

“Okay, I know I’ve apologized a lot this morning,” she started, but I waved it off. I gave her the food for later, and she rewarded me with a heartbreaking pout. “I really, really want to do more stuff with you, okay?”

“Get some sleep and rest your stomach. I’ll still be here tomorrow, okay?”

“Dude, wait, here, what’s your snapchat?”

“Why don’t I just give you my cellphone number?”

“Snapchat is better. You can send pictures but then, you know, they disappear and stuff so…”

Yes, I told her patiently. I was aware of Snapchat. Five minutes after leaving my apartment, I received a snap from her: she was topless, flashing a broad grin, and lying in bed, holding up a peace sign. The caption read: Can’t wait to play more, Daddy! I wish you could tuck me in! <3

I didn’t hear from Wendy the rest of the day. Around one in the morning, I had poured myself a nightcap and was just about to climb into bed when my phone vibrated. A pump pair of ass cheeks filled my smartphone screen: “I still think I deserve a spanking, don’t you, daddy? Lol”

Go to sleep, I messaged back. It’s late.

She replied: so u ARE up!! i’m coming over!!

I’m going to bed, I replied in turn. You can come over in the morning tomorrow.

A moment later, Wendy’s pouting face was plastered across my phone: “but… but… i slept all day and i’m not tired… you’d better play with me so I don’t go out and get into trouble.”

I mean, I couldn’t really argue with that logic, could I? Five minutes later, she was at my door in sweatpants and a t-shirt, carrying a canvas tote bag. Maybe she actually did mean to sleep over?

“Daddy, can I have a drink?” she said. Out of habit, I started towards my home bar but then paused—

“Wait,” I said, turning around. “You’re nineteen, right? Or are you twenty now?”

In that short span of time, she had stripped off her sweats and t-shirt and stood before me in a tight, sheer bodysuit that hugged the curves of her hips, and did little to hide her pussy—and less to hide her nipples—from my hungry gaze. Embroidered flowers snaked up the garment, suggesting the impression of a coquettish maiden naked in some sinful pleasure garden.

“Well, Daddy?” she said proudly, and put her hands on her hips. She turned around without my asking, showing how the lingerie did nothing to hide her ass. “What do you think? Am I mature enough to have that drink?”

“Not in this country.” She pouted and approached me.

“Fine. But I’ll have you know I’m a very fun drunk.”

“I’m amazed that you can even stand the thought of alcohol right now.”

“I bounce back,” she said with a shrug. I had changed into joggers and a t-shirt before bed, and she draped her arms around my neck, playing with my shirt collar as I kissed her throat, panting softly as I slid my hands over her. God, but she felt amazing in my hands—this petite, plump little cherry ready to be plucked—and she quivered as my hands cupped her ass, sliding beneath the bodysuit to palm her soft, bare flesh.

“You’ve been pretty bratty,” I murmured into her ear. “I think you deserve a spanking before we go any further.”

“Oh my god, Daddy,” she sighed. “I think I do.”

She laid over my lap, and reached beneath her to give my cock an affectionate squeeze. The slopes of her tanned ass wiggled as she settled herself down, butt jutting proudly skyward. I noted a growing patch of wetness on the fabric between her legs and I let my fingers stroke down the back of her thighs, then between them, to press on the warm, wet softness.

“That’s not my ass,” she whimpered.

“I’m exploring my little girl,” I retorted. She let out a surprised gasp at that.

“In that case, Daddy—there’s a little Easter Egg for you back there. I didn’t think you’d find it till later in the evening but maybe you’ll find it now…”

So emboldened, I slid aside the crotch of her bodysuit, revealing the wet, hairless slit. Freshly shaved, it seemed.

“This? You shaved for Daddy?”

“Oh, no, not that… But you like it, Daddy?” Her dark pussy lips, glazed with wetness, seemed to quiver under my gaze. I ran finger over her and she sighed happily.

“Very much,” I remarked, and pushed a finger inside her up to the knuckle.

“Daddy, your fingers are so big. I bet you can’t fit a second one in there.”

She was almost right. It took some wedging and Wendy pushing back against my hand, but after a few tries, two fingers were snugly slotted into her slit, her wet hole grabbing them tight.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit my cock in here later,” I teased, working my fingers in and out. There was something passionately erotic about feeling the sticky contours of her insides, and the musky scent of her arousal drifting up to my nose.

“You’ll have to force it in, Daddy,” she whimpered, trembling. “Even if I cry, promise me you’ll put it all the way in and fuck me hard?”

It took all my restraint not to mount her right then and there and ride her till she screamed. Instead, I promised, and slid my fingers out of her cunt. I ran them beneath her nose and she eagerly lapped at them.

“See how wet my little girl is?”

“I haven’t been this wet in a long time,” she sighed, and let the little girl act slip. “Seriously. You have no idea. This presses like, all my buttons.” She finished sucking my fingers clean and I returned to her ass.

Now, remembering her willingness to rim me, I decided to investigate between her ass cheeks. Once I pulled the thong of her body suit all the way to the side, freeing her fleshy ass, I spread her cheeks and I was rewarded with a literal treasure: an emerald glistened atop her asshole.

Of course, it wasn’t really an emerald, but the plastic knob of a butt plug. I flicked it and twisted it inside of her, inspiring a guttural moan.

“This is my Easter Egg, isn’t it?”

“Mhm. I figured, you know, while we’re working through my Daddy issues and stuff, maybe I should be upfront about everything else I like.”

“Such as?”

She rattled off a list, rapid fire, of what I could and couldn’t do to her. All the while, I stroked her inner thighs—anal was definitely on the table but she needed to be warmed up for it, hence the butt plug; she liked rough sex, but if I were going to be rough with her, we needed a safeword, and she suggested pineapple; spanking was encouraged at any time, and so was hair pulling and choking and spitting; I was not to slap her in the fact, but I could slap her tits and on second thought, she would consider asking to be slapped in the face but she was scared and so we would have to talk about it first; fisting she had never tried but she was intrigued by and had I ever done it? When I told her I had, she squirmed in my lap and asked to try it sometime, but slowly, with lots of lube. She’d gladly choke on my cock, and she didn’t mind if I was rough when she was sucking; she’d lick my ass if it were clean, and she’d also suck my cock after it had been in her ass provided hers was clean. Pee and blood and puke and poo were definitely out. Being tied up and forced to orgasm over and over again was a huge fantasy of hers. She didn’t mind being touched or even fucked while sleeping, though she warned me that she probably wouldn’t be asleep for long. Sex on anything stronger than weed scared her. Aftercare was a must; she made it clear that she expected to be cuddled extensively after sex.

“I think that’s about it,” she said, ten minutes later. She was, if anything, even wetter. I raised my hand and punctuated her list with a hard slap to her ass, making her cheeks quiver deliciously. She gasped and gripped me tight and all but screamed when I spanked her again. I paused and grabbed a throw pillow. I pushed it against her lips.

“Bite down on this if you can’t stay quiet,” I scolded. “People are trying to sleep.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Obediently, she bit down and whined into the pillow over the course of the next eighteen slaps. When I finally let her stand up, she rubbed her ass and blinked tears away from her eyes. “Wow, Daddy. You… really know how to spank.”

She had doubted me?

“I mean, most guys are just pussies about it. They’re like afraid to hurt me but that’s kinda’ what I want. Not like, injured, but if it hurts, that’s exciting.”

Wendy wanted to see my bedroom next and she brought her tote bag. She did, indeed, plan on spending the night, and had brought toiletries, lube, and a vibrator.

“You have to be really careful with this one,” she advised. “I cum really, really fast on it and then I get really sensitive.”

“So, maybe that’s one to use if you’re tied up and you can’t control it.”

“Oh my god, Daddy, you’re so bad,” she squealed and leapt into my lap, peppering my face with kisses. She pushed me down, and I slid one strap of the bodysuit off, and then the other, peeling it down so that her perky breasts—proud little B-cups with rock-hard little brown nipples—hovered right above my mouth. I suckled hungrily at her flesh and she gasped, digging her fingers into my hair. I reached up and laid my hand over her throat.

“Oh my god, Daddy!” she intoned once more. “You fucking own me. Be gentle. But not too gentle. No neck bruises, pretty please.”

I squeezed and considering how thickly her hoarse moans came after that, she quite liked it. I rolled her over onto her back, pinning her with my hand around her throat while I peeled the rest of the body suit off her, leaving her naked and helpless beneath me.

“I’m all yours. This is, like, every fantasy I’ve ever had… Please, fuck me, please, please.”

“You have to wait,” I informed her. “I’m still getting to know my little girl.”

She let out a frustrated moan of delight as I kissed and bit and nibbled down her chest, down her belly, and down to her fragrant little mound. I spread her legs and she reached down, proudly spreading her tight hole for me.

“I like knowing that you’re looking at me, inside of me…” she murmured, as if in a dream. I let my tongue slide into her, as far as it would reach, tasting her delectable musky flavor, letting my beard tickle her clit as I devoured her. I began to lap at her thirstily and she didn’t last long, cumming fast and hard, her hands gripping my scalp tight as she grinded her cunt onto my face.

Now, finally, as my little girl lay in a post-orgasm daze, I stripped and mounted her. She gave a happy sigh as I pressed my cock against her hole and with a grunt, I wedged the first few inches inside. A thrust finished her off, and I was buried in her.

“Fuck,” she growled happily. “I can’t believe you’re finally fucking me.”

I was so caught up in the moment, I hadn’t even stopped to ask if she was on birth control. When I started to speak she quickly shut me up—

“Got an IUD. It’s fine. You can cum in me as much as you want.”

“Then don’t mind if I do.”

I gathered his hips up into my hands and balanced her legs on my shoulders so I could press deep into her as I fucked her. Words fail me trying to describe how sweet, how smooth, how wondrously wet and warm her pussy was that first time, was every time after that—how it seemed to suck my cock in, how much her desire seemed to be a part of her very being, as if her soul itself were being fucked. Melodramatic, I know, but that’s the effect her sex had on me the very first time as I crushed my lips into hers and smashed my cock into her womb.

I was pleased to feel her cum as I rode her, shaking and shuddering beneath me, a mess of tears and spit and sweat. I dug my nails into her scalp and gripped her hair hard, bit her nipples as she squealed, and buried my length into her over and over again.

She wailed for me until I told her to shut up and she bit down hard on my shoulder, enough to draw blood, as I slammed my hips into her. Finally, I came, a victorious grunt escaping my lips as my cock unloaded in her.

I held her like that, my cock still spasming, as it calmed down, as our breathing returning to normal. Gradually, she loosened her jaw and detached it from my shoulder and I stopped crushing her body so tightly against mine.

“Holy fuck.” Wendy pressed both palms to her face and let out a sob and took a deep breath.

“Are you—”

“I need a moment,” she said, giddy. “I feel like I’m drunk. I’ve never, never been fucked that hard. I thought you were going to break me.” She pulled her hands away, gazed at me for a second, and flung her arms around my neck, kissing me hard. “I want you to break me and put me back together again. I want to be your broken little doll. Listen to the stupid shit you have me saying. You fucked my brains out.”

She giggled against my chest as I slid out of her. A thick dollop of cum dribbled out of her pussy along with my length.

“You’re not done, are you?” she asked, eyeing my half-hard cock.

“My plan of getting a good night’s sleep is already shot,” I said with a shrug.

“I’ll make sure you get lots of sleep so long as you dream about me,” she teased, sitting up. She all but dove, headfirst, towards my cock, taking it into her mouth, slurping as the already slick shaft. It didn’t take much to get me hard again, and my hand in her hair, pulling firmly at her scalp, only seemed to make her work faster and more enthusiastically.

“Bend over the bed,” I ordered. She bit her lip and nodded. Once in position, she wiggled her ass.

“Like this, Daddy?”

“Perfect.” She reached back and spread her cheeks and gasped when I reached for the butt plug. I tugged at it and then pushed it back in, fucking her a bit with it. “Do you think you can take me back here tonight?”

“I—I think so,” she stuttered. “I want to. I want to be a good girl for you and I don’t mind if it hurts.”

“You know your safeword,” I reminded her. “If it’s too much.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice as I twisted the plug.

And here we return to the beginning. I fingered her ass after taking out her plug and she seemed as warmed up and ready as she’d ever be. She passed the lube to me and I squirted a healthy dollop into her hole—she giggled, it was still cold apparently—and then onto my cock—cold indeed.

I pressed the head of my cock against her hole and nothing happened for a second. I pressed harder and my cock just slid around her ass crack. I felt her hips pushing back too. Finally, she scowled.

“Okay, Daddy, maybe if we—” and she gasped when, suddenly, the tip of my cock made its way inside. “Forget it. Fuck.”

Moving slowly—and Christ, was it ever hard to resist the urge to ream her mercilessly—I edged myself inside bit by bit. The feeling of her pulse pounding around me; the tight, tense friction that even the lube couldn’t fully erase; her ring of muscle trying, relentlessly but uselessly, to keep me out—it was divine. It felt violent, what I was doing to her, in a way that even fucking her pussy hadn’t felt, and I kissed the nape of her sweaty neck, her cheeks, her ears, and asked how she was doing—did it hurt?

She had been taking regimented deep breaths up to this point. “Yeah, it hurts. I haven’t done this—um—in a long time. But I like hurting for you, Daddy.” She craned her neck back so that our lips could touch, barely. “Look how fucked up your little girl is, Daddy.”

“You’re a perfect little girl. Look how hard you’ve got my cock.”

Now, I was fully embedded in her ass. Spreading her cheeks and seeing her tiny asshole lewdly stretched around my cock, gripping it as tightly as her body would allow, it only got me harder, only made me want to fuck her more. I reached for her hair and she gave a pathetic sigh when I pulled it, arching her back. In the mirror across the room, her face—flushed, streaked with hair and tears—was visible.

“Look how gorgeous you are,” I whispered in her ear. “Full of your Daddy’s cock.” I cupped one of her breasts, flicking her nipple with my thumb as she whimpered.

“If you think you can make me cum with your words,” she mumbled and then seemed to lose her train of thought for a second. “Well, it might work.”

I reached for the vibrator, carelessly tossed to the side on the bed. I slid it between her thighs and as I began to move inside of her, thrusting, feeling her muscles give up and go slack around my cock, I switched it on and she yelped.

“Oh. My. God.” She all but went limp in my arms as I fucked her ass, as I vibed her pussy. Her first orgasm ripped through her seconds later, and she cried as another one hit and another and another. Each time, her ass spasmed around my cock, bringing me closer and closer until, finally, with a victorious growl, I buried myself in her and came. I collapsed in a heap atop her, both of us panting and sighing.

And that’s how the weeks of our relationship went. I won’t go into the other details—the actual, real affection—dare I say love?—that developed. As wanton as we were in bed, we tried to be guarded about feelings, because there was an unspoken understanding that this relationship couldn’t last.

Fortunately for us, neither one of us had to end it. At the end of the semester, Wendy was summoned back to China. Her parents were concerned about instability in the United States, and besides—they had pulled some strings to get her vaccinated shortly. I drove her to the airport, and we shared one last, lingering kiss in the car.

“See you, Professor,” she said, reverting to my old title, and that was when I knew it was over—that you can regret the passing of something you knew wasn’t good, but that you had wanted and needly so badly, you were willing to poison yourself for it.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/lijxpm/daddy_issues_101_the_time_a_former_student_of