Daddy Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I said as I hugged him even tighter, forcing him to feel his little girl's now ripe body. "God honey, I'm an old man, way too old and feeble for a beautiful young girl like you," he protested, but made no attempt to move away, in fact seemed to push his hard shaft even harder into me. "No you're not! All my friends think you're sooo hot." "Yeah sure," Daddy responded, a blush spreading across his face. "I can just see all your eighteen year old high school girlfriends thinking I'm hot," he finished, clearly enchanted with the thought of my sexy teenage friends getting off on him.

Dominic happily said. Dye's father was as tall as him and handsome than any other father that she saw in her entire life. His hair was manly cut with his two dark piercing eyes. He has these black eyebrows that girls would love to have. His lips was also seductively red and he looks more than a thirty year old man than a father of this hundred years old guy. He was wearing the same suit like Diamond so they both look dashing. They have similar features too aside from the hair and the Dye's right earing.

“Standing here naked, letting your own father play with your tight little cunt. You like being Daddy’s dirty secret, don’t you?” “Yes,” I gasped, my hips grinding shamelessly against his hand. “I love it, Daddy. Please don’t stop.” He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’m not stopping, baby girl. Not tonight. I’ve spent too many nights trying to ignore how fucking sexy you’ve become. Those tiny shorts that ride up your ass when you bend over. Those thin tank tops with your hard nipples poking through. Walking around like you don’t know what you do to me.”

It is the same thing anyone attracted to him wants. New York, like any metropolitan city, is filled with beautiful people, but he knows his attraction isn’t exactly handsomeness alone. It is more. He can tell that his well- developed lean muscles make his black shirt fit him like a walking mannequin. He can tell that it is his facial hair, his sharpcheekbones, and the visible tattoos that run from his fingers up to his neck. There is that sense of danger with him, that promise of a life of fun. Even if it is just a one-night stand.

Daddy moved among them, a gracious host, asking insightful questions, drawing out their stories, their hidden frustrations. He stopped before Chloe, her platinum collar gleaming under the fairy lights. “A beautiful choice,” he murmured, his finger hovering just above her throat, not touching. “It suits you. Tell me, Chloe… what does your perfect, online world lack?” She shivered, her influencer’s poise faltering. “Real… feeling,” she whispered. “Ah,” Daddy smiled. “We have an abundance of that here.” He turned to Julian, whose collar seemed a natural extension of his athletic physique. “You worship the body,” Daddy stated. “But does it worship you back?”

"He swore his vows in the shadows. He reminded me that the cage doesn't matter, Daddy. The key is in my hand." The word "Daddy"—used not as endearment, but as a provocation—was a blade. Mark roared, a sound torn from his chest, and slammed me against the cold glass again. He drove into me, hard and fast, fully clothed and unforgiving. It was a violation of the clean space, a desecration of his own immaculate life.

He poked inside her, and his two fingers were covered with clear discharge. He brought his two fluid-coated fingers up in front of her, his eyes full of enjoyment as he looked at the embarrassed Emma, “Look at this, my daughter, so stimulated by daddy that you’re soaking wet. You truly are a naughty daughter. How does it feel? Very stimulating, isn’t it?” Emma was horrified by his form of address. Her face went pale, and she instinctively slapped away his other hand that was trying to touch her, “I am not your daughter... you can’t call me that.”

“And with so much money, Big Daddy, why not get that pleasure from a virgin? Don’t you want a little girl all your own?” “Goddammit, no. A virgin?” His hands leave my breasts and grip my hips, as if he’s trying to convince himself to push me away. Instead, he yanks me up against his big body forcefully, dislodging my hands from his arousal. “Ah Jesus. No. I can’t. I can’t. I could be your father.” “No. But you can be my Big Daddy.” I open my thighs wider around his hips, arching my back enticingly. “Big Daddy gets to put it anywhere.”

Normally, his caramel brown hair is swept back and held there with some kind of product when he goes to the office, but it’s down today and slightly shaggy and carefree, which gives him a sexy, boyish charm look that I always love and find so attractive on the days he spends at the house. But what always gets me the most about Daddy is the way he oozes confidence more than any other man I’ve ever met in my life. Even when we first met during my court case back when I was a little girl, he just stood out among every other man around—and he still does. He’s like an ancient king trapped in a modern man’s body. I’m just constantly drawn to him.

The air seemed to freeze in an instant. Layson paused, frowning, his intense gaze locked on my face. He hadn't heard me address him like that in a long time. When I was a kid and first brought to his castle, I used to sweetly call him "Your Majesty". Later, once I understood the feelings I had for him, I refused to use that title anymore. Sometimes, I called him "my Alpha Daddy" or "Daddy", and sometimes, I was bold enough to call him directly by name, "Layson".