4. Chapter 4
"Daddy likes to get you nice and clean, then make you dirty all over again."
She gives me that look over her shoulder, the shower hot as we step inside, water streaming down her face, and I'm inside her before she can mount any protest.
Hard. Harder than I should, considering what I've already put her pussy through, but she's pushing back into every thrust.
God, my daughter can fuck. I’ll never be the same.
I drop to my knees after dumping another bucket of cum inside her, pressing her thighs apart and lick into her slow and thorough while the hot water beats down on my shoulders.
She tangles her fingers in my wet hair and rides my mouth until her legs give out and I have to hold her up, her whole-body shuddering, this broken little cry bouncing off the tile that I'll be hearing in my sleep for weeks.
I bring her a bottle of water and two Advil. Set her down on the shower bench and angle the spray so it hits her where she's swollen and aching. "Sit here. Drink that. Come out when the throbbing settles."
She blinks up at me, steam curling around her face, looking thoroughly ruined and entirely too pleased about it. "Yes, Daddy."
I leave her in there, dry off, throw on a clean pair of jeans and a white button down which I don't button and head toward the home studio.
I'm setting up the tethering station when I catch my reflection ghosting across the black monitor. Dark hair shoved back, still damp, curling where it hits my collar.
It's me looking back, but it's not. I'm someone new. Someone I've wanted to be for a long time and wrong or right, I'm hell bent on keeping this girl on my cock and in my life from here on out.
I drag the wardrobe rack to center and hang up the pieces I took from the box in my closet where I've been collecting things for too long.
Things that made me think of her. There's a champagne silk camisole, a white button-down of mine, black lace bralette, sheer black thigh-highs, a gray silk robe.
I'm adjusting lighting and checking my lenses when she appears in a towel. Her wet hair around her jaw, bangs plastered dark against her forehead.
"Sit." I point to the stool. She sits, knuckles white on the terry cloth. I pick up the Leica—not the Canon I haul to other people's weddings. The Leica is personal. The Leica is mine. I crouch in front of her. "Drop the towel."
"I haven't even brushed my hair—"
"That's the point. You don't need to be anything other than this, right now, who you are with me. Now drop the fucking towel."
She does as I say and I lift the camera to my eye and take the shot before her self-consciousness catches up.
Jesus, she's a masterpiece of bare shoulders, water still beading on her collarbone, her eyes holding something unguarded she's about to smother with a deflection if I don't capture it now.
Click. Click.
My entire world captured in the push of a button.
I snap off a hundred shots or more. Each one more breathtaking than the last, then I'm ready for some perspective.
I step in front of her, admiring her hard little nipples, the scratches and deepening marks on her body I've left, my boner no less demanding than it was an hour ago. "Now we dress you up."
I start with my button-down. Oversized, hem brushing mid-thigh. I stop her three buttons in. "Leave it like that." I position her with one knee drawn up on the stool. "Turn your head. Look at the wall. Don't smile."
She obeys and I shoot. My cock throbs. I adjust my stance and pretend the camera is the only thing with an aperture problem right now.
"Good girl."
I walk over and show her the screen on the back of the camera, letting her see what I see. "That's me?" She traces the image looking back at her. "I look—"
"Stunning." I finish, then add the next instruction. "Unbutton it. All the way."
I keep shooting. Full body first, then I move in. The indent of her waist. The flare of her hip. Closer. Collarbones. The lower lip she's been biting raw for the last ten minutes.
"Over there. Sit on the edge of the platform. Open your legs."
She does. Her arousal shines on her inner thighs.
"Grant—"
"You're my muse, baby. I'll never get enough of you." I step between her spread thighs and set the camera down. Run my palm up the inside of her thigh, see the goosebumps that follow. "Every shot I've taken today is proof. You're not what he said you were. Not broken. Not frigid."
Her chin trembles. "Then what am I?"
"Mine." I drop to my knees.
She falls back on her elbows as my mouth finds hers.
My cock swells as her flavor spreads over my tongue, pressing against my zipper hard enough for the teeth to score the flesh.
I'm a man who's spent twenty years finding the perfect frame through a viewfinder, and none of it has ever wrecked me the way this single image does.
My face between her thighs, her fingers sliding into my hair, the studio lights gleaming from the liquid fire slick on her pussy.
I drag the flat of my tongue over her clit, and she jolts.
Her fingers twist in my hair. She holds my mouth exactly where she wants it, while I lick in long, slow, thorough strokes, top to bottom and back, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her hips roll, what makes her thighs try to clamp around my head.
"Daddy—oh god—"
I suck her clit between my lips as a deep, guttural sound rumbles from my chest, and her sentence dies on a soft, gasped mewl.
I play with her cunt as I lick and suck, using my fingertips to spread her, stroke her, apply pressure.
When she arches, I press a thumb against her asshole and hear the moan of shock as she flinches away, then slowly grinds, exploring the sensation that set her off so well last night.
The sound of her makes my cock jerk as I cum down my pants, hot and sticky against my thigh.
"Grant—I can't—"
"Daddy." I correct, pressing my tongue back against her clit. I pump my fingers in and out of her opening while my tongue traces lazy circles. She's shaking so hard the platform creaks. I come up for a quick breath. "You call me Daddy, baby bird. I'm so fucking proud of you."
I go back to devouring her cunt, focusing on that hotbed of nerves with my tongue until I sense her body stiffen and she's holding her breath.
Her hands fist in my hair so hard my scalp burns. "Daddy!"
I reach for the camera with one hand, still flicking and lapping at her clit while I press her hip flat with the other. "Hold still."
I take the shot. My mouth on her pussy, glistening with her release.
Fumbling with the camera, I force her legs back to spread her ass, and lap that tight hole with my searching tongue.
Click. Click. Click.
I have no idea how the shots are coming out.
I can't concentrate on finding the right angle when I'm eating her ass.
But the thought of having this moment preserved, of flicking through these images of my daughter's ass spread wide for my tongue anytime I need to jerk off, has me growling like a fucking animal.
She comes from the naughty ass play clenching and gasping as a stream of liquid perfection is squeezed out of her.
It rolls down my nose as my own cum shoots down my leg.
It dribbles and drips down to her ass and over my tongue as I ease back, stuff my fingers into her pulsing heat, gathering up her sweet honey, then pull them out and lick each one clean.
I press my mouth to her inner thigh, moving my lips against the perfect, smooth flesh. I kiss the trembling skin, taste the salt of her sweat, and then drag my lips back to her pussy.
She comes a second time, writhing and gasping for air.
"Daddy!" She's shaking. Panting. Her thighs are still quivering around my head. "I need you inside me."
"Ask properly, baby girl. Good daughters know how to ask Daddy for what they want."
"Please, Daddy..." Her voice is stripped raw. Thin and desperate and nothing like the careful girl who clutched a towel on my stool an hour ago. "I need Daddy's cock. Please."
I strip. Shirt over my head, jeans shoved down. My cock bobs in the air, red and swollen and already sticky with cum. Her eyes drop to it as she licks her lips and gulps air.
But I don't give it to her. Not yet.
I drag her to the edge of the platform and step between her legs. Take my cock in my hand and draw the head through her folds. Parting her, sliding through the slick mess I've made of her.
"Daddy—"
"Shhh, baby," I growl. "Daddy's going to give you exactly what you want, but you need to be a good little girl. Good girls get treats."
I circle her clit with the head, watching her eyes unfocus, her lips part, the flush that crawls down her chest.
She reaches for me. I catch her wrist.
"Hands behind your back, baby bird. You don't take. You receive."
She obeys. Wrists crossed behind her, back arched, breasts pushed forward, spread open under the soft lights. The trust in that posture hits me somewhere behind the sternum.
I press the head of my cock against her entrance. Just the tip. Just enough to stretch her open.
She whimpers and tries to push her pulsing opening onto me, but instead of getting more cock, I draw back and land a hard smack to the side of her breast. Then the other.
"Greedy girl. You're still trying to take.
" She hisses as I spend a few more smacks on her tits, fucking mesmerized at how they shake and settle.
"Be still." I press in again. One inch. Her pussy grips just the head, and I watch it disappear into her body as her neck arches back, exposing the thick veins in her throat.
She stretches around me, her slick flesh swallowing the broad tip like she was made to take me as she moans, and the scent of her fills the air.
"Look at that." My voice scrapes up my throat as my insides wrestle as I stare at the place where her body accepts me inside. "Look how your little girl cunt is trying to pull Daddy's fat cock inside. I can't wait to show you how pretty this pussy looks, stretched around me."
One more shot. She needs to see this.