Daddy Little Girl PT 4

Laura:

The house stayed quiet all day—too quiet, like it was holding its breath.

We moved around each other carefully: coffee in the kitchen, sandwiches at the table, small touches that weren’t quite innocent. His hand on the small of my back when he passed behind me. My fingers brushing his wrist when I handed him a glass. Every graze left heat behind, a slow burn that never quite died down.

By night the air had thickened. Summer heat lingered in the walls, sticky even after the sun dropped. Windows open, ceiling fan turning lazy circles overhead. Crickets screamed outside. A distant dog barked once, twice, then nothing.

I showered first. Hot water pounding my shoulders until my skin turned pink. I didn’t bother with anything but the thin cotton sleep shirt—white, barely-there, no bra, no panties. Damp hair clinging to my neck. The fabric stuck slightly to still-wet skin when I walked downstairs.

He was in the living room, sprawled on the couch in nothing but black boxer briefs. TV off. One lamp burning low amber. His chest rose and fell slow. Cock already half-hard, thick outline pressing against the cotton. He didn’t try to hide it.

Our eyes met. No words. Just the soft click of the lamp being switched off.

Darkness folded around us. Only moonlight through the blinds striping the floor in silver bars. The fan kept turning—slow whoosh, whoosh.

He stood. Crossed the room in three steps. Stopped close enough that I could smell him: clean sweat, faint soap, the darker musk between his legs that made my mouth water.

His hand came up. Knuckles grazed my jaw, then curled around the back of my neck. Not gentle. Firm. Possessive.

“Upstairs,” he said. Voice low. Rough. “Now.”

I turned. Walked ahead of him. Felt his eyes on my ass the whole way up the stairs—shirt riding high, bare cheeks shifting with each step. The wood creaked under us. My heart slammed against my ribs.

In my room he didn’t turn on the light. Just pushed the door shut. The latch clicked like a gunshot in the quiet.

He was on me before I could turn around.

Back slammed against the wall—careful enough not to hurt, hard enough to make me gasp. His mouth crashed into mine. No preamble. Tongue pushing past my lips, deep, claiming. Tasted like mint and heat and him. I moaned into it. Hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into muscle.

He broke away only to drag his mouth down my throat—teeth grazing the sensitive skin, nipping sharp, then sucking hard, pulling blood to the surface in what I knew would be dark bruises tomorrow. His hands shoved my shirt up roughly, bunching it under my armpits, exposing my tits to the cool air. Nipples tightened instantly, begging for attention. He palmed one breast hard, squeezing the soft flesh, thumb flicking over the peak back and forth until I whimpered. Then he pinched—sharp, twisting just a bit, sending a jolt of pain-pleasure straight to my clit. I arched off the wall, pressing into him, my body on fire.

"Fuck, look at you," he growled against my collarbone, voice thick with lust. "Been dripping wet all goddamn day, haven't you? Teasing me with those little touches, that tight ass swaying around the house."

"Yes—fuck, yes," I gasped, voice breathy, hips grinding against the air seeking friction.

He didn't wait for more bullshit. Dropped to his knees right there, big hands gripping my thighs and shoving them wide apart. Shirt hiked up to my waist, pussy exposed—swollen, slick, aching. No teasing licks this time, no gentle exploration. His mouth dove in like a starving man—tongue plunging straight into my hole, thick and hot, fucking me with it deep and relentless. Nose pressed hard against my clit, grinding there as he worked. Stubble scraped my inner lips raw, adding a delicious burn to the wet heat. The sounds were obscene: the slick slurp of his tongue lapping my juices, my choked gasps echoing off the walls, the wet smack as he sucked and tongued me open.

I grabbed fistfuls of his hair, yanking him closer, hips bucking against his face like I was riding him. He groaned into my cunt, the vibration shooting through me like electricity, making my toes curl. One hand slid up my thigh, two thick fingers pushing in alongside his tongue—stretching me, scissoring inside as he licked deeper. He crooked them, finding that spongy spot on my front wall, rubbing hard and insistent while his tongue lashed my clit—fast, flat strokes, then circling, then flicking the tip right over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

My legs trembled, knees threatening to give out. He hooked one thigh over his broad shoulder, spreading me wider, holding me pinned open for his assault. Added a third finger now—thrusting them in deep, curling and pounding that spot over and over. The pressure built fast, coiling tight in my gut, my vision blurring at the edges. Wetness leaked everywhere, soaking his hand, his chin, dripping down my inner thighs in warm rivulets.

"Daddy—oh fuck—gonna come—please don't stop—"

He sucked my clit into his mouth hard, teeth grazing just enough to edge the pain, fingers slamming in and out with a lewd squelch that made my face burn hot with embarrassment and arousal. I shattered—screaming raw and broken, throat aching as my body convulsed. Walls clamped down on his fingers like a vice, pulsing hard, gushing more slick over his hand. He didn't let up—kept licking sloppy and greedy through the waves, tongue swirling to lap up every drop as I shuddered and whined, oversensitive but craving more.

Only when the aftershocks faded to twitches did he pull back, lips swollen and shiny, chin drenched with my cum. Eyes pitch black, feral. He licked his lips slow, tasting me, then stood, towering over me. Grabbed my wrist in a bruising grip and dragged me to the bed like I weighed nothing.

"On your stomach. Ass up. Now."

I scrambled onto the mattress, face down into the pillows, ass lifted high, shirt still tangled around my shoulders. He yanked his boxers down, cock springing free—thick as my wrist, veined and throbbing, head purple and slick with pre-cum beading at the slit. No condom. No fucking around. He knelt behind me, one hand fisting my damp hair, tugging my head back to arch my spine painfully perfect. The other hand gripped his shaft, guiding the fat head to nudge against my soaked entrance—teasing just the tip in, stretching my lips around it.

"Tell me you want this cock," he rasped, voice strained, hips twitching like he was holding back.

"I want it—please, Daddy—fuck me hard, fill me up—"

He thrust in one brutal, unrelenting stroke—burying balls-deep, the stretch burning so fucking good I cried out, tears pricking my eyes. My pussy clenched around him, adjusting to the girth splitting me open. He didn't give me a second to breathe—pulled almost all the way out, his cock dragging slick and slow against every ridge inside me, making me feel empty—then slammed back in, hard and deep, balls slapping against my clit with a wet smack.

He set a punishing rhythm—pulling out slow to torture me, then pounding back in with force that jolted my whole body forward. The bed creaked violently under us, headboard thudding against the wall in time with his thrusts—thump, thump, thump. Skin slapping skin, filthy and rhythmic, my ass jiggling with each impact. I pushed back to meet him, desperate, thighs quivering as his balls smacked my swollen clit over and over, sending sparks up my spine.

He leaned over me, chest pressing hot against my back, pinning me down with his weight. Mouth right at my ear, breath hot and ragged. "Take it, baby—every fucking inch of this cock. You're so tight, so wet for me—gonna ruin this pussy."

His hand snaked around front, fingers finding my clit—rubbing fast, rough circles, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Cock pounding deeper now, angle shifted to hit that sweet spot relentlessly—grinding against it with every thrust. Pleasure coiled tighter, sharper, bordering on too much. I clawed at the sheets, moaning loud and broken, the room filled with our grunts and the wet sounds of him fucking me senseless.

He slowed for a moment—torturously—rolling his hips in deep, circular grinds, stirring his cock inside me, stretching my walls in new ways. "Feel that? That's me owning you," he panted, free hand slapping my ass cheek hard, the sting blooming into heat. Then another slap, harder, making me yelp and clench around him. He groaned, picking up speed again—faster, deeper, his rhythm turning erratic as he chased his own edge.

"Gonna fill you up," he growled, voice breaking. "Pump you full of my cum—make you leak it for days. You want that? Want Daddy's load deep in your greedy cunt?"

The words—dirty, possessive—tipped me over. Second orgasm crashed through me like a freight train, body locking up, walls spasming wildly around his cock, milking him hard. I sobbed into the pillow, muffled and desperate, tears soaking the fabric as waves of pleasure ripped me apart. He fucked me through it—harder, faster, prolonging the ecstasy until I was a shaking mess.

His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat as he slammed forward one last time—cock swelling, pulsing hot and thick inside me. Spurts of cum flooded deep, coating my walls, so much it spilled out around his shaft, warm and sticky, dripping down my thighs as he kept grinding slow and deliberate, forcing every last drop in.