#daddy!ben

You’re so hot. A blissful warmth spreads through every inch of you, your cheeks burning with it, with how much you need him. 

“You want your daddy to stuff you full of his cum, baby?”

He grabs your knees, pushing them backward until they’re in line with your face. He needs to see, needs to watch as his cock rips you open.

“Use your words,” he grunts, offering a particularly deep thrust. “Or you won’t get it at all.”

“P-please, daddy,” you whine, hands searching for him, grasping at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can reach. 

“You can do better than that,” he stops his movements altogether, his hips coming to an abrupt halt. “Tell me what you want.”

He revels in it, the way you look at him so doe-eyed and pretty, the way you beg for him. He needs to hear it, needs to hear how badly you want him, how desperately you need him.

“I want to be full of your cum, daddy,” and your eyes, the way they glisten with unshed tears, shimmering with intrinsic desire, with a carnal urge to be completely and utterly filled by him - it drives him half to madness. 

He groans, withdrawing almost entirely. You’re so pretty like this, so perfect. Pliable and docile, malleable to his every touch, his every word. 

“Good, I'll make you mine,” he grunts, hips slamming back into yours at a punishing rate. “I’ll stay inside you for days, fill you with my cum until it drips down your legs, until you’re fucking swollen with me,” he grabs your face then, holding your jaw so that you look at him, really look at him. “I’ll ruin you for anyone else.” 

You want to tell him that he already has you, that you’re already thoroughly destroyed, completely spoiled by him. No man, no matter how hard they may try, no matter how many feeble attempts they make, will ever compare to him. To Ben. To your daddy. But you’ve been reduced to a wreck of sobs and incoherent wails, the concept of speech is something entirely implausible. He’s so deep, rocking against your cervix with every harsh thrust, a hand pressed firmly between your bodies. He thumbs at your clit, and the eager little moans, the little whimpers he pulls from you - Ben will never tire of them. 

“Are you mine, babygirl?” 

You nod feverishly, another high-pitched whine escaping your throat. 

“Little girl can’t speak, can she?” Ben murmurs, his panting only causing your clit to throb under his touch. “Daddy’s gonna fill you up, sweetheart, and then everyone will know who you belong to,” he grunts, his pace increasing. “Everyone will know you’re mine when I’m finished with you, when you’re carrying my child.” 

He watches your eyelids flutter, more sweet noises escaping your pretty lips. You’re so tight, so close, so wet. 

“I want you to come for me,” he hisses. “Squeeze me nice and tight, baby.” 

Your clit is so stiff, and he rubs it in steady circles, his cock dragging against your walls. The atmosphere is so thick, so heady. The headboard rocks against the wall, the bed creaks under the weight of his relentless momentum. He reaches down, wrapping a hand firmly around your neck, his thumb pressing against your throat, just how you like. 

Your walls begin to contract, clenching down on him as you approach your release. You’re so close, you’re almost there -

“Tha-at’s it, that’s my good girl,” he breathes, and his words, the way he talks to you, the way he praises you - it pushes you past the precipice, causing you to tumble into the depths of an almost violent orgasm. Your calves tense against his shoulders, your nails scratching into the skin of his bicep. But your face. The way your jaw hangs slack, the way your eyes shine, the way your breath catches as you scream. 

Ben groans, the sight, the image of you falling apart steering him to his peak. 

His hips stutter, hot, thick ropes of cum coating your walls, as his chest heaves, quiet, strangled moans filling the space between you. 

You’ve just been so stressed. 

His little girl, his good girl. Your body has been pushed to its very limits with late nights and broken sleep, your mind rattling with anxieties, fears, expectations. Teeth-gritting rage, a soul trampling grief engulfs you at the thought of it - the thought of not being enough. The thought of not meeting the expectations you’ve set for yourself. The thought of slipping through the cracks, of your best efforts not quite making the cut. 

Even when sleep does find you, it’s broken, disturbed by vivid dreams and a racing heart. You’re still exhausted, unrested when you wake. You’re not relaxed, not calm, even now, as your eyes flit back and forth behind their lids, your mind deep in an unnerving dream. Your muscles are still tense, still stiff beneath his touch. He tells himself that this isn’t selfish, as he shifts beneath the sheets, crawling between your legs as he pushes them apart. He tells himself that this isn’t just another excuse to taste you, to sate his hunger for your sweet cyprine. He tells himself that this is for you, to bring his little one some solace, to take care of you, to soothe your restless body in a way that only he can. 

Perhaps, both are true.

“Daddy’s got you,” he whispers into the soft skin of your thighs, fingers looping around the fabric of your panties and pulling them down your legs. His lips find your clit, first. Kissing at it, lapping at the bud until it swells and throbs. You whimper slightly, turning your head to the side, still encased in a disturbed sleep. His palms slide against the skin of your waist as he hushes you, his tongue dipping to slide into your entrance. He moans at the taste, as he often does. He can’t help it - how he craves it, how he relishes in the sight of your arousal dripping from your cunt, how it feels as it coats his tongue, dripping down his chin. 

Such a pretty little thing, you are. 

Your body reacts to him in ways he knows he doesn’t deserve - slick gushes from your heat, sticking to your thighs as he moves back to your clit, and you grind into his face, still so desperate, so wanton for him, even in the depths of your dreams. So needy, so pliant, so obedient. 

You mumble something soft, and his eyes flick up just in time to catch you stir, to see your eyelashes flutter as consciousness taunts you. 

“Daddy?” 

Your voice is soft, strained almost, and still thick with sleep. He licks a stripe through your folds in response, teeth scraping across your clit, and he watches in satisfaction as your eyes fall shut once more. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.” 

He takes his time, exploring every crevice, every inch of flesh until he’s the desperate one, his hips bucking into the mattress, a hand snaking down to fist at his cock. Precum leaks from the tip, and he groans, swiping his thumb across the head. Remarkable, the things you do to him, even in this half-asleep state, tangled somewhere in the purgatory of dreams and reality. 

He feels your calves clench and tighten against his shoulders, your hips gyrating against his chin. 

“That’s my good girl,” he sighs, his hand moving faster, tighter along his shaft. “Let go for me.” 

You’re shuddering, convulsing, almost, when he sucks on your clit one final time, your orgasm rippling through you. You whine softly, still not coherent, still not quite awake, even as Ben grunts into your heat, lifting himself into a kneeling position as he feels his balls tighten. It’s the sight of you - blissed and finally relaxed that gets him, that has his thighs tensing, his neck straining as he finds his release. His chest heaves with the effort of staying silent as thick ropes of his hot, milky cum paint your glistening cunt. He watches it drip onto the sheets, trickling past your clit, some of it collecting at your entrance. He gathers it on his index finger, and you moan, writhing slightly as he pushes it inside, where it belongs. 

And when he pulls you into his embrace, your back pressed tightly against his chest, he feels it. Feels how your muscles loosen, how your breathing becomes deep and even.