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The first time you meet Sukuna is at a nice restaurant your parents made reservations for. Your mother is smiling at his father, Jin; both hoping that you will get along with each of his sons.

Yuji is sweet, bubbly and outgoing. Choso is kind but far more reserved and keeps to himself, except when Yuji urges him to join the conversation. And then there is Sukuna, quiet except to say comments that had the whole table falling into complete silence.

He's huge and has a menacing look across his face, eyeing you like he was measuring up how worthy you were of his time. As a third year collegiate rugby player he is a mountain of a man. tattoos streaming down his face and arms, and piercings accentuating the sharpness of his features.

Each move you make is strategic, not wanting to disappoint your mother in impressing her new beau. Everyone seems to be getting along with the exception of the broody oldest son. It doesn't help that the only chair available was seated at the end of the table, right next to Sukuna. 

Your mother prompts you to tell everyone what you’re studying in college and just as you speak up a rough, warm hand lands on the middle of your thigh. Not moving or inching any higher, just claiming its place on your lap. The look Sukuna gives you is a challenge, are you going to disrupt the peace and say something, or will you stay silent and keep everyone placated?

And you do just that. You keep the conversation going despite trying to subtly remove his hand from your leg. It doesn’t work anyway, the warm palm remains in place until he decides to move it.

After testing the waters during your first time meeting, Sukuna can’t help but lay it on heavier once your families merge and move in together after the wedding. ‘Just until you’ve graduated’ is all they asked of you all, your parents wanting to live as a real family for even just one year.

Your mother had always wanted a large family and after the incident with your father this was her one chance to live out her dream. Who were you to deny that happiness you thought. Sukuna on the other hand would have told his father to fuck off and continue living on campus but the idea of such a tempting juicy peach living under the same roof was too good to pass up.

The first day of living together and he’s already grinding against your ass as he passes by you in the crowded kitchen before heading off for practice. If you showered too late at night he was standing right outside the bathroom, catching an eyeful whenever he could. Rationalizing it as a coincidence only lasted so long before you realized he was just a massive pervert.

Then you try to avoid him, leaving an hour after he heads off to campus, showering and locking your door before he gets back home, even settling for eating in your room if you had to. Tonight you pray that he’s off at some frat party with his teammates where he can bother some other poor girl.

You’re tucked in bed, scrolling aimlessly through videos until you feel exhausted enough to sleep when you hear a single sharp knock on your door. Half asleep, you don't think twice about who was on the other side. Opening it carefully, just a sliver of light from the hallway illuminates your vision, and you see him. Sukuna towers over you and wedges himself between the door frame.

“What do you want?” you ask, disappointed that it was him at your door. You should have kept it shut. You attempt to close it but his foot blocks the motion.

“Need your help.” Is all he says before pushing the door wider and walking inside your room. He turns on your desk lamp, offering the room a small amount of light.

“With wha-“ you couldn’t finish your question due to him completely removing the tight t-shirt that covered him. You just stared, stunning and unsure of what to do.

You checked your phone, it was midnight and you knew everyone else was already asleep. “What the fuck are you doing?” mustering just enough courage to whisper angrily at him.

“I have a muscle strain. You don’t want it to turn into a full injury do you?” Sukuna asks before laying across your bed, taking up nearly the whole expanse as he lays on his stomach.

You feel sick, unsure of how you’re going to get him to leave, yet not wanting to wake up your mother when you know she has work in the morning.

“So why are you here? Go to your room.”

“I want my new baby sister to help me out. Use those pretty little hands to ease my pain.”

“I'm not touching you. Get out!” you keep your voice as steady as you can manage with the lump forming in your throat.

“Come on, be the good sister your mommy wants you to be and help me out,” he waves the arm he wants attention on, “lower left shoulder. I fucked it up during a tackle.”

He has you stuck between two impossible decisions; start a rift in the harmony your mom has been wishing for, or give in to the brute on your bed.

He lets out a satisfactory chuckle as you approach the bed and stare down at his back. There is a large bruise there, it looks painful so you’re careful as your hands ghost along the tanned skin. Your eyes trace the markings of his tattoos, hypnotized by the way they curve along his developed muscles.

“What am I supposed to do?” you ask, trying to hide the nerves in your voice.

“Just massage it until the swelling goes down. If you're good, I'll return the favor.”

You let out a disgusted scoff, not trusting your speech to give him a more suitable response.

You work your fingers around the edges of his injury, listening intently for any sound of discomfort. Your back strains as you hunch over the bed to reach his left side but you don’t make any fuss, not wanting his attention brought back to you.

“You’re pretty good at this. I might have to keep you around when the season actually starts up.”

“This wasn’t even from a match?” You question before thinking better. Do not engage in conversation with him, you chide yourself.

“Hell no. This is from practice.” Sukuna turns himself over onto his back and looks at you clearly. “I’d probably have a broken tooth or a fucked up leg if this was a real match.”

You can't stop your eyes from roaming over the expanse of his chest in the low light of your bedroom, scars and bruises litter the front of him as well. “Why do it then?” you ask.

“Full tuition, room and board paid for by the college. Plus I get to break the noses of a few dickheads every week. What’s not to like?”

Just when you let your guard down and think you can have a normal conversation with him, Sukuna proves you wrong. He sits up and grabs your arm, dragging you over him onto the mattress. Within seconds you go from carefully standing away from him to completely straddling his lap.

You try to pull yourself away from him but his broad hands keep your hips in place on his lap. Each buck of your hips only serves to make him crazier. You freeze once you realize that your movements were causing a smile to break across his face.

“My clavicle hurts too. Get to work.” He punctuated with a playful but sharp smack on your ass.

You ask yourself why you’re still doing this but the way he looks at you has you pinned to the spot. His body is a work of art you regretfully notice, maybe you can just pretend it’s someone else as you get to massaging. Your hands move towards his shoulders as both a way to balance yourself and to work on the tense muscles.

You regret all of this now, wanting to go back in time and keep your door locked, wishing you had the guts to just tell your mother or Jin that you couldn’t stay in the house with his son any longer. Sukuna shamelessly stared at your tits through the v-cut camisole you wore tonight, his cock stirring underneath you.

And you bit your tongue, staying silent about the way you could feel his length pressing between your legs. The silk sleep shorts you had on did little to stop you from sensing the heavy prod of his bulge through his sweatpants.

You feel the hands on your hips tighten, fingers digging into flesh as Sukuna slides your back and forth on his lap. Each attempt to lift yourself off of him only made the movements that much more intense.

“Stop it, Sukuna.” You try to warn him despite knowing it will fall on deaf ears.

“Fuck, say my name again, baby.” He groans under his breath, eyes focused on the way your chest begins to rise and fall with each increasing breath.

“Don’t call me that,” you manage to gasp out just before one of his hands yanks your flimsy shorts and underwear to the side and makes your bare cunt grind against his hard-on.

Tears form in your eyes; a mixture of frustration, embarrassment, and the disgust at how quickly you were being affected by the bucking of his hips. He lifts a hand to wipe at your tears with his thumb before taking the digit into his mouth and savoring the salty stream running down your face.

“Baby, don’t cry. Your big brother will fix everything, just be a good girl for me, okay?”

Sukuna uses that same saliva coated thumb to press circles over your clit. You nod and throw your head back, able to do nothing except take the pleasure he’s offering, at least that’s what you have to tell yourself to stay sane.

As you get lost in the feeling of your building climax, he slips his cock out of the confines of his sweats, pulling you forward to grind on his length. You moan at the feeling of your slick meeting warm skin, taking a moment to realize what he’s just done.

Hands push on his chest for leverage, once again fighting him, but his own strong arms shift to grab the back of your thighs, keeping you trapped right where he wants you. You beg him to stop but he doesn’t listen.

“Call me big brother and I promise I won’t put my dick inside you yet.”

“No! Just stop!”

Now you have him running out of patience. Little did you know, this was Sukuna on his best behavior. You brought out something in him that he couldn’t control.

“Do it or I’ll knock on the wall until our parents walk in the room. And trust me, I’ll hold you right here,” he ruts his cock even faster against your slit, your whole body jolting with the force of his arms moving you, “and let everyone in this house get a good look at how fucked out you look on top of me right now.”

“Hnnnn-” You cry out as you clench around nothing, aching for more contact and yet wanting it to all end. “Big brother, please. I just wanna cum!”

Sukuna pulls you closer to him and his mouth sucks on your nipple through the silk of your camisole. The new angle has your clit rubbing directly along his shaft causing electric-like pulses to flow through your body.

Each nip and tug of his teeth mixed with the twitching of his cock has your head swimming. You can’t hold back the moans that slip out between your clenched jaw.

“Fuck…” Sukuna takes a moment to look down as your thighs begin to tense and shake, “you’re soaking my cock, you little slut.”

There’s no more holding back, your clit cannot take anymore of the slick friction it’s receiving. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you cry out a slew of names and insults at him while riding out your climax.

Once your hips still on their own Sukuna has you flipped onto your back, him now straddling your hips. He dips two fingers between your folds, gathering a pool of your slick to lube the rest of his cock with.

You did not get the chance to see it very well before but your eyes widen at how large and girthy his cock was. The thickness alone makes you want to run and hide. It also causes the most disgusting impulsive images of him fucking you with that big dick to run through your mind.

Sukuna positions himself between your legs, as if he was going to fuck you in missionary. One arm pressed into the mattress by your head and the other stroking his cock, all while staring into your eyes intensely.

You feel more naked under his glare now than you did on top of him with his mouth and hands roaming your body. Despite how badly you want to, you can’t look away, like you’re being frozen in place by his ruby eyes.

His face tenses, jaw ticked and brows furrowed. He grunts your name once and then you feel splatter after splatter of his cum hitting your stomach and bare pussy. The silk shorts you’re wearing are completely ruined by the stains setting in.

Your high is gone, everything turning stone cold sober. With a raised hand you unleash your anger onto his cheek. The slap was louder than you intended but not harsh enough to wipe the satisfaction off his face. He grabbed you by the back of your head, pulling your faces closer before claiming your lips. His tongue invades your mouth as you try to kick and push him away.

“You’re gonna be a good baby sister right? I’m not gonna have to show your mom that stash of weed you have in your drawers, will I?” Sukuna coos at you despite the severe threat laying underneath the sweet voice he used for you.

He’s been in your room? Of course he has. It’s no wonder the lock on your door sticks and sometimes doesn’t work at all. Sukuna had probably been picking the lock since you first moved in together. But the last thing you needed was her to hear about the weed you have. The first time she caught you smoking she nearly called the cops on you.

“What’s your problem? Why me? Why are you doing this to me?” You plead.

Sukuna gathers a stream of his cum between his fingers, smearing his spend between your folds, amused by the tempestuous expression you gave as he mixed your releases together

“Because I can. Because I want to. Because I want something that’s only mine.” He says all of this so flippantly, as if his harassment against you was destined fate. “You’re my type, you know that? Pretty eyes, cute face, smart as hell, secretly kinky.”

Your brows crease in confusion, “you know nothing about me. You’re fucking delusional.”

Sukuna finally removes himself from on top of you, putting his softened but still too large of a cock back inside his underwear. He’s half way across the threshold of your room, ready to finally leave you alone before he turns back casually.

“You know, baby sister,” he enjoys the way you cringe at that name, “your laptop and phone sync your history and logins. The shit you’ve been watching on there makes me look like a saint.”

“Leave me the fuck alone!”

“Maybe that’s what we’ll do later. I’ll show you my collection and you show me just what makes that pretty pussy of yours so wet. Maybe your big brother will let you try some of it out with him.”

He’s taunting you and it’s working. You hate how your cheeks flush and your eyes gloss over as his deep voice hits you in ways that make you want to die.

“That’s no amateur shit you're watching. Cages, rope, anal, fucking piss and spitting. Yeah, you’re my dream girl.”

♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ ♡ྀི

"You’ve grown up so much, little one."

Your father’s hands gently clasp your shoulders after he spots you in the crowd and comes over to you as you leave the ceremony hall, your diploma tucked under your arm. The tone of his voice is a mixture of pride in you and unvoiced sadness, perhaps stemming from the realisation of how inexorably quickly time passes; after all, it seems as though only a couple of months have gone by between the day he took you to your first year of primary school and today, when you’re already graduating from high school. Or perhaps it’s the thought that the older you get, the less often you two are going to meet, until you stop seeing him, absorbed in your own life, where there will be not a single tiny room left for your dad, once so loved by you.

But for now, his eyes sparkle with joy, and his mouth is stretched into a tender smile that invariably makes you feel as though your heart is nothing more than a lump of dough that he's slowly and carefully kneading with his warm hands. The scene of the father and daughter’s reunion seems all too long-awaited and touching for people who’d last seen each other just a few weeks ago, when you’d spent a whole day together wandering round the shopping centers trying to choose a prom dress, when he’d said, "Take whatever you like, sweetheart, dad's got all the world's money in his wallet for you today", and when the warm tips of his fingers brushed against your back as he fastened yet another dress you were trying on, and when the word 'princess' kept on slipping from his smiling lips, spoken with such love and warmth that your insides grew soft and weightless, settling somewhere deep in your stomach.

Now that your parents have divorced, your rare meetings with your father have become even fewer and farther between, and each of these brief meetings has become a big event for both of you. You were lucky that both your mother and father were sensible enough to not let the strained relationship between them affect your connection with Leon: mom knew how close you were to your dad and didn’t keep you back from seeing him, whilst Leon didn’t stop visiting you after his painful divorce from your mom, unlike the fathers of some of your classmates, who seemed to forget they had children at all after they got divorced. The mere thought that the same thing might happen to you made you feel sick. But your dad wasn’t like that. Your dad loved you more than anything in the world, and that’s why on that day he decided to be there for you, rushing over to you as soon as he’d finished working.

Your pink satin dress flows down in soft waves, falling to the floor and covering your patent white shoes. You feel your father’s hands gently resting on your shoulders, and even though the prospect of feeling them there for as long as possible seems all too tempting, the resentment that has been building up inside you for several hours gets the better of you in the end, and you gently push him away, hitting him in the chest with your diploma, which he immediately grabs in a fluster so it doesn’t fall to the ground.

"You almost missed my entrance," you fold your arms across your chest and look away, turning your back on him. "I went up on stage, looked around for you, and you were nowhere to be seen! Now try to imagine my disappointment. I thought my own father had abandoned me on one of the most important days of my life!"

You try not to look him in the face; after all, if your eyes were to meet his, he would surely see how swollen and red they are from crying, and how your lower lip is trembling, but, most importantly, you wouldn’t be able to hold back a smile that would give away your inability to hold a proper grudge against him. After all, he did come, didn’t he? He rushed into the hall just as you were finishing your speech, standing on stage and trying with all your might to hold back your tears. He didn’t let you down. He would never let you down.

Leon tucks your diploma under his arm and places his hands on your shoulders again, making you shiver at how warm they feel against your skin. He makes you turn towards him, leaning closer to your face.

"Looks like I’ve messed up," you nod almost imperceptibly, still refusing to look in his direction, "But hey, do you realise that the fact I’m standing here right in front of you is nothing short of a miracle? I was racing through the city as if all those traffic lights, houses and pedestrians were nothing more than figments of my imagination. Nearly broke my bike for the second time this month. And you know just how much I love my bike, don't you?"

You stamp your foot in annoyance. Dad and his stupid buckets of bolts that he never shuts up about.

"Hey," he says as he touches your nose with his index finger, just as he used to do when you were a child, making you finally look up at him with your red swollen eyes with mascara clumped on your lashes; you feel his gaze soften even more and at the sight of this, and his thumbs gently glide over your cheeks, wiping away your tears, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Really sorry. Besides, I promised to pay for your get-together with friends today, so it would be a crime for you to be angry with me, don’t you think?"

Of course you knew that. You’ve always known it. Of all the people around you, your father was the last person for you to hold a grudge against. He always did everything in his power for you. He gave you all of himself: his money, his free time, his whole heart and all his love, completely and utterly. The only thing that he was unable to do for you was to quit his job, which took up so much of his time and was systematically breaking him and taking away a piece of his soul with each mission. A job your dad spoke so little about, but which robbed the two of you of so many warm moments, and because of which you might go weeks, sometimes months, without seeing each other. A job that was the reason Leon missed several of your birthdays and nearly missed your college graduation. A job that was the reason your dad regularly took a whole bunch of pills to help him keep going and sleep through the night, without waking up every two hours from nightmares with his heart pounding in his throat and his dinner trying to come back up. A job that was regularly the reason why, from time to time, he’d come home drunk, pop into your room and hug you whilst you were asleep, burying his face in your blanket and whispering how sorry he was that he couldn’t be there as often as he’d like, how much he loved you and how he would always protect you, as the person dearest to him. As his one and only beloved daughter.

"Dad!" Your hand tightens around his forearms, hips sway gently back and forth, clothed pussy slides along his fly, feeling how rock hard he is beneath it. The broken air-con in your room, which you’ve never quite managed to get fixed, makes its absence feel more and more with every passing minute as the stifling heat in the room makes your skin feel sticky and hot to the touch, and your breathing even heavier.

Leon doesn’t touch you, Leon doesn’t look at you or say a word to you, and the only sign that he’s aware of your presence in this room is his parted lips and his eyebrows drawn together towards the bridge of his nose as he struggles with all his might to remain silent under the weight of your body.

Your hand glides down his neck, feeling the pulse beneath your palm as if it were striving to burst out from beneath his skin; your warm palm moves gently towards his chest, then slightly lower, brushing the hem of his T-shirt as your fingers slip underneath it. Leon exhales sharply and holds his breath as the pads of your fingers brush against the coarse hair on his lower abdomen, which runs in a neat line down towards his pubis. He doesn't push you away. It's a good thing. Your nimble fingers then catch hold of the hem of your shirt and lift it up, baring the mounds of your breasts with neatly protruding nipples. A smug look in your eyes glides from your breasts to his face, only for all your impudence to get shattered against his closed eyelids. You’re amused by his futile, half-hearted attempts to resist your actions, as if his arms weren’t strong enough for him to just push your ass off his lap, give you a slap on your face, stand up and walk away. If he’d wanted to, of course. It’s a fucking shame, but you wouldn’t be yourself, the only daughter of a loving father, spoilt almost to the point of absurdity, if you didn’t try to get your own way, would you?

"Daddy, couldn’t you–"

Like a daddy’s girl you are, you ask for permission and don’t wait for an answer, knowing he’ll always say yes; you take his hands and bring them to your breasts, but the very moment his fingers barely touch your aroused nipples, Leon snaps back to reality, to the stuffy room in your rented apartment, and pulls his hands away from your body, moving them to your bare waist instead. A safer spot, he probably thinks. His eyes close, he exhales.

"Baby, please."

"Please – what?" you want to ask, but instead you press your lower body more firmly against his, drawing a muffled groan from his chest as his eyes fly open and finally fall upon your naked body, his own daughter’s sticky with sweat, soft, supple, breathing and moving just a couple of inches from his face.

Leon exhales and swallows, Adam’s apple twitches. He reaches for your shirt, which has ridden up above your chest, and pulls it down, cupping your waist with his hands again and pressing his forehead against your shoulder. His hot, damp breath trembles against your neck and saturates the fabric of your shirt with the acrid smell of alcohol.

You were already a bit tipsy after a get-together with your friends when he came round to pick you up at one in the morning to drive you home, even though there was a night bus running in the area and he had to get up for work in a few hours’ time. Ever since he’d returned from that last mission, he’d constantly been trying to be there for you, even when it wasn’t entirely sensible, convenient or necessary. You could only guess at the reason. Over the last few years, you’d completely stopped trying to pry any details about his work out of your Leon, because his answers were always vague, abstract and gave you absolutely no clear idea of the specifics of his profession, except perhaps the fact that each one of his missions could turn out to be his last. Perhaps this time, your father had come closer to death than ever before, and this had made him appreciate the moments spent with you even more. The thought that his mind was occupied by you, his beloved girl, whilst he was slowly dying in the enemy’s lair somewhere on the other side of the country, made your insides twist into a knot and rise up in your throat. The euphoria of the alcohol and the thrill of moving into a whole new phase of your life, combined with the longing and love that had built up inside whilst dad was away, swept you off your feet that night, and you didn’t let Leon out of your sight for a single second from the moment you got into his car. Your arms were wrapped around his forearms, brushing his shoulder, your fingers intertwined with his, your warm palms pressed together, whilst you chattered happily away, telling him all sorts of nonsense which he listened to without interrupting, occasionally letting out quiet, warm chuckles and nodding his head. He always became so relaxed and cheerful in your presence. You were the one who could make him feel this way.

Back home, you opened the bottle of wine he’d given you, chattering away the whole time, pouring him more and more of the fragrant blood red liquid into his glass with every turn. Were you doing it on purpose, or were you really so engrossed in the story of your graduation day that you didn’t notice how you’d got him to drink almost a whole bottle of wine, whilst your own glass remained almost untouched? Hard to say. But as you later sat on his lap on the old sofa, your arms round his neck and feeling his cock getting harder with each passing second, you knew you were exactly where you wanted to be.

"Dad, wait," you say, your hips stopping for a moment. You no longer feel his weight on your shoulder, Leon’s hot breath is no longer scorching your neck. His face is now right in front of yours, his gaze fixed on your lower abdomen. For a drunk man, he’s watching your hand too intently as you push your soaking-wet panties aside, revealing your swollen, reddened clit to your father’s gaze. One of your hands is still resting on his neck, caressing it with your thumb, as you feel his pulse beating faster beneath your palm. His breathing quickens, burning your face.

Once you’re done with your underwear, you kiss him on the cheek, pulling away for a second to watch his reaction, and gently move your lips down to his jawline and chin, letting his stubble prick your lips and the scent of cologne and alcohol waft into your nostrils. Your lips are poised to press against his mouth when Leon shudders sharply and pulls away, his hands on your shoulders clenching them as if that could somehow keep him from falling into that abyss he stepped into the moment he didn’t push you away when you started grinding your pussy against his crotch. Leon’s gaze wanders everywhere, avoiding your eyes, which are now looking at him with such curiosity, as if seeing him for the first time. Your flustered father doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he hugs you, just like when you were a child. You could smile at the contrast between this warm, familial embrace and the way the fabric of his pants around his crotch is stretching tighter with every passing second, but instead you try to stifle your moans as your inner lips glide along the outline of his cock and ache agonizingly at the impossibility of taking his length inside you. Leon’s hands on your waist squeeze your skin tighter and tighter, clasping behind your back so that he’s pressed almost flush against you.

"Is everything okay?" You wrap your arms round his shoulders in response, stroking his sweaty hair and running your fingers through it.

"Yeah. Just please," he hesitates for a second, as if weighing up his own words, his breath trembles, his arms tighten their hold on you, "please, a bit faster, baby," Leon manages to squeeze out of his throat; his wet whisper against your neck makes something huge and boundless deep in your stomach contract to the size of a pea, and makes your heart beat even faster.

"Okay," you nod obediently, your hips begin to slide in an even more intense rhythm as you place your palm on his cheek, brushing it with your lips and wiping away your own saliva. "I’m only doing all this because I love you so much, okay?"

Leon’s breathing catches at your neck and lingers for a second in his throat before escaping as a trembling exhalation.

"Ah, fuck... N-not now, baby, we'll talk about it later, alright?"

You nod, pressing your warm body even tighter against his crotch. Leon shudders; a monosyllabic curse escapes his throat, his breathing quickens, hands slide down, lifting your shirt and clasping the supple skin of your waist with his fingers, making you shudder with surprise. Seems like the heat and stuffiness of the room mixed with the alcohol in his blood are finally taking their toll, making it now impossible for him to hold back his urges anymore.

Every breath he takes is a silent and sharp 'fuck' uttered as he exhales, a quiet growl born of the agonising need to bring to a climax the sensation lodged deep inside, in the pit of his stomach.

"Ah! Fuck, my sweet girl, just like that..."

His hips begin to move gently for the first time this evening, as he strives to press his clothed cock even harder against your dripping pussy. The movements become increasingly jerky and abrupt; your palms on his shoulders are sweating, your fingers clinging tightly to the fabric of his T-shirt. Your pussy glides effortlessly over the fabric of his pants, lubricated by your own moisture, creating a pleasant sensation of friction; the knot in the pit of your stomach is about to burst and swell to incredible proportions.

Your restless hands slide down his shoulders towards his forearms, until finally you grab his wrists, intertwining your fingers, feeling the metal of his wedding ring between your interlaced fingers. Oh poor dad. Your poor, lonely dad, who’s trying so hard to cling to his past, still wearing his wedding ring even after the divorce and letting his beloved daughter hump his boner. Anything to stop the feeling of falling into the pit of loneliness again. Anything to feel loved and needed.

'Dad!' you gasp, feeling a tingling sensation down below, and press yourself even tighter against his chest, searching for the right angle at which you can properly rub your clit against his bulge. Leon untangles your intertwined arms to slide his sweaty, hot palms under your shirt, wandering haphazardly beneath it over your writhing body, sticky with sweat, lingering on your certain parts: his palms find the mounds of your breasts, squeezing them, massaging your pricky nipples with his thumbs, then sliding his hands down to your stomach, keeping his hand there longer than he ought to, as if pondering something, until you inadvertently snap him out of his reverie by pressing your pelvis particularly hard against his cock.

"Ah, for fuck’s sake..."

Leon grabs your ass and presses your thighs even tighter against his crotch. His eyes close, a pained moan escapes his lips, his hand finds your face, holding your chin in place, his mouth close to yours, breath tickling your lower lip.

"Give dad a kiss, little one. Be a good girl, will you?"

You nod obediently as you wrap your arms round his neck and press your lips to his mouth. Barely a couple of seconds pass before your tongues are entwined. His stubble scratches the tender skin of your chin, and if your brain weren’t a soft, shapeless mass right now due to the alcohol and arousal, you’d probably be thinking that after all this you’d have to put some soothing cream on it. But you couldn’t care less right now: you slide your tongue deeper and deeper into his mouth, as if trying to reach his tonsils, but Leon catches your muscle and traps it between his lips, first sucking on the tip, then licking it along the entire length, lapping up your saliva and grunting contentedly into your mouth. The sensation of an approaching orgasm, the arousal ready to spill over at any moment, the stifling heat of the room make you feel as though your lungs are shrinking to the size of a ping-pong ball; you pull away from your father’s mouth and start breathing rapidly, pressing your damp forehead against his.

"Dad, love you so much, just... fuck– just a little more."

Leon nods, a quiet ‘yes’ escaping his lips as his hands grip your buttcheeks tighter, making you hiss in pain and clench your hands around his forearms, tense to the limit. You feel Leon’s trembling breath mingling with your own on your lips, before he reaches out with his mouth towards your parted lips once more and captures them for a second with his own, scratching the tender skin with his teeth, a movement more reminiscent of biting an ice cream. That's enough for the little button at the base of your stomach to finally burst with the final stroke of your clit against his cock, spreading a delightful sensation through the lower half of your body and escaping straight from your lungs in the form of a sweet moan, flooding Leon’s pants with hot, slippery fluid.

Your hips continue to move more intensely, striving to prolong the lingering sensations of your orgasm for as long as possible, each thrust wringing convulsive moans and hoarse gasps from your lungs, until beads of sweat begin to tickle your back, trickling down your spine. At the same time, you try to press your bottom down as hard as you can onto Leon’s cock, urging him towards his climax. Your fingers glide over his lower lip, and you spend a long moment wondering whether you should do what you’ve been thinking of doing for quite a long time, but you’ve got nothing left to lose; the point of no return has been reached – you slip your thumb into his mouth, past his parted lips and teeth, until the pad of your thumb touches the surface of his tongue, and the warmth of his mouth closes around your finger almost instinctively, like a baby clinging to its mother’s breast. His mouth, so wet, feels divine around your finger, making you shudder at the mere thought of how goosebumps would cover your skin if that mouth were ever to touch your nipples or your clit. He'd probably make you come dozens of times in a single night. You pull your finger away from his mouth and replace it with your own lips once more, cupping his chin and making Leon moan contentedly into your mouth, pressing against you so tightly that you probably couldn’t fit a sheet of paper between the two of you now.

Leon is now taking matters into his own hands. Dad's large hands grip your hips, and from that moment on, you cease to be his beloved daughter, becoming instead nothing more than a tool for him to achieving an orgasm. He presses your ass tightly against his cock as you help him by finding the perfect angle at which your lower body presses against his cock so tightly that he finally draws in a sharp breath through his nose; his muffled groan travels as a sound wave across your lips, lingers for a second in his throat, and bursts back out as a moan. You can feel with your lower body how the tension in his crotch area ebb away and slide a little closer to his knees to admire the work you’ve both done.

Your cum and his seed, seeping through the fabric of his dark grey pants, mingle around his fly becoming one. You savour the sight, the mess created by your shared passion, when a wave of pain pierces your skin around your shoulders, where Leon’s hands are now resting; he's gripping your shoulders so tightly you cannot help but let out a quiet cry, which Leon doesn’t even notice, still watching as your juices mix with his around your groins. You look up at his face, and something inside you freezes: you’ve never seen your father look so frightened. His breathing becomes rapid and trembles as it leaves his lungs, making it clear to you what's about to follow. You’ve seen those episodes happen to your dad before, and they’ve all started the same way: rapid breathing, trembling, death grip of his hands on whatever he managed to reach in those moments. You understand everything. You understand perfectly well, and it seems he does too now. You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to focus on your eyes and your voice, even though you know that everything that has to do with you is probably the worst possible distraction for him right now.

"Dad, breathe. In and out. In and out, alright? You're okay. You’re fine. Come here."

You think back to all those times when dad looked after you, and you decide that now is the time for you to return that care to him. Your palms on his face, gentle and tender, brush away the tears that gather like sparkling diamonds on his eyelashes and fall onto his cheeks every time he blinks, leaving thin, damp streaks on his skin. The muscles of his jaw are tense and rigid beneath your fingers, and you instinctively run your thumbs over them in an attempt to make him relax. In response, Leon lowers his head even further and buries his nose in your neck; his trembling breath burns your skin. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your palms as you stroke his back in broad, soothing strokes, trying to calm him.

You’re still holding Leon in your arms, sitting on his lap in this room, the silence of which is broken only by the sound of his rapid breathing, the sobs he’s trying in vain to stifle by burying his face deeper and deeper into your shirt, and his barely audible whisper:

dad!toji who stays up later than he has in a long time, waiting patiently for you to return home from the bars. he’s sporting a nice buzz that keeps him awake until you bust through the front door at 3 am. you’re in a fit of giggles, stumbling around and trying to take your shoes off so you can tiptoe to your room.

you let out the cutest shriek in surprise when toji clears his throat, you didn’t expect him awake at this hour.

“hi daddy,” you smile, oblivious to the anger simmering beneath the surface of his calm exterior.

“hey babygirl, you have fun tonight?” toji asks slowly. he takes another swig of his beer as you make your way over to him.

dad!toji who slings an arm around your waist when you fall into him on the couch, all your drinks from the night hitting you at once.

maybe that’s why your mind hardly registers it when your dad’s hand dips down, sliding over the globe of your ass before giving it a squeeze.

“i said, did ya have fun?” toji repeats himself.

“mmhmm, was sooo fun,” you nod into his chest. he smells good.

dad!toji who delivers a smack to your ass so hard that you let out a scream, your lashes immediately becoming wet with tears.

“you’re a spoiled fuckin’ brat, you know that?” he punctuates his sentence with another slap that you’ll likely see a bruise from in the morning.

“i’m sorry!” you cry. your hands grip onto toji’s shirt for purchase as you curl in even closer to him.

you find comfort from the pain in the same hands that inflicted it as toji gently caresses your stinging skin, eliciting a soft sigh of relief from you.

“you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” toji tuts, disappointed.

dad!toji who decides he needs to discipline his daughter for the first time in a long time. he grabs you abruptly, wrangling your body until you’re bent over his lap with your tiny skirt flipped up to give him a perfect view.

your butt is already red, the flesh tender from his earlier abuse but the best part is the little white panties you have on. they’re hugging your pussy lips so snug he gets a clear view of the outline of your cunt—and the obvious wet patch in the middle of them.

he rubs the damp spot, humming thoughtfully. “this from me teachin’ you a lesson?”

you shake your head rapidly, letting out a defiant yet weak, “uh-uh.”

another loud crack rings out as toji’s hand collides with your ass again.

“fuck! dad, that hurts,” you whine, though you don’t move. you don’t fight his hold on you as he pins you in place, you don’t kick your feet or scratch at him or try to squirm away.

“watch your fuckin’ mouth,” toji spits, “it’s supposed to hurt cause you hurt your daddy’s feelings today.” his tone is serious enough to snap you out of your drunken haze for a moment. in your split second of sobriety you don’t feel an ounce of shame for the position you’re in—instead you feel panic.

you worry about the fact that your father really is upset with you.

“running around like this…” he tousles your skirt, “getting drunk with your little friends and coming home late. leaving your dad all alone on father’s day.”

your heart sinks.

your lip wobbles and salty droplets start to fall from your glassy eyes. how could you be so inconsiderate?

“i’m sorry! i’m so sorry, daddy, really.”

dad!toji who softens the minute he hears your voice crack. this is why you’re so damn spoiled—he can’t bring himself to go through with any of his punishments.

that’s how he ends up pulling those white panties down your thighs, smiling at the way you shift your legs apart for him, giving him an even better sight.

your pussy is just so fucking wet. two fingers slide along your slit and when toji pulls them away he lets out of deep groan at the string of slick that’s connected to him.

“you always get this wet?” toji questions, his whole hand now rubbing up and down gently, grazing over your clit and your aching hole with each pass. “or just for your dad?”

you shudder when he prods at your entrance, his fingers dipping just past that ring of resistance before sliding back out—teasing you.

“thought i taught you to answer me when im speaking to you,” toji quips before pulling his hand away completely.

your head whips around as you whimper at the loss, wiggling your hips to try and get toji to touch you again.

he does. only he slaps you again, hard. and this time his calloused palm lands right on your cunt.

it hurts so bad but the impact still rips a loud moan from your throat. “fuck, yes! just for you, no one else.”

dad!toji who rewards you by stuffing two fingers into your needy pussy, relishing in the way it flutters around them. your silky walls are clamping down around him so tight that he has half a mind to fuck you right then and there.

but he’s always put his babygirl first, that’s just part of being a good parent. so his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles on it with a rhythm so steady it’s almost cruel.

dad!toji who doesn’t stop fingering you until you’re shaking over his lap, a choked sob escaping you as you squirt all over his hand.

his cock is painfully hard and aching to be freed. but just when toji’s about to push you off of him so he can pull down his pants, he hears the tiniest snore come from you.

dad!toji who’s spoiled his daughter long enough that he decides it’s time to spoil himself for a change.

just because his sweet girl passed out doesn’t mean he can’t still sink his cock into her… right?

he’ll be so gentle! in the morning you won’t even know that your dad also fucked you after he made you cum on his fingers.

"hm?" robby has an arm out the window, tapping the outside of the car to the beat of the classic rock song pouring out of the speakers.

"can we... is there a gas station coming up?"

"you hungry? we got some fruit in the cooler, sweetheart, help yourself."

you glance at the big red cooler in the back seat, "oh o-okay, thanks. um.. I was actually..."

"I know you're not asking for the bathroom since you insisted you'd be fine till we get there. so if it's not that or food, whatd'ya need, honey?"

you take advantage of the long front seat with no gap and cuddle up next to him, nosing sadly at his arm looking up at him with big rounded eyes. the corner of his mouth lifts and he presses a kiss to your forehead, speaking quietly against it "what is it, baby, tell dad."

you sniffle, "I really have to go."

he clicks his tongue, still not looking at you but putting a big warm hand on your thigh. his forearm presses lightly against your belly and the feeling makes you jump. "but sweetheart, you said you'd be fine till we get there remember? jack is waiting for us, we have no time to stop."

"b-but—"

"—and I said I didn't want to hear a word about it remember?"

"yes, but—"

"good, then you'll be a good girl and hold it, right?"

you hesitate for a second, burying another whine against his arm. robby squeezes at your thigh and repeats. "right, baby?"

he can hear the big wobbly pout in your "yes, dad."

and it wouldn't be robby if he made it easy for you. soon enough he has your little skirt flipped over and your legs spread open while he rubs mean circles your clit. your underwear is wet and sticky and your thighs are shaking as you try to hold it all in. you know if you cum it'll be even harder to hold it, so you try with all your might to stave it off - but your dad knows you so well, knows all the spots the right tempo the dirty words to say to have your pussy drooling.

he's all "dad's dirty girl. can you hear how wet you are?" "thought you said you were a big girl, honey, what happened?" "where's my bratty girl now?" "c'mon let dad have it"

A real man. As much as one can be, your personal guilty pleasure. A quixotic wet dream, haunts you whenever another dark blonde man, adorned by crow feet, ravages a new pussy on your screen. A girl with the most cake; you want it all. Long legged cuties spread their legs for every type of cock; imitating their smeared expression by spit and sperm, taking notes of arch and overexcited movements. And a skirt perfect enough to flash your heart-shaped butt. Learning from the best. You are going to be a much better lover than your mom is. Louder, prettier, with your cunt as expressive as your eyes are. Leon just doesn't know that yet.

Not only this, but other knowledge slips through his fingers like sand. A constant vague hunger, a food unrelated one — touch starved, your clit throbs whenever he is in your eyesight. The morning coffee caprice vanishes and the sausage grows chewy dry, keyed up on the chair.

You drag him into predicaments a father wouldn't find himself in, normally. A family dinner doesn't go without his fingers amidst your plush thighs, while your mom's mouth is chewing onto quick made dinner. That's a family dinner, not a fucking porn scenario. In his defense, he is a simple man, and you guided him there! A father is not supposed to have pictures of your perky tits on his phone either; happy Father's Day, dad! Oops! That was just a mistake, dad! — your excuse, a gift for Father's Day. He promised to delete them (he never did).

In his defense, a daughter is not supposed to blueball her own dad. Nor tossing around your lacy underwear your mom doesn't wear, Leon bought them all with you on his rare holiday, freshly soaked with your slick leaving a trail lasting whole day on his fingertips. Even non present, you haunt him in pictures hanging on the walls of the house. A hand on his thigh (too close to his dick) every family picture can't be without a touch.

What's his is yours.

And his shirts. They disappear with a suspicious frequency, the stereotypical jealous wife would have the most picturesque fantasy; a possible lover. A faceless woman, red wine coloured nails on the waifish fingers, loosely hung on his shoulder in a cocktail dress, ebony eyelashes that bat away any worry in a man's heart. Young and driven by caprice, soaking herself in the perfume before the rendezvous — a valid explanation for Leon to reek in cherry notes. Instead, a red squared bottle, on the sink of your bathroom, emanates that cloyingness, your pajama consists in his shirts — naturally doubts don't exist inside your mother's heart. Just affectionate. Daddy's girl. Through and through. To bone marrow.

Freud would have a field day with you. Penis envy is bullshit, the coke fried brain conjures nonsense treated as a fact if it is from a man. Your mother is envious of you, not vice versa. As a matter of fact, it is evident by her gaze hopping up and down across your figure, lips separate in a loud smack; you look like a whore, dress up nicely, don't bring shame to my name.

A Givenchy wouldn't look like a rug on you. Birkin wouldn't cheapen your outfit either. She doesn't deserve that. There will be no kids clinging to your hip — no fucking way, your dad doesn't need another baby while he has you. Envious of slipped youth by popping a baby, envious of your perky boobs that will never be tainted by pregnancy, and a pussy that would get him hooked worse than a heroin.

It is going to be. You will make it sure. Well, made it sure. An urgent notification from your mom popping on his screen is enough to urge him into bedroom, pretty obvious despite his following-lady-lead-is-not-my-style bullshit, ring coiled around his finger is the most normalcy he could ever get.

Instead, the sight in front of him jumped off a tacky fantasy. A garnish Hitchockian, cool platinum blonde femme fatale on the book cover one would find on the shelves of a lonely lady with blue eyeshadow and grey roots peeking out; you just lack a red satin robe. With a loose deep cut. And you are not blonde.

Nonplussed, forced to meet your eyes, being half of your mother, Leon clearly hasn't gone mad to confuse you with her. Yet at least. Like a pretty gift in his shirt, you are sitting on the same bed he conceived you. And Leon is too aware for his own good about the throbbing dick beneath his jeans.

"What are you doing here?" Leon asks, uncertain if he even wants to hear the answer.

"Waiting for you." The fabric slowly pulls up by your two fingers, legs spread in front of his glued eyes to your walking digits. A peek of your pussy, until it is on full display; slick drips across your lips. Jesus Christ, so alone, needy with throbbing clit waiting for your dad. Stop Leon, this is your daughter. Vulnerable, like a newborn puppy.

A hard swallow, tensed lips. "You need to dress up, before your mom comes here," Leon says, hand resting on doorknob this close to turn and leave the room. "I'll bring you clothes."

"No-no-nonono!" You trill. "Dad, please, stay! Please, please, please or I'll scream."

"Scream?" His hand drags across his face, in hope it would wipe the growing weariness. Your dad is not a stupid man, otherwise he'd be your birthday's gift soaked in formalin. Lost Cherry by Tom Ford.

"…You can't do this to me, and I can't do this to you, pumpkin," Leon says plaintively. To your mom too. But that fades as quick as the floor creaks before he stops himself from stepping closer. "And your mom can enter any time."

"I am not asking a lot."

"Missy, you are trying to bite more than you can chew."

A loud pop, like from a lollipop, falls from your heart-shaped lips. Not so different from your gaze (Leon swears to god your pupils form hearts) immersed by tracing his figure before lingering on his groin. It gave you answers to every existing question in your pretty little head.

The outline of his dick is embodied. Not hiding struggles against the fabric of his jeans, harder than he has ever been. As much as Viagra is a good AED for whiskey dick — a dry sex in the dark with your mom cancels its effect.

"I don't think mama would be happy about this though." Your head nods towards his hard dick. "Aaand, you can always lock the door," you add simply.

Innocently staring at him, this is a joke he swears to god. A terrible one. A good father would wash your mouth, maybe slap this nonsense out of you. Click! In the heaving silence to his sensitive ears it felt like a full blast; probably echoing across every angle of the house, just a second your mom's footsteps have to ring next. Instead there is nothing. The door is locked. Only a mellifluous giggle slips out of you, amused by your father's standing like a useless dildo.

"Can't believe I've been raising a whore of a daughter all this time." Lower lips juts out which gets kissed away as soon as it appears.

"I am not!"

"Then who? Your mother?" Leon asks. His hand settled amidst your plush thighs, fingers run across your pussy savoring clinging slick to his skin. Carefully, it dips inside your leaking warmth, forcing your eyelashes flutter at a thick digit slowly thrusting inside your squeezing walls.

His lips distract your body from hypothetical painful stretch around his digit. Exquisite. His kisses are always. With no space for you, peppering them all over your face, leaving a trail of sparkling marks. Suffocating, drunkens your senses. His stubble tickles you to sink deeper into the bed with a muffled creak. Sheets susurrate by your squirming as his lips shift to your neck, like there is an invisible candy necklace, lulling him to bite and soothe the mark with his tongue.

"How many boys got you like that?"

"Zero." And Leon leans back to look into your face better.

"A virgin?" At your age there are a minimum two kids clinging to stretched by another pregnancy hip. You have none, busy daydreaming about dad's cock. "Fuck, were you keeping yourself for your dad?" You nod.

A wave of guilt sobers him, a glimpse of conscience lingers in his stormy blues. It is supposed to be taken by a man, your heart would swell with love from one glance, a man that would love you with the same intensity. Something romantic, rose petals on the bed with guttering candles. Your needy whine crosses this out, narrowing to only one trivia; there is no man better than your dad.

A hard swallow. A kiss on your forehead (more for himself than for you). Another finger slips, you hiss softly at the burning stretch. "Oh, don't worry, alright? That's what I'm here for."

It doesn’t linger for too long, replaced by growing pleasure. It buds inside your cunt whenever his fingers curl to press onto your sweet-sweet spongy spot. Your first, your best man, the only one you want. His head rests on your knee, gaze directed in between your legs; your hole swallows his fingers with a loud squelch as you get wetter after every steady pump. Amusing. Ridiculously easy for him. Perhaps a grace, ignoring soaked hole, which belongs to his dear daughter. The first and only one child.

There aren't many moments in his life comparable to this velvety wetness squeezing his digits with so much need. A honeymoon flashes in his mind, that's a bad comparison — you couldn't take this from your mother. If his head is not failing him. Hit it too many times, job's downsides.

Pussy out of porn, he'd say. And he knows them very well, marriage dries a woman, but his balls are painfully full with nowhere to ease. Fleshlight could be a good choice, your fuddy-duddy daddy prefers old ways; easier to explain, easier to hide. An almost identical unnatural amount of slick gathers around his fingers — you just lack pornographic pretenses.

In the end you are asking for this with your whole body, wavering with your hips towards him as if hoping for more. Something thicker, bigger. Something real. A pop echoes by his withdrawn hand. Risking your mom's knock is undesirable and Leon is too hard right now to brush you away. Too late, he tugs onto his belt, your ears pick up a loud zip. Your head flicks up, like a curious cat with identically dilated pupils, trying to get a peek of his dick.

Flipping pages of the raunchy magazines hidden beneath your mattress, there were all kinds of dicks printed on; big ones, curved to the left ones, ones mushroom looking, ones you wouldn't find among various porn actors, sickeningly similar to your dear daddy, chosen subconsciously by your nefarious mind. Until today you would never know what his dick is like. Thick, unlike many porn dicks the size is not enormous, it was made just for you, not weathered by Viagra abuse or STD bouquet, but naturally hard, his head glistens with smeared precum. A glittery sparkle. Perfect lipgloss.

"It is rude to stare, baby." Almost flattering to your old man, this close to pull your face down onto sheets. Leon tugs your hips towards him, not letting your shame to mouth a quick 'sorry'.

Your legs hang onto his hips, skin-to-skin his dick slots between your folds, a little tease to what’s coming. With a glide up and down, his tip positions to your hole. Not falling into teasing for too long, slowly his dick sinks into you. A light whine slips as he pushes through, anxiously your head tosses to the side awaiting for worse to come.

"Look at me, or I'll stop," Leon says. Glossy eyes dart towards him. Tight, sickeningly tight. Virgin tight, the type of pussy a man dreams, driven to knees by raising every existing skirt in hope of it. "I know it hurts, baby, but you can do this for me, so fucking good —fuck." You flutter around him as his dick pushes further until he is buried fully. "You like your dad here, huh?"

You nod — a little bit redundant, he doesn't comment. Your pussy answers for you. His hips slots against yours, balls nestle flat against your butt. Your walls flutter tightly, gripping him as his dick slides out, slathered by your slick mixed with drops of blood. Fucking hot, his dick throbs before with undulate motion of his hips, with a full thrust he buries his dick until it kisses your cervix.

A light discomfort vanishes into at foreign fullness between your legs. That's new, doesn't feel like your fingers at all. Those were only two while his dick is three in girth? You'd say even four. Three and half — sounds about right. There was an expectation of excruciating pain to twist your body; perhaps you were born under a lucky star, it never comes. Well, you know this shit hurts as hell, feels like you are getting raped, your friend's words are meaningless now, and you were too naive to believe them. Frankly, what could you even know?Her cherry was popped long before you got to know her. It doesn't matter now, thoughts unrelated to your dad are kicked by his quickening pace.

If someone would have told him his dick would plow deep inside you on the same bed you, his first and only child, were conceived — a trigger would have been pulled. Your pampered existence is the sun for him to orbit, dick deep inside your pussy doesn't change that instead you centers him like he is your whole world. For both of you, it is an unchanging fact.

Not so far from the truth. Ecstasy takes shape in your dilated pupils, your lips struggle to keep your moans low as his dick plummets down into your hole. They bubble up like an itch you can't suppress in a series of breathy mewls.

Dad, dad, dad!

They repeat over and over whenever he grinds against your cervix, whenever he is making your eyes roll back and clamp your thighs taut around his hips.

"Can't be quiet, can you?" Leon grunts. You tried. Really. His hand comes to muffle your whines. "Hush now." A hard thrust into your suctioning hole, your hips buckle towards his. "You have to stay quiet, she might hear."

Your gushing slick around his thrusting dick washes away any lingering guilt attempting to sit on his chest like a cauchemar, a living nightmare caused by his mistake but soothed by your nails digging into his back. Still a sweet baby needs your dad not merely as a shield but as a man. It is everywhere, squelching and slapping echo in the room. His dick throbs as your unfocused gaze tries to stay on him longer than one second. A thrust and it gets kicked out, numbing your senses only.

The pleasure builds up in a crescendo as his dick keeps the steady rhythm by rutting inside your fluttering hole. Overwhelming, like nothing before; your fingers don't even stand next to the perfect arch pressing onto your insides. Every withdrawal of his hips leaves your body with a longing desire to feel full again. And vanishes as soon as his dick thrusts into you back in a loud slap of your connecting fleshes, driving you deeper into the mattress. Your squirm grows, trying to keep up with his pace by matching movement — a tsk tells you are not doing the best job. Doesn't stop Leon from praising how good you are, how good your pussy is to him and how much he needs to fill you. A reason for his dick pulses with every thrust, losing control as his balls tighten more and more. You can feel it by his rougher, selfish snaps overwhelming every inch of your body, driving your legs to tremble and eyelashes flatter rhythmically.

Too dumb on your dad's cock, orgasm hits you like an unexpected crushing wave, milking him as Leon tries his best to prolong for himself. He is a man, every man is simple. But spasming walls make it only harder for him, consuming every rational idea — his sperm is not supposed to be deep inside you, that's dangerous. That's not responsible (nor fucking his daughter, but alas!). A last deep thrust, his dick throbs inside you as he spills the load.

Fucked big this time. Leon fucked up huge this time; he can only hope he shoots blanks. His spent dick slips out of you. Leon leans back with a heavy breathing, thoughts narrowing to leaking sperm between your plush thighs. Even infertility is not one hundred percent of protection, those trashy reality shows, where everyone beats each other in real time, proved that point. Viscous as nectar, droplets roll across your curved skin before ending onto the sheet. Plan B exists, then this can be hidden in his memory. Nothing happened, right?

"Tell me you promise!" you say. "Dad!! For God's sake! Are you even listening to me?" Leon winces, his eyes darting to your face — so close now, too close for his comfort. "I'll tell everyone you raped me then!"

"What?!" Leon exclaims. He can't do this at his age, blood pressure will kill him."I didn't, what the fuck?"

"Then promise this is not last time."

Hesitantly, Leon nods. A lie, no fucking way, despite the oozing proof of his misdeed and a fresh memory of your pussy — Leon won't fall to the same mistake again. What happened remains only in these walls, once and never repeated.

He hopes so.

"I love you," you say, clinging to his side. His arm pulls you closer.

"Me too, I love you too."

"but it is his room," suguru mused. dexterous fingers slipped between your legs as you tried to reply, fingertips gliding along the lacy fabric of your panties, applying just enough pressure to distract you.

"or maybe you wanted him to see us. you have your own room, don't you? we could've gone there instead."

you shook your head lightly and smacked your dry lips in an attempt to find some words for him, but all you achieved was a low groan as the motion sent a wave of dizziness through you. maybe if you had more awareness you would have reminded him that he was the one who led you here. he was the one that got you drunk and then wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you into his side and leaning down to your ear so he could ask if you wanted to go upstairs with him.

suguru had always been aware of your little crush, you really couldn't have been more obvious. so he already expected it when you nodded dumbly and stumbled along behind him, straight into your brother's room.

and now your skirt is bunched around your hips with your shirt tugged up high enough to let your tits fall out. those lace panties you'd chosen specially for suguru have been rudely yanked to the side, giving satoru a clear view of his baby sister's pretty cunt being stuffed full of his best friend's fingers.

"fuck, she looks so tight." satoru's breathless, his stiff cock resting in his hand as he jerks himself off to the sight in front of him.

"she is," suguru hums, scissoring his fingers in a way that makes you squirm, a small whine tumbling out of your throat. "poor thing can barely handle this, i'm not sure i'll fit."

he speaks with amusement because he knows that no matter what, you will take him. he’s been imagining what it'd feel like to be buried inside his best friend's little sister for so long, he can’t keep himself from you anymore. especially because suguru was only restraining himself out of fear of what satoru might think.

and then he found out just how depraved his friend really is when he walked in on satoru stroking his cock, a dirty pair of your sleep shorts pressed up to his nose.

he tried to play it off at first, but suguru knew they were yours, he'd seen you in them countless times. such a cute pair, they always gave him the perfect outline of your pretty pussy when you'd bend over in them.

your eyes drift between suguru and satoru, but you can't make out what they are saying. their words sound muffled, muted by the ringing in your ears and the bass from the party still going on downstairs. though it hardly matters. even if you could hear what they were saying, the only thing you're able to focus on now is the uncomfortable feeling pooling low in your stomach.

your hands scramble to claw at suguru's arm, your brows pinched together with an expression as close to a look of concern as you can manage. "w-wai… sugu," you breathe.

suguru gives you his attention, more curious as to whether you'll be able to form the words you want than what you actually have to say. his fingers slow to a languid rhythm, his thumb hooking around your pelvis to rub lightly against your clit.

after several failed attempts to communicate where your sentences were cut off by a loud moan and a twitch of your hips, you finally manage three little words, "n-need to go."

"go? you don't wanna be here with me?" the fake hurt in suguru's voice registers all too real in your hazy mind and panic strikes in your chest once more.

you'd never want to upset suguru, you care about him too much.

"bathroom…" you whine as you make a pathetic attempt to push suguru's hands away. it’s the best explanation you can offer at the moment.

he doesn't budge an inch, but the pitiful sight of you causes the corners of his lips to quirk up, similar to the way satoru's cock twitches in his grasp.

you're just coherent enough to know that what you're feeling is wrong. as suguru touches you, you're not experiencing the the normal pressure of an impending orgasm. instead, it's a worrying pressure that makes you try to wriggle out of suguru's grasp.

he knows exactly what you're feeling.

your bladder is so full that it's starting to ache. you're past the point of being able to completely hold it in and the once creamy slick that coated suguru's hand has turned watery. it’s louder each time he plunges his fingers back into your tight heat, and messier as the wetness starts to splash onto his wrist.

with your heart racing in your chest, you make one last futile attempt to persuade your brother's friend to let you up so that you can make a run for the toilet. "s-stop! please i—."

"fuck, i'm so close. keep going," satoru interrupts. his cock is throbbing in his palm, his pupils are blown so wide you can hardly tell the color of his irises.

it's already bad enough being forced to endure whatever suguru wants to put you through under your brother's heated gaze. but that embarrassment reaches impossible heights when suguru plunges his fingers deep inside your sopping cunt one last time, using his other hand to press down onto your stomach until a steady stream of piss is leaking out of you.

satoru is ruined. the moment he sees the glaringly obvious look of shame on your face, he can't stop the obscene moan of your name that slips past his lips as he shoots thick ropes of cum into his hand.

he knows that he's beyond fucked up for this. he can try to reason with himself that it wasn't his idea and that makes it better, but he knows that's a lie. at the end of the day, he just cared about getting to see his best friend humiliate his little sister more than anything else, and there's no salvation from that.

but you just look so pretty with your cheeks flushed red, your eyes glassy with tears as you look anywhere but at them. you can't bear to meet their eyes.

"such a messy girl… just like your brother." suguru stares at the way satoru's cum is dripping onto the floor of his room as his cock softens in his hand. it's nothing compared to the near puddle that you've made on the bed.

your skirt is soaked through as you remain held in place, laying in your own pee as suguru finally slips his hand out of your sore pussy.

you hate them both.

you hate that you trusted either of them to take care of you.

you hate that there was an inexplicable swell to your ego when you saw how hard your brother came just from watching you.

Still basics haven't skipped him; bondage, latex, spanking — many raunchy posters were plastered on the walls by his roommate, eyeing pretty blonde bimbos. Both aren't really his types, brunettes are better in his humble opinion. Before Raccoon City, Leon was a man too.

With his evident lack of time, porn sites aren't really useful, on the front page pristine bimbos with plastic tits and even faker moans. Lesbians scissoring each other, looking identical he can swear to god they are related. The putative best product on display. Rather dull, plain, only worsens his dick — not its self esteem. Leon would fail an audition for big white cock video, but his is not that bad, he believes; thick and cut and average and size doesn't matter (the experience is key!), and women never complained, and Leon is 48 for god's sake!

The issue is different. Simpler. Familiar too. It haunts him after an empty bottle of bourbon, accompanying him to adult sites; average men suck, their taste narrows to identically looking silicone dolls.

He can't get it up. Doesn't matter.

Among the plaintive whiskey seeped walls, impossible to weather out like bedbugs, the ectoplasmic table, next to shabby leather couch that squeaks after every unnecessary exhale, is full with open coloring book. Puppies and kitties are plastered on unfinished pages. And MLP ones, you take big pride in them. Leon is not sure how he ended up in this predicament, a blank emptiness in the back of his mind, unlike before, there is your weight on his lap and your calming suckling noises coming from your pacifier. Every inch of you is taken care of him, from the hair (or even tooth) to your pedicured toenails.

You are sickeningly younger than him. Twenty six years gap. He could be your dad. Kinda is, you call him dad, while he disciplines you. You caught him in the bar alone, as shabby as his couch, Leon wondered if you were stalking before coming up, clearly infatuated by his decadent expression. Long fake acrylics drummed on the old wooden bar counter. Your arm hooked around his with your tits pressed against his bicep. The perky tits urging to bust out of the variegated tube top with a miniskirt that lacks tacky Louis Vuitton printed on top of it. Restless clicking of your heels he can imitate with his tongue. Click, click. Then eyelashes bat prettily glued to his face, like a Venus fly trap trapping him in your irises. In the yellowish illuminated, piss stained stall toilet of the bar you fucked the sadness out of him, panting like a dog into his mouth, and afterwards, stalking him to his car, whirring in his ears worse than a mosquito just for the number.

"What would your dad think?" Leon asked drolly. Apathy replaced by curiosity while squinting at the bright screen poking needles into his blue eyes. Blue like apatite.

"He is not here, is he?"

Similarly to Leon's, clearly he was never here. As trashy as him, that's how he caved. That's how he ended up here with you.

Leon was not sure if he was happy. Even now the emptiness that sits on his skin didn't completely disappear. Like a tick with a fat belly weighing down after 20 years of delicious blood dinner. But you make him happy, you are his SSRI, just with high sex drive effect; not only his pants swells with blood but also his heart with adoration and love as well, love which he thought was shot by his job.

You trust him, you give him control. Control in a pin-pointed list, a little bible stuck on the fridge with a heart magnet. Something like thou should have no other gods (daddies) than me, honour thou father and mothe—

Well, your mama would not be happy with a man like him, so he is going to settle just on father. And simpler language, because his baby needs to comprehend her rules.

And today you are restless.

"What?" Leon inquires, a wet pop accompanies the tug on the pacifier.

If there is no dick in it, then there is a pacifier, he likes you silent — a little chattering box is worse than an idiot cube in the living room, a TV can be turned off, while your pacifier is a perfect remote for your volume — it knocks down his headaches. A string of drool on your plump lips connects to the cherry shaped nipple, you meet his eyes; flashes of blue light hit you in a gentle breeze as the cartoon keeps rolling in the background. Naturally ignoring, naturally drifting off. Best sedative.

"Dad…" do you love me, dada, I want a new stuffie, daddy, dad usually comes, instead there is atypical silence.

A long pause in which the whiskey cup is emptied by him — hanging like a fog, never reaching its end. Leon nods with a curled up eyebrow, inviting you to speak eagerly, he doesn't bite after all, unless his dick is deep inside you — but that's different, that's play time.

"You can talk, what's the issue?" Leon repeats, pinching your cheek with a sympathetic look. Only silence comes. "Be a good girl for me, I know you can use your big-big-big words." You squirm on his lap, your thighs rubs together in search of relief for growing tension. Leon's leg jerks up just to evoke your high pitched squeak. "Or do I need to teach you?"

You shake your head — no way, you are a smart baby, learned your alphabet to a T long, long ago. "I need to go…"

"And leave your dada?" Leon says, glancing at the screen. Ridiculously rounded animals can't stay still like you, with their ears bouncing just like your tits. Stop, focus, Leon. "And miss your favorite cartoon too?"

"No—No! I won't leave you, I just—" You squirm. "Daddy, please." Leon hums. This time your voice is lower than before, bloated with shame. "Potty…" you swallow. "Can I?"

"Mmm? I didn't hear you," Leon says. You mouth it again."What? You need to go to bathroom?" And you nod, full of hope he stopped playing. "But you were there just recently. I am sure it will be alright if you stay here. And finish your cartoon too." Leon's hand turns your head gently to the screen. "See? On the most interesting part too, wouldn't want you to miss."

It is going to be alright, twenty minutes of the episode(you believe) are quick, instead they stretch endlessly. Glancing at the watch on Leon's wrist, impatiently hoping those minutes have passed — you end up with a disappointment, a minute is comparable to ten. Leon would say that's not how maths works. Naturally you aren't really focused on the bouncy animations of characters. Tap-tap in your bladder, like a broken sink in the middle of the night. You need to go, you need to piss urgently. With the growing pressure, the squirming grows. Your hips can't stay in the same spot, rolling onto his lap for relief, one would think you are in heat, fabric of your pink frilled shorts etches tighter on the curves of your plump rounded cheeks.

It doesn't go unnoticed, Leon is not that blind yet; his dick twitches as your soft hills hump against him, hardening as the humiliation emerges with every passing second, spurted all over your face while fingers curl into the fabric of your shorts unconsciously expecting the pressure to ease.

"Dad, please, I need to go to pee pee," you whine, spoiled to the bone. "Please, please, please, it won't take long and I have seen this episode already." No you haven't. Does it matter? "and—"

"And you just can't behave," Leon cuts your down, his fingers creep to tug on the rim of the fabric. "Let me check you." You shake your head erratically, deserving a loud slap on your butt. "Does a baby want little plane to hit your pretty cheek?" You shake your head again, his hand is heavy you know it oh so well. "You have to listen to your dad." With disobedience comes punishment, your wrist aches at memory of written 200 lines. Your frilled shorts roll down as you slip out of them, silently falling on the floor.

The pink lacy panties cover your pussy like a spider web. Despite your dad having you in his balls for decades, the bio-daddy doesn't know you at all, he hasn't seen how easily a wet patch grows onto thin fabric, before Leon even decides to run his two fingers across the slit. A tug to the side, you shudder from the chill caress of the air of the room on your exposed pussy. Already ready for your new dad.

Frisson is evoked by Leon's fingers spreading your lips like a flower, with no protest fingers dip in to inspect you. Rolling a swollen mound across his fingertips, every slide is accompanied by squelching noises, dripping onto his digits. A brief inspection, if one ever can call this one, it leaves you with an aching emptiness.

"Ah-ah, missy, where are you going?" Leon says, not letting you pull away. Click-clack, the metallic sound of his belt being reaches your ears. "Dad needs to check you with all he has." You stare at him with curled up eyebrows, in irises written pleas for permission. "It won't take long if you are good."

A zip and you can't move away. His dick appears, your earlier restlessness left him hard of course — your mouth pools more saliva as if it's a candy.

Leon guides himself, as impatient as your real dad but with even worser pull out game, positioning your hips over his blood rushed tip to let you sink onto. The obvious assumption was made when your eyelashes batted sensually on that night, old man was a creampie lover, every man is at some extent, the same couldn't have been said for being present. You clearly inherited that particular half from your dad, whiny little baby refusing for a rubber to even touch his dick, albeit your mama's traits are deeper. A protest coming from Leon would be just shooting himself in the foot, not when your pussy sucks him in so greedily it erases any need for being responsible.

Inch by inch plush folds are split open by thick dick before you swallow him fully. Your clit kisses dark and silver peppered pubes, now tainted by your oozing slick, painting in glittery marks. The tip grinds sickeningly against your cervix, coaxing velvety walls to flutter around him. No matter how many times he pounded into your hole, every time is a first time, his thick dick suffocatingly overfills you, dripping slick doesn't soothe the burning stretch. Your chest undulates heavily as if your lungs are connected to your cunt — any movement hitches your breath, maybe it is, or maybe it is pressure on your bladder which comes from his hold — and Leon knows very well what he is doing.

A meek squeal falls from your plush lips, hips lift up until only the tip remains inside you, you plummet down taking him fully.

"I want to go…dad, please," you moan, jutted out lips with dolly eyes. A real life doll, for him to place you on the shelf and admire.

"We just started," He tuts. "And I know you can do it, your princess parts take me so well, you love your dad's dick?" A silence, before his rough jerk upwards making you squeak, eyes wide open pupils like two full black moons. "Do you?" Leon repeats and you nod.

Natural at this, inborn talent pumping in your veins your tits bounce softly as you rock back and forth. Meanwhile his hold presses on your bladder, like a button for you to squirm, forcing a hump downwards for his tip to kiss your cervix. And the pout, and tears on your lash line, and the squeeze of your cunt — you crumble so easily.

"Daa—ad, I caan't take it—" you moan, your head tosses forward to meet his focused eyes.

"Shhh, dad's here," Leon shushes. "I know you can keep it, right?" A pressure on your bladder just to make it worse. "Make your dad proud," Leon says, as his hand instinctively comes to press onto your clit, watching your lips part in a pretty o-shape, with a prettier moan. "Dad is going to take care of your princess parts."

Pinky promise.

As promised, his hips join yours eventually, instead of following your shy rhythm, Leon reestablish his own. Faster, harder. Rougher and deeper, enough for every snap his tip knocks air out of you, encouraging the arch of your spine, skin meets together in an echo. Your pussy clenches as the pressure grows on your bladder, not sure anymore if it is his hand or his dick kissing you so deeply that will make you piss on him. Or in a preferable word — squirt; classy, sexier.

Your velvety walls squeeze tighter around him as rough flicking on your clit keeps up with the hard rhythm of his thrusts. His balls tighten, almost spilling inside you at the suction. Shlick, shlick, his digits are dripping with your slick and you look dumber than before; clearly lacking any thought in your head, other than his dick.

And Leon is close, words would be redundant as his pace becomes messier, sloppier chasing his orgasm. The pressure tightens with every deep thrust, seeping deeper into your muscles, tensing and clenching. Good girls do what daddy asks and daddy asked to be patient, you try your best; tears roll down as it becomes harder. Impossibly, a bubble twisting your insides that needs to be broken. With an invisible needle, your pleasure erupts in a hard wave, dumbing everything not realizing there is more than just electrifying zaps in your body. Trails between your legs spread, splashing across his lap and dick. This doesn't slow down Leon at all, wetness all over his lap, magnified loud skin slapping incites him to rut into your hole more, not leaving a gap to breathe.

Harder, tighter, quick flicking on your clit drives you crazier. Your continuous moans don't end; an incitement for him. Just for his turn to approach quicker than expected, one last, deep thrust for Leon, his dick twitches inside you before spilling his warm load inside.

It could be squirting, but the lightness in your bladder kills every excuse in your head. And a good baby doesn't lie, your cheeks burn realizing what happened. That's embarrassing, twenty two years old and can't be normal. It is overwhelmingly wet, seeping into his clothes, your clothes, your skin and you swear to god it is in your hair.

You try to push yourself away from him, to hide in your shared bedroom until the shame dries itself away. Leon doesn't let you, his arm coiled around your waist while you keep kicking, thrashing and slapping him — good fucking lord, your stupid acrylics will peck his eyes out.

"Jesus, stop it!" Leon says, a shake like you are a kitten after a misdeed. "Calm down, what's your issue? You are making this messier." A whimper escapes as Leon tries to catch your head, to force your eyes to look into his. "Look at me, nothing bad happened."

"Pee pee," you say.

"I can't hear you if you are not looking at me." He is old, he turns down music while he drives. You look at him, finally, through your long messy eyelashes. Cheeks are adorned by black mascara marks, similar to grounded coffee trails.

"Good girl, was it that hard?" You shake your head. Leon pinches your cheek.

"Sorry, I…made a mess."

"A mess. Is this because of your d—"

There are many words starting with d, but dad and dick are too close right now. You don't want to risk another wave of shame. A quick 'no!' stops him, before you fix yourself with a silent, ashamed, "yes…" Blink. "You are not angry at me?" Leon shakes his head.

Why would he? His personal epiphany hit the moment your mouth was shut by a pacifier. No-no, that's too late. It happened earlier, much earlier — the moment you spread your legs in that shabby bar, in the stall stained by urine.

"A little bit of pee pee won't kill anyone." Leon shrugs. That's actually a lot, his point still stands.

You wish Leon was your dad. Real dad. Blood related. Blood to blood. That's written on your face in a neat cursive. Leon can only hope you throw away those wishes. There is no father material in his blood, babies are a big no-no, probably infertile after years of active alcoholism. It doesn't stop him from playing as your dad when the reward is making love to the Sunday cartoons.

he found it humorous how you'd desperately shown up to his office, the only person brave enough to do so, asking how to improve your grade before the semester ended. he couldn't gauge how you'd feel about his request—with some of his former students feigning disgust to some who didn't think twice about sucking his cock, dropping to their knees and begging pretty please, dont let me fail. however, if god has graced with the ability to keep his job this long despite his digusting habits, why would he get fired now?

globs of spit stain nanami's slacks and the leather desk chair below him, all from the desperate student he has in front of him, choking on his cock. nothing feels better than a tight throat and a sensitive gag reflex to him, he basks in how fucking gross he can make others. spit and snot and tears galore stain his lap and your face, scarred palm and fingers pressing down on the crown of your head, another wet retch leaving your throat, vibrating against his shaft.

black spots go in and out of your vision from the abuse your head has taken, you can't remember the last time he'd let you up for air, or to give you a break. you are dizzy and disoriented, only focused on breathing through your nose even though it burns, and your jaw aches so terribly it feels like it may rip in half.

he likes the struggle he puts you through, how your fingernails dig into his thighs, scratching against the cheap material of his slacks. nanami wonders if you'll be able to rip through them, since you certainly have the spirit—but with his dick shoved down your esophagus and his hand on the back of your head, your strength is being used elsewhere.

another sickly heave expels from you, sounding as if you're about to leave your lunch all over your professor's carpet—only then does he ease up on his hold. drops of saliva and precum and salty tears get coughed right onto nanami's crotch, covering the bottom of his button up and his dick in more of a mess. you're only allowed to catch your breath for a few seconds before his hand curls around the back of your head, pulling you back towards him, forcing you to kiss the hairy patch below his cock.

"suck."

deep, heaving breaths are all that nanami's met with, hot and humid against his balls but still lacking what he wants. his other hand goes back to the crown of your head, fingertips digging in and pushing you further against him, nose and mouth shoved into his ballsack, cutting off your airways until you do as he says.

"i said suck," nanami gruffly demands, finding sick pleasure in the way your eyes widen at him in terror, horrified of doing this for another thirty minutes. your lips finally open up and you begin to barely suckle at his balls, not nearly enough for his liking. rough knuckles grip at the hair on top of your head, pulling you back from between your professor's thighs for a moment, and a sharp smack rings through the room.

your first instinct is to cup your cheek, skin stinging from his backhand, your jaw dropping wide in surprise. when you attempt to pull from his grip, he shoves your face right back in between his legs, hoping your shocked expression can aid you in getting him off.

"fucking suck," he commands, not asking or pleading, but forcing, finishing off his demand by grumbling, "stupid bitch."

your face is partially covered by his cock, your mouth shoved against his sack—it's the prettiest you've looked so far, he'll give you that. a nasty groan leaves his throat when you begin to actually suck his balls, tongue running over the displeasing texture of his pubic hair and the soft skin beneath it. fucking finally.

"yeah," he groans, the sound coming from deep within in chest, neck bending as he lets his head fall back against his chair.

he can feel how slick he is between his legs, how little friction is against your mouth and your cheeks, and he loves it all—truly a disgusting display from someone who had such a big future ahead of her. he looks down at your pathetic expression, eyes glossy and wet and drained from all that he's put you through today, little sniffles and sobs muffled because your mouth is too busy pleasuring him.

all that hard work has only led you to the carpet of your professor's office, gargling his balls in hopes of a good grade.

that thought does him in, ropes of thin cum slowly flowing from his tip as he keeps your mouth tucked against his balls. he makes you stay there for a good while, too, letting his release get in your hair and all over your forehead. there's great enjoyment in the fact that you never stop sucking, either, keeping his nutsack nestled between your lips.

when he finally releases his grip and lets you go, he tries to get a good look at your face, tries to force you to look at him in the eye. he sees your lip quivering, sobs threatening to leave your throat, beaten down and bullied so badly there's no longer a twinkle in your eye. soon, you're running out of his office—messy face and all—somewhere that you hope he'll never be able to see you again at.

Bedsprings rattle with his weight. In the unaware slumber on your stomach, his fingers curl underneath the rim of your shorts to roll down the thin fabric over soft, plump fat. Two rounded hills, two delicious peaches(Leon wants to sink his teeth on) are not adorned with panties he has bought you anymore; pink and white stripes with a simple bow sitting on the top, no different than a cherry on dessert (and you are one for him), now they lie on the floor like a useless rug.

Patience is not in his bones, a starving man wouldn't sit firm in front of a meal — he would dig in, and Leon is a man foremost. A starving one. Fingering you on a movie night is not satiating at all, it only makes him hungrier. The sight lulls his hand to creep over your butt, a breeze-like caress follows the arch from plush butt to your back. Up and down. It stops to dig his fingers onto soft and pliant like wax flesh, before spreading cheeks in a display for his eyes only.

A virgin hole, something college boys would only have in their wet dreams.

You never make it easy. It is not hard to make him feel like a young guy with sperm filled brain; jerking off to a bimbo with silicone tits on the screen or magazines, they don't make him as hard as before. Age and alcoholism are to blame. Instead, it is hard to be around you in those shorts which etch onto your hips leaving only outlines of what can be his. And you are his, born in his balls, now heavy with need, better than any viagra. His dick is harder, it bobs up to his hip with throbbing that goes up to his head — worse than a headache, despite the lack of fabric, nothing presses on him as much as not being inside your much warmer hole.

That's easily fixable.

His tip pushes against the tight muscle, denying his attempted nudges. Leon doesn't really care, a quick smeared spit along his dick and on your tight hole. Still a struggle, warm as much if not more as your cunt, just not as wet and not risky. And Leon doesn't want his daughter pregnant. He forces himself to sink into your ass with a slow thrust, savoring the gripping tightness enveloping him.

"Likeee thaat," Leon exhales, admiring his tip being swallowed by you.

Absolutely foreign. One hundred percent diverges with a cunt. She is always welcoming, engulfing with warmth unless she is dry — still different, and with young girls it is not hard to fix either way, quick pumps it floods with slick. Your ass is tighter, keeping a good grip on his dick and sucking him greedily. Your body jerks from intrusion, clearly disoriented, he can tell, gripping onto sheets and trying to turn around.

"Huh..dad?" Soft and confused, wondering why he is even here.

"Shhhh, it is nothing, pumpkin," Leon whispers, stopping is the last thought locked in the safe and buried six feet under. "I missed my girl, can't stay without you." But that's a short moment, lasting a second or two at most as the veil of grogginess wafts away by his dick moving deeper. "Close your eyes, dad wouldn't hurt you."

Instead, your eyes open wide, fully awake now a slap wouldn't make you brighter. It wouldn't be as painful as he stretches your unprepared hole, pain only fuels you to become antsier. Louder.

"No, no, no, please, please," you gasp. "stop, stop, stop!"

You just can't keep it decent, can you?

“Shhh, kid, that’s alright, Dad is—“ Leon grunts, a heavy exhale slips as his dick struggles its way through. “ughh, fuck, that’s tight.” Tight, warm, sucking him greedily like a mouth, until he is buried deep inside. Suffocatingly full. For you, painfully too. Leon never planned to let you adjust. His palm crawls to lie flat on your belly, easier to mold your hips to much more preferable angle. A little bit of pressure onto your belly, him squeezing it hard you feel claustrophobic. No way to escape, it doesn't take a lot to coerce a meek cry out of you. “Feel it? Dad is here.”

You try to trash, fight him, push him away but his hand finds its way on the back of your neck, like a mother scruffs her kitten. A dad, a man of the house, unlike those college boys Leon has seen life, 20 years in field is incomparable to mine field in European butt-fuck nowhere. A little slap and trashing is not a stinger from a grotesque being.

Then a squeal comes, ass up with his dick deep inside you, while your pretty dumb head lies sideways on the pillow with an O shaped mouth miserably trying to gasp for air, hopeful it would heal the burning pain amidst your thighs; it doesn't.

“It hurts…” you sob so sweetly you will give him cavities tonight, eyelashes flutter like butterfly's wings.

"I know, baby," Leon coos, an unexpected snap forward you lurch back with a mewl, meeting his hips skin-to-skin. Painfully overfilling your insides, while his balls press too close against your ignored poor-poor pussy. "But dad needs that." A slap on your wiggling ass, forces your hole to squeeze him better than a pussy could ever have. "You wouldn't deny this to me, right? You are a goood girl, my best girl."

"Daaad—" you sob again. It is all sobbing with you and he didn't even give you anything to cry about. Little drama queen. In an undulating gesture your body shudders with your fingers digging into sheets. Your cheeks meet with his hips in a loud slap, burning sting buds deeper just for a mix of pain with pleasure underneath. "I—I wanna puke—"

"No, you don't, don't be ridiculous," Leon tuts, spreading you more. What a view, your hole sucks him back like an emptiness would kill you.

Girls love their holes stretched on dicks, no matter if it is big, needlelike or thick, they are programmed to have the same look — eyes rolled back and mouth agape, like awaiting for something in it too. You are no different, perhaps even better if Leon must be frank — more than only whimpering after every roll driven deeper into your tightness, tears roll down just to nestle onto your cupid bow or to end up in your mouth.

He could give you a pacifier if you asked nicely, maybe it would shut your sobbing. At the same time it fuels him to be rougher. It grows messy, naturally, and overwhelming as loud gagging comes from you. Then a shudder with louder sob, splashing it next to you on the pillow. Fucking really? falls from his lips. Yet it doesn't affect his pace at all, even arouses him — you feel his dick pulse inside you, almost at the edge of spilling his load. Leon tightens his hold onto your neck while snapping rougher into you.

Your throwing up serves as a fuel rather than a sign of stop, treating you no different than a dog that just pissed on the floor; here, look at the mess you have done! His aching balls slap your pussy, ignoring it fully leaking. That's the only contact he plans to have tonight and it is entertaining for Leon too — your slick clings to his balls more, clearly getting wetter as his dick plummets down into you.

“Do you want me to come, mm?” He slaps you, a tug on your face to bring you back. You nod, hesitantly. Lips swollen and best lip gloss adorns you with a glittery finish. All natural, misery and tears make you stand out more, your eyes have brighter color in them despite the void. "You know what good girls do?"

A sob, pause that doesn't linger for too long as his rough thrusts bring your attention back. "T—take your cum—"

"And you will do this for your dad." You nod. Dummy, that is not a question.

He doesn't comment, distracted by your clenching insides. They spur him to quicken the pace, cutting down any possibilities of you talking — only high pitched cries accompanied with your body arching towards while he chases his orgasm. Mattress rocks in rhythm with his rutting, the harder his dick throbs inside you, the harder he presses you against the pillow, your feet dig into the sheets with no way of escape. Every deep thrust makes him throb more, lingering deep inside before dragging back to fill you back again, until the last thrust, Leon buries his dick to the hilt. His breathy moan, pushing you into your own mess as he spills his load; warm and thick, where it doesn't belong.

You clearly didn't catch when his dick started to soften inside you — too distracted with the aching. Leon pulls out in a wet pop, leaving a few stains on the top of your ass. The pressure withdraws, with that the much chiller air of the room soothes your burning marks. A little freedom for you to move freely if your body didn't hurt so much. Leon presses a hot, wet kiss on your head, caressing away messy locks.

"You are a messy girl," Leon murmurs after sitting up next to you. You are a poor thing, shuddering at his proximity. "I'm so sorry, this is the first and last time," Tugging you up and you wince, glancing down among your thighs as his sperm slowly threatens to leak onto sheets. Leon doesn't really care, this all can be washed — there is already an awful mess, like your vomit on the pillow. "I would have taken you in the normal way, but I can't risk knocking you up, doll."

You hum, looking at him; Leon is reasonable right now, of course, and you are so tired, so sore and just in need for daddy's comfort (despite the pain caused by his hands, or rather dick). It can make up the lack of orgasm too.

"You still love your dad?" And you nod. Why did he even ask that? A sigh, Leon pats your cheek, heart swells with sordid adoration. "I love you too."

Of course you do. That's immutable.

Oh, you know you will wear your best outfit, the skirt that wouldn't shy to show your legs in stockings (one of his favorite parts about you, actually, your entire body is), your lacy bra peeking like a spider web from partially unbuttoned blouse ( just for his gaze), the whole view is for the later. All for him, everything for him because your dad deserves the best sight when he will strip you in his car.

And if nothing happens in the car? That's alright. It can't be that bad, there are plenty of places for you both, maybe in the changing room while you'd try a cute dress chosen by him, and again if nothing happens then kissing him is enough, hell, even just being next to him. You don't care, anything is better as long as he is with you and yours. Ready for Leon to a T, from your hair to your nails which you did two days ago (he paid for them too).

Too keyed up on the couch, leg on leg and reckless, every inch of your skin vibrates from excitement for the day. Understandable, last night he wasn't in your room so you miss him. Fuck, nothing can go wrong. You don't care you both told each other good nights, that's like, what? 8 hours without him? That's a lot.

"Oh, you are here already." Your head flinches up to see him, standing there with a warm smile. Oh, of course you are here, even falling asleep was hard like you had an important flight today, not a date.

"Yea, I didn't want to make you wait," you say. He is going to say some bullshit like well, on etiquette a lady can be late for 15 minutes. Leon always talks about something, you absentmindedly nod and stare at him with happiest eyes, struck worse than with your first middle school crush. Your dad is a man and men don't have a lot of topics to discuss, naturally you follow his lead while barely listening to him. One in and then out of the other ear; in the end it is always something about job, his colleagues.

A light pinch on your cheek, your eyelashes bat in quick successions, before realizing what he is saying. Or repeating.

"You can wait in the car, alright?" So patient. You open your mouth to jab at reasons just for him to cut this down with a quick, "I'll join you soon, promise."

Leon squeezes your arm, lingering just enough for you to not doubt him. By all means doubting him is a rare occurrence, there can be anger but your dad is not some guy your age with dick instead of brains (well, he is a man first, so he does think with dick, just less), and unlike any other man your dad loves you with the purest love.

Slipping in the passenger seat, your temple rests on the colder glass of the window, a side glance offers you a peek of him talking to your mom. Oh well, it explains why he didn't say directly, not like you are disappointed. This is not going to be a long discussion, it never is. Years only drained topics that they could even talk about, other than weather and things you don't really listen to; the marriage is not shining as a diamond anymore, but rather dull as a graphite.

Your eyes trace his back, the wide strong shoulders that only narrow his waist in a delicate line you always adored, the tight shirt leaves even more for you to relish in. To scratch it, to nibble on his Adam's apple that bobs every time your walls squeeze him weakly. You see Leon leans towards your mother, pulling you out of your thoughts because it is clear this is not leaning in for a cheek-kiss-goodbye. You can't be fooled. He pecks her, even briefly but that's still a kiss. Short, but still a fucking kiss. Even without a tongue, even without any additional touching it is still unfair to you; this is supposed to be your fucking day, dedicated to you and him just for your mood being ruined by your idiot of the father.

What a fucking joke.

It is natural, something to expect to happen — fuck, they are husband and wife, you saw them kiss each other multiple times, in the kitchen or living room, at the holidays on the beach. This knowledge doesn't make it less shocking for you.

The roaring of engine doesn't help. That should be a mean joke, on a middle school level. Your mind comes back always to his lips connected to hers, even if he is looming in front of you like nothing happened, bringing to your figure dresses and other clothing like a doll he is about to dress up just for him to place on the bedside table. In the changing room, no matter how silky fabric sits on your figure, no matter how smoothly his compliments fall from his lips, despite of his lit up eyes after little twirl you show him, you simply don't fucking care.

Because it is unfair.

The bra etches into your skin, whole ride back— you barely bought anything, barely remember anything if to be honest, so the date or whatever this is now ended much quicker than you expected. That's for the better probably, still your fingers tug on the strap to let it go in a slap, a light burning pain spreads across your shoulder. The size is right, you know this, perhaps it is an old one you forgot to throw away after your dumb head decided to wash it in too hot water, naturally it shrunk. Actually, your chest growing bigger out of nowhere is a better thought.

Everything etches into your skin, no matter how much you tug on your bra, no matter how many times you adjust your skirt which is always trying to hike up.

Bigger tits can mean a lot of stuff, periods can be one of reasons but fortunately it is not the case, the other possible reason can be pregnancy. Or the most realistic is maybe they are the same size, you are just pissed off at your dad. Whatever. Pregnancy is not something you have ever been dreamy about, even worse around your age, nothing romantic in a big belly while every inch of your body hurts and gets sucked by the parasite. And how would you tell your dad? Dad, you are going to be a dad. Again.

Actually, this wouldn't be that bad. Even as a lie, it is worth every second to catch the sight of his eyes widening in panic; how he would announce this news to your mom? My daughter is pregnant and I am the dad, well, of my daughter's kid.

"Dad?" A silence. Leon is so focused on the road right now. "Dad," you repeat, looking at him, he ignores you like a cat, he just doesn't have ears to move around like antennas. "Dad, I am pregnant."

"No, you are not," he cuts this down, it is hard to ignore your urge to hurt him woven into your tone. "You are on birth control." And his sperm is probably dead long time ago, nuked by whiskey and the stress his job brings.

"And what if I stopped taking them?" You counter, quick like a whip, briefly catching corners of his mouth tensing. Oh, now he does consider the possibility, your lie is working. You hope at least.

"You would have told me."

"And if I stopped without a preliminary notice, mm?

Leon sighs, clearly in disbelief from you keeping this up. With a shake of his head, he says, "you are smarter than that."

Aw. You try to come up with something else, but all your thoughts come back to the morning, pondering with no results other than drowning yourself in a misery and you don't realize you arrive so quickly back home too. The engine dies just for the silence to fill the air like roaring did before. Leon's hand reaches to pinch your cheek, a simple gesture full of affection but it feels like a joke, a mocking humiliating joke and it seems he catches your turmoil — maybe it is the eyes or your silence the whole day. Surely poker wouldn't be your forte.

"Is everything okay?" He asks and you shake your head. A pause with an expectation for you to talk, your tongue doesn't roll to explain the issue. Unmovable and thick as molasses. "Well, you can trust me."

It has been discussed many times; brought up by you and cut down by your dad. He has you, he doesn’t need anyone else, that woman? She is poisoning his life, can’t he see?! Leon would nod absentmindedly, throwing promises after every one of your complaints; yes, sweetheart, you are right, let me handle this and afterwards this will be only us two.

Fucking lie. He always lies.

"You told me you don't love her," you start, looking at him and Leon sighs. "No but listen! You told me it will be only us soon, but you…" Pause, trying not to flinch as you recall the kiss. "…Kissed her, whatever, I feel like a side chick."

"Side chick?" He echoes, a confusion seeps into his traits just for it to change into a conflicted look. "You are not, no, and it is not that simple," Leon answers with the sweetest lilt, any other day you'd feel better but it doesn't work today. "I— "

"No, it is simple, you go home and say you found another woman, you fuck her almost every night, she is better." Words come quicker than you think, shaky hands clench the fabric of your skirt. "Or I'm going to do this instead."

"You want me to tell everyone I fuck my own daughter?" Leon exclaims, with a glance begging you to sympathize with him. "Do you realize how insane that is?" You do, you aren't denying this. There is no need for him to specify who he fucks, not sure where did he hear you say that. Not a niche knowledge it will bring more issues, still not refuting, after all Leon deserves a little bit of stress right now, because it is too late to feel ashamed.

"But you do," you state. Leon gurns, there is a flinch like he got hit by you. You wish, you wish your hand would slap all this nonsense out of him.

Leon always looks like he has the hardest decision to make; something so irreparable, there will be no going back. That's bullshit, because that line has been crossed multiple times already, since the night your ass ground against his straining dick, the decision wasn't only his.

"This is not normal, a good father is not supposed to have his dick in his daughter," Leon sighs, the corners of his mouth tense with a pause. "And I'm sorry, your father is just a man." Another pause, his frown deepens like it hurts him to say. "Fucked up big this time, so I'll do my best to make it right again, for you."

Is he aware how many times your hand was amongst your thighs to ease the tension when his chest was against your back?

"I can't go back and stop myself, unfortunately," Leon says, failing miserably to appear okay and secure about this decision; his own lips tremble as he brings himself to speak further. "If you want to buy something, tell me and I'll buy it anytime, I'll find time for just two of us."

Your eyes narrow. So this whole 'date', dad-daughter quality time was to redeem his guilt?

"That was not supposed to happen, pumpkin," Leon tries to explain, his hand squeezes your thigh, noticing your devastation after his words. Is he going to leave you? "I want only us two too, but…" It comes quickly, hoping to soothe your fear, just for another long pause to follow, mouth tensed like he is coming up with something nicer, to not upset you more. "Like we were back then, my girl while I am just your dad."

Is he aware how many times you were humping your own fingers in the morning, trying to imprint the remains of him from the sheets into your skin?

No. Clearly not, he is not aware of anything and his words only confirm that. There is zero awareness, his brain is duller than a knife in the kitchen, there is only buzzing wind that serves no purpose other than trying to appear normal.

You remove his hand from your thigh, your thoughts would be the first turbulence to crash a plane. "I don't want that normalcy back."

Fuck this bullshit, fuck this 'just his girl and he is just your dad'!

You don't want to go back, the thought brings only dread that knocks every air in your lungs, it burns like acid, this pain shouldn't be tied to something normal, even if the desire was there it is just impossible unless a way to travel back exists unaware to you both. No man can make your cunt flutter like he does, even if they copy him; you tried, not comparable as long as one is not your dad.

You leave the car, a loud slam behind you before a realization hits he is still there. Alone, eyes down to his phone. Your knuckles knock on the window softly, he rolls it down. "You aren't coming?"

"No, I need to go," Leon says with an apologetical look. A frown on your face, enough to urge him to speak again. "We will deal with this, believe me."

The soft cotton wool wipes away the day of your face, mascara was intact just a second ago — supposed to be ruined by your dad, while your mouth would be full of his dick in the backseat of his car. Instead of dick, your teeth swell your lips from unending gnawing. Instead of his hands stripping you it is your lonely oneself in your room worming out of your miniskirt and stockings.

Every thought and crook is about him. Your sheets smell like him, nosing the pillow on your bed the faintest hint of him is not missed, no matter how much it tries to fade. There is only him, Leon, dad, him, him, him and him. Your brain is a canvas painted with memories. Maybe those are hallucinations provoked by your ill head. Not as ill as Electra's, matricide is not that desirable nor a sturdy bed in the cell.

Normalcy, you don't want it, no fucking way. At the same time your dad is also a man, they don't change (at least you haven't seen that yet), an old twat stares at your ass the same way a 21 years old guy does.

You could complain to your friend, subtly hinting that a man you love has another woman. To be honest with her it is a guaranteed havoc, there is no way you go fully in detail. What would you even say? Oh well, my dad can't be a man and divorce his wife, so instead of couch he'd sleep with his daughter. You. Well, to correct yourself it wasn't sex at first, your bleeding heart couldn't take the idea of him sleeping on the couch and there is enough room for him in your bed. One night turned to two, as everyone knows third has a charm just for this to metamorphose into a full routine; her raised voice and loud argument you never listen to — a clear sign your dear dad is sleeping with you tonight. Is it even worth it to bring this issue up? She wouldn't understand. Oh you know married men only feed you with lies and promises, haven't you seen in reality shows? His wife just sucks at sex.

You are not easy.

And it is obvious she would speak from the heart, a friend will always want the best even with the invisible rose glasses tainting her world. Your's and her’s problems are on a ridiculous distance range, from the Earth to Saturn. The worst thing that can happen to her is her boyfriend begging to try anal, while you are in the position to be a side chick to your dad. With no balls dad, because he can't divorce that woman.

You still love him. Devoted to him, you'd kiss the necklace with his photo, a nun doesn't have that devotion to God. Fully with your spacious heart, you love him twice as strong; with the purest love you have for him as a daughter and as a woman.

And stability is something any other guy lacks at your age, they can't offer you the safety or something you would be able to rely on. Well, getting pregnant at 22 and jilted the moment you bring it up — this is a sort of stability too. A negative one. The one that your dad would never bring on you because he loves you, unlike the guy that popped your cherry on a party; he loved your pussy and naivety. Your dad would never make you pay for plan B either. That asshole did, then blocked you.

Again, Leon would never do this because your dad loves you with the purest love.

There should be only you and him actually, that woman is not supposed to be around him ever. You are nicer, you understand him better, you are literally the other half of Leon — d is dad, d is also daughter, there is no d in a wife. Nor in mother.

"He is not at home?" A knock accompanied with feminine voice pulls you out of your thoughts, not expecting her to be here at all. It sounds distraught, worried this can be even read on her face — eyebrows dipped down in a frown. Interesting. "Did you hear anything from your dad?"

"What?"

"Is he going to be late?" she asks. "Maybe he said you something."

"I don't think so…" you murmur, the last note was ended with a fight that tugs on your heart. "He didn't tell me anything."

"No text too?"

That's not his style, you wanted to snarl, if anything he hates sending text even in the most uncomfortable situations his choice always falls on calls. Whatever, right. Your eyes dart to your phone. A tap is enough to turn it on and see a notification; tell your mom I'm going to be late. Thank you, I'm really sorry. I love you.

A contemplative silence. Oh you should be more selfish, an easy way for happiness even if it means to sabotage his relationship tonight. Nothing new for Leon, right? He wanted normalcy, there is nothing more normal than your mom throwing a fight. Again.

"Mmm, nothing," you lie, shrugging your shoulders. A cheerful rush, you can't feel your fingertips, vibrating every inch of your skin, like someone threw a party inside you. Tonight he will be back, that's the normalcy, not his guilt driven one. "I think he will be back at the same time as usual."

I love you. You love him too.

Tonight your bed doesn't creak with additional weight on the mattress, despite your mother throwing a scandal again — you don't listen to this, the result was always the same for you until today, he is not with you. That's a bad omen. The susurrating of sheets breaks the silence only when you sit up to check your side to find the spot beside you is empty.

Okay, fair enough Leon trusted you, if this is about your little lie.

And it kills you, because your dad is not supposed to be angry at you. You who is the only way to get his steam off, you who comforted him and is the best choice for him. What a fucking joke! You want to shoot your head off, no, you have to paint your bed in your blood other than accidental period blood once in a while, but it means to go to your dad — he has a gun, not you! Curling like a dying dog with the blanket pressed tight against your chest, eyes shut hoping the door will open slowly, then sleep will come with his arms around you.

That's ridiculous, you didn't do anything bad, if he wanted to warn her then he should be the one to text, not making you a messenger. This is unfair, so fucking unfair because that ring on her finger is supposed to be yours. So fucking unfair because you are supposed to sleep with him, unfair because the place next to him was always yours.

You need to get water, it is in the kitchen, close. Then splash your face with cold water. Wash everything off, it will be alright, right?

And he is on the couch, for God's sake! You want to crawl next to him, to place his arm around you and cuddle. You don't ask for his dick inside you. With heavy steps, you come to him, sitting on the floor with the worst attempts to calm yourself down from the convulsive tears. He can't do this to you, a little fuck up is nothing — he fucks you up almost every day and you haven't stopped loving him. Yet at least, you wish you could turn off a switch with the 'love Leon' printed on top of it, so him being snatched from you wouldn't hurt that bad as it does.

Your hands tug on his edge of his pants messily, only making more noises with no result. Other than his grip hindering your attempt to get what's yours.

"D-d-daa..D-Dad," you sob, with shaky hands gripping on his shirt. Leon stays silent, clearly startled by your presence right now. "I—I'm sorry, so so sorry, I didn't— " you stop, unable to talk as another series of hiccups attacks you, every attempt just ends up with incoherent words.

"Jesus Christ," Leon gasps, his hands coming to rest on your back out of habit. "Sweetheart, calm down first, then speak," Leon whispers, clearly preoccupied with your state. What the fuck happened? The question itches on his tongue. Well, your consequences happened.

You try to talk, really, but your convulsive hiccups and sobbing slip through rather than anything coherent. Leon squints at you, worried, before dragging you into a hug. His cologne fills your senses, only magnetizing your hands to his back, digging into his shirt and through fabric there are guaranteed half-moon marks thanks to your nails.

"I'm here, here," He shushes you softly. "Are you upset with me?" You shake your head — a lie. But too paralyzed with fear that he will leave you. And he is here after all, that's what matters, as his hand rubs your back softly. "I'm sorry, pumpkin. I thought you were angry with me, I fucked up so badly with you," Leon says, his thumb caresses your lower jaw as his eyes jump from one traits to another, like memorizing you for some reason. Does he plan to leave you?

"N—no, I would never." You shake your head erratically, denying anything that he wants to say, anything that he is saying and anything that he could come up with. Actually, you were, but does it matter now? "I want you back." A hard swallow. "Back with me."

His eyes are the worst at hiding his face, his conscience is formaldehyde that blanches his skin like a corpse. He doesn't even need a slap to wake him up, guilt is enough — and you hate it the most.

"Please…" Maybe plead for a little bit longer, bat your eyelashes and squeeze more tears. You eye his lips, in the same fashion you did in the past, awaiting for his kiss but it doesn't come. Too risky right now, even though it is mutual as his gaze is ravaging you right now.

It is a blank memory, you follow Leon like a dog. Without fully processing he fulfilled your wish by bringing you both in your room. Ending up on the bed, you are in his arms and clinging to him with your face finding its comfort in the nook of his neck.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Leon utters, his hand caresses your back as your tears wet his shoulder. "I ruined everything again." A need to nod, to fuel his guilt arises and you don't move. At all, no matter how much you want to blame him directly, it takes a lot of effort. "…Even this morning, you were so pretty for me, I wanted to kiss you, hold you and fuck you on the same couch."

Of course you were. Pretty, perfect, ready for him. Ready always, you'd spread your legs without him asking, a glance to your covered cunt would be enough for you to spread them in hope to hear the sound of stockings ripping off by his hands. Rough and calloused, direct contrast to your soft flesh. This would be a scene jumped off the porn, maybe because he looks too much like a hypothetical porn star too; a personal one, just for you to trace his chiseled jaw with stubble that makes you ticklish. No fucking way other women would watch his dick drill into your cunt while imagining themselves on your place.

No fucking way.

Your arm snakes around him, pressing yourself tighter. "I want to be with you," you mutter softly, the other hand wipes your drying tears off. "Me, you, I—" you swallow, palm is flat against his chest now, muscles flexes as you trace a path lower to his slowly swelling bulge. Quickly affected by you, pavloved as much as you by those four walls. "You'd kiss me before work." And Leon helps you to undo his belt, for easier path for your palm to cup his boner, while all ears listening, you can see in his dilated pupils yourself and your nonexistent future with him.

"And after?" Leon inquires and you nod.

No kids though, just no. His attention is yours only. Brushing off your palm, he leans closer, blue eyes are still sparkling with conflict. He is supposed to cut this dream down, like a good dad, but as a terrible dad, Leon dips to kiss you finally.

And every his kiss is like home, you like how his mouth moves in sync with yours, not afraid to bite down on his lower lip to coax a groan out of him — a best reward that makes your pussy gush, painfully empty; nothing was there and yet you arch towards him, a minute without an attention is devastating.

And Leon knows that, he knows you too well. Creeping underneath your pants, it is expected from you to not wear underwear, another part of routine for both of you. He always comes back to you and you are the best daughter for him, best wife, best girlfriend all in one.

"You were waiting for dad to come to you?" Leon inquires, his fingers run across your pussy, provoking a quick inhale. You nod, of course, with needy eyes begging him to go further. Wet, slick clings to his fingertips, this is his turn to grunt now. "And already ready for me, fuck, I can't believe I raised such a whore for myself."

Not wasting a lot of time, his fingers dip inside your warm hole, stretching you so well for what is going to come, two thick digits rutting inside you while his lips muffle your whimpers. He kisses you like nothing matters right now, focused only on your lips trying to keep up with his rhythm and the squelching sounds coming from your gushing cunt. The high spot of his palm grinds against your clit, making your eyes roll back in bliss.

"My biggest treasure, precious girl," Leon groans, watching your pussy swallow his fingers greedily. "Only us two. That's right. It will be soon, promise." You flutter around his digits with more slick gushing heavily and he hasn't even put a dick inside you. Your eyes are wide open, stare at him with the most evident hope he has ever seen. Questioning him 'you promise?' A shaky exhale falls from his lips as your hips buck up against his palm. He is not so sure, but he is sure the sight goes straight to his dick, enough to withdraw his fingers, driving him to slip lower, so his face would position amongst your soft thighs.

It is barely anything, so sensitive with no else but Leon, your dad knows your body the best, his creation is tied to him. His tongue presses on your folds, not shying from a long, broad stripe that coaxes a breathy moan out of you. That's a wonder you don't wake anyone up during his night visits. A kiss on your swollen nub before a mouthful glob gathers on his tongue, before delving back for saliva to mix with your glistening slick — so much colder than your pulsing folds, gushing at contrast. His tongue doesn't shy to probe into your hole, thrusting into it before pulling out to give a long lick across your lips. Never lingering long enough on your clit.

You buck your hips just for Leon to shush and tighten his hold onto you. Leon adores your frustration, focusing first on your clit would be just a quick served dessert. What's the fun in it? Regardless of this fondness, it is hard for him too; even in the wrong position, he is your dad first and fortunately or not, his daughter got a perfect pussy, making it harder to decide what he wants more to feel it flutter around his dick or to taste you. Light short kisses only fuels his need for pleasure by you, to cling onto him and beg. Accidentally or not, the tip of this tongue flicks across your clit briefly, fanning his breath while so close, but never prolonging the touch. It is fucking annoying, the moment is always so there, close enough like a silky ribbon caressing your flesh just for it to be abruptly cut.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs with amused lilt, always so quick, always so easy to play with, it never bores Leon. "You like your dad here, mmm?"

You shake your head and Leon raises his eyebrow, a decadent smile plays on his lips. "Don't lie."

"I don't like when you are doing—" Your moan cuts the sentence, as his tongue flicks across swollen nub, a brief needed pleasure strikes your body.

"What?" Leon teases, a broad lick across your folds, keeping the torturous rhythm. Your thighs serve as a good ears muff, the way they clamp around his head to shove him even harder against your cunt from frustration. A push and he'd be able to move, Leon just doesn't want to leave, yet. Instead, with a taut grip on your hips, he pulls you closer to his mouth.

"Come ooon," you mewl, bucking against his lips, his stubble grazes your inner thighs like a caress. A hard swallow, loud, almost ashamed of your tone; brazen and demanding. Barely a second passes for you to plead again, much softer this time. Sweeter, kinder. "Please, please, dad." Then he finally gives the long desired attention. The tip of his tongue flicks on the clit, before his lips sucks hard on your sensitive clit, feeling your back arching into his mouth while breathy whimpers keep erratically falling from your lips.

Meanwhile Leon himself is not unaffected, your moans goes straight to his dick that throbs painfully in his half unzipped pants. Sucking on your clit, letting it go just to tease with quick flicks — your thighs clamp harder around his head, hips riding his face or try to. Your pleasure is a gratification of his per se, Leon is your dad first, then a man. There is nothing better than your teary eyes at the verge to cascade from just his tongue. Worse than girls in cheap porn, not an objective comparison, after all they can't act while your whole being doesn't know what pretenses are, always so honest with him.

A wet pop, just to press flat his tongue against your dripping cunt. Kissing your cunt like he kisses you when there are no eyes, in the car or in your room when he needs to say good night to you. Hungry full open kiss, your slick mixes so easily with his saliva, like a high alcohol cocktail hazing his senses with dizziness as his tongue swirls on your lush folds, void of agonizing slowness.

With a low groan, his hips buck against the soft surface of your mattress just for some relief, no better than a dog, he just lacks a leash on his neck, as his hips try to hump to end up with disappointment. The pleasure is lacking, barely a relief for the throbbing need that intensifies after every roll of his hips. Oh, your hole, the silkiness warmth is what he starves for so bad.

A push, he pulls away from cunt. She flutters around nothing as his warmth withdraws from your dripping folds. His lips shine from your silvery slick across his jaw, as if adorned with little gems. Leon is drunk, on sight and on the taste, on the feeling your body gives him and your stretched hand sobers him up. Cloying sobs 'no, don't go, no-no-no', your brows curled up, teeth sink onto your plush lips in an attempt to not let more slip. Leon wishes to hear more, for your voice to envelop his surroundings like a warm blanket. A lot to ask. Or beg.

He knows you too well, impossibly well because your hand reaches for him to exchange the pleasure. To worship him with your mouth with your palms tunneling his thrusting dick.

"No-no, hey, tonight is not about me." Well, that's a lie he is aware of, you can't not make this about him, your inborn talent. "Let your dad handle this," Leon murmurs, taking your hand. "You trust me?" A squeeze, expecting for you to follow and of course you do, a quick nod follows, leaving no possible lack of answer to exist.

Something is missing. Eyeing his glittery mouth with your lower lip juts out, a simple gesture from you, no words needed because they would be redundant. That's it? You didn't even come, he didn't even fuck your cunt — written in your dilated pupils, just fucking begging him to fuck you. Perhaps he should force you to talk and beg, but right now his dick guides every thought process in his brain, so the best choice is to oblige.

Every visit is the same for him; a never changing man and you like that in Leon. He positions between your legs, hooking one around his waist, a drunk eyes on your cunt, lips parted with a taut grip on your hip, enough to angle for his taste, the tip nestles in your hole shortly before his dick sinks into your needy heat. Your silky walls stretch in a burning pleasure, tightly engulfs around him like a mouth trying to suck him off. The closest comparison and still, your pussy is wetter, warmer and so much more sensitive; she can tell something your eyes with cheeks hollowed around him would never.

Leon's dick is the best thing you have ever had, it is not that different from any other guy, slightly curved to the side with a pink tip, like many men circumcised and it gets hard identically. That's still a dick, he looks almost the same despite the most important difference; he is special just for you, Leon fills you perfectly, and that's not a surprise after all you were made just for him by him. All your focus tunnels just on the curve of his dick pressing into your spongy spot, your hips squirms at the overwhelming fullness in your hole.

His balls nestle against your round ass, hips to hips, his figure envelops you like a Montale. You wish there was Leon perfume, homely and always with you. Eyes are mirrors of the soul, he made peace with your persistent stare on him; it is filled with a devotion nun has for the God, like he is a Saint for you, a religious idol that can do no wrong even if his dick is inside his daughter's pussy, your pussy. And your tears mirror his wrongdoings, but your hole is a velvety caress, centering him; your cunt squeezes weakly, as an untold plea for him to move.

Slowly pulling out, his dick is smeared with your slick, glistening from pubes up to his tip that nestles in your hole. For Leon there are two things worth dying for; both are tied to you. A sight to die for such as your hips, shyly, but still in self indulgent fashion wavers attempting to sink back onto his dick. Then a feeling to die for is his hips thrust forwards, his dick bottoms out to fill every inch of you, tip kisses your cervix making your eyes flutter open with a loud whimper. Soles of your feet dig into sheets, arching with your chest undulating like waves crushing breakwater, and ecstasy on your face as you feel every vein along his dick etching into your slippery walls.

Nothing else matters.

His thumb presses against your clit, your walls clamp around him tighter like a vice, crying out 'daad, dad' not as different from a prayer, "Da-ad," you moan again, a hard swallow. "please."

"Shhh, dad's here, here" Leon coos, keeping the pressure on your clit. Your mouth opens just to clench your jaw as his dick hits your g-spot. "Pretty, my pretty baby." Never greedy for praise, you would understand if you saw how good you look taking his dick. A quick pic would be nice, something to have on his phone, something to admire on breaks, maybe in the office bathroom palming his dick, a reminder of you waiting. His hand creeps to your face before giving a pat on the cheek. "You are just asking for me to fuck you into the bed." Your eyelashes flutter like butterflies, a nod with a daft look in your eyes. Too drunk on his dick. Did you even understand what he said?

It doesn't matter either.

Quick thrusts into your cunt makes your tits bounce softly. So wet, slick oozes easily to cling on your fleshes, echoing in the room wet skin slapping every time Leon's hips connect fully with yours. In and out, rhythmically, your slicked up hole makes light clicks after another deep slam, your head tosses back, arching into him as one of many attempts to greedily take him deeper, to get more of him. Please, harder, more, deeper, you need to feel it everywhere, his dick is a remedy, kicking out any anxious thought and replacing it with Leon is yours and his dick is fucking you non-stop.

And that's what matters for Leon.

His eyes are on your hole sucking him back, keeping a good hold of your hips, at every velvet fluttering of your cunt his nose scrunches from pleasure. You can see in every trait of his mutually growing pleasure is evident, painted all over his traits and action, driving him to be quicker, messier.

"Uhh, fuck, fuc—," you cry softly, gasping for air at the touch, his dick throbs heavier inside you only magnifying your approaching orgasm. Please, please, harder. It doesn't fall from your lips, but as if he heard you or read your mind Leon quickened his rhythm.

"Easy, easy," He grunts, tossing his head back as your cunt clamps around him tighter. "Fuck, you like your dad's dick too much." A quick, breathy uh-huh slips from you, deciphering as an agreement with his words. Of course, you fucking adore his dick.

"Ughh, dad, fuck, I'm—" you moan, high pitched at the verge of sobbing. Your teeth gnaw on your finger. "Goin— I'm so close to cum!"

"Go on," Leon grunts, his balls tighten while rutting ruthlessly into your dripping hole, greedily sucking him in every time he snaps forward. "Come all over your dad's dick," as you squirm, his grip tightens your hips, in place for him to keep bullying your cunt. "I want to feel my daughter milking me, come on."

Everything becomes dizzier as his dick delves deeper, harder to the point it feels suffocating, intensifying your dizziness as if your body is full of alcohol. You want more, need more, rolling your hips meet his rough snaps. The burning pleasure keeps spreading, like a snake around your body tightening more and more until his throbbing dick doesn't halt to spill his load inside you with a breathy moan. Your walls clamp around him, all you can hear is his praises how well you take him, because sure you do, tightly clenching around him — milking him, aware or not, your whole body is shaking as you are hit with your orgasm. His dick is pulsating inside you, every vein you can feel them as his sperm keeps filling you with no fear of possible consequences — both too drunk on the fullness, tightness you bring to each other.

The susurrating of sheets pulls you out of your grogginess — not entirely, but fully driven by anxiety of him leaving again. Your hand reaches for him, to snake around his bicep and pull yourself closer like a lovebirds on a honeymoon.

"Don't…" don't leave, stay here, you promised. You struggle with the tiredness that keeps dawning on you.

"I'm not leaving, I'm here." His hand brushes across your knuckles, watching your face twist — not buying this. "We should sleep, you sucked your old man dry," Leon coos, a kiss on your forehead. You know this tale to a T, only empty promises. An audible hard swallow, you cling to him worse than a tick after forrest walks, hoping it would stop the inevitable.

And the sun is not as bright as yesterday, its warmth doesn't seep through the thin fabric of the curtain, leaving you more time to not wake up. Instead of something, someone else wakes you up, the kisses are not a caress of the morning but rather of a lover, or your dad.

That's probably a dream, Leon is tremendously bad with his promises. And you are used to this.

His hand pats your cheek, almost not registering him peppering your face with affection. Loud smooch, leaving much colder invisible marks on your flesh. And you lean in, his lips move as if saying something to you. Something about moving away.

"Dad?" you hum with heavy eyelids. What is he doing here? Your hands reach to poke into his cheeks, kneading his face with disbelief, straight out of dream. Skin to skin, something you prayed for before waking up with empty spot next to you. Today is different.

"Doesn't it sound nice?"

"What?" you try to wipe away the tiredness, just for it to come back.

"Move away," Leon repeats. So it would be like you wanted.

"To where?"

He shrugs his shoulders, lips tensed as if he is not sure right now. "Just a thought," he says, then a pause. His eyes jump from your nose to your neck, to your tits and back to your face. Pondering, visibly still conflicted at the thought. It wouldn't die over night, but his presence is richer than words can ever be. "When I divorce, it will be only us, a change of scenario would be nice, no?"

"Sure…?" you don't sound convinced, eyeing him for signs of his lie. Anything, but this is pretty much real. A playful slap on his cheek, he deserved that after what he put you through. Leon shudders, then swallows. But in his baby blues there is no confusion, just sympathy and even playfulness, waiting for you to continue. To process all this. "You should divorce first, then we can talk about it."

Why was it so easy for everyone to get off? All you heard from your friends was stories about the latest guy they fucked and how hard they came, or how they learned a new way to make themselves cum. It was always something about sex with them. You never had anything to add to the conversations, all you did was sit there and poke at whatever meal they forced you to order. Maybe your dad was right about them… He never really approved of their little group when you first met. Not that it mattered. 

It’s normal for a single dad to be so protective of his only child, he wouldn’t want any of the icky, terrible, perverted creeps out there to touch his baby. What if someone kidnapped you? He drilled these thoughts into your head since you were young. Told you not to trust anyone, they could be waiting until you’re vulnerable to pounce. What kind of father would he be if he let someone hurt you?

He was good to you, made sure you were happy even if you didn’t have too many friends growing up. All you needed was your dad. You were so lucky to have him, he never judged you for anything. The relationship between the two of you was more like a friendship than familial, you felt safe with him. Maybe that’s why you were so okay with never having a boyfriend. You had him for everything.

Everything but sex. Obviously. Not like you wanted to do it with him, nothing like that. Though, you have wondered what it would be like. You’ve overheard your neighbors gossiping about him, discussing how big he might be, how loud he would be. You knew the answers to both. Not in a gross way! 

The first time you saw his dick was a couple days after your birthday. He took you on a trip to celebrate at a small, adult-only beach resort. The room only had one bed since it was a last minute trip, but you didn’t mind sharing a bed with him. It was small, not a lot of room to change in private. Even the bathroom wasn’t privacy focused, a large glass wall was in the middle. You trusted your dad. You knew he wouldn’t get a room like this on purpose.

You caught a glimpse of it in the mirror while he was getting changed to take you down to the pool. Just a glimpse was enough for you to know how big he was, it made your cunt throb. A normal reaction to looking at any naked guy. It’s not like you wanna fuck him or anything.

Back to knowing what he sounds like when he’s fucking someone. You’ve heard him with the random women he sometimes brings over when he has a little too much to drink. It’s like he forgets how thin the walls are, or he’s too drunk to care. You can hear them crying out from each thrust, their moans louder than your music. But they weren’t enough to cover up the noises he made, all the grunts, whines, little curses that get muffled from how hard you’re pressing your ear to the wall. It’s natural to be curious.

Why are you thinking about your dad like this? While your friends are talking about their latest fuck? Stop being so weird.

You quickly excused yourself, giving them some half assed excuse about your dad needing you to come home and help out with something. You couldn’t listen to them anymore, it was too much. How pathetic can you be? A virgin, getting turned on listening to your friends sex stories and imagining them as you and your dad. You really need to get laid.

At least you had the house to yourself, you could try and get off in peace. Emphasis on try. You’ve never been able to make yourself cum, no matter how hard you work for it. The amount of different toys and positions you’ve tried makes you look worse than even the most perverted of men. None of it ever worked, none of it ever made you want to give up. All you hear from the latest friends you’re allowed to have is sex, sex, sex. You can’t help it if you’re getting desperate.

You were so desperate once that you grabbed one of his shirts to sniff while you touched yourself. That night was the closest you’ve come to an orgasm, only because you were smelling a guy's shirt, who it belongs to isn’t important. 

His bed was so soft and it smelled just like him. Your father’s scent surrounded you, enveloping you in a cloud of comfort and arousal. It was so familiar, it felt so safe. You weren’t at fault when your hand started to creep down, dipping under the waistband of your shorts. You had no control at this point. It was so gross to be doing this in his bed, it was too hard to stop as soon as you felt your wetness leaking through your panties

A light touch through the thin fabric was enough to make you gasp. Were you always this sensitive? It felt like any little contact could set your nerves on fire. Pleasure started to take over your senses, a tight feeling deep inside begging to be released. It was all happening so fast. It has to actually happen this time, nothing's ever felt this intense before. Your fingers moved faster in clumsy, desperate circles over your clit. 

Your toes curled, hips planting into the mattress. Every part of your body was begging for the sweet release of an orgasm, waiting for it to finally happen. It was so disappointing when the feeling drifted away. Now you were in a messy bed and covered in sweat. Plus, your dad was standing in the doorway the whole time.

He took advantage of your lack of awareness in your surroundings, sneaking up to his bed with a mind full of sick thoughts. His hand snuck up to yours, lightly ghosting over your wrist, gripping it when you flinched. 

“Shh, Daddy’s here now. Don’t worry. I’ll help, ‘kay?”

Your eyes widened, what the actual fuck was happening? Why wasn’t he screaming at you? Or telling you to get out of his bed? Why was he touching you?!

Even with all the fear and thoughts screaming at you to push him away, you let him continue. His hand followed yours to your shorts, gently slipping under them all while keeping his eyes focused on yours.

“My pretty girl’s all wet.. You need Dad to fix it? Make you feel good?”

He sat just behind you on the bed, pulling you closer to his chest. After such a long and stressful day of yelling at idiots that don’t understand how to do their job, seeing you like this in his bed was the closest he’d ever get to heaven. Catching you in the act was one of his biggest fantasies. Gross thing for a dad to say about his daughter, huh?

It wasn’t really his fault. In fact, it was all on you. Walking around the house in tiny shorts, no bra with the tightest of shirts. You wanted him to catch you, to watch you, fuck you. He knew it. He wasn’t dumb. Why else would you walk in on him changing so often? He knew he did a better job raising you, no way you’re that stupid. 

His arms felt so nice around you, so perfect. You always felt so safe whenever he held you. All your worries would melt away the moment you felt his warmth. It was almost enough to make you forget about his fingers resting over yours, putting just enough pressure to make you touch your clit. A chill ran down your spine from the contact.

“Daddy’s here to help. Don’t worry, baby.” 

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he spoke, planting soft kisses behind it after. The hand currently not touching your cunt moved to your chest, gently kneading your left tit, cock already straining in his pants at your little whimpers. 

“Y’know, I can hear you at night… All the pathetic sounds you make… Your shitty toys buzzing for hours… You’re not very good at hiding what you’re doing.” His hand moved yours, controlling each movement your fingers made. You were so small compared to him, he could eat you in one bite. You’d let him. “Could’ve talked to me. I would’ve been so happy to help you out…”

He moved your hand further down, pushing your fingers past the fabric sticking to you, directing them to your aching hole. A soft moan fell from your lips as he pushed one in, the pleasure stronger than any other time you’d tried it before. Something about having him here with you made it hit so much harder. The way he took control, slipped right into the position without any hesitation. You were so lucky to have someone like him for a dad.

Your mind shut down, it didn’t need to be used anymore. Not when your dad was showing you how to get off. One of his fingers joined the one inside of you, another following soon after. It was too much too soon, the stretch of all three fingers burned. All your senses were on fire, nothing you could’ve done on your own would ever compare to the way he was making you feel.

His fingers pulled out to a pathetic whine from you, sneaking up to your lonely, forgotten clit. Your hips jerked the moment his fingers pressed against you, simply pushing down. He didn’t even need to move them much, you were doing all the work for him. You humped his hand like a bitch in heat. It didn’t even matter if there was anything in you, you just wanted to feel him against you.

Moans dropped from your mouth, getting louder and louder each second. It was all too much. Your body couldn’t handle it anymore, couldn’t hold back. Everything hit you all at once. Your eyes squeezed shut, toes curling, head falling back onto his shoulder. Wow, your first ever orgasm was from your dad fingering you.