His fuck toy daughter 2

Mark tells his 16 year old daughter that last night was a mistake. But he then ends up fucking her on his marital bed.

The house was quiet the next morning. Sunlight sliced through the half-closed blinds of the master bedroom, painting thin gold bars across the duvet.

Mark had barely slept. He’d lain awake most of the night, cock rick hard, mind replaying every second of the lay by in brutal detail: Sophie’s mouth stretched around him, her cunt clenching like a fist, the way she’d begged “Daddy” while he flooded her. Then the guilt had rolled in like black tidal wave until he finally drifted off sometime after four, only to wake at every small sound: a car passing, the radiator ticking, the faint creak of floorboards.

Now the smell of bacon and fried bread drifted up the stairs.

He heard her bare feet on the landing. The door opened without a knock.

Sophie carried a tray: full English breakfast on one of Elaine’s good white plates, two eggs sunny side up, thick rashers of bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, beans in a little ramekin, fried bread cut into triangles, black pudding, and a mug of strong black coffee.

She wore an small grey T-shirt , the hem reaching just below her belly, and a pair of loose navy boxer shorts that must have been stolen from his drawer years ago. No bra. The thin cotton clung to the undersides of her breasts, her nipples faintly visible as dark points when she moved. The boxer shorts rode low on her hips, showing a strip of flat stomach and the faint shadow of her hip bones. Her blonde hair was sleep-mussed, face scrubbed clean of last night’s mascara, lips still a little swollen from everything they’d done.

She looked impossibly young. And impossibly fuckable.

“Morning, Daddy,” she said softly, setting the tray across his lap. “Thought you’d be hungry this morning”

Mark sat up slowly, the duvet pooling at his waist. He was naked underneath, he hadn’t bothered with pyjamas and the sheet tented obviously where his morning erection strained. He tugged the duvet higher, trying to hide it, uncomfortable.

“Sophie… you shouldn’t be in here.”

She ignored him, perching on the edge of the bed near his hip. The mattress dipped. Her bare thigh brushed his through the covers. She tucked one leg under herself, the boxer shorts riding up so he could see the smooth curve where leg met arse. He tried not to look, but it was difficult.

“Eat,” she said. “Before it gets cold.”

He stared at the plate. His stomach churned with hunger and shame in equal measure. He picked up the fork anyway, because doing something normal felt safer than looking at her.

They sat in silence for a minute while he cut into the eggs, yolk spilling bright across the plate. Sophie watched him intently, chin resting on her hand, eyes soft and unreadable.

Mark swallowed a mouthful of sausage. “We need to talk.”

“I know.”

He set the fork down. “Last night… that was a mistake. A terrible mistake. I’m the adult. I’m your father. I should have stopped it the second you—” He broke off, throat tight. “I’m sorry, Soph. So fucking sorry. It will never happen again. I swear.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“I wanted it daddy,” she said quietly.

“That doesn’t matter. You were drunk. You’re sixteen. I’m forty-two. I’m supposed to protect you, not—” He gestured helplessly. “Not that.”

“I wasn’t that drunk.” She shifted closer, one hand resting lightly on the duvet over his thigh. “And even if I was… I still wanted it. I’ve wanted it for years.”

“Stop.” His voice cracked. “We can’t. We’re not doing this. Never again.”

Her fingers moved, slow and deliberate, sliding up the duvet until her palm settled over the thick ridge of his cock. Even through the layers of fabric he felt the heat of her hand.

Mark sucked in a breath. “Sophie. Don’t.”

She didn’t take her hand away. Instead she squeezed gently, feeling him twitch under her touch.

“Eat your breakfast,” she whispered. “Please. For me.”

He stared at her, those big blue eyes, the faint freckles across her nose, the way her lips parted slightly. His hand shook as he picked up the fork again.

She smiled, small and knowing.

While he forced down another bite of bacon, Sophie slipped under the duvet at the foot of the bed. The covers lifted, then settled over her head like a tent. Mark froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

“Sophie—”

“Shh.” Her voice was muffled. “Just eat.”

He felt her hands on his thighs, pushing them apart. Then her breath, hot and teasing against the head of his cock. She licked once, slow and flat, from base to tip. Mark’s hips jerked involuntarily.

“Fuck…”

She took him into her mouth deep, confident, no hesitation. Her tongue swirled around the head, then dipped lower to lap at his balls, sucking one gently into her mouth, rolling it with expert care. Mark’s head fell back against the headboard. The tray rattled on his lap.

She was good. Too good for a girl her age.

He’d never felt anything like it, not even from Elaine on their best nights. Sophie knew exactly where to press, how much suction, when to use teeth just enough to sting. When she slid lower still, tongue tracing the sensitive skin behind his balls, then pushing further, probing wetly at his arse, he jolted.
What to fuck.

She was experienced. Very experienced.
He set the tray on the bedside table with a clatter, hands shaking. “How—how many boys have you been with Soph?”

Sophie pulled off with a wet pop, crawling up so her face appeared from under the duvet, lips shiny. “Eleven guys,” she said casually. “And one girl. Last summer at that festival. But it was always you I thought about. Every single time daddy.”

Mark’s cock throbbed against his stomach. He should have been horrified. His little girl, his baby had been fucked by eleven strangers. Some random girl’s tongue had been between her legs. Instead the image flooded him with dark, possessive heat and something clicked.

“You’re a slut,” he rasped.

“Your slut now,” she corrected, smiling. She straddled his thighs, boxer shorts pushed aside, bare fuck hole already slick and swollen. She reached down and expertly guided his cock to her entrance, then sank down slowly, inch by torturous inch, until he was buried inside her to the hilt.

They both groaned at the same time.

She started to ride him, slow at first, rolling her hips in lazy circles. “I’ll never let another guy touch me again,” she whispered. “Unless you want it. Unless you tell me to spread for someone while you watch. But only if you say so. Because I belong to you now daddy.”

Mark’s hands found her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise her. “Fuck, Soph…”

“I’m better than Mum,” she continued, voice breathy. “Tighter. Dirtier. I’ll let you fuck me whenever you want. Wherever. Kitchen counter while she’s in the shower. Back seat of your car in the Tesco car park. Her side of the bed while she’s at work. I’ll never say no. Never ever.”

He thrust up into her, hard. “You’re my daughter.”

“I’m your whore.” She leaned down, nipples brushing his chest through the T-shirt.

“Even if I ever tried to say no… you can take it anyway. You own me. You can rape me whenever the mood strikes. Pin me down, force your cock in my mouth, my cunt, my arse, whatever hole you want. I’ll cry and beg and come anyway. Because I’m yours.”

The words were obscene. They should have sickened him. Instead they lit him up.

He flipped her onto her back, tray forgotten, coffee spilling cold across the sheets and drove into her with punishing strokes. The headboard banged against the wall. Sophie’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his arse.

“Tell me again,” he growled.

“I’m your filthy little slut,” she panted. “Your cum-dump. Your secret fucktoy. I’ll wake you up with my mouth every morning if you wanr. I’ll bend over for you in the hallway the second Mum leaves for work. I’ll wear whatever you tell me, no knickers under my skirts at school so you can finger me in the car on the way home. I’ll send you videos of me playing with myself in the school toilets, whispering ‘Daddy’ while I come.”

Mark’s thrusts grew erratic. “You’re such a dirty bitch Soph, filthy.”

“Your dirty bitch.” She reached between them, rubbing her clit in frantic circles.

“I love being a slut for you. All those boys who fucked me? They were just practice. Warm-ups. None of them filled me like you do. None of them made me scream like this.”

He imagined it, faceless lads bending her over in club toilets, in cars, in dark parks. Her on her knees for them. Her legs spread for that one girl. The jealousy should have burned but instead it fuelled him. His daughter was a cock-hungry little whore and she’d chosen him to be her ultimate owner.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Come on your daddy’s cock like the slut you are.”

Sophie was already starting to come when he said that and a massive orgasm ripped through her body, her back arching, nails raking down his back, pussy clamping down so hard he could feel it. She gushed around him, soaking the sheets. Mark followed seconds later, burying himself deep and flooding her mouth when she scrambled down to take him between her lips at the last second. Thick ropes coated her tongue. She swallowed greedily, then crawled back up, kissed him open-mouthed, pushing the last of his cum onto his tongue.

He tasted himself, salty and bitter and kissed her back harder, claiming every drop.
When it was over they collapsed together, sweaty and trembling. Sophie curled into his side, head on his chest, one leg thrown over his hip. Her boxer shorts were twisted around one ankle. His cum leaked slowly from between her thighs, smearing against his skin.

She traced lazy circles on his stomach. “I meant it,” she murmured. “All of it. I’m yours now Completely.”

Mark stared at the ceiling. Guilt still flickered at the edges, smaller now, quieter, but the heat in his veins drowned most of it out.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We have to be careful Soph.”

“I know.” She nuzzled closer. “Mum comes back tomorrow night. We’ll be ok until then. But after… when she’s asleep… I want you to sneak into my room. Fuck me quiet. Make me bite the pillow so I don’t wake her.”

He swallowed. His cock twitched against her thigh, already half-hard again.

“Fuck, Soph, you have a nasty mind.”

She giggled softly. “You love it. You love that I’m your dirty little cunt.”

He didn’t deny it.

They lay like that for a long time, their bodies tangled, breathing slowing—while the house stayed quiet around them. Downstairs the bacon smell lingered. Up here, the air smelled of sex and coffee and something darker, something irreversible.

Mark closed his eyes.
He was going to hell for this. But right now, with his daughter’s warm weight against him and her whispered promises still ringing in his ears, he considered that a good deal.
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