Her warm, welcoming pussy. The very life flowing through her body. Her smiles. Her voice. Her laugh. Conversations with her. Her wit and tact. Everything that made up who she was, was his. "Mercy. Mercy. Daddy. Mercy," she begged, whimpering beneath him, before she went back to moaning his name, her pussy's vice grip on his dick unrelenting. "In a minute, baby girl. Daddy likes what happens after three," Harry said, the depraved asshole that he was. Skin slapped against skin, loud enough to crack the air and compete with their moans and breathy gasps. His legs were barely holding him up anymore, but his aching dick was too consumed with fucking her pussy for him to be reasonable. The banquet fuck taught him 'after three' meant her orgasms would happen more frequently. Soon they'd be seconds apart. He himself was in genuine pain, but his dick wouldn't stop savagely ploughing her warm, wet cunt. "Harry. Harry. Harry. Fuck. Daddy please," she whimpered, thrashing about wildly.
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