Updated: Apr 21
Sneak peek of Daddy Esquire. First three Chapters. Older Man, Younger Woman, Age-Gap Billionaire Romance XO
CHAPTER ONE, BELINDA:
“Oh my stars, that thing’s ginormous!” I put my hand over my mouth and blinked at the screen. “I could never fit it inside.”
Archie cocked his tiny head in question, blinking his green eyes and put a single, grey paw on my chest. I scratched him under the chin and his motor got louder.
“Seriously, why does this guy think I’m going to respond to him if the first thing he does is send me a dick pic? It’s a hell of an opening line.”
I took a small swig of Chardonnay and deleted the message from my FetLife account, pondering whether I should take down my profile on the website for people interested in BDSM, fetishism, and kink.
In a small town like Briarville, anonymity didn’t come easy, and I was looking to meet someone special without ever having to cross paths with bunch of fuck boys or creepers, nor tell the entire world that I was a sub.
Luckily, most of my interactions on the site so far made the weeding out process easy. Men sent shots of their nether bits, standing stiff at attention, or more brazen still, was one shot from a guy who had clearly just finished in his hand.
Who was I kidding? I remained on the site for one reason and one reason alone. I was desperate to meet a daddy.
I wasn’t interested in becoming an upstanding member of the kink community or meeting like-minded friends in the “lifestyle”.
And I didn’t consider my feelings unnatural as the word kink implied.
What could be more instinctive than the desire to be doted on — and yes — given a firm hand when I disobeyed the rules. Disciplined in any way Daddy desired…
Just the thought made my panties wet.
I’m just going to look at him one more time before I go to bed.
Archie meowed as if to say, “That’s what you said the last time and you ended up scrolling through his pics until 1:30 a.m.; almost slept through your alarm the next day.” He had a point.
The one man who commanded my attention on FetLife had me so fixated that it had taken me forever to make the first move and private message him a picture of me.
There he was. My daddy.
Okay, I knew it was whackadoo. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight I had no business obsessing over pictures of some dude whose face I couldn’t see.
Was it the way he wore his black suit, a white pocket hanky neatly folded in the pocket; the powerful way he crossed his arms over the tie resting on his chest?
Maybe the small section of his hair against his collar, streaked in silver, at the top of the photo was responsible for my fascination. Clearly he was much older than me. Just what I was looking for since any experience with men my age had been so disappointing thus far.
I had dated my fair share of local cowboys and dairymen my age, but never found anyone that left me gasping, with my heart pounding in my chest.
I clicked on the next photo. It left me breathless: the prominent veins on the back of his hands told me that passion pulsed through his blood.
Spank me, Daddy, I’ve been a naughty girl.
“You make up stories in your head, Belinda. You always have. But now that you’re grown up, you’ll have to face the fact that real life isn’t like a fairy tale.” My mama loved me and her words still lingered.
She had worried about me and didn’t want to see me getting hurt like the infamous catfishing fiasco. I had woven a pretty web out of my fantasies, believing that Burt, the virtual love of my life, was going to make my dreams come true after meeting “him” on Facebook.
He was sophisticated, worldly, and well read. So unlike the farm boy locals I had frolicked with so far.
As it turned out, Burt happened to be a 45-year-old lesbian from Ohio. Not that I had anything against the fairer sex, I just didn’t swing that way. And Burt and I were planning our wedding as a heterosexual couple before I even met “him” in person.
Of course, I did have my suspicions when he would never talk on the phone or FaceTime, but when he said he was coming to meet me in person; I suspended disbelief for the hopes of finally meeting someone I honestly believed to be my soul mate.
Burt told me every day what a good girl I was.
I had to hand it to her though, at least when the time came, she had the ovaries to show up in Briarville and admit to what she had done. I about peed on the bench seat of the Pinup Paradise Diner when the woman with nicely drawn, arching brows, a pixie cut with platinum bangs swooped over one eye, and a leopard print scarf tied around her neck, sat down, reached her delicate hand across the table and said, “Hi Belinda, I’m Burt.”
That’s why it took me so long to muster the courage to finally message this daddy obsession of mine on FetLife.
One single private pic had been sent. Now let the chips fall where they may. I didn’t want the object of my desire to prove fake again. First of all, he was such a dream come true in my mind; I never wanted to wake up. And secondly, I wasn’t sure my heart would survive it if I did.
My inner hussy perked up.
Heart? Who are you kidding. It’s your hootie hole that’s involved here, missy. Plain and simple.
Okay, she had a point.
I took Archie into the kitchen, grabbed him a can of tuna from the cupboard, and shut my bedroom door so as not to insult his refined sensibilities when I played with my favorite toy.
Lying back against the stack of pillows propped against my velvet-tufted headboard, I clicked on my favorite photo of daddy so that I could enter fantasyland. The one where he sat on the bed, fully clothed in a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoo of a barely clad girl sitting on a book stack.
His black tie, black suit vest, and slacks matched the mood in the photo. He was the epitome of my sexual dream come true.
Although his face wasn’t showing, I knew this much older gentleman was waiting for me to strip down to my Knitty Kitty bra and shorts. He would pat his knee as an indication I should drape myself across his knee. I could hear him say, “Come, lay across my lap, kitten.”
The tale I told myself, ended with him commanding, “Ask daddy before you come. I want to hear you plead with me.”
I switched my vibrator onto the strongest speed and bowed to the sensation as I screamed, “Yes, Daddy! I’m coming for you.”
Turning out the light and hugging my pillow, I imagined myself settling into his embrace.
Far better to keep things virtual like this.
Tucked far away from here, off in the dreamt up fantasies of my imagination or on the distant retreat of a digital screen.
Trusting people in person was another matter altogether, and one I had about as much chance of achieving as a wax cat surviving in Hell.
CHAPTER 2, ARTHUR:
Two thoughts. I didn’t plan on chasing after her like a crazed schoolboy, and I was way too old to be consumed with thoughts of fucking.
Nevertheless, the more mature I got, the more I realized that the expectations about how life should go rarely came to fruition.
Case in point, here I sat in my private office, my heavy desk chair creaked as I rocked backward thinking about having more money than I knew what to do with, and no one to spend it on. No wife. No children. No pet. Consumed with lust for a stranger I’d seen once at a wedding.
Women were not on short supply for an eligible, affluent bachelor, and I enjoyed funding a wardrobe, a piece of jewelry, or even paying rent for a current conquest.
But that’s all it ever was. Subjugation on my part, acquiescence on hers. A game of servitude and reward that left me constantly searching for more than just a transaction.
I was old enough to know better, but still I longed for someone who was my whole world. Someone I could devote my heart to.
The sun spilled over my leather topped desk, and I rose to close the blinds on its intrusion. This was peak work time; no trials today, and I preferred to review and compile legal proceedings when I was still fresh in the morning. A handful of hours is all I put in each day, for a very select few clients.
I wasn’t in this for the money at this stage of my career.
The view out my window jolted me from my thoughts. Her stride was completely foreign, yet oddly familiar. Walking toward me on the opposite side of the street, her jaw angled skyward as she looked up at the green birds, wings flickering in the trees as they greedily hopped from branch to branch, gorging on dried berries.
The second thing I saw was her unapologetic adornment of color, and the stylish corduroy skirt, her hands shoved jauntily in the pockets, juxtaposed in an intriguing way with the auburn ponytails fastened behind her ears and the nerdy black plastic glasses she wore.
Shoving the drapes to the side, I was frozen in place, not knowing whether to race down and catch her, or stay where I was so she didn’t leave my sight.
Her lipstick was tangerine pink — I could see it from my stalker-post way above. Her woman-soft body, all curves and candy to my male mind, had me pinned in place as she strolled down the sidewalk.
She walked in fits of stops and starts, as if having an internal conversation with herself that challenged her progress down the sidewalk.
I held my breath and she startled me by jerking her head up toward my window and locking her eyes on mine, whether real…or just the imaginings of an undersexed male mind, there was slim chance she could make out my silhouette from her vantage point.
My response to her bordered on ridiculous. Fifty-six years old was far too mature for love — or even lust — at first sight. Regardless, ever since seeing her for the first and only time at the Rossetti and Garcia wedding, she was all I thought about.
I even shut down any in-person encounters from FetLife. In the deprived, sexual state I had lived in these past couple months, I was taken over by an animal hunger.
Like a teenager. I feared that if I ever did see her in person, my overwhelming need to make her obey would blot out all reason and scare her off.
I decided to take a chance. This was a sign, seeing her again. The heat settled in my groin, imagining her body warm and soft against mine. I needed to find out if her reality lived up to the fantasies I had about her.
She ducked into the Daily Grind coffee shop and I quickly threw on my blazer.
Who knew if she shared or would even consider my very particular proclivities. One thing was certain; I had to find out.
I felt the rightness of it in my gut as I flew down the stairs to street level, the smell of Murphy’s oil soap and ancient wood rising underfoot.
The disadvantage of being way older than her was an obstacle enough, let alone the impediment of walking around with a thick brick in my trousers just because she made me a slave to biological need.
I had one chance to introduce myself and hope to heaven she didn’t notice that just looking at her made me rock hard and ready.
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