Dietrich
With a deep satisfaction, I watch as Hannah scurries away into the bedroom, her round ass jiggling as she goes. I click the remote and listen to her yelp as the plug pulses inside her ass which gives me an oddly warm feeling of satisfaction.
I’m with you even when I’m not, baby.
I can’t wait to see her in that dress. I picked it out myself and paid double the price to make sure they altered it to fit her exact measurements.
I’m salivating at the thought of it, shredded and strewn across the bedroom floor.
Hannah may think this is only for the weekend, and I’m not going to spoil that fun. I like the idea of a time limit, of having to cram a lifetime into a couple of days. But the truth is, I can’t let her go. Not on Monday and not ever.
She’s mine, now and forever.
My phone vibrates and I pull it out on a huff, gritting my teeth. It’s fucking Denny. I walk toward the window where my bag is sitting on a chair and answer.
“What?”
“H-Hi, Hawk. I’m just calling to see how things are going.”
“They are going fine.”
He stammers and mutters something I don’t bother to decipher. Then he clears his throat and tries again. “It’s just… I really want to make sure that she’s doing a good job. That you’re happy with her. And… and of course that she’s alright.”
“She still has a phone, Denny. You can check in to see how she’s doing. If she’s not answering you, then I take it she’s busy or doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s not a hostage here.”
Well, if she tries to leave she will be, but he doesn’t need to know that. Denny sighs and starts again as I groan.
“I just want to be sure—” he stutters.
It’s annoying the fuck out of me. I abhor weakness.
“Just say what you need to say.” I step toward the bedroom, easing open the door a few inches, noting the four posts on the bed.
Perfect for tying Hannah up while I convince my sweet daughter that Daddy has needs.
“Just—” He’s still fucking talking and saying nothing.
The bedding will need to go. I want white sheets only. When I tear into that cherry of hers, I’m sure there will be blood and I’m going to cut out that evidence of the moment I make her mine and carry it around in my pocket for the rest of my fucking life.
The moment I claimed my daughter as my own.
Fatherhood is beginning to grow on me.
Maybe I was cut out for being a dad…except what I have in mind involves a lot of deep dicking and teaching my little princess what good girls do in the night when Daddy comes in to read them their bedtime story.
I’m a filthy fucker. Sweet Hannah is corrupting me with her pink cheeks and her freckles. That’s a turn of events I never imagined.
Denny’s verbal diarrhea streams through the phone. “I need that money. There. I said it. If I need to call Hannah and give her some feedback from you, you know, dad to daughter sort of straight talk, no punches pulled, I’ll do it. She needs to perform for you.”
Fuck yes, she’s going to perform. In ways you might not like. But, who knows, you are a fucktard so maybe you wouldn’t care that I’m planning on taking that virgin purity of hers and turning it into Daddy’s own cum sucking sex toy tonight, and banging a baby into her so she can never get away.
That sound good there Daddy-o?
As for straight talk, if any Daddy is going to give her a talking to, it’s going to be me.
“She’s fine,” I say, tapping the red circle and ending the call.
He’s in deep with someone. But, for the moment, I tuck that away and focus on my priorities.
Getting the Zeneli fucks settled so I can find a life that won’t put hers in danger.
Fucking my bride to be.
But, not necessarily in that order.
The bedroom is opulent in an oppressive way. Everything is perfectly in place. It’s gold leaf and polished burl wood and century-old Turkish rugs.
It’s so fucking contrived it’s boring me to fucking death. The door to the bathroom is closed and I wander back into the sitting area to stop myself from going in there and deep dicking her for the remainder of the weekend.
Pressure builds behind my ear drums as the newness of what Hannah is creating inside of me turns to frustration.
I pick up an antique enameled porcelain vase, stuffed with fresh-cut white roses, and throw it against the wall.
The shattering of the porcelain feels like I’ve opened a window and the rush of spring air is swirling around my face.
There.
Nothing in the world is perfect and people that try to make it look that way are only trying to hide the level ten chaos and insecurity going on inside them.
I like a little chaos. I like broken pieces. I like to take impossible tasks and try to figure out how to make them happen.
I walk over and pick up the shattered porcelain. I place each piece on the top of the table from where it came, laying them out in a pattern of my own that is more pleasing than the original form. The roses go among the destruction, then I step back and admire the beauty of what I’ve made.
The soft sound of the shower coming on has my dick hard as stone. A fury builds in my gut as I think of the water coursing down her body. Touching what’s mine without my permission.
I’m fucking pissed.
At water.
My fingers curl into fists as every thought is of what I would do if I was in there with her.
I would do it, but I know myself. The next time I touch her, it will be the full Monty.
We will need more time than we’d have right now, so I’ll just suffer my blue balls and get the necessaries out of the way so I can buy back my life and make one with her.
I distract myself by pouring a dram of whiskey from the decanter on the sideboard and cross to the window, staring out at the clear horizon, imagining this new possible future with a girl I barely know.
My pretend daughter. The vision is as clear as it is confusing. We’re standing on the balcony of a villa overlooking a sea as clear and blue as the sky is today. The breeze catches her hair, tossing those blonde curls across her face and fluttering her white dress. It’s so fucking simple.
A tightness gathers in my chest that’s a tangle of hope and fear. I’m losing the Dietrich I’ve built for the last thirty years. The indifference I’ve honed and crafted is shattering like that vase. What’s being rebuilt in its place, I’m not sure, but I do know I want to re-build it with Hannah.
A life. Together.
If this deal comes off the way I hope, it will leave me free.
The millions I have squirreled away will be enough to build the home of her dreams, with rooms for all the children I’ll fuck into her.
I already have the house. Far, far away from here.
All it needs is final signatures for the rebuilding work that’s needed.
But it would never have been a home. Not without her. And now it will be our home.
If she wants to be an actress, I’ll manage her. Be by her side so no one fucks with her. Because that business is as filthy as any and I’ll stop the heartbeat of anyone that thinks they can screw with what’s mine.
Get a hold of yourself, I tell my silent reflection in the window. You’ve spent a handful of hours together and you’re ready to buy the farm with this girl.
I let the warm liquid burn down my throat, then set the empty glass aside and psych myself up for an evening of frustration as I watch her, knowing we’re playing these parts. The stakes have multiplied. I have to make this work. I need my freedom.
Hold on to Dietrich Belotti just a little longer. This is business.
I take a deep breath, distracted by the steel-hard erection pressing against the seams of my underwear. I wait until the shower is off, keeping my polite position by the window until I can’t stand it another second.
I stomp to the door, rapping my knuckles twice. “I want to see my little girl in that dress. I’m getting impatient.”
“Okay, just a second,” she answers.
I could barrel in. But I want a whole visual moment of her going from little girl to pretty woman.
The anticipation sends a jolt of excitement through my already stiff cock as I wait, wondering what I’d do if I walked in on her right now.
Fuck the charity, fuck the guests, fuck Margaret.
Well, not really fuck Margaret. I’d rather my dick fell off.
Eventually the door opens and Hannah’s decadent teenage body stands in the doorway.
Her eyes linger on my crotch before snapping to my face. It's only now, in the fading light from the large window, I notice the faint ring of gold around her brown irises.
And just as I suspected, the dress I bought for her looks as though it were tailored with her in the room. It’s satin, with an elegant v-neckline and thin straps over her shoulders, and it hugs every gentle curve before falling from her thighs downward.
She’s offset the light purple with a plum lipstick that begs to be smeared across her blushing cheeks, sullied by my cock pressing into the depths of her velvety throat.
I look past her into the room at the bed, and grip the door frame with restraint as I fight every instinct within me not to push her onto it and fuck her.
“Ready, babygirl?” I grit out, letting a glimmer of flirtation slip into my voice as I offer her my arm.
“Yes, Daddy,” she fires back without missing a beat.
I reach into my jacket pocket and click the button on the remote pen, inflating the plug for a second and watching her body tense as her plump lips fall open.
“Don’t forget, I’m always inside you.”
She shakes her head on a grin as we make our way out of the suite and toward the stairs. From below, the rumbling sounds of a party coming to life drift upward. As we saunter into the forming crowds, I take in the angel next to me. She’s breathtaking.
She deserves a life of luxury.
I can make that happen for her. If she’ll let me.
A waiter stands in front of us, holding a tray of crystal champagne flutes bubbling with golden liquid.
“Champagne?” he asks with a bow of his head, but I catch the way his eyes dance down Hannah’s curves.
She doesn’t notice. But I do. Fucker.
“Can I?” Hannah asks, deferring to me. It lights up parts of me long frozen in darkness.