#hrdyrds

You park your car and fumble your keys as you exit. You grab your things — a bag under your arm, a few groceries squeezed between the other, phone in your mouth. It’s a disorganised way to get into your places but you’re flustered and in a hurry; Daddy has ordered you for tonight. It’s a night, at least once a week, when Daddy says you are reserved and on call for his use.

Your exertion is evident from the sheer physical coordination you need to keep it all together while you unlock the door. You shuffle in the door, shut it with your foot, and drop your things hastily in the closet. Locking the door with one hand, you start to tidy with the other and work your way through the rest of your place quickly. It’s already tidy, but you always fuss to make sure Daddy is happy. Daddy likes it neat.

You set about getting yourself ready and strip quickly, dropping your day’s clothes into the basket, except your panties. You started lubricating when you saw the text hours ago, but it hasn’t stopped since, and now it’s only getting worse. Your panties are filthy. You know enough to set them aside; Daddy might need them for your mouth later and you’d prefer him not sorting through the rest of your old laundry to find it.

Hot shower, skincare, some makeup, hair, some lingerie you’re keen on showing off for Daddy, a little snack to keep up your energy, and then you sit and wait.

When Daddy shows up, he’ll only say a few words if he says any at all. You’ll know what Daddy wants and what you need to do. And, Daddy will take it from you. The thought of it makes you squeeze your thighs together. You’re well on your way to your first edge while you wait.

You edge thinking about the last time. Daddy left you dripping, messy. You struggled to walk in a straight line afterwards. Your legs just wouldn’t stop quivering. Walking unsteadily, you cleaned Daddy up and served him, anyway. Sometimes it’s some water. A snack. Sometimes he wants to hear about your day. He might tell you to keep touching yourself for him to watch. If he brought a friend - could be yours or his - he’d ask you to work on her for Daddy. That time, though, he just wanted to be quiet and stroked your hair while he watched you breathe. The thought of serving Daddy in all these ways is making you drip again.

At some point, Daddy would leave and you’d immediately be  eagerly anticipating the next time, like you are now. You. Wet. Mind fuzzy. Edging for Daddy. Struggling to stay composed so daddy can be the one to ruin you. Your ears strain. Are those footsteps? Your body suddenly convulses as an edge arrives in anticipation.

The door unlocks, and footsteps enter. You lock eyes with Daddy. His eyes scan the room, appraise your presentation. “Mmm, good girl,” he says, approvingly. He comes close, threads his fingers into your hair, grabs and tilts your head back so he can examine you closely. You can smell his scent. You lose your balance and grab at his thick arms for support. You feel your buttocks slide against the wetness you’ve made on the chair.

When daddy needs his cock warmed at the office, but you just can’t find the space, consider your mouth!