When I first started in the pink book, one of the first clients asked me to show up dressed like a schoolgirl.
I walked into the room in that navy blue pleated skirt, super short, hair pulled back. He just stared at me in silence, mouth half open. Then he spoke low, barely taking his eyes off my body:
— You’re beautiful. You look a lot like my daughter. Blonde just like you.
I smiled, still not getting what that meant.
— Wow, that’s cool! What’s her name?
— Juliana.
He asked if he could call me Juliana. Or just call me daughter. I thought it was weird, but said it was fine.
He asked me to sit on his lap. I sat facing away, skirt riding up. He ran his hand through my hair real slow, making me shiver. His other hand landed on my thigh, squeezing the flesh.
— Juliana… tell Daddy how school was.
I laughed, nervous. He didn’t even notice.
— Juliana, tell Daddy… how are your grades?
His voice was hoarse. I stayed in character, already feeling his hard cock pressing against my ass.
— Ah, Daddy… everything’s great. You know I’m the best student in the class.
He groaned low against my neck. His hand slid under my skirt, touching my panties.
— And your boyfriend, baby girl? Tell Daddy… are you still a virgin?
Fuck, I wasn’t even sure what to say. Then I remembered what my booker had warned me: play the innocent little girl. At the time I didn’t really get it. Now it was obvious.
I put on a shy voice and answered softly:
— I’m a virgin, Daddy…
He let out a deep groan, almost a growl. The hand on my panties squeezed harder, his thick finger pressing against the wet fabric.
— Hmm, good girl…
His other hand grabbed my hair gently, turning my face to the side. He kissed my neck slow and wet while grinding his hard cock against my ass. I could feel the heat through his pants.
— Take your panties off, Juliana. Show Daddy how that little pussy looks.
I obeyed. I lifted my hips a little, pulled my panties to the side and then down until they were off completely. The pleated skirt stayed bunched at my waist. He looked. Took a deep breath. Ran two fingers between my pussy lips, spreading them, feeling how soaked I already was.
— Look at that… my little girl’s already dripping.
I didn’t answer. Just moaned when he slid a finger in slowly, halfway. His breathing got heavier against my ear.
— Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Gonna teach you real good.
Right then, while he fingered me on his lap and called me daughter, something inside me came undone. Unlike my real dad, this man looked at me. Touched me with attention and, at the same time, wanted me, desired me.
The thought hit fast and dirty: he could be my dad. He was old enough.
I tried to push it out of my head. “You’re fucking crazy. Stop.” But my body didn’t listen. The more he said “daughter,” the wetter I got. The more he squeezed my thigh and called me Juliana, the more his cock felt like it was filling a place it shouldn’t.
At the time I pushed it down, even felt disgusted, repulsed. Tried to shove the thought away and stayed in character. Moaned when he told me to, called him Daddy when he wanted, and let him use me however he liked.
From then on, every older client who looked even a little like him, the thought came back. It was inevitable.
Even now it’s one of the fantasies that makes me cum the hardest. When I’m alone, lying there with my fingers inside me, I imagine I’m on my knees in front of him. That he’s yanking my hair hard and shoving his whole cock down my throat, calling me his little slut daughter, telling me I was born to suck Daddy’s dick.
And I suck it, drooling, looking up and begging for more. Begging him to fuck my mouth until I gag. Begging him to use the filthy daughter I am.