FOR DADDY’S EYES ONLY!

I remember how shocked I was when Olivia, my best friend from college, told me her Uncle and Godfather was Charles Davenport. When I asked for pictures of what he looked like, she said she didn't have one because her uncle barely took pictures and didn't want people to know he was the face behind the brand. As much as I saw the juicy potential and traffic that would amount to being the first blogger to publish never-before-seen photos of Charles Davenport, I had to respect his decision to remain private. I have mingled with Olivia ever since, we have both attended several VIP cocktail parties over the years courtesy of her uncle's influence, he was never around, the few times I hung out with her, and I’ve always admired the effortless admission into those gatherings when we presented our exclusive invitations signed by Charles Davenport, I would always wonder what he looked like, how a faceless person could be so influential, I imagined that he carries himself with utmost prid

I sipped the Earl Grey slowly, letting the warmth calm my nerves. Charles had settled across from me at the long neatly cleaned counter, his sleeves pushed up, a faint crease between his brows. He looked more relaxed now, less like the elusive fashion icon and more like a man who enjoyed good tea and even better company. “This blend,” I said, cradling the cup, “it’s perfect. Subtle, but strong. Like your designs, actually.” His mouth twitched with a small smile. “You see connections in everything, don’t you?” I shrugged, embarrassed but pleased. “It’s just how my brain works. I guess it’s the storyteller in me.” “You’ve got a rare gift,” he said, setting his cup down gently. “You don’t just write—you feel. That’s what made me agree to this as I have been reading your blogs since my niece told me about you.” His words caught me off guard. Yes Daddy, fuck me already.I wasn’t used to such direct praise, especially not from someone like him. For a moment, I just stared into my tea

For weeks, Charles and I stayed in touch and whenever I brought up the idea of coming, he would wave it off, citing one excuse or the other. But I did not get offended. I had no reasons to be. The truth is that he was a very busy man so I tried my best to make assumptions off my head. Olivia kept asking for tea on the brief conversation with her uncle and I kept posting her, I told her the article was still in the works. I guess she ate that up while I waited for her uncle to message me. Then the day came for us to meet. I wasn’t doing anything that day, my schedule was free and Olivia was out of town. Charles sent his chauffeur to come pick me, it felt as though he intentional chose the day of olivia’s absence to invite me and that got me feeling very wet in my rose bud. I hoped that was the case. Here’s a rewritten version in simple British English, from the perspective of a straight woman: When I arrived at his place. He was very receptive. Very welcoming.

It felt as though I was reliving a dream, I was curled up in this man's arms. I watched closely as he took a generous sip of his wine, and then he pulled me onto his lap. Bringing his lips to mine, he gradually shared the drink with me, directly from his mouth and then sucked the softness of my lips into his warm mouth. We carried on like this, I did not know how long, I was too engrossed in the act that I did not give a damn about the time that swept by, so we continued in that motion until the bottle was half empty, and by then, I was floating on cloud nine. His hands were gliding over my shoulders, collarbones, and scooping my breasts when, all of a sudden, he playfully tipped me onto the couch. "You are such a naughty girl", he said, smacking my face and spreading my legs. I landed on my back with a soft huff, feeling him settle on top of me. Using the palms of his hands, he began to work on my breast and then moved down my stomach. After days of dreaming for this moment and h

The world around me faded at the sharp sense of pain that shot through my bloodstream all the way to my brain. I could sense the flesh of my vagina rudely giving way to his incalcitrant penis. Clothes slipped away, as did the walls we’d built. His body against mine was warm as he grounded deep inside. We moved like people who’d been holding back for far too long, every breath shared, every touch sent an electric shockwaves across my spine. I want to push him off me but he held me and fucked me. “Fucking take this dick, you wanted it” he yelled at my stubborn pussy refusing to path ways. It was as though the more I tried to push back for comfort, the more he pressed himself further and I was grateful that he knew what I wanted, to be a property of his desire and not the other way around. He ran his hand along my waist, his voice low in my ear as he continued to pound me. “I tried to stop wanting you.” “So did I,” I whispered. “But you’re… impossible.” He chuckled, but it