Call Me Daddy Read online

  Call Me Daddy

  Honey London

  Call Me Daddy

  Copyright © 2020 by Honey London

  Edited by Courtney Bassett

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  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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  The author has asserted her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book. The author can be reached at [email protected]

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  This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. It contains sex acts between consenting adults, and all characters represented within are eighteen years of age or older. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Call me Daddy

  Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Call me Daddy

  “Does that feel good, boy?”

  Was it supposed to? I looked at my watch. This guy had been biting my nipples for twenty-five minutes and I really needed to pee. And find a snack.

  I heard his throat clear.

  Shit. I could not afford to fuck this up again. “Yes, that feels so good…” Fucksnacks. What did he want me to call him? I reached for my notebook where I’d been jotting down perfect strangers’ wildest fantasies, and knocked over my glass, splashing soda all over everything covering my desk. I was using my wireless earbuds and the guy at the store had assured me my phone was waterproof up to ten million feet or something like that, but I grabbed it anyway before the sugary flood turned my phone into a mess harder to clean up than the last time I’d fallen asleep with it in my hand after jerking off. I probably should have saved my notebook instead, because it immediately turned into a brown, soggy trash book. I heard a sigh from my phone, but that concerned me less than what I didn’t hear at the moment… the wet slapping noise I’d been treated to for eight hours per day for the past week.

  The guy had stopped jerking off.

  I am so fired.

  I looked at the smudges of ink, frantically trying to find my note, peeling apart wet pages that dissolved in my fingers. Fucking fuckity. I was going to have to make a guess.

  “That feels so good,” I repeated, making my voice as breathy as I could since after four days of this I already sounded like a pack-a-day smoker. “Big boy,” I added, praying to the gods of sexual deviance that I chose correctly.

  “What did you just call me?”

  Whoops.

  “I mean…” Christ. I grasped at another straw. “Stud muffin?” There was a beat of silence before I tried again. “Pookie pie?”

  My phone gave three beeps then the black “call” screen disappeared and I was looking at my phone background – a photo of Andy and me at a frat party. Sadly, that meant that big-boy-stud-muffin-pookie-pie had hung up. It also meant that I was in big fucking trouble.

  I sent Andy a text.

  Um, I may have lost another one.

  I tried to mop up more of the carbonated catastrophe and waited for him to return my message, but instead his face showed up as an incoming call. Maybe I could pretend my phone was stolen by a pack of roving vampires in the time since I’d texted him two seconds ago.

  I sighed. He’d never believe that. We both knew vampires couldn’t survive in daylight.

  “Heeeeeey, buddy. How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit,” Andy rasped. “What do you mean you ‘lost another one’?”

  “You sound like shit, too. Shouldn’t you be resting or something?”

  “I was resting.” I waited while he coughed up at least one lung. “Then you told me you lost another one of my clients.”

  I groaned. “I told you I wasn’t going to be any good at this.”

  “I don’t need you to be good, Julian. I just need you to be moderately sexy.”

  “I am not sexy, Andy,” I protested, using the last of the tissues in the box to basically just smear soda everywhere.

  “Trust me, I am very aware of that fact.” Andy laughed and it brought on another fit of coughing.

  Rude. But not wrong. Andy was sexy. Andy was every Daddy’s wet dream, and he’d been doing this phone sex gig long enough that he was good at it. Like, really good. Like, paying off his student loans before he’s a senior citizen good.

  “Come on, J… it’s just one more day,” he croaked.

  “No, it isn’t! It’s the rest of today and all of tomorrow. That’s basically two days.”

  “You should only have one more call tonight. That’s not an entire day.”

  I failed to see the distinction.

  “Julian, please. You have to do this. I can’t afford to get fired.”

  “I don’t understand… why don’t you get sick days like everyone else in the entire world? People who work at Walmart get sick days.”

  “They also make minimum wage and have to wear ugly blue vests.”

  True.

  “I’ll go broke if I lose this job. My regulars count on me, and I know that if I’m not available, that dicksniffer Kyle will poach them faster than you can say ‘evil, gold-digging twink.’”

  “And, remind me why you can’t do this yourself? Remember Phoebe’s sick sexy voice? Everyone was all over that Smelly Cat.”

  Andy coughed and it ended with a very unsexy hacking sound.

  “Gross, dude.”

  “Look, I’ve been building this client base for years. If I lose it now, I won’t be able to go back to school in the fall.”

  I died. “What? NO! It’s our senior year.” The idea of going back to college in September without Andy was a tragedy directly on par with Kelly Ripa’s 2018 Oscar gown.

  “Well, that’s what’s going to happen if you lose all of my clients. Not everyone’s dad pays their college tuition. And room and board. And books. And snacks. And…”

  “Okay! Fine. I get it.” I couldn’t help it that my dad was amazing. He and my mom had divorced when I was in high school and I’d stayed with her until graduation. My dad had moved to California for work and I didn’t get a chance to see him much. Now that I was going to UCLA, I spent my summers with him. Andy was right. I knew I was incredibly lucky that he was able to take care of my school finances. I think he felt badly that he wasn’t as involved in my life as he’d wanted to be. My mom taught me to drive, came to my baseball games… I understood why he had to go, but I had missed him. For the past three years, he’d been trying to make it up to me, and I basically loved it. I had my dad back.

  “I’m just saying. Your dad is amazing. And, like, super fucking sexworthy.”

  “Can we have one conversation where you don’t remind me that you want to fuck my dad?” Andy had been lusting after my dad since he’d taken us both to Jamaica over Christmas break sophomore year.

  “Maybe.” I could hear Andy blowing his nose. “Like, if he was in a disfiguring accident or lost his penis, I’d probably only mention it like, every other conversation.”

  I glared at my phone. “Stop being a perv.”

  “I think you’d be happier if you could admit your dad is a fucking Hottie McDaddy.”
>
  That was never, ever, ever something I was ever going to admit… out loud. “Can we focus on the task at hand?”

  “Like your dad’s cock in my hand?”

  “Andrew!”

  Andy managed to chuckle without choking and I was moderately disappointed. Then he got all serious on me. “Look, Julian, you’re really saving my life here. I cannot afford to lose these clients.”

  I hoped Mr. Big-Boy-Stud-Muffin-Pookie-Pie hadn’t been a big spender.

  Andy sighed. “Please, please,” he sounded exhausted, “try your best, okay? I really need this. And it’s just one more day?”

  He was right. After almost four entire days of this, I figured I could handle anything. I wasn’t a prude, far from it, but trying to be sexy, trying to be what someone wanted me to be, was beyond tiring. These people were paying me for a service – well, technically they were paying Andy – and I wanted it to be good for them. I managed to fuck up anything that required more effort than moaning and “yes, sirs.” I just hated the idea that I was disappointing people.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.” I glanced at the time. “Shit. I should probably go. Duty calls.”

  “You know how much I appreciate this, right, J?”

  I did. Honestly, there was nothing I wouldn’t do to help Andy. I just wished I wasn’t constantly fucking it up.

  “I know. Love you.”

  I hung up and waited for my phone to indicate I had another client on the line. I took the mini break to center myself, breathing deeply. It honestly wasn’t a bad job. Some of the guys just wanted someone to talk to. Some of them had very specific fantasies they wanted me to act out. Honestly, it was kind of fun, if you ignored the fact that I was quite possibly the worst actor on the face of the planet. Even though some of the guys sounded hot and I was becoming more keenly aware of some kinks I didn’t know I had, I hadn’t really been able to let go. I could do this for another day. Andy’s last shift was tomorrow, then he had a few days already scheduled off. By the time his next shift came around, he’d be good as new.

  My phone chirped, letting me know I had another call, and I inhaled deeply. I channeled my inner Kardashian and tried to embody an air of confidence I didn’t possess.

  One more call. I can do this.

  With a hand that wasn’t as steady as I would have liked, I pressed the answer button.

  “Hello,” I said, thinking sexy thoughts. “How can I make your wildest fantasies co…” I apparently exuded so much sex appeal I choked on it, because my erotic opening was interrupted by a coughing fit.

  “Are you okay?”

  The voice coming through my wireless earbuds was warm and deep. Three words and this guy was sexier than I’d been all day. I reached for my glass before I realized it was empty. “I’m fine,” I choked out, frantically searching for something to swallow.

  “Are you sure?” Sexy voice was back, sweet and dark, and now containing a note of concern.

  “Totes,” I rasped, as my fingers wrapped around a Gatorade bottle with about two inches of red liquid at the bottom, in one of my desk drawers. When was the last time I’d even had Gatorade? I shuddered.

  “Should I let you go?”

  “No!” Baby Jesus on a Saltine, I would not fuck this up again. “Just give me a minute,” I managed to say. “Um, think sexy thoughts.” I knocked back the Gatorade, and managed to not vomit, though I’m sure the gagging sounds pouring out of me were enticing.

  He waited silently for a long moment while I gathered myself, and I cringed at the thought that he might be getting annoyed with me. If I were paying by the minute, I wouldn’t want to spend time listening to some college kid fail to get his life together and subsequently die from either choking on air or embarrassment.

  “Okay,” I said, finally. “Thanks for waiting.”

  “Of course.” His response was polite and immediate. “Are you feeling better now?”

  Well, I didn’t think I was going to die at that exact second, but I still had a zillion other concerns ranging from my complete lack of sex appeal to how exactly I would manage to fuck all of this up. I deepened my voice to my sexy lower register, the one that made my throat hurt. “Yes, much better, thank you, tigerface.” Tigerface? Christ. Could I be any worse at this?

  He didn’t seem fazed by the most random and least sexy pet name in the history of eternity. “What’s your name?”

  “Julian,” I said, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore all of my own stupidity.

  “Really?” He sounded surprised.

  Motherfucking shitsticks. I forgot I was supposed to say my name was Dick Longhard or Max Cockman or something, not use my real, boring name. “Um, I mean,” I rushed on, “it’s whatever you want it to be, hot…” I scrambled for a word, any word. “…dog.”

  Oh my fucking god. I just called him a hot dog.

  Kill me now.

  The caller chuckled, low and rumbly. “I think Julian is a good name.” The voice wound its way through me, snaking through my earbuds and making its way to my stomach, coating my insides with fire and honey. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I’d also thought that about seventeen other people this week. I was convinced a guy who wanted to listen to me eating a peach had been my seventh grade English teacher, but Andy just laughed at me. He said everyone sounded different because of the third-party calling system and because of the whole lust-filled sexy voice thing. That seemed legit. I’d been trying to use a sexy voice for a week but was pretty sure I sounded something like a cross between Bea Arthur and Morgan Freeman.

  The caller didn’t sound impatient or annoyed… but he didn’t sound particularly turned on either. I tried to think of something sexy to say, but he spoke first.

  “How was your day?”

  Oh. Maybe he just wanted to talk? I’d had a few of those, guys I imagined were just kind of lonely. I’d been happy to chat with them and kind of relieved that I didn’t have to keep up the Randy Humpsalot persona I’d never master in a million years.

  A twinge of something sat like a stone inside me. Was it… disappointment? Was I actually sad that I wasn’t going to have phone sex for the eleventh time that day?

  Mr. Hot Voice was getting to me. If he wanted chitchat, I’d give him sexy chitchat.

  “I’ve been lonely all day,” I tried to purr, which was way harder than I thought it’d be.

  “And why is that?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you, sugarbutt.” This was not getting better.

  There was a pause, and when the caller spoke again, his voice had changed slightly, the warm sound cooling rapidly. “I don’t think you’re telling me the truth, Julian.”

  Well, duh. Did anyone ever tell the truth when they were having phone sex? Earlier today I described my thirteen-inch cock in explicit detail, and we both knew that was #fakenews, but the caller had seemed fine with the illusion. Apparently, I just needed to be better at lying to Hot Voice, because the idea that I’d disappointed him was unpleasant.

  Okay. A better, sexier lie. I could do this. “My day was… a bit exhausting.” Why was I telling him the truth? Stick to the plan, Julian!

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Why?” The warmth was back, along with a bit of concern.

  A long breath escaped me, one I didn’t know I’d been holding. “This job is just… it can be challenging. I’m… I’m new at this.”

  Another chuckle. “I guessed.”

  He was laughing at me. “Because I’m awful, right?” My eyes were stinging. “Because I’m not sexy and you hate me. Oh my god, please don’t hang up.” It was official. Andy was going to be poor and he wouldn’t be able to go to school with me and everything was ruined because I was the worst.

  “Hey, hey… Julian.” Sexy Voice went all let me help you and that just made it even worse. He was paying me to let him comfort me. “Do me a favor. Take a deep breath for me, okay?”

  I wasn’t sure how focused breathing was going to unfuck my entire life, but I di
d as I was told.

  “Now hold it and count to ten.”

  I did, then audibly exhaled slowly.

  “Again.” He wasn’t asking for a favor this time. That tone was clearly a command… or at least command-adjacent. And why was that making me feel better?

  I let out another long breath and my world came into focus, some of my worry floating away. I didn’t understand why that had seemed to help, but I’d take it.

  “Good, Julian.” His praise covered me like a heavy blanket, protecting me from my panicky thoughts. “How do you feel?”

  “Better,” I breathed, and I did. Kind of… centered?

  “I’m glad.” Was it weird that I could hear his smile?

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He paused. “Would you like to end our call, Julian?”

  What? Oh my god, he did hate me.

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he said quickly, as though he could anticipate my impending meltdown. “You’ve said that you’re tired and I certainly understand that. I am enjoying our call, but I don’t want to push you.”

  Wow. Not something I would have expected someone to say to a person they were paying for heavy breathing and groans, and yet, I wasn’t surprised. Hot Voice was proving himself to be a perfect gentleman, he seemed to care about me, even if he didn’t, and fuck me if that wasn’t kind of a turn-on. “I would like to continue our conversation, please.” I took a deep breath. “I’m enjoying talking to you too.” And you sound really hot and nice and this call is already better than the last five dates I’ve gone on.

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  And I really believed he was. “So, you know my name, but I don’t know what to call you.” I was shocked to realize I was throwing a little pout into my voice with no effort at all. For once I wasn’t pretending to be sexy. I just felt sexy.