Chapter 9
Danny
I stir slowly, the kind of waking where reality filters in like sunlight through half-closed blinds. Except there’s no sunlight now. It’s very much nighttime.
My body feels heavy, relaxed in a way it hasn't been since... well, since before this whole job started. The couch is soft beneath me, Olivier's arm still draped loosely around my shoulders, a warm anchor.
I blink, adjusting to the dim light of the apartment.
The city skyline twinkles outside the massive windows, night fully settled in.
How long was I out?
My eyes focus on the TV screen across the room.
It's on, but silent—an old black and white movie playing out in mute gestures and dramatic expressions.
Looks like one of those classic film noirs, maybe Casablanca or something similar, with sharp-suited men and elegant women exchanging intense glances.
It’s a definite vibe, that’s for sure.
Olivier sits next to me, remote in hand, watching with quiet intensity. The volume's off, probably so he wouldn't wake me. That's thoughtful. It’s very Daddy-like.
Damn, Olivier’s what I’ve always dreamt of.
A soft smile creeps onto my face as I watch him, unaware I'm awake yet. His profile is strong, the silver in his beard catching the glow from the screen, making him look even more distinguished. He’s like a man who's seen life, conquered it, and now enjoys the quiet moments.
My mind drifts back to childhood—those rare nights when I'd sneak downstairs after bedtime, curling up on the old couch while my parents watched late-night movies. The black and white ones were my favorites. They felt magical, otherworldly.
I'd pretend to be asleep if they noticed, but really, I was soaking it all in—the stories, the romance, the way the shadows played. Staying up late felt like a secret adventure, a glimpse into grown-up world.
Except of course, I never really wanted to grow up.
Even as a grew taller, broader, and my voice deepened, I always longed for those days of sneaking a late night movie and feeling like an innocent child.
It doesn’t take a genius to work out that this is where the whole Little thing developed.
Maybe it was always inside me, waiting to get out.
Hey, I’ll save all that talk for a therapist one day though LOL.
Now, here I am, envisioning a future like that with Olivier. Us on this very couch, maybe with the volume low, sharing popcorn or just each other's warmth. Him explaining the plot twists, me leaning into him, Lexi between us.
Weekends where work doesn't pull us apart…
Olivier not buried in the kitchen till dawn, me not hauling across states. A life where distance isn't a barrier, where we build something real. It's a sweet dream, one that makes my chest ache with want.
But reality kicks me in the nuts once more.
Different cities, his crazy hours, my travel with the crew.
Still, in this moment, it feels possible.
Olivier shifts slightly, glancing down. His eyes soften when he sees I'm awake, and he reaches over, fingers gently stroking through my hair. His touch is tender, rhythmic, like petting a contented cat—or should that be dragon?
Warmth blooms inside me, spreading from my scalp down to my toes—a cozy, safe feeling that makes me want to burrow closer. No one's ever touched me like this, so casually affectionate, like it's the most natural thing.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Olivier murmurs, voice low and gravelly. "Welcome back."
I stretch a little, pacifier still in my mouth—wait, when did that happen?
Oh, right. Now I remember.
I pop it out, blushing.
"Sorry, Daddy,” I say, the D-word coming to me naturally. “I didn't mean to crash like that, ruin our evening."
Olivier chuckles softly, hand still in my hair.
"Ruined? Nothing could be further from the truth, boy,” Olivier chuckles warmly. “Watching you rest, peaceful like that... it was perfect. You needed it after your day." His eyes crinkle at the corners, full of that stern warmth I've come to crave. "Besides, the night is young…"
Relief floods me, mixing with that inner glow.
Olivier’s not mad, not even close. He's understanding. A Daddy through and through.
I sit up a bit, Lexi tumbling into my lap.
I'm still deep in Little space—floaty, needy, the world soft around the edges. The nap helped, but I'm not fully awake yet.
"Ummm... Daddy? Could Lexi and me have some warm milk? To help wakie-uppie time?"
I hold up my stuffie, giving him a little shake, my voice small and hopeful.
Olivier's lips twitch in amusement, but his gaze is fond.
"Warm milk to wake up? That'll just make you sleepier, darling boy." He pauses, then nods. "But no problem. Anything for you." He stands, stretching with a grace that is full of Daddy power too, and heads to the kitchen. "Stay put."
I prop myself up on pillows, watching him move.
The kitchen is a chef's dream—gleaming appliances, organized like a pro station. He patrols it with ease, pulling milk from the fridge, a saucepan from the rack.
Olivier pours the milk, heats it on the stove, stirs it methodically. He adds a dash of something—vanilla or honey maybe—testing the temperature with a pinky dip.
He’s so good.
So stylish.
So… hot.
It's mesmerizing, his focus, the way his sleeves roll up to reveal strong forearms. My mind wanders, unbidden, to that fantasy I've been harboring: Olivier in nothing but his chef's hat, body on display, commanding the space.
Those muscles flexing as he moves, that authoritative vibe turned seriously intimate.
Heat pools low in my belly, imagination running wilder—him turning to me, hat tilted, a wicked smile as he approaches with a bouncing, thick, hard as iron cock pointed directly toward me.
By the time Olivier returns with two mugs—one sippy for me, one regular for him—there's no hiding it. My jeans tent obviously, the outline of my dick straining against the denim.
I shift, embarrassed, but it's too late.
Olivier sets the mugs down, eyes flicking down, then back up with a raised brow.
"Well, well," he says, voice dropping to that commanding tone. "What's this? Explain, boy. What got you so worked up?"
I blush furiously, face burning as I fidget with Lexi's tail.
"I... um... was watching you in the kitchen. And it reminded me of this fantasy I had. About you... wearing nothing but a chef's hat. Cooking, or... something." The words stumble out, my voice small, eyes on the floor. "Sorry, Daddy. I couldn't help it."
Olivier sits closer, a low chuckle rumbling.
"Fantasy, hmm? Tell me more…" His hand lands on my thigh, firm, teasing the edge of the bulge. "Every detail."
I swallow, heat intensifying.
"Okay... in the dream, you're in the kitchen, hat on, nothing else. Your muscles are shining, moving like you own the place. You call me over, and... things happen." I glance up, mortified but aroused. "It's silly, but hot."
"Not silly," Olivier murmurs, leaning in. "Flattering. And now? We'll make it real."
Before I know what’s happening, Olivier is standing and stripping. I can see immediately that even my talk of the fantasy was enough to get him hard. The sight of his big Daddy dick springing up to attention is as spectacular as I could ever hope for.
“Strip boy,” Olivier commands. “I want you naked and on all fours in sixty-seconds flat. Got it?”
“Yes, Chef,” I giggle, doing exactly as I’m told and loving every second of it as I watch a naked Olivier prowl toward the hat stand in the corner of the apartment and place a chef’s hat on his head.
“For your first taster, you will kiss Daddy’s ass,” Olivier says, a wicked smile on his face as he takes some cream out from the refrigerator and dribbles it down his ass crack between his perfectly round buttocks.
“And I want to feel that tongue all the way between my creamy cheeks too or there will be trouble!”
I waste no time in crawling over toward Daddy and going up onto my knees as he presents his incredibly well sculpted ass for my mouth.
“Mmmm,” I giggle as the cream hits my tongue and I lap greedily over Olivier’s tight ass hole. “This tastes nice.”
“Deeper!” Olivier commands, holding his cheeks apart wider to allow me to work my tongue. “Pleasure your Daddy. Show him what a horny boy you are.”
I can tell that Olivier is appreciating my tongue work but there’s a Daddy edge to his voice that also tells me that unless I keep it up, I might be in trouble.
With my own cock throbbing, I press my face deeper into Olivier’s creamy ass and reach around and begin to work my hands up and down Daddy’s veiny, hard dick.
“Faster,” Olivier commands, pressing his butt back so that my tongue pushes deeper inside his ass. “Harder.”
I do just that until Olivier pulls away from me and turns to present my mouth with his raging hard-on.
“Now suck,” Olivier grunts, taking me by my ears and guiding me to the wide tip of his dick head.
The way that Olivier is in total command and using me like his plaything is just incredible. I feel safe with Olivier and I trust him. And that’s what makes this feel so great—I can relax and truly let him use me like this.
Before I know it, Olivier’s full eight inches are inside my mouth and I’m gagging and spluttering as we’re working together until I feel wave after wave of his pulsing cock’s cum shoot inside my mouth and down my throat.
“Fucccccck,” Olivier grunts, gripping my hair and squeezing his ass cheeks as he fully drains himself. “Boy… boy… boy. That was something.”
I giggle as Olivier pulls his cock out of my mouth and heads straight to the refrigerator. A few minutes ago he was prepping me a warm milk, but now it looks like a cool drink is very much on the agenda.
As Olivier cracks open a bottle of French lager and hands it to me, I lean back against the kitchen cupboards and jerk myself off to a quick and powerful climax.
Olivier watches on with a smile on his face and a look of pure satisfaction in his eyes as his satiated cock twitches.
A punishment, a snuggle nap, and now some Grade A sexy time.
Maybe I have found my Forever Daddy after all?
But there’s still one problem…