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Book twelve: Endowed stripper (An exotic dancer in club)
publish date:
2026-10-14 21:47:21
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Daddy shouldn't know how you taste Book twenty two: tattoo artist (the end)
Anna’s hand was still wrapped around the thick, slick length of Stephen’s cock, the broad head notched right against her entrance, when something inside her simply gave way. All the months of secret staring, the shameful orgasms in the dark, the years of practiced hatred, none of it mattered anymore. She was wet and open and aching, and the man she had blamed for everything was right here, hard and ready and looking at her like she was the only thing in the world. She lifted her hips and took him inside in one slow, deliberate push. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Stephen was thick, thicker than her fingers had ever been, and the slide of him opening her inch by inch dragged a broken, happy sound from her throat. Her soft walls clenched and fluttered around the intrusion, greedy for more. She kept pushing until her ass met his thighs and he was buried to the hilt, the heavy weight of his cock pulsing deep inside her. A bright, dizzy joy lit up behind h
Daddy shouldn't know how you taste Book twenty two: tattoo artist (teasing)
Stephen’s hands found her waist, then slid higher, cupping the full, heavy undersides of her breasts. He was careful of the fresh ink, thumbs stroking the unmarked skin in slow circles that edged closer and closer to her nipples without quite giving her the pressure she wanted. Anna rocked against his thigh, chasing friction, the slick evidence of her arousal leaving a faint shine on the dark fabric.He leaned in and closed his mouth around one peaked nipple.The heat of it tore a soft sound from her throat. His tongue flicked, circled, sucked...never quite hard enough, never long enough. He switched to the other breast, repeating the same maddeningly gentle torment while one gloved hand slid down the soft curve of her stomach and between her legs. Fingers traced the seam of her pussy through the wetness, parting her slowly, spreading the slickness up and over her clit in lazy strokes that made her hips stutter.“You’ve thought about this,” he murmured against her breast. “In you
Daddy shouldn't know how you taste Book twenty two: tattoo artist (Your turn)
Anna stood frozen beside the tattoo bed, the soft cotton of her shirt bunched in one hand, the unfinished lines of ink still gleaming on the curve of her breast. Stephen’s question hung in the air between them like a live wire.“Did you ever masturbate in your room with my picture?”The words should have sent her running. Instead they rooted her in place. Heat flooded her face, her throat, the soft space between her thighs that had been aching since the moment his gloved hand brushed her nipple. She could still feel the ghost of that touch. She could still hear every accusation she had thrown at him, every memory she had weaponized. And underneath it all was the truth she had never planned to speak out loud.She did not put the shirt on.She stepped closer instead.The paper on the tattoo bed crinkled as she moved past it. Bare feet silent on the polished floor. Her breasts swayed with the motion, heavy and full, the fresh tattoo stark against pale skin. Stephen did not step bac
Daddy shouldn't know how you taste Book twenty two: tattoo artist (You masturbate with my picture?)
“Did you sit across from her at dinner and wonder what my dad was eating alone that night? Did you hold her hand and feel satisfied that the family I grew up in was gone? Did you ever look at the wedding photos and think about the little girl who used to fall asleep between her parents on the couch?”Stephen stopped trying to answer. The questions kept coming, soft and steady and merciless. He worked in silence while she spoke, the needle moving across her skin in short controlled bursts. Every time he gathered a sentence she was already asking the next question, voice never rising, never breaking, just continuing as though she had stored every memory for this exact moment.“Did you ever feel guilty when she laughed at something you said and you realised my dad used to make her laugh the same way? Did you think about the holidays we used to spend together? The Christmas mornings when I would run into their room before the sun was even up? Those mornings stopped. They stopped because
Daddy shouldn't know how you taste Book twenty two: tattoo artist (Did you?)
Anna’s breasts were big and full and soft, heavy enough that they swayed slightly with the simple act of breathing, pale skin marked by the faint pink lines of the bra she had just removed, nipples already drawn tight into dark peaks under the weight of his gaze. There was nothing small or delicate about them. They were the same as the rest of her: abundant, shameless, impossible to hide once the clothes were gone. She stood there and let him look. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Heat pooled low in her belly and between her thighs. She did not speak. He did not speak. The shop was quiet except for the distant sound of traffic and the soft click of the ventilation system.Stephen’s throat worked. A muscle jumped in his jaw. His eyes stayed locked on the soft, full curves of her chest for a long moment, like he had forgotten how to look anywhere else. Every careful sentence he had planned, about her parents, about understanding, about the years of silence...dissolved under the
Daddy shouldn't know how you taste Book twenty two: tattoo artist (hi)
Anna had always kept the idea of a tattoo on her fat ass tucked away on her private bucket list, one of those half-serious resolutions she never expected to actually cross off. She was soft everywhere, hips that spilled over the edges of every pair of jeans she owned, thighs that brushed and rubbed with every step, an ass that jiggled and dimpled and refused to be anything other than abundant. Most days she hated the way clothes clung or failed to cling. Some days she wanted to mark the very thing she was most ashamed of, turning it into something permanent and private and hers alone. So when Prisca, her best friend since childhood, locked fingers around her wrist on a humid Thursday afternoon and dragged her toward the tattoo shop, Anna did not disagree. She simply followed, sneakers scuffing the sidewalk, heart already thudding against her ribs.The sign above the door was understated, black lettering, a minimalist needle design. The glass was frosted enough that the interior r
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