Special Story Time

“Daddy! Daddy! It’s bed time. You know what that means, right?” My daughter looked at me so expectedly. “It’s time for my special bedtime story.” She stood on the bottom step, holding a book tightly to her chest, with her smiling face beaming at me, excitement bubbling up.

I was equally excited, but I had to play my part. “Oh, I don’t know, sweetie. Are you sure you aren’t getting too old for bedtime stories?” I said in my best fake-serious tone. “Most girls your age don’t want their daddy to read to them.”

She shook her head no, vigorously. “No, daddy. Not since my birthday when you gave me my first *special* story. I want special bedtime stories every night now.”

My wife laughed and told me, “This is your own fault. I told you she would get hooked. Now get your butt upstairs, and make it an amazing bedtime story. And you better not stop until she is completely conked out.”

Outnumbered and outgunned, I had to accept defeat. I stood up, kissed my wife, and followed my daughter upstairs. Despite my verbal complaint, I was also bursting with excitement for the story. I took a moment to enjoy the view of the thin thong peeking out from under her short nighty every time she took a step up. Her smooth thighs looked tantalizing, and I had to restrain myself from running my hands between them. My heart was racing just imagining how soft her-

“Are you coming, daddy?”

“What?” I asked, snapping out of my reverie.

My daughter stood waiting at the top of the stairs, one hand on her hip, her nearly see through nightgown riding up, this time putting the front of her thong in view, enticingly displaying every detail of her tight pu-

“I asked if you were coming, silly.”

I thought about responding with, “Not yet, but I’m getting real close,” but decided against it. Special bedtime stories were, well, special, and not a time for crude jokes. Instead, I simply nodded, and continued upstairs to make her story the best ever.

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Soon we were in position. We were snuggled in her oversized chair that gave us plenty of room for stories and snuggles. She sat with her legs on one arm of the chair, her upper body snug against my shoulder, and her round bottom grinding against my rigid cock every time she squirmed.

I opened the book to the story of the night. I began, “This is story of the Princess and the Pea…” As I read, she buried her face in my neck. She vaguely payed attention to the story, instead she gently kissed my neck. The softness of her lips moved up to my ear. Mischievously, she lightly bit the tender flesh below my ear, and electricity rand down my spine.