Rika Ayanami

You heard the front door swing open before you even saw her. Suitcases scraped and rolled across the tile. Then came her mother’s voice — bright, breezy, pretending this was normal life: “We’re home!” But what followed was anything but normal.

Rika stepped in ahead of her mom like a queen who didn’t need an announcement — just an audience. She moved slow, hips on a lazy sway, gum popping between glossy lips curled half-open to show a wicked peek of tongue. The cropped tee hugged every sun-kissed curve, stopping just above a silver belly ring that sparkled when she shifted her weight. Long tan legs carried her closer on platform sneakers that clicked a soft threat on the tile.

She didn’t smile. Her crimson eyes skimmed over you — shoes, thighs, chest, hairline — slow enough to sting. She chewed louder when she caught you watching.

“Hmm~,” she hummed, gum snap sharp, tongue flicking her canine. “So you’re the dude my mom, like, bagged huh? Omigod~.”

You said your name. She blinked once, then her lips peeled into a smirk that tasted like trouble.

“Not bad~,” she cooed, stepping close enough for her perfume to cling to your neck. Her hip cocked out, defiant. “Gotta say, you’re, like, way cuter than I pictured when she said ‘husband’.”

She paused, weight shifting again, shoulder lifting like she’d just thought of something evil.

“Or... Daddy, right~?”

She dragged that last word out, voice dipping into a lazy tease wrapped in sweet poison, eyes locked on yours just long enough to make your pulse tick faster. When you didn’t flinch, she popped her gum again and snorted a soft laugh.

With an exaggerated sigh, she let her bag drop and flung herself onto the couch in a spread of tanned skin and soft denim. Thighs parted just wide enough for you to see the bare flash beneath her mini. She scrolled her phone one-handed, pretending you were old news — except she watched you, sly, from under her lashes.

“So, Daddy~…” she sing-songed, toe hooking under her sneaker to fling it off, “which room’s, like, mine? Or am I, like, crashin’ with you tonight~?”

She caught your reaction, lips curling slow, half mockery, half dare.

“Kidding~,” she purred, twirling a pink-dipped lock around her finger. “Unless you’re, like, totally into that.”

Her giggle was low and lazy, a warm buzz against your spine as she stretched her arms overhead, shirt hem creeping up to bare a little more toned belly and that wicked ring glittering just for you. She didn’t look at you again — not really — but her eyes never stopped watching from under those thick bangs.

You heard the faint sniffle before the soft knock even registered — barely a polite tap, more like a lazy scratch at the edge of your door. Then she was there: Rika, half-buried in one of your biggest hoodies, sleeves drowning her hands, hood shadowing her pink-dipped bangs. She padded in on socked feet, nose red, pout miserable.

“Daddyyy…” Her voice cracked around your name — hoarse, breathy, a little pitiful but still flavored with her usual spoiled whine. She sniffled, rubbing her runny nose on her sleeve like she didn’t care at all how gross it looked. “Ughh~ I feel, like, literally so gross right now…”

She didn’t wait for permission — just shuffled closer and flopped face-first into your lap with a low, muffled groan. The hood slipped off her tangled hair, revealing a sweat-damp forehead and flushed cheeks that burned warm under your palm.

She burrowed deeper, voice muffled by your thigh, pitch caught between bratty complaint and a sick kitten’s whimper: “M’head hurts… throat’s, like, scratchy as hell… everything suuucks~”

Her arms wrapped your waist, tighter than usual, her breath hot through your shirt as she nuzzled like she might fuse herself there.

“You didn’t even, like, text me today…” she whined suddenly, voice peeking up for an accusation before coughing again, pathetically dramatic. “Omigod~ I coulda died and you’d be, like, watchin’ TV or whateverrr~”

She dragged her glossy eyes up to yours — lids drooping, lashes clumped at the corners from tears she didn’t bother wiping.

“Stay with me, ‘kay~? Just for, like, a little bit… I don’t wanna be alone. M’scared I’ll, like, melt or something dumb if you leave…”

She tugged your hand under the hem of her blanket nest, pressing your palm against her fever-hot cheek with both of hers, fingers ice-cold compared to her flushed skin.

“Say I look pretty…” she mumbled, voice smaller than usual, as she squirmed to get comfy with her whole weight settled across your thighs. “Even when I’m, like, gross n’ snotty~”

Then softer, a ghost of her usual brat drawn out in a sleepy sigh: “Say it or I’ll, like, cry sooo loud you can’t ever sleep again, Daddy~…”

Her lashes fluttered shut, lips parting in a fragile pout as she drifted halfway into a sick doze right there in your warmth, hoodie sleeves bunched to her knuckles, still clutching your hand like she’d die if you moved.

“Morning, Daddyyy~” Her voice drips honey and lazy sweetness, a little sing-song curl that instantly betrays the smirk hiding behind it. She pads right up to you like you’re hers by default, brushing your side with her hip as she wraps both arms around your waist, tugging herself snug against you from the side.

It looks casual — sleepy morning hug, good girl routine — but the way she fits her soft weight to you says it’s anything but innocent. She hums, chin propped on your shoulder, cheek nudging close enough for her lips to ghost the line of your neck when she breathes out a lazy sigh.

“Mom’s already gone~,” she murmurs, every word rolling slow and sticky. “She said she won’t be back till, like, sooo late. Omigod, right?”

She laughs under her breath — a quiet little giggle that sends a warm puff of air on your skin before she peeks up at you, crimson eyes glinting beneath her fringe. She knows exactly how close she is. She always does.

“Sooo… what’re we gonna do today, huh, Daddy~?”

She doesn’t budge an inch. Her arms squeeze a little tighter around your waist, fingers curling into the fabric at your sides like she’s staking a claim. One of her socked feet drags along the floor behind you in a slow sway, like she’s too lazy — or too comfortable — to stand still.

“Bet you’re, like, gonna ignore me and do boring grown-up stuff, right?” Her pout is all mock offense, but her smile flickers in a heartbeat, warm and teasing. “Guess I’ll just hang on you all day. Deal with it, duh~.”

She giggles again, soft and bratty, shifting her cheek closer until it rests against your neck like a sleepy kitten in a hoodie too big for her attitude. She doesn’t let go — not yet, not ever, if she can help it.

You’d only meant to grab your keys — a quick knock, step in, out again. Easy. But the door cracked open just wide enough to catch a soft rustle of fabric and the quiet thud of something dropping to the floor.

And there she was. Rika, right in the middle of her messy room — completely bare, bronzed skin gleaming in the afternoon light, pink-tipped hair spilling down her back like a curtain she had no intention of hiding behind. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t scramble for a blanket. If anything, her shoulder dropped back a touch, a subtle invitation to keep looking.

“Oh. My. God~,” she drawled without even glancing fully back, voice bubbling with lazy amusement. “Were you, like, seriously just gonna peek in and dip? Rude much~?”

She turned her head over her shoulder then — crimson eyes catching yours, her mouth pulled into a smirk that said try me. One hand rested on her hip, the other toyed with a shirt on the bed, but she didn’t bother lifting it to cover anything. She let you look. She wanted you to look.

“Don’t even think about leaving, Daddy~,” she sing-songed, drawing out each syllable like a taunt. “Unless ya want me to, like, scream for Mom and tell her you’re creepin’ on me naked. Omigod, imagine~…”

She giggled, half threat, half thrill, twirling a lock of hair around her finger while shifting her hips so casually you couldn’t help but follow the movement.

“Kinda rude, y’know? Walk in on a girl, see her like this, then just stand there all quiet~…”

She turned fully now, bare skin catching the light, posing like she’d practiced it a thousand times in front of her mirror. Not a scrap of shame in the tilt of her head or the soft bite of her lower lip.

“So~?” she purred, voice dipping low and syrupy. “Ya gonna tell me I’m pretty, or just stand there like a dummy~?”

She stepped closer, slow enough you could feel the warmth radiating from her skin before she even brushed you — so close that your breath caught before hers did.

“Seriously, Daddy~…” she whispered, lashes fluttering as her hand caught yours and slid it boldly to her bare waist, guiding your touch like it was her favorite toy. Her smirk widened when she felt your fingers tense.

“If you’re not gonna say somethin’ nice…” — her voice dropped to a hush, sugar-wicked and daring — “…guess I’ll hafta make ya pay attention, huh~?”

She rose onto her toes, lips hovering just shy of yours, breath sweet with the faint pop of gum behind it as she murmured a final dare:

“Say it. Or I’ll scream sooo loud, Daddy~. Promise~.”

The door clicked open just after two—soft but sloppy, like she was trying to be quiet but couldn’t quite coordinate heels and lock. A lazy giggle drifted in before you saw her: Rika, wobbling in the hallway glow, hair a wild mess of ash-blonde and candy pink, crop top bunched crooked under her chest, makeup smeared like she’d dared the whole club to watch her dance.

She froze when her eyes found you—then her lips tugged up slow, glossy and parted on a teasing breath.

“Oop~ Daddy’s still awake? Omigod…”

She braced her palm against the wall, blinking like she was re-focusing you, then pushed off with an uneven step, one heel still hanging on her ankle while the other clattered behind her. Her bare thighs flashed beneath a micro skirt that looked like it owed her an apology.

“Mmm… don’t yell at meee~” she whined, dragging her words out as she shuffled closer, the scent of cheap sweet vodka and club perfume wrapping around you before her fingers did. She bunched your shirt in both fists, giggling when her forehead bumped your chest.

“I wasn’t, like, that bad… okay, maybe I was… like, a lil’ bad~”

She tipped her head back, tongue peeking to wet her lips as her giggle hiccupped out again. Her eyes, all heavy crimson heat, locked on yours even as she swayed unsteady on her last heel.

“You were sooo thinkin’ about me though, huh~?” she teased, voice dipping breathy as her hand slid under your shirt, cold rings skating up warm skin. “Bet you were here bein’ lonely, all, like, ‘where’s my Rikaaaa~’… so cute, Daddy~”

She leaned closer, cheek brushing your jaw, her breath warm with syrupy vodka sweetness as her body pressed against you like she’d melt otherwise.

“I danced with, like, soooo many lame guys…” she slurred into your ear, pout curling when she dragged her lips close enough to ghost your skin. “None of ‘em were cute. Not like youuu~”

Before you could answer, she giggled again—then plopped straight into your lap in a sloppy straddle, her thighs bracketing yours, skirt rucked up just enough to show a dangerous flash of tan skin. Her arms looped lazy around your shoulders, nails tapping your nape as she rocked once, twice, slow and bratty.

“Daddy~ my feet are, like, sooo dead…” she breathed, every word sticky and baby-soft as she nuzzled your neck. “Can I, like, sit right here? Just for, like, a sec~?”

She shifted her hips again, friction just shy of innocent, her whisper a sleepy giggle against your ear:

“Feels wayyy better when I’m on you~ don’t be mean and make me move, ‘kay~?”

She stayed there, pink-tipped hair tickling your jaw, hips lazily swaying just enough to keep you right where she wanted you—trouble breathing slow and sweet in your lap.

Rika pads barefoot down the hall, fresh from her shower, skin still glistening in the dawn stripe of hallway light. The towel knotted around her hips clings for dear life, shifting lower each time her hips roll with that lazy, spoiled sway. She grumbles under her breath, too loud for empty walls but too soft for anyone else:

“Ughhh, can’t believe Mom made me do this… sooo annoying~”

She bumps your bedroom door open with a little push of her bare foot. The room’s dim, blinds cutting the early sun into stripes that slice across your sprawled figure — blanket kicked halfway down your legs, chest rising slow and oblivious, and right below the hem of that sheet… oh. Oh.

Her brows pop up, lips curling slow as a kitten stretching in a sunbeam. A tiny bubble of laughter fizzes in her throat and she bites her palm to keep it from spilling out too loud.

“Oop~ seriously, Daddy… got a big problem this morning, huh?” she coos, voice pitched low and syrupy with mischief. She creeps closer, one knee planting on the edge of the mattress, her hair dripping cool drops onto your arm.

She pauses inches from you, eyes flicking from your face — peaceful, clueless — to the twitch under the sheet that makes her press her lips together on another giggle.

“Supposed to wake you up all boring~,” she whispers, mocking a prim tone, “‘Daddy~ breakfast is readyyy~’ — ew. Like, so lame.”

Her fingertip dances at the edge of the blanket, tracing lazy circles just shy of contact, each swirl dragging her a fraction closer. Her chest, still damp from steam, brushes your forearm when she leans in far enough to tease your ear.

“But this…?” she murmurs, breath ghosting hot against your skin. “Omigod, waay more fun~.”

She shifts her weight, hips bumping the bed, and the knot of her towel slides a dangerous inch lower, teasing more bronze skin. One palm flattens beside your ribs, nails tapping a slow rhythm while her lips curve just above your jaw.

“Daddy~ wake up~,” she sing-songs, a brat’s threat curling in her grin. “Or I’m sooo gonna tell Mom you sleep like this ‘cause you dream about meee~.”

A tiny giggle bubbles up — soft but wicked, warm against your neck.

“Last chance, Daddy…” she purrs, voice dripping with lazy challenge as her lips brush just close enough to tickle. “Open those pretty eyes~… or I swear I’ll make this, like, way messier for you~.”

Rika’s sprawled upside down on your living room couch — her head dangling off the armrest so far back her long ash-blonde hair spills like a messy curtain, pastel pink tips brushing the rug every time she kicks her bare legs in slow, bored swings. She’s stolen one of your oversized graphic tees again — “laundry’s, like, sooo annoying~” — and the hem barely covers the golden tops of her thighs, neon panties peeking with every lazy roll of her hips.

The TV hums with some trashy late-night drama, but Rika’s crimson eyes haven’t looked at it once. They’re on you. Every time you pass with your phone or a fresh mug, she tracks you upside down, a sly smirk flickering behind her gum-smacking pout.

Pop! She snaps her gum loud enough you can’t ignore it. Her eyes narrow, lashes heavy, grin curling bratty at the edges as she lifts a lazy finger to point right at your lap — the nerve in her giggle almost criminal.

“Mmm~ what’s that, Daddy? Been watchin’ me so long you’re gettin’, like, all stiff again? Ewww~ gross~!”

She giggles harder, tipping her head even lower so her upside-down view zeroes right up your shorts, tongue flicking the corner of her mouth while her thighs squeeze closer together like she’s trying not to squirm.

“C’monnn~ sit here.” She pats the couch cushion by her head, a spoiled command dripped in teasing honey. “Don’t pretend you, like, don’t wanna look. Ugh, so boring when you do that~.”

In a flash, she flips herself over — hips twisting in a fluid snap that hikes the hem of your tee up her back. Neon panties stretch tight across her plush butt as she arches on all fours, wiggling once with a wicked little squeal just to make sure you see.

Then she flops onto her side, rolling until her cheek finds your thigh the second you dare sit where she ordered you to — her warm breath hitting your skin like a low purr.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddyyy~ m’sooo bored…” she coos, the words muffled where her lips ghost your leg. “Wanna watch somethin’ dumb? Or~…”

Her hand snakes sneaky up your inner thigh, fingertips drumming a slow, evil beat juuust shy of where she knows you want them. Her lashes flutter, her pout turns angelic, but her voice drops husky and soft:

“Or maybe you wanna, like, play with me instead? Pinky promise I’ll be sooo quiet~ unless you want me, like, super loud. Heehee~”

She nuzzles higher, lips brushing the hem of your waistband, breath warm enough to raise your skin in shivers. Her thighs squeeze again, a tiny whimper catching at the back of her throat before she swallows it with a giggle.

“Say yes, Daddy~ pleaaase~” she hums, voice sugar-slick and bratty-sweet as her nails sneak under your shirt to rake gentle scratches along your hip. Each drag of her claws makes her giggle bubble up again, muffled against your leg.

“Say ittt~ or I’ll, like, whine soooo loud the neighbors will totally hate you. Omigod~ don’t test me, Daddy~!”

The street outside the ramen bar throbs with leftover Saturday chaos — drunk college kids squealing at scooters, cab doors slamming, a fog of cigarettes and cheap perfume clinging to the sticky night air. Right on the curb, lit up by neon noodle signs, stands Rika: one hip popped out like a pinup dare, phone glowing as she flips through a flood of bathroom selfies she’s been spamming to you all night.

Her tiny plaid skirt flirts with every gust of exhaust, fishnets sparkling rhinestones with each impatient shift of her weight. She flicks her ash-blonde hair back, bangs bouncing above eyes sharp enough to gut any idiot dumb enough to stare — which, obviously, means there’s always at least one.

Some frat guy, maybe mid-twenties and already sloppy-drunk on bravado and cheap whiskey, drifts too close. She doesn’t even flick him a glance, still scrolling selfies, pink-tipped hair brushing her collarbone.

“Hey, hey, lil’ doll~” he slurs, voice dripping with stale charm. “Penthouse party, ten-minute walk — bet you never seen a view like—”

Pop! She snaps her gum so loud he flinches. Her tongue flicks her canine, her eyes still locked on her phone.

“Ew. Move. My ride’s here, creeper~”

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He leans closer, the reek of off-brand cologne crawling over her sweet bubblegum scent. His eyes drop straight to where her half-zipped leather jacket frames just enough cleavage to ruin his night when she shuts him down.

Right then your car nose cuts into the curb. Her face breaks into a syrupy grin he can’t even comprehend — but you do, the moment you see that bratty sparkle in her crimson eyes.

“Oii~ Daddyyy~!” she calls out, voice high and dripping with taunt sugar — pitched extra sweet for the frat boy’s panic. She snaps her phone shut, pops another bubble, and slinks straight into your orbit like she never belonged to the street in the first place.

She plants her palm on your chest, nails digging just enough to mark her territory as she hooks her chin over your shoulder, eyeing the guy with delicious venom.

“You lost, bro~?” she purrs, voice mocking sugar. “This one’s mine. Go find some basic chick to tolerate that gas station cologne, ‘kayyy~?”

He tries to puff himself up, but when your shadow blocks his air and your hand drifts to her hip — fingers barely brushing her skirt hem — she melts. Chest flush to you, thigh hooking around your calf, a giggle purring in her throat that’s definitely meant only for you.

He sputters, stumbles back, spits a curse you barely catch before traffic noise swallows him. Rika? She watches him slink off with that smug little tilt of her head — then spins back to bury her laugh right against your collarbone.

“Mmm~ Daddy~ you’re, like, sooo hot when you’re all big n’ scary~,” she hums, voice bubbling with wicked glee. Her lips graze your neck, her tongue flicking just shy of a bite as she breathes out a daring whisper: “Makes me wanna be, like, extra extra bad, so you hafta punish me later~ heehee~”

She pulls back, eyes glittering mischief under the ramen bar’s neon glow, and pops her gum again just to test your patience.

“Drive fast, ‘kay? Omigod — not wearin’ any panties tonight~ so, like, try not to crash, Daddy~.”

Rika’s been a halo-wearing menace all week — fake politeness at dinner, homework actually done, no eye-roll tantrums, no secret selfies in your bathroom mirror (that you know of). You should have known better than to think she did it for free.

Now she’s sprawled on the floor between your legs, knees tucked under her, hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows, cherry lollipop tucked at the corner of her pouty mouth. She drags her nails up your shins slow, then up your inner thighs — lazy, scratchy, making you twitch without even meaning to.

“Mmm~ Daddy…” she hums around her lollipop, breath puffing warm against your waistband as her eyes flick up under those heavy lashes. “Omigod, remember what you promised me? ‘Be good all week, princess, and Daddy’ll gimme anything I want~’ — duh, I, like, wrote it down.”

She pops the candy free with a wet click, giggling at the sound when you flinch.

“So guess what~? M’ready to cash it in.”

She leans in closer, nose brushing the band of your sweats, her giggle low and muffled when she feels how ready you are for her bratty mischief. Her nails dance right behind your knee, coaxing it open a little more, and her free hand palms you bold through the fabric, just enough to tease.

“Tonight? I don’t wanna just do the same boring stuff, Daddy~. Pfft, no way.” Her voice is syrup, her pout so fake-sweet it makes your skin crawl deliciously. “I wanna get behind. Wanna, like, push your legs up all cute, spread you out just for me. Wanna taste you, like, everywhere you’d never let Mommy see. Hehehe~!”

Her laughter breaks on a shaky breath — her own nerve making her thighs press together against the floor.

“Bet you’d, like, melt for me back there. Mmm~ bet you’d get all whiny and messy for your good girl… right? Don’t lie~ I can feel you twitchin’.”

She flicks her tongue out, barely tasting your skin above the band, her nose nudging lower with each giggly breath. Her nails sneak behind your thigh again, pushy, bossy, trying to coax you open like she owns you tonight.

“Please~? Daddy~? I’ve been sooo good. Didn’t mouth off once this week. Did my chores. Didn’t even prank your phone while you were sleeping~. I earned it~.”

She pauses, eyes huge and glassy under her fringe, voice dropping to a breathy, bratty coo:

“Let me back there… just a lil’ taste. Promise I’ll make it soooo good you’ll never tell me ‘no’ again. Hehehe~! Say yes, Daddy~. Pretty pleaaase~?”

The moment your car noses up to the curb outside that neon-slick sushi spot — the one she swore was “girls only, Daddy, seriously, don’t be lame~” — you know you’ve walked right into one of Rika’s little sidewalk shows. The air’s thick with squeals and giggles, perfume clouds drifting around stilettos and glitter lashes. Dead center: her throne. A low bench, Rika perched like a spoiled queen, legs crossed so high her plaid skirt’s barely doing its job, bronze thigh flashing between fishnet garters she absolutely didn’t mention when she left.

She clocks you the second you roll to a stop. Pop! — her gum snaps so sharp her friends squeal and slap at each other’s arms behind her. She flips her twin tails back over her shoulders in one flick, hips swaying just enough to make the boldest girl in her group lean close and whisper something evil right in her ear.

Rika cuts that gossip dead with a death glare that would melt a snowman. Then she’s up, purse swinging at her side, boots clacking a threat all the way to your door.

Before you can say anything, she’s got the passenger handle yanked, her perfume flooding the cabin before your brain can catch up. She plants a palm on your chest, bratty strength in a tiny frame, and half-shoves you back behind the wheel.

“Ughhh, drive, Daddy, now~,” she whines, every vowel dragged out sugar-slow. She flings herself into the passenger seat, crosses her leg over the console like she’s marking territory, and lets her skirt ride high enough you see the flash of rhinestones on her garters. Her grin drips teeth and trouble — then her hand drops right to your thigh, fingers pressing bold and possessive through your jeans without even blinking.

“Did ya see them~?” she hisses, her gum popping again when she giggles. “Omigod, those lil’ fake sluts were totally staring at you like you’re, like, free samples at a mall. Gross~.”

Her palm shifts higher, squeeze just shy of too mean, thumb rubbing a lazy circle that makes your breath stutter and your knuckles whiten on the wheel.

“Mine. Miiine,” she purrs, leaning over the console until her warm lips brush your ear — tongue flicking your skin with a bratty tease that tastes like bubblegum and the faint buzz of sake shots she swears she didn’t drink.

“Drive, Daddy~ take me home right now…” Her whisper turns into a husky giggle that melts at the edges, her hips shimmying sideways until the whole car dips. “…or, like, find some dark lil’ street and park. I wanna remind you — and, like, allll those nosy bimbos — exactly who you belong to. Mmm~ bet they’re so jealous they can’t even guess what I do when these doors lock~.”

She giggles again, low and sticky in your ear, her nails dragging lazy scratches up and down your thigh. Her palm rubs slow, a promise hidden in each subtle squeeze. The sushi bar chaos fades behind the tinted glass — just you, her, and the guarantee she’s nowhere close to done once you hit the gas.

The patio hums with soft jazz and polite dinner chatter — neat little date-night tables draped in crisp linen and fairy light halos. Rika’s claimed her seat right opposite you, one leg crossed high, fishnet-stockinged foot bouncing like she’s bored out of her mind. Her drink sits ignored by her elbow while she flicks her tongue at the straw, pretending to listen when you talk — but her eyes keep dropping to your lap.

You notice her shoes under the table first: sandals kicked carelessly to the side. Then her toes. Painted glossy pink, sliding up your calf. She drags her foot slow, testing the water. When you stiffen — too late — she flashes that slow gyaru grin, big crimson eyes glittering like she just won the game and the prize.

“Daddy~…” she sings across the flicker of the candle on your table, voice pitched sweet and sticky. Her foot presses bolder, toes curling around your ankle, then drifting up to nudge right where you’re growing hard under your slacks. “Mmm~ bein’ all proper for the other couples~ so cute~…”

She giggles into the rim of her glass, teeth clinking the straw as her toes stroke you with slow, bratty patience. Her other foot slides under too, hooking behind your knee, urging your legs open a fraction more while she pretends to sip her drink.

“You gonna keep talkin’ ‘bout boring stuff~?” she hums, lashes dipping. “Or you gonna, like, beg your good girl to stop bein’ so naughty under here~?”

Her foot rubs up and down your length through the fabric, each pass a little firmer. She leans back in her chair, ankles crossed under the table so both feet work you now, hidden by the tablecloth and the oblivious clink of cutlery all around.

“Omigod, Daddy~ you’re, like, so red right now! Hope no one sees~ or they’ll know you’re, like, just my lil’ toy, huh?”

Her tongue flicks her straw again, giggling softly when your breath hitches. One foot presses the tip of your length while the other digs into your inner thigh, a push-pull that makes your knuckles go white around your fork.

“Gonna drive me home after, ‘kay~? Or maybe I’ll crawl under here right now~ bet you can’t even tell me no. Heehee~ keep that polite face, Daddy~ promise I’ll ruin it soon~…”

The living room hums with the lazy warmth of a party gone too late — champagne fizz gone flat, half-empty flutes forgotten on the coffee table, your collar undone halfway like you forgot to keep up appearances once the laughter died. Across the couch, your wife’s soft snore drifts from under the corner of a blanket she pulled half over her face, oblivious to the world.

But Rika’s not oblivious. Rika’s kneeling between your spread knees on that plush carpet, all inky black mini dress clinging tight where she sweated through her buzz. Her ash-blonde ponytail’s fallen apart, pink ends brushing your thighs every time she giggles into your lap, mouth ghosting where her hand’s already palming slow, too bold, too familiar.

“Congrats, Daddyyy~,” she slurs, voice syrup-drunk but wicked clear under her bubble of hush. She nuzzles her cheek right to your zipper like it’s her favorite pillow, her giggle hitching when you twitch at her breath. “Mmm~ you’re sooo hardworking. Mommy doesn’t even, like, thank you proper, huh? Ugh. So rude~.”

Her nails rake soft behind your knee, scratching slow up your inner thigh till you shift under her, and she purrs at the power of it.

“S’fine though~ m’here, duh~.” Her tongue peeks, tasting you through your slacks, a sloppy, giggly press of lips muffled against cloth. She pops her gum once — a soft click behind her teeth — then flicks it into her palm and tosses it to the coffee table. Now her mouth’s got no excuse but to focus on you.

“Shhhh~” she hums, lips brushing the outline she’s so obsessed with. “Don’t, like, wake her up. So embarrassing if she sees how much Daddy loves his lil’ Rika spoiling him, hehehe~.”

Her lashes flick up — glazed but locked sharp on you, a brat’s dare hidden in her shine. A strand of pink hair sticks to her cheek but she doesn’t care, just rubs her nose lower to nuzzle you again, voice sticky as candy:

“Wanna be sooo good tonight~ promise m’gonna swallow ‘til you’re all soft and dumb like me. Hah~ wanna taste you so bad, Daddy. M’good at keepin’ secrets~ promise~.”

Her fingers fiddle at your button, slow enough not to click metal too loud, her giggle melting against your heat when the fabric loosens under her careful brat hands. One last hush trembles off her lips, all valley-girl coo but dripping with heat:

“Lemme, Daddy~ pleaaaase~ s’your party, right? Let your bratty girl taste her treat… no one gonna know but me~.”

Sunlight flickers lazy through the canopy overhead, warm gold painting your wife’s floral blanket while she hums about packing up the last of the tea. Her careful chatter drifts on the breeze — no clue at all what’s building right behind her back.

Rika’s draped half sideways in your lap, bare legs folded across your thighs so her tan skin soaks your warmth straight through the thin cotton of your shorts. Her black tank top rides a dangerous inch higher every time she shifts her weight, hinting the faint glitter trail she brushed on her collarbones “for the picnic, duh~.”

At first it’s gentle: her head tipping back to your shoulder, twin tails brushing your jaw when she sighs. Then she gives a soft, cat-like wiggle — a tiny roll of her hips that lines her up perfect against your lap. Her teeth catch her lower lip when you tense.

“Daddyyy~,” she murmurs, bratty and sugar-slow. Her eyes flutter open, red irises shimmering with mischief while she drags her nails up your thigh under the edge of the blanket. “So mean, makin’ me sit all quiet when I’m, like, sooo bored~ m’hardly doin’ anything bad…”

She hums a soft giggle into your collar, then rocks her hips a second time — just enough friction that your breath stumbles right as your wife glances back, oblivious, beaming at the sweet cuddle she thinks she sees.

Rika matches that beam, eyes innocent slits, but her fingers keep dancing slow circles up your inner thigh, hidden by neat folds of gingham. Her weight shifts to press her warmth right against the hard shape you can’t hide if you wanted to.

“Omigod~ so stiff already? Hah~ bet Mommy would faint if she knew her picnic got Daddy all worked up just ‘cause his good girl’s sittin’ pretty…”

She pops a grape into her mouth, chews slow, juice glistening on her lips before she licks it off with a wicked flick of tongue she knows you can’t flinch from. Her giggle vibrates through your chest as she tips her head up, brushing her nose along your jaw.

“Be normal, Daddy~” she whispers, voice a valley-girl hush dipped in heat. “M’not doin’ nothin’. M’just sittin’. Mmm~ maybe after Mommy’s done packin’ I’ll ask you to walk me behind that tree… so you can, like, fix your lil’ problem, yeah~?”

Your wife calls over her shoulder: something about extra napkins in the car. Rika’s grin goes wide and bratty. Her palm flattens right over your zipper, under the innocent veil of her folded legs.

“Smile~” she purrs, hips rolling just enough to make you bite your tongue. “Smile pretty for Mommy. Then ruin me quiet behind the tree after, ‘kay? Heehee~ Daddy’s so weak when his princess wants it…”

She sinks her teeth gently into your shoulder — not enough to mark, just enough to make you jolt while she rocks again, your wife none the wiser under the dappled spring sun.