Daddy, Fucked On Camera 💥🎥

I went upstairs, my heart hammering like a drum against my ribs. I pulled on black leggings and a long, oversized shirt, though it did little to hide the way my breath hitched. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. I didn't know what I was feeling. Good? Bad? Happy? Sad? Definitely not sad.

As much as I didn't like the fact that I wouldn't be in school for three days, I wasn't totally against the fact that I would be here in this house with Vaughan. Down there, in that place, witnessing everything that goes on there. Live. As a punishment. Hell yes, thank you. Three days. Nothing too bad. Nothing hard.

If that's the punishment, I gladly accept.

I walked down, my legs feeling like jelly. As I walked down the stairs, about to descend, at the bottom in the living room, I saw them: a tall man in an expensive suit, give or take 50? Right next to him was a girl who looked just like me—pale, pretty, and vibrating with nerves.

Then, there was Vaughan. My Daddy. He looked incredible, like a man who owned the very air we breathed. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, showing off his chest.

The man looked up.

"Who's this?" Mr. Row asked, scanning me up and down.

"Oh... that's my daughter, Angel," Vaughan said, his voice cold and proud. "She's on break. She’s helping me today."

Mr. Row smiled, showing perfect, white teeth. "Smart. Family business. Good to see you’re training the next generation, Vaughan."

“Someone's got to take over. Someday.”

Vaughan stepped up behind me. His hand dropped onto my shoulder. It was heavy, firm, and possessive. I shivered, swallowed hard.

"Angel, meet Mr. Row. And this is Princess, his stepdaughter."

I froze. What? Step… stepdaughter?

But he didn't let me dwell too long in my shock. "Come on," Vaughan said. "Studio. There's no time."

I followed him into the familiar path. We went deeper than ever before, into a secret part of the basement I’d never seen.

Bright LED panels hung from the ceiling. Microphones on the wall. A giant bed with black silk sheets sat in the center. It was like a temple for sin. On the side was a couch.

Mr. Row and Princess were directed to the small place to get changed. Immediately, they left.

Vaughan shoved a heavy, tall light stand into my hands.

"Hold this. Get closer. I need the light right on them, Angel. Don't let it drift. Every shadow matters."

I didn't nod. I just took it. Held it like it was a certificate to greatness.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Mr. Row and Princess walked out. He had his dress pants on, but no shirt. His body looked good—better than it looked in that suit. She was in a tiny, black lace bra and matching panties. "Princess, onto the couch," Vaughan ordered, his voice crisp and professional as he adjusted his lens.

She moved. Straight to the couch. I followed. Him too.

"I want you to sit back, legs spread wide. Keep your heels dug into the velvet.”

Princess obeyed, her movements swift as she splayed her legs for the camera.

Damn.

“Row, get behind her. I want your hand on her ass.” Row moved. Mr. Row’s hand clamped onto her cheek, placed softly.

Click!

Click.

“Grab.”

Mr. Row’s finger dug into the soft skin, grabbing the ass.

Fuck. I felt a pool gush out of my core, trying to keep my hand steady.

“Force her to lean into the frame. Yes, like that. Let the audience see exactly what you’re claiming," Vaughan commanded.

His fingers dug deeper into the soft skin, pulling her ass cheeks apart so her pussy was perfectly centered in the light.

I was seeing her pussy. Glistening. Dripping even without being fucked yet.

"Perfect," Vaughan muttered, his eye pressed to the viewfinder.

Then, "Angel, lower the light stand. Two inches. If you shake, the frame is ruined. Keep your eyes on the subjects, not your own hands," he ordered without looking at me.

"Good," he continued, his tone clinical. "Now, Princess, grind your hips against him. Slowly. I want to see the lace of those panties straining against your wetness. Row, whisper something in her ear that makes her realize she isn't leaving this room until you're finished."

Princess let out a low, whimpering moan as she followed his lead, rocking her hips against him. She looked at me, her eyes glazed, while the man’s hand kneaded her ass with aggressive, practiced rhythm.

Camera lights flashed.

My own pussy started to ache. A slick, hot feeling built up between my legs, and my leggings felt suddenly too tight.

“Light!” Vaughan snapped, drawing me back to reality.

Finally, Vaughan stopped, his face cold as he looked at his tablet; he moved to the couple, showed them the images. They giggled and whispered like it was a fun game.

Then, Vaughan looked up. His eyes locked onto mine. He knew. He knew what this was doing. What this would do to any sane person.

"Alright," Vaughan said, his voice dropping an octave. "The photos are done. It’s time for the real work.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Just photos. I was dripping. When these people get naked…

He stepped toward them. "Row, get her pants off. Princess, pull those panties to the side. I want to see you dripping. I want to hear you scream for your stepdad until your lungs give out. Understood?"

My heart dropped. Throat tightened.

Princess smiled broadly, like she'd been waiting for the moment all her life. “Yes, Vaughan.”

Vaughan walked over to me, adjusting the light in my hand. His hand brushed against my hip, lingering for a second too long, sending sweet signals to my already messed-up brain. "Angel, you’re drifting," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, sending vibrations. "Keep that light steady. Focus on the way she’s opening for him. You wanted this. You have it."

He stepped back to the camera, his voice booming through the room. " You two, you don't just fuck. I want to hear the sound of skin hitting skin. I want to hear her begging. I want the whole house to know what happens when you’re in my studio. Start now. Take it all off. I want to see every inch of her pussy before and as the cock goes deep inside her."

I stood there watching and hearing the man I called father. Use those vuglar dirty words. Each of them resounding like a gong in my head. Sending Forbidden signals to my core.