Anything He wants

DADDY WORKS A SKILLED TRADE

My stepdad hasn’t so much as glanced at me since we got in the truck.

He’s just been driving in silence, strangely focused on the road ahead of him.

Not like he’s the talkative kind. Especially with me. Especially with what I’ve done lately.

He’s been a hardass on me for most of our time together. It’s like he’s taken it upon himself to act like a real “father”, since I never had one. But I never asked him to, and it’s kind of fucked up that he’s even trying. It’s, like, where do you get off? I’m a grown woman. Yeah, I might have

dropped out of college, and yeah, I might not really be looking for a job at the moment. It’s kind of shitty. But I’m young, you know? It’s the time of life to go out partying and having fun. I have all the time in the world to do that other shit later.

Lately, though? Yeah, I’ve kind of been getting a little hardcore. God, it must’ve been the past few weeks I’ve been out drinking pretty much every day. One helluva night led to me getting a winged tattoo on my lower back, and a stud through my bellybutton. I was double trouble, no matter which way you were looking at me, from front to back.

It wasn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made. I mean, I could even say I regret it somewhat. But not really. It’s not like I destroyed my body, and that stuff is easy enough to hide anyway, or get rid of if I really want to. My stepdad, of course, the knuckle dragger he is-he’s a manager at a construction site, seriously!-found out (although I wasn’t really hiding it, as hammered as I was when I stumbled home) and flipped his lid. I’ve never seen him yell at me so hard. Like, cursing and everything, insults and whatnot. I just let it bounce right off me.

But I did feel bad. I’m just living my life, but it’s not like I want to drive him crazy or anything. But he hasn’t really spoken to me in the past week, and I’m not a big enough person to do the talking-or apologizing-first. That’s why I’m surprised he invited me along on his job. Normally, I’d tell him to piss off, but I feel like I should make it up to him for nearly giving the old man a heart attack.

It was like: “Hey, Bec. I need some help at the construction site. You mind helping me today?”

And I was like: “Sure, whatever.”

Those are the only words we’ve said to each other this week.

But I know he’s desperate for help. His small construction team went on

strike. I’m talking, like, three guys, tops. Not because of anything my stepdad did, but because the company they work for is trying to circumvent paying the guys overtime after an especially brutal construction project that was hard pressed for time. Having only three guys should tell you enough about how cheap the company is. They worked their asses off, and the company didn’t want to pay. I don’t blame them for striking.

But my stepdad still needs to get shit done, even if it’s pulling in people for outside help.

Although, I have no idea why he’d have me tag along. It’s not like I know a damn thing about construction. He must be out of options, I guess.

Enough to break his vow of silence toward me.

“So, uh… daddy,” I call him that when I’m trying to be sweet and innocent, “what’s the plan today? What do you need help with?” I want to

win him over, no matter what. Not that we had a sterling relationship before, but at least he wasn’t fuming at me.

Daddy’s glance is sidelong, not even turning his head when he looks at me. “Just basic stuff, really. Nothing you can’t handle.”

I throw a little playful cockiness at him, in hopes of lightening the mood.

“Ah, you know me, I’m top of the heap when it comes to surprising you.” He doesn’t bite, instead turning what little attention he gave me back to driving.

I’d probably have a better time getting through to him if I’d dressed a little more conservatively. I’ve been in the habit lately of wearing tiny shirts and low rising jeans to show off my new tat and stud. I should have thought of that before dressing the exact same way on my way to daddy’s work site. I’m sure it isn’t helping us reconnect when he looks at me and sees my apparent disrespect staring him back in the face, open to him and everyone else to see.

All I can hope is that showing him how helpful I can be will put him in a better mood.

When he pulls up to the little construction job-a new gas station at the edge of town working as the last bastion before the next fifty mile trek-the place seems abandoned.

It isn’t. The construction workers are there, but they’re just sitting on some boxes drinking coffee next to the trailer command post, as I call it.

Laziest strike ever.

I know their names-daddy’s talked about his small team on a number of occasions-but I’ve never met them, and I can’t put a face to a name.

They’re not old-maybe thirties-but that still puts them at least ten to fifteen years older than me. I’ve met some of daddy’s older buddies, and these guys look pretty similar, with the wife-beater t-shirts and that musculature of blue collar workers they all seem to effortlessly have.

Not that I have to work hard for my own slim physique either, but their bodies are pretty bangin’.

They barely react when daddy pulls up to them, until they get a good look inside. Once they see me, they perk up, putting their coffees down and straightening themselves up. One even slides his hand against his forehead to brush away his messy hair.

These are three good looking guys, so their responsiveness doesn’t put me off. It doesn’t make me self-conscious, either, in my skimpy shirt. Instead, it gives me a boost of confidence as I hop out of daddy’s truck with a buoyant

step.

I feel almost flighty as their eyes look me up and down. They’re not even sneaky about it, seemingly fixated on everything their mind can imagine of me. I feel a rush of power, coinciding with their gazes falling to my new bellybutton stud.

I knew this thing had a good purpose!

“Hey, Chuck,” they say, cordial to daddy even though they’re on strike. Not cordial enough to take their eyes off me when they address him. “This must be your daughter.”

The one talking reaches his hand out and I shake it, feeling the tough grip and callouses of his hand. “I’m Ben.”

“I’ve heard about you, Ben” I know their names, so if this is Ben… I point to the blond in the back, guessing as to who he might be. “Jason?”

When he nods, I look to the other. “And you must be Chris?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Bec.” The way their body language lifts is precious, a look of joy in them as I give off the impression that I’ve been thinking about them. It’s enough to get them excited, at least. It’s enough to make me smile, a fun, little flirtatious curl of my lips as I take pleasure in knowing how interested they are in me.

I look at daddy and he isn’t doing anything, which is strange. Daddy’s pretty protective of me, and I never would have thought he’d let a bunch of guys leer and talk to me like the way his own employees are doing. It’s not like him, that’s for sure. I could easily imagine him flaring up and screaming at the top of his lungs for them to mind their own goddamn business.

What exactly is he thinking?

They even look to him for some sign of resistance, but daddy’s busy looking at some transcripts from the bin near his construction trailer. He’s close enough to hear us, but it’s like he’s pretending not to. And when they realize his attention is elsewhere, they push a little harder with me. “So, Bec, do you have a boyfriend?” Ben asks. He’s clearly the most interested, and the most aggressive.

“Why do you ask? I tease.

“Oh, come on, a sweet little thing like you? How are you not dating some lucky guy?”

“Hell yeah,” Jason echoes from behind.

“Maybe I haven’t found a good guy yet.”

Ben’s eyes travel down my breasts to my stud. “A girl like you doesn’t look like she needs a good guy.” Ben turns his head, almost whispering,

“You look like you need someone a little bad in you.”

Chris chuckles behind him, “Or a couple bad things in a couple bad places.”

My cheeks go red. No one’s ever spoken to me like that. All my friends

or the guys I went to college with never even pretended to act this way. Maybe because they’re older, alpha men, they have all the confidence in the world to say whatever they want and feel like they’re going to get away with

it.

It’s incredibly hot.

But it’s incredibly nerve wracking as well. As much as I was confident before, it seems to take a nosedive when I’m confronted with an even stronger confidence-hell, more like arrogance.

My words don’t come as quickly as I’d like, betraying my jitters.

“I do think of myself as a party girl.”

Chris responds, “I bet you do. How do you like to party, exactly?” “Oh, you know, in all sorts of ways.” That sounds like the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. It doesn’t sound sexy or seductive at all, just unsure of myself.

Jason chuckles, “All sorts of ways?” He looks over at Chris, “I can think of a lot of different ways a party can go.”

They all laugh, and I feel my stomach turn. I’m not scared of them at all,

but that feeling in my stomach… I think it’s a reaction what it’d feel like to get fucked by three guys at once. Somehow, through their crass words, they’ve gotten me to think about the nastiest thing on their minds.Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

On all of our minds now.

“Hey!” Daddy shouts.

We all jump in our skins, turning to see a man who’s finally decided to pay attention. “Ben, Chris, Jason. Let’s go.” He points to the trailer. “Inside.”

Even though they’re supposed to be on strike and have no obligation to listen to him, they still do. They respect him enough to follow his orders, at least when they don’t pertain directly to work.

And when he’s visibly and audibly flashing anger.

“You too,” he says, his hand falling to my lower back and guiding me in. His touch tingles, probably because not a minute earlier flashes of fantasy were roiling my body.

We all head up the couple of stairs that lead into the trailer. Daddy closes the door behind us as we shuffle into the surprisingly spacious room. It’s daddy’s office as manager of the project. It’s got a large cheap metal desk on one side and a sort of living room on the other that functions like a lounge area for the guys on break. It’s got an old, brown-leather couch and a TV that must be a decade old.

Chris pipes in before daddy can say anything. “Hey, Chuck, it was nothing, come on. We were just having a little fun.