“Daddy, come!” she texted.
Thinking it was her usual morning booty-call text, I got up with my cup of coffee and sauntered into the bedroom.
This was not her usual booty-call.
She was on the bed, naked, legs spread, large glass dildo thrust as far as possible deep inside her, plunging rapidly in-and-out-in-and-out until finally she pulled it out all the way and squirted in a fountain-like surprise in the air.
Her breasts heaving deeply with each gasp for air, she finally said, “Holyfuckingshit, that was great!”
I blinked in amazement.
“I’m glad you made it just in time to catch the grand finale,” she added, winded.
“What the hell is going on?!”
“I’m sorry, Daddy, are you mad?”
“Well, I woke up. I had had a pretty graphic sex dream. I was getting a massage from Jonny Castle. . .”
“Well, not only him. It suddenly turned into a whole harem of men.”
“Well, did you ever have a dream so vivid that it really sticks with you in the morning?”
“Yeah, they’re called wet dreams.”
“Really?!” she asked, eyes wide open in excitement and curiosity, “Tell me!”
“Lo, I was joking.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed.
“Well, this was a wet dream, let me tell you.”
“And it just got wetter.”
“Yeah. I’ll clean it up,” she said apologetically.
“How did you manage to text me with all that going on?”
“I was hoping that you’d finish me off, but. . .” she paused and thought, “I lost control.”
“You still want me to finish you off. . . again?”
“I always want you, Daddy.”