Daddy makes his daughter a woman

"Dad. Dad. Dad!"

"What's wrong?" I ask, my hips never breaking rhythm, my cock sliding in and out her anal canal.

"Why do you always fuck me in the ass," she gets out between gasps, cheek flat on the cushion, "ah—ah—why never in my pussy—"

I chuckle, drag her hips back onto me. "Because you're still a virgin, honey, not on the pill."

"How am I supposed to become a woman then, dad?"

The answer is the way her sphincter grips me. That little ring, hot as a mouth, slick from the first stretch, clamping down every time my thick cock drags back through it, reluctant to let go. Then the pop of it opening again, the head sinking past the tightest part, buried in the warm wet dark of her colon. Her tunnel clutches from all sides, velvet walled, pulsing in time with her groans. Every inch of me feels it, that greedy suction, that friction like a fist made of silk. Tight enough to hurt.

My balls swing with every stroke, heavy, slapping her young rear on each drive. Wet smack of skin, then the softer bounce back as her cheeks jiggle away from the impact, that little jolt running through her whole frame. Her flesh ripples around the blow. I feel the heat of her rear against the sack, the sting of it, the way she pushes her hips back into the next slap like she wants more.

I lean over her back, press her down into the cushion, watch my cock disappear into her. Her hole swallows me, flared pale around my girth, glossy, stretched thin. She hiccups a breath each time my thighs slap her, each time my balls crack against her.

"Daddy—" muffled, "please—"

"Please what."

"My pussy. please. just once."

"Mm."

"Just once in my pussy," she lifts her head, hair stuck to her lip, "nobody will know. come on. have a taste of it. please, please, please daddy—"

I keep plowing her. She takes it, then starts again, thicker now, begging with her whole body, arching, pushing back, working her hips in circles on my cock like she's trying to coax me out of her ass with sheer devotion. My sack keeps drumming her rear, slap after slap, swinging low, slapping harder as I pick up speed. The sound fills the room. Her cheeks flush pink from it.

"It's good," she babbles, "I love your cock in my ass, I do, but daddy it's aching empty in front. my pussy's aching empty, it hurts. can't you feel it, how wet I am—" she reaches back, fingers sliding through her own slick, holds them up glistening, "look. look how wet. that's for you. all of it."

Here's the thing. This ass is good. Better than good. That hot little ring, that deep velvet drag, the way she's clenching in slow waves she can't control. It's a squeeze you'd crawl across broken glass for. But it fights me. It's a tight fist pushing back, spitting me out an inch at a time, making me work for every stroke, milking me toward the finish whether I want it or not. It's proud, closed, stingy. It gives nothing away for free.

Her pussy won't fight. Her pussy is going to open for me, wet, warm, swollen with want, swallow me down like it's been waiting eighteen years for exactly this. It'll close around me soft instead of tight, pull instead of push, hug every inch, keep me instead of shoving me out. She's dripping down her own wrist right now over a hole I've never been inside.

I look at that slick on her fingers. My hips stutter.

Her moans don't stop. "ah—ah—ah—" Continuous, rhythmic, punched out of her with each of my thrusts, riding the same beat as my thighs on her ass, my balls smacking her rear in time. She's not even saying words anymore. Just sound. That noise going straight to my balls, telling me stay, stay, stay in the tight one.

"Just once?" I rasp.

"Yes! only once, have a taste, daddy!"

I pull out. Cold air hits my cock, her hole stays open a second, winks shut. I flip her onto her back. I want to see her face when it hurts.

She spreads her legs wide for me. Knees falling open, hips tilted up, eager, willing. Her black shirt hangs off one shoulder, gold hoops swinging, dark braids fanned over the cushion. Skin glowing under the lamplight, flat stomach quivering, that thin dark patch at her centre. Lips parted. Eyes already glassy.

I set my cockhead against her entrance. Virgin tight, a pucker of heat with nothing but resistance behind it. I lean in.

She looks up at me, right into my eyes, mouth open, breath short, chin lifted, the whole face of a girl asking for it.

Then the head forces through.

Her brows snap together. Her jaw drops wider. A high thin note comes out of her, not quite a cry. She's tight enough that my vision swims, walls folding around the head like they mean to push me back out, hot, gripping, wet in a way her ass never was.

"Oh—" her voice breaks, "oh yes, daddy, yes—ah—ah—that's nice—"

"Breathe," I tell her, „Out. slow. don't clench."

"Can't—" she whimpers, "you're too big—it's too big—"

"You're doing it. look at me. look."

She finds my eyes. Something in her face softens, opens.

"Good girl. relax your hips. that's it."

I push. Something gives with a small tearing pull. Her eyes well up, spill over at the corners, but she's smiling through it. "Keep going," she pants, "do me, daddy, do me—"

I ease back. My cock comes out smeared red, glossy, her blood bright on me. Her whole body shudders at the sight. I sink deeper, into that unprotected sleeve, bare, hot, velvet soft, nothing between us. Her hips jerk. Her mouth rounds.

"Oh god," she breathes, "oh god, it's in me. it's all the way in me. that deep—" she flattens a palm to her own belly, "feel that? feel how deep? you're in my stomach, daddy—"

"Press down," I say, "feel it from the outside."

She presses. Her eyes go wide. "I can feel you. right there. oh—oh my god—" Her voice thins into a moan, "it's too much. too full. fuller than my ass ever was. am I doing it right? daddy, tell me I'm doing it right—"

"you're perfect," I grunt, "you're taking all of it. keep your knees back. wider. there."

"Like this?"

"Just like that. hold them there."

She hooks her hands behind her thighs, folds herself open for me, chin tucked, watching. Then it hits her, the first cock orgasm of her life, rolling up out of her cunt like a wave she's never felt before. She wails, back bowing off the cushion, thighs shaking wide, juice flooding out around my shaft, running down over my knuckles, hot, thin, absolutely soaking me. Her walls spasm in long greedy pulls, milking at me while she comes.

I stop. Give her a minute.

Her breath saws. Sweat at her temples. Then she looks up, smiles, proud of herself.

"Good girl," I whisper, "well done, my love."

"Was that good?" she asks, still catching air, "did I do good? Tell me I did good."

"Best girl. you did everything right."

She beams, flushed, wrecked.

I start again. Slow. Sinking further, deeper than her ass ever let me, into new territory, all the way until my head presses soft resistance, against her young womb.

"It hurts," she says, eyes fluttering, "but it's nice—both—it's both at once—"

"That's normal. that's the deepest part. you're going to feel me there the whole time."

"Okay," she nods, small, trusting, "okay—ah—oh, that's deep, too full, I can't—" her words crumble, "too full, daddy, my belly's too full—"

"Hold it. take it for me. don't run."

"Not running—" she whimpers, "not running—"

I set a slow deep pace. Long drags out, long pushes back in, bottoming out each time. She writhes under me, tits swaying, hands fisting the cushion, heels digging in. "ah—ah—ah—" Her eyes roll back.

"Tilt your hips up. meet me."

She tilts. Her next breath catches.

"There it is. right there, isn't it."

"Yes—" she sobs, delighted, "yes, right there, how did you—oh—oh—" Another one breaks over her, whole body locking, cunt clenching in tight rolling squeezes.

I don't stop this time.

"Ooooohhh—" loud, shameless, her legs snapping up, clamping around my waist, holding me in. "don't pull out. don't ever pull out."

"Not going anywhere."

In, out, in, out. The wet slap of it. Her continuous moaning, high, broken, beautiful.

"It's good," she's chanting, "it's good, it's good, I feel everything, why does it feel like this, why—oh—too full, too full—"

"Because you're stretched around me," I tell her, "Every inch. feel how tight you are on me. that's you doing that."

"That's me?"

"That's you. squeeze me again."

She squeezes. My knees almost buckle.

"Good girl. again."

She squeezes, gasps at her own body.

"Thank you, daddy, —oh—oh—oh—" She comes again, shaking.

My balls pull up tight. Too soon, I've got to pull out—but her sleeve is contracting, gripping, her legs hauling me deeper. "Just a little bit more, daddy, ah—ah—"

"It's coming—"

"Inside. please. do it inside, I want to feel it inside—"

Then my balls pulse.

It punches out of me. Warm. Endless. The first load floods her deep, then another, another, thick heat spilling into her womb, she feels every one, comes on my cock again, a long "aaaaaah" tearing out of her throat, pure bliss, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide.

Seven loads. I keep pumping them into her, hips grinding, buried to the root, seed backing up, seeping out around my base in slow pearls down her perineum. Her cunt flutters, drinks at me, pulls every drop.

She goes limp. Arms out. Breathing like she ran miles.

I stay inside. Then I slip free, soft now, wet with her, streaked white.

She props herself up on one elbow, smiling up at me, dazed, cheeks wet, eyes bright as anything. Her hand finds my cock before I can wipe it. Fingers closing around it, lifting it, weighing it. She strokes the wet length of it with her thumb, slow, admiring.

"Does it always get this big?" she asks.

"When it's happy."

"Does it hurt? Being this hard?"

"A little. It's better when it's emptied."

She hums, tilts it, studies the vein running up the side, traces it. Cups my balls in her palm, rolls them, feels their weight. "Why are they so heavy?"

"Because they've been making this all day."

She squeezes gently, feels them shift. "Does it hurt when you come?"

"No. It's the best part."

"How much came out?" She looks down at herself, at the mess leaking from her. "It felt like a lot. It's still coming out."

"A lot."

She rubs the head with her fingertips, smears the last of it around, holds her wet hand up, sniffs it, licks one finger, thoughtful.

"Am I your woman now?" she asks.

"You're my woman."

"Am I a woman?" She swallows. "Like—for real. A real woman now."

"You're a real woman. All of it. Look at you."

"Did I do good, daddy?" Her chin trembles. "Was I good at it? Tell me the truth."

"You did really good." I push her hair off her damp forehead. "Really, really good. Took everything I gave you."

"Even the—" she glances at the mess, "even all of it?"

"Especially that. Not a drop spilled."

She exhales, pleased, settles. Her hand stays on my cock, thumb idling. Then her eyes sharpen. "Am I pregnant now?"

"Perhaps." I shrug, easy. "Perhaps not."

"Can we—" she lowers her voice, glances at the door, whispers, "Can we try to knock me up?"

"Mommy's back at six," I say.

She bites her lip, lifts her hips an inch, keeps her hand where it is.

"Then we've got time. I want a baby."

To be continued.