Daddy, fucked on camera

The studio was a furnace of sweat and heat. I was pressed into the corner of the room, the heavy light stand feeling like the only thing keeping me upright. My knuckles were white from gripping the pole so hard.

Right now, Mr. Row was behind Princess, his body a blur of muscle. She was bent over the black sheets, her hair a tangled mess, her skin glowing and slick under the harsh glare of the LED panels. She looked like a doll, her spine arching in a way that made my own back ache with a sudden need.

"Row, thrust inside," Vaughan ordered in a slow, terrifyingly calm voice, as if he were just discussing breakfast options. The whole session—a naked man fucking his stepdaughter—looked like it had no effect whatsoever on him. Like he had learnt and mastered the act of seeing people's nakedness.

"Slow. Deep. I want to see her stretched until she can’t catch her breath. Do not hold back, man. Give the lens what it’s screaming for."

The man obeyed instantly, pushing into her with one slow, heavy, deliberate thrust. Princess let out a sharp, ragged gasp that sounded like a sob and a thank you. The sound of their skin colliding filled the air, drowning out the humming noise of the cooling fans.

It was hypnotic, a sweet, satisfying sight that pulled me in. My eyes were glued—glued to their middle. Every time he pulled out and slammed back in, she shuddered, her eyes rolling back to look at the ceiling, her mouth wide open in a silent, needy plea.

“Ohhh… yess, ohhh,” she moaned, sending wrong signals to my head, my pussy throbbing.

"Faster, Row," Vaughan commanded, his eyes not leaving the high-definition monitor. "She needs the pace to hit the edge. Don't let her settle. Make her earn every single inch you give her."

The room temperature seemed to skyrocket. I was leaning in and I didn't even know; my mouth watered. The light stand was trembling in my shaking hands.

As the seconds went by, the heat between my legs was becoming unbearable; it was like a pulsing, liquid fire. My leggings were soaked, creating a dark, hot patch that was slowly spreading across my thighs, sticking to my skin with every move I made.

I was clenching my muscles, trying to hide the ache, but my clit… ohh… that small, sensitive bud, it was throbbing and pulsing in time with every thrust they made. I felt like I was unraveling, my own body betraying me as I watched them treat the concept of "family" like a dirty joke.

Princess looked at me. Her face was flushed, her mouth hanging open, and her eyes were screaming with pleasure and zero shame. She was staring right at me while her stepfather pounded into her, his hands gripping her hips like he owned her, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

"Oh god! Yes! Daddy!”

Daddy. That word sent jolts of pleasure down my spine.

My head turned, looking at him. Vaughan. My own daddy.

“Light!” he ordered, like he saw me watching him. My gaze returned instantly to my supposed job.

“Right there! Fuck me like you’re taking what’s yours!" Princess shrieked, her body arching into a violent, shaking climax. “Ooohhhhhh!” She screamed her satisfaction in a long, high note that echoed off the secret walls.

Vaughan didn't move. He didn't even breathe harder. He just watched the monitor, his face completely blank.

"Stop," Vaughan said, leaning his head back. "Take a break, Row. We need you hard for the next position. Don't you waste your energy now. We’ve got more work ahead of us, and I want her begging for more by the hour."

The couple laughed, breathless and messy, as they pulled apart. I dropped the light stand in a way that it clattered against the floor, but I didn't care. I needed air. I needed to escape to breathe.

"I need water," I gasped, turning toward the door.

Vaughan didn't look up. "Don't go down. Follow me."

I stumbled behind him, and we walked into his private office—the place where he did the editing, the same room I was caught in last night.

It was dim, smelling of expensive paper and his sharp, masculine scent. He walked to the small fridge beside his table, pulled out a bottle of ice-cold water, and tossed it at me. I snatched it and drank until it was empty; still, my throat was burning. The bottle had barely left my mouth when I said, "I can’t..."

I was leaning against his desk, my legs shaking so hard I could barely stand. "I can’t go back in there. I can't."

"Why?" he asked, his voice low. "Is it the sight? Or is it the realization that you’ve been wanting to see this since the first day you stepped into my studio?"

He was right. I wanted to see what goes on there. I wanted to see, hear him command like that. But this—no, not this. Not this particular act.

"It’s... it’s taboo. It’s forbidden. They’re step-family, and they're… they're doing that?” I asked, pointing a finger in the direction of the inner studio. “I can't watch it anymore. I can't, I'm sorry. You can give me other punishments for me coming into your studio. I could wash, clean, do anything. Take my phones. But not that. I can't keep watching that taboo..." I rasped, the words falling free from my mouth.

He didn't respond—not yet. He moved, walking slowly toward me, his presence filling the room, making me smaller than I already was. He didn't look angry, but still… he was every inch intimidating.

"Forbidden?" he whispered, his eyes lingering on my lips. "How so? Huh?” he asked. “Are you really going to tell me that you, Angel, are following the moral code? With the way your body was dancing to the rhythm in there? Leaning closer like you wanted to be part of it?"

I looked away, my face burning. "You know how! It's wrong! It's—"

"When you moaned my name last night," he interrupted, his voice dropping into that dangerous, heavy tone, "what were you thinking? Was it forbidden then? Or was it exactly what you’ve been dreaming about every time you saw me walk through this house?"

I swallowed hard, my legs feeling weak. He was right? Or wrong? "You don't have to keep bringing that up again. It was a mistake. Okay, I.. I said what I said in the spur of the moment. I didn't intentionally moan your name. I… I wasn't thinking. It was like an impromptu stupidity."

He moved closer. I didn't move. I stood still, my heart beating out of rhythm, until he was now inches away from me. I could smell the leather of his chair and that sharp, woodsy cologne.

He reached out, his hand sliding firmly around my waist, pulling me against his hard frame. His grip was like iron, leaving me no space to retreat. Before I could even gasp, his hand slid down. He pressed his palm directly against the soaked patch of my leggings, right over my pussy.

Fuck. My breath caught in my throat.

Pleasure shot through me like a bolt of lightning, making my knees buckle. His eyes locked on mine. He rubbed his thumb over the wet fabric, pressing into me, feeling exactly how much I wanted to be touched there. I could feel the heat radiating from him, and the way my own body pulsed against his touch was a betrayal I couldn't stop.

"Ahhh..." The short sound ripped out of my throat before I could stop it.

He leaned into my ear, his voice a low, gravelly command. "You seem to enjoy the taboo, Angel. Much more than you’ll admit.” I felt him smile. “Listen. You’re going to watch every second of that taboo for the next three days. Every movement. Every moan. Every one of those forbidden fucks. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to love every agonizing second of it.” He paused, his breath fanning my ear. Hot.

Then,

“God help you, Angel, if I catch you touching yourself while you watch. After you watch. Or before you watch. You’ll be done for."

He pulled back, his eyes dark and satisfied. He turned and headed back toward the studio door.

"Don't stay here long," he said over his shoulder. "The clients are waiting."

I stood there, trembling. My body felt like it was on fire. The man I called father—my mother's husband—had just… had just touched me. And worse, I hadn't pushed him away. I reacted, moaned at the same taboo I was condemning seconds before the touch.

Then,

Angel!" he called out loud from the studio door.

I moved. I had to.