I have just started writing a new type of book, one I thought I never would or could work on. Age play has never been a favourite topic for me. Too many conflicting thoughts regarding the subject. The only age play book I have written is Little Princess. My other books have featured elements of it but I have never had the confidence to explore the needs and desires behind age play until now.
I have only written just over a thousand words of this story but I already know it is very different from anything else I have worked on and my writing style seems to have evolved. So much so I wanted to showcase it and get your thoughts. The idea may be cliche but I am finding out a lot about myself writing this book I have tried to hide and deny.
I am also undecided whether to release the story in series form or one book. I would love to hear your views.
Check out the excerpt from Daddy's Little Girl below.
Daddy’s Little Girl
I never expected to have these feelings or to love this way. They disturbed and enthralled me with their intensity and the love and acceptance I found for myself in expressing them. I did not choose them. They found me and moulded me in to everything I am today. There was no choice. They demanded my surrender and I felt compelled to give it without question and remorse. I am what I am now because of them, because of HIM.
HE made it easy of course. Just as he always does. HE saw all that I am beneath my camouflage and stripped me bare until I saw and accepted the truth, until I faced every fear. I am forever naked to HIM. There is nothing I can hide. We are interconnected, woven together through time and space. His thoughts are mine and my own are HIS. There is no other for me. I belong to him unconditionally, forever learning, forever loving, forever trusting. I am Daddy’s Little Girl.
HIS presence entered my life when I least expected it. Isn’t that always the way? Daddy came when I felt all hope was lost and I believed my life was a prison sentence that I would never escape from. When I no longer saw the windows on my home as clear unhindered portals to allow light and the outside world to flood in but with bars. They were now barriers reminding me of what I could not have. Freedom.
Everyone wants the best for their child. They will sacrifice all that they have, even their life no matter how many others find their actions insensible. My marriage was over but my duty to my child remained. Until she finished school and was able to move on with her life I would remain at the marital home pretending to be the dutiful wife with a husband who would not accept I would eventually leave despite my constant assertion. He could not understand why my love for him had died even though the evidence of the reason was plain for all to see. But he would never let go. Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he was too frightened of what would happen if he did.
It was one early Friday morning when I entered a restaurant serving breakfast and coffee to early morning shoppers. I’d decided I needed a break from writing that morning and I could afford the time for a change. As a nervous person it was no easy feat for me to accomplish. Sitting on my own I usually worry if anyone is watching me and I spend the rest of the time thinking how stupid I look. I know, crazy right? As if they could be bothered to watch me. But there it is. It just so happens that this time someone was doing.
I ordered my usual, a rich bean latte, eggs and mushrooms on toasted Italian bread. While I waited for my order I pretended to be preoccupied with my mobile phone. And then I felt it. Those dark eyes looking at me, boring in to my very soul.
The feeling of being watched was so strong it forced me to look up and seek out the threat. My eyes locked with black eyes. They belonged to a man younger than myself in age yet they bespoke a wisdom I had never attained. To say he was handsome would be an understatement and to do HIM a disservice. HE had thick black lustrous hair that shone under the light. It was cut short and businesslike just like the rest of him. HE wore an immaculate black suit. There was no doubt in my mind it was designer. His tie was silver and clearly silk and he wore large expensive Rolex watch. Everything about the man said money with a capital M.
HE sat at a large table in the corner surrounded by three men and two women in business suits. They were talking loudly in French amongst themselves and referring to two large plans they had stretched out across the table. The man was not paying them any attention. HE leaned back in his cream booth seat studying me closely with his arm and elbow resting on the table, exposing his crisp white shirt’s cuff and silver cufflink. The pose displayed his dominance and power to perfection. Although I was not fully aware of the reason for this strange feeling at the time I felt my whole body soften, ready to submit. Something drew me to his hands.
They were well manicured, large and enticingly masculine. For a moment I found myself imagining them caressing my body, my bare bottom in particular. I wanted to feel his smooth large palm caressing the soft delicate skin and circling his fingertips over it as though it belonged to him. Then I wanted to feel it slapping at my buttock making it jump and quiver as I cried out with the pain and the strange pleasure the action enforced in my mind. But it was nothing to the sudden image of me kneeling naked and submissive at his feet. The urge to be made to kneel before him was compelling and strong. I had never entertained such thoughts or images in my life. They made me angry, disturbed. I could not, would not feel subservient to a man. Iw as a feminist who ranted and raved not someone who knelt naked and pliant at a man’s feet welcoming his dominance and mastery in my world. Yet the gentle dampness between my thighs showed my betrayal of all that I believed I had become as a woman and told me otherwise.
The heat of a blush at my unexpected thoughts rose in my cheeks forcing me to turn away. My heart pounded with frustration and annoyance. But the magnetic pull of his eyes quickly drew me back to HIM. He smiled gently at me when my gaze returned to his face. There was triumph in his dark eyes as though he knew all of my damaging conflicting thoughts and I had a sensation of feeling captured by a clever hunter and caged. When I look back now I realize this was the very moment I became HIS.