Bend Me Daddy

SOPHIA

"I don't understand why I still have to go to these boring events now

that I'm eighteen."

My mom shoots me an angry look and pushes me back into the dressing room, handing me an armful of new dresses to try before shutting the door on my pouty face.

"Most young women would kill to be invited to the places you get to go for your dad's work," she shouts through the door as if there's a foot of brick between us instead of a flimsy door that doesn't even reach the ground.

I tune her complaining out and turn to the stack of evening gowns. I know I sound like a spoiled brat, but they've been dragging me to these damn functions since I was old enough to smile and keep my mouth shut. Having a dad in politics is not a fate I would wish on anyone. Everyone always watches everything you do, and you're constantly surrounded by rich jackasses who can't do anything except lie and look at you like they're secretly undressing you in their minds. I always leave these ridiculous mansions feeling like I need a shower or a restraining order.

Looking at the dresses, I don't even bother trying on several of them. They look like some old lady went crazy with the bedazzle gun. Not my style, Mom. I'm no longer twelve, and you can't dress me like some damn little pageant girl. I stop when I get to the last one. It's black and has cutouts on either side and a long slit up the leg. This is more like it, I think as I quickly strip and try it on. It hugs me like a second skin and makes me feel sexy as fuck. This is going to look amazing in a pair of black stilettos. I turn, noticing the way the back is mostly open, revealing a shit ton of skin and making my round ass look perfect. I know this is going to earn me a bunch of old-man, lecherous stares, but I love how the dress makes me feel, sophisticated and sexy and like a real adult. Besides, fuck them. Am I not supposed to dress how I want just because they're a bunch of pervs?

I do another twirl in front of the mirror and smile. The fabric clings to my tits, making my rock-hard nipples painfully obvious. Maybe this function won't be as bad as all the others after all. At least I'll look good. I change back into my clothes and hand my mom the black gown when I step out.

"This is the one I want."

Her brow crinkles as she eyes it. "I didn't pick that one out. The sales lady must've added it by mistake. Are you sure you don't want something in a more cheerful color, maybe pink or purple?"

I bite back the groan I want to give and force another smile. "Nope. This one looks great. Thanks, Mom," I add, gently pushing her to the counter so we can pay and get the hell out of there. She eyes the gown again, so I say, "Mom, we need to get back home so we have time to get ready."

That pushes her ass in gear. The event isn't for another five hours, but I know how much she hates being rushed. "Okay," she says, already reaching for my dad's platinum card.

When we're back home, I grab my bags and rush to my room. Shutting the door, I sprawl on my bed and grab my e-reader. Plenty of time for me to read a couple of smutty shorts before I have to get ready. These stories are what keep me going, and they're certainly the only sex I've been getting.

Okay, okay, the only sex I've ever gotten.

Whatever, my book boyfriends are fucking hot. Who needs some groping teenage boy who doesn't know what the fuck he's doing when I can read and fantasize about sexy, older men who know exactly what to do with a pussy, and I'm not talking about older, decrepit, soft-bodied men. I'm talking about the ones with rugged good looks, broad shoulders, the type of hard body a man gets from decades of living and working hard, and skilled hands who know a woman's pussy even better than she does.

Maybe men like that don't even exist outside of books. It's a depressing thought, so I push it aside and start reading. It doesn't take long before my panties are soaked, and I'm slipping a hand into them and cupping my sopping wet pussy. I stay on my stomach, reading as I grind against the meaty part of my palm, my clit so achy I can barely stand it. My hips rock gently as I tease myself, reveling in the I'm seconds away from cumming sensation that I love so much. I'm so engrossed in what I'm doing that when my mom bangs on my door, I let out a startled yelp and quickly bury my e-reader under my pillow.

"Yeah?" I say, hoping she doesn't notice how breathless I sound. "I hope you're almost ready, dear. We need to leave in an hour."

Holy shit! How could I have let myself lose track of time like this?

"I'll be ready," I shout, biting back a frustrated groan and sliding my soaked hand out of my panties before jumping up and running to the shower. My pussy is screaming at me, but there's no time for that now. Besides, if I'm being honest, I like the way my little cunt is throbbing with need. It makes every movement feel so damn delicious like the smallest movement could push me over the edge. Even though I'm in a rush, I take the time to shave, wanting to look and feel my best in my new dress. When I'm smooth and clean, I wrap myself in a fluffy robe and work on my hair and face before slipping into the scandalous gown and heels.

My heart is racing when I step out of my bedroom, knowing my parents probably won't approve. I'm eighteen now, I remind myself. That may not have been enough to get me out of this function, but I can at least dress myself, damn it. My mom arches a sculpted brow when I walk into the living room.

"I don't think so," she immediately says, her eyes running over me in a slow sweep, no doubt searching for sequins and coming up short.

"Don't you look nice," my dad says, walking into the room in one of his black tuxes.

"She can't wear that," my mom says, walking up to fix his bowtie.

My dad looks me over like he doesn't understand the problem. "Don't be silly, honey. She looks beautiful, and this is a great opportunity for Sophia to make some connections and possibly get a job offer."

My mom's eyes light up at his words. They both turn their eyes to me like all their future hopes and dreams are riding on my shoulders.

Before I can protest, my dad says, "We have to go or we're going to be late. You know how much the Colfaxes hate tardiness."

That snaps my mom into action. Heaven forbid we keep the fucking Colfaxes waiting. They've donated tons of money to my dad's campaigns, and my parents gush over them to an embarrassing degree. We walk out together to the waiting limo and head to the even ritzier neighborhood on the other side of town. I look out the window and watch the mansions pass by, thinking about what a load of shit all this is. All these fake people living inside their massive houses are all just for show anyway. I mean, even my parents are full of shit. My dad has cheated on my mom so many times I've lost count. Doesn't matter, though. All that matters is that it's kept on the down low and that he never files for divorce. I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure my mom is cheating, too. Why else would she care so little about my dad banging every blonde he can get his hands on?

When the car pulls into the circular drive of the biggest house around, I wait for the door to open before stepping out and looking up at the mansion in front of me. Wow, compensate much? I almost start laughing but manage to bite it back. Now is not the time for inappropriate penis jokes. Now is the time for me to behave and be the good little girl that I am. Nothing but smiles and silence, just like all these men like their women.

We step inside and go through the customary greeting bullshit of fake smiles and oh, it's so good to see you again! comments. Mr. Colfax is staring at me with pale blue, watery eyes and I start to regret my dress decision, especially when he places a hand on my back and caresses my bare skin with his old man thumb as he guides me further inside. I let out a sigh of relief when his wife waves him back over.

Before he goes, he leans in and whispers, "Don't go disappearing on me, Sophia. Now that you're eighteen, I'd like to talk to you about a business opportunity." He pauses and gives me a pervy grin that has me almost cringing. "A very lucrative one."

He doesn't wait for a response, just turns and gives his wife a too-wide grin as he walks back to her. Gross! I've heard rumors that he likes to hire young women to work for him and that it's an absolute nightmare for those poor girls. He harasses them every day until he wears them down and they finally give in. No way in hell am I working for that sleazebag.

I glance around at the full room and notice that my parents are deep in conversation with two other couples. I highly doubt I'll be missed in this large of a group, so as discreetly as I can, I slip down the hall. I don't know where I'm going. I just know I need to get away. After traveling up one staircase and down several different hallways, I stop when I hear a soft rustling sound.

Curious, I step closer to the closed door and press my ear against it. Someone's definitely in there. I can hear someone rummaging around. Not giving myself a chance to think, I grab onto the fancy doorknob and gently open the door. It takes a second for my brain to catch up and process what I'm seeing. There's a tall man in a black tux with very broad shoulders next to one of those standing jewelry boxes that I cannot imagine ever having enough jewelry to fill. He's opening drawers and deftly running his gloved fingers over the items, obviously looking for something in particular. When I let out a soft gasp, he jerked his head toward me, and I clapped my hand over my mouth when I see a pair of piercing green eyes stare at me from the black ski mask he's wearing.

"Fuck," he mutters before moving a lot quicker than I figured his large frame could move. His movements are graceful, though, and I can't help but think that he looks like a boxer, so strong and powerful but also graceful and fast. The most dangerous kind of predator, my mind screams at me.

He shuts the door and turns back to me. It's hard to tell with most of his face covered, but he looks pissed, like really fucking pissed. His green eyes are hard and his full lips are pressed in a tight line. This probably isn't the best time for my pussy to remind me that I never did get to cum earlier, but it happens all the same. I feel a warmth run through my body and a very familiar wetness between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? This is not the reaction I should be having to walking in on what is a burglary in progress.

When he doesn't say anything, just studies me with those intense eyes, I hold up my hands and give a nervous laugh. "Sorry. I'll just let myself out and pretend I didn't see anything, and you can go back to doing whatever the hell you were doing that I'm certainly not paying any attention to."

The silence stretches between us, and for some ungodly reason, I feel like I need to fill it.

"I mean, these people are so fucking rich anyway, right? And Mr. Colfax is a complete pervert and deserves every nasty thing he gets."

He turns his head slightly like he can't quite figure out what in the hell is going on or what he should do with me. Me walking in on his heist had not been in the plans for tonight. We stand there staring at one another when the sound of footsteps coming down the hall has my heart nearly jumping right out of my damn chest. I turn back to the thief and take an unconscious step towards him.

His eyes widen, and I'm honestly just as confused as he is. Why am I instinctively getting closer to the bad guy, looking to him for protection and safety? Shouldn't I be screaming and running for help?

I shove that all aside and figure I'll unpack it at a future therapy session. He grabs onto my arm and pulls me closer so my body is pressed firmly against the wall of muscle that's towering over me.

"You should have run away when you had the chance," he says, and I can't help but notice how deep and sexy his voice is.

He quickly drags me over to the jewelry box and carefully shuts the doors so nothing looks out of place and then drags me to the huge walk-in closet off the bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack so he can see out.

I let out a small gasp when Mr. Colfax walked in, a drink in one hand and his cell phone in the other. The thief shoots me a warning look and pulls me back against him so his chest is pressed against my back and his gloved hand is covering my mouth. He presses his lips against my ear and whispers, "Quiet, Sophia. Not a fucking word," sending a spark down my spine and straight to my achy, swollen clit. God, I need to get out more.

I try to turn my head to ask him how in the hell he knows my name, but he tightens his grip on me, keeping me firmly in place. I thought his gloves were leather, but these are buttery soft and feel pretty damn amazing against my skin. My first question to this guy probably shouldn't be, Are your gloves made from lambskin? Followed by Would you mind rubbing them all over my body?

What kind of freak have I turned into? I blame it on my oversexed mind. My hormones have sent me around the bend. The thief is like a dark, powerful presence pressed up against me, and I can't help but notice how perfectly our bodies fit together. His face is still by mine. I can feel the slightly scratchy fabric of his ski mask against my skin and the heat of his breath on my neck. A moan escapes before I can stop it. His body tenses in surprise, but he's not near as surprised as I am when I feel the hard length of him digging into my ass. His arm is wrapped around my stomach, his hand gripping my waist, and thanks to the cutouts in my gown, he's touching bare skin. His fingers lightly stroke me, sending goosebumps all over my body.

I'm just about to beg him to fuck me when the sound of Mr. Colfax's voice drags me back to the present. "I know, baby. I'll call you when everyone leaves and you can come over."

The sight of this nasty, wrinkly perv is starting to kill my feel-good buzz. Things don't get better when I see Mrs. Colfax walk through the door.

"For fuck's sake," the thief whispers in my ear, and I almost laugh at how surreal this whole situation is.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Richard," she whispers at him with her hands on her bony hips. "Get off the phone with your whore. We have guests downstairs in case you've forgotten."

Holy shit, she knows about his cheating? I'm suddenly engrossed. It's like watching a soap opera with a sexy, mysterious man pressing his hard cock against my ass. I bet not many people get to say they've experienced that.

"Relax, Mildred. I told her she couldn't come over until after everyone's left."

Well, that settles that, Mildred.

Mildred lets out an angry scoff. "Well, maybe you can tear your eyes away from that little whore downstairs and pay some attention to the other more prominent guests. You're making a fool of yourself, dear. She's way too young for you."

"Sophia's eighteen now, and I've already told her I want to speak to her about a job. I'm sure once she realizes how much I'm willing to pay, she'll get over any hang-ups she has about the situation."

The thief and I both stiffen at the same time, well, aside from his cock and my nipples which have been stiff this entire time. I'm so disgusted by what I've just heard that I momentarily forget about how fucking wet I am.

"Well, fuck her on your own time, dear." Mildred walks over and looks in the mirror, patting her puffed-up, gray hair. "And make sure she signs the damn contract this time. We don't want another Sandra situation. That little bitch cost us a fortune."

She leaves without another word, and I'm too stunned to do anything except take slow, steady breaths through my nose and try not to hyperventilate. Sensing my anxiety, the thief relaxes the firm grip he has on my mouth ever so slightly.

"Want me to kill him?" he whispers in my ear, and I have the sudden urge to laugh. I don't know if he's joking or not, but the idea that the thief whom I met less than twenty minutes ago is willing to kill some rich dude to protect my honor is beyond bizarre.

I shake my head no and reach a hand down to rest on top of the one that's still gently caressing my skin, teasing me with those butter-soft gloves. Mr. Colfax stops to fidget with his appearance in the same mirror his wife just left. I'm silently willing him to get the fuck out because the thief is dipping one of his gloved fingers into my dress and making me feel a bit lightheaded.

When I let out a tiny moan, he presses his lips to my ear and gives my earlobe a soft suck before whispering, "Quiet, little one."

My heart is racing so fast, I'm sure he can feel it against his arm, and my breathing has sped up. I'm so wet, I can feel the slickness between my inner thighs, and the feel of his hard cock is slowly driving me insane. When he drags his fingers along my stomach and slides his whole hand into my dress from the cutout on the other side, I inhale a quick breath and grind my ass against him as his fingers trail down to my panties.

"You're not at all what I expected," he whispers in my ear, trailing his finger under my panties just the tiniest bit. "Do you want me to stop?"

I shake my head no and lean my head back against him as my eyes close and he slips his gloved hand into my panties. Fuck, this feels all kinds of wrong getting finger-banged by the sexy thief while hiding in the closet with Mr. Colfax less than ten feet away. I've never been touched by a man before, and my knees almost buckle and give out when he traces the tip of a gloved finger along my wet slit. God, the soft leather feels so fucking good, and it's taking all my willpower to not moan and give away our hiding place.

He presses the pad of one finger against my clit and starts to rub me in slow, teasing circles. I don't think he has any idea how close I am to cumming with a scream that will probably give old Mr. Colfax a fucking heart attack. I turn my head so I can meet his eyes, and the heat in them nearly tips me over the edge. God, his eyes are gorgeous. I'm curious to see what the rest of his face looks like, but there's no denying how much it turns me on to not know.

His lips curl up in a wicked, smug grin as he tightens his fingers around my mouth in warning. "Most girls would have taken one look at me and run off screaming, but not you." He leans closer and kisses the tip of my nose, which feels insanely intimate considering he's been cupping my pussy for the last few minutes. "You just stood there and soaked your panties, didn't you?"

It's not like I can argue with him. The proof of it is all over his glove, and he'll see it as soon as he pulls his hand out. "Are you the little slut that Richard thinks you are?" I widen my eyes and shake my head no.

"You weren't planning on taking that job?" Before I can answer, he gives my clit a hard enough smack to make me wince and clamp my thighs closed. "Open," he says in a hard voice that sends a new rush of pleasure through me and has my thighs spreading of their own accord. "Tell me the truth, Sophia. Were you going to take it?"

"I shake my head no again," hoping he can see the truth in my eyes.

"So, you're a slut, but not his slut?"

I glare at him, making his lips curl up in a smile. "So feisty," he whispers, leaning in closer. "Okay, little girl, let's play a game. Don't cum until I tell you to. If you do, then you'll give our location away, and I'll probably have to kill poor, old Richard."

My eyes widen in shock. Surely, he's not serious. My eyes dart to Richard, who's still preening and scrolling through his cell phone, no doubt texting the poor girl who's been fucking him. He's an absolute speed, but I don't want his death on my hands. Besides, how hard can it be to resist cumming?