Taking Daddy's big dick

The hallway stretches out in front of me, each step heavier than the last. I push through the front door, dropping my backpack on the floor. The pain in my lower belly has been gnawing at me since third period, a dull, persistent ache that's only gotten worse. I curl up on the couch, knees to my chest, pressing a hand against the spot just above my pelvis.

"Sweetheart?" Dad's voice comes from the kitchen. "You're home early."

I try to answer but it comes out as a groan. He's at my side in a second, his rough palm against my forehead. "You're clammy. What hurts?"

"Down here," I whisper, pointing. "Like something's twisting inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Fifteen minutes later we're in the car, and I'm leaning against the passenger window, watching the houses blur. The waiting room is cold and smells of antiseptic. A doctor with kind eyes and a stethoscope asks questions—when did it start, where exactly, any bleeding? She presses on my abdomen, makes me breathe out. Then the ultrasound wand, cold gel sliding across my skin.

"Have you ever had a period?" The doctor asks.

"Yes, she had her first period last month." Dad replies. As a late bloomer, I had my period at fourteen. Most of my friends already had theirs when younger. Mom had been around then and she helped a lot with the pads and everything.

"See this?" She points at a dark circle on the monitor. "That's your ovary releasing an egg. It's perfectly normal, just a bit more painful for some. Ovulation pain. You'll be fine in a day or two."

I nod, relief washing through me. Dad thanks her, squeezes my shoulder. On the drive back, he keeps one hand on the wheel and the other reaching over to rest on my thigh, thumb tracing small circles. "We'll get you into some comfy clothes," he says. "And how about we watch a movie? You need rest baby."

I agree without thinking. After changing into my softest pajama shorts and an oversized tee, I pad into his room. The sheets smell like him—laundry detergent and a hint of sweat, familiar and safe. He's already propped up against the headboard, an old comedy queued up on the laptop. We have watched movies with him so many times with mom. Ever my mom went for a work trip, I haven watching movies with dad. I always like watching movies with dad.

I slide in beside him, the mattress dipping. He wraps an arm around me and I curl into his side, pressing my cheek to his chest. The ache is still there, a low throb, but less sharp now.

"You okay?" His voice rumbles through his ribs.

"Better." But I shift, trying to get comfortable, and a tiny whimper escapes when the movement pulls something.

He pulls back, looks at me. "That spot still hurting?"

I nod. He turns me onto my belly, and I let him, too tired to question it. His big hand settles on my lower back, right over the ache. "Just relax," he murmurs, and then his thumb starts pressing slow circles into the muscles near my spine.

The pressure is perfect—firm enough to ease the knot, gentle enough not to hurt. He works his way around, finding each tender spot, pressing and releasing. His fingers are warm through the thin cotton of my shirt. I let out a long breath, feel my shoulders loosen.

"Better?" he asks.

"Yeah," I whisper. He continues massaging me. His hand keeps moving, steady and hypnotic. The movie plays on, voices and laughter muffled. My eyes grow heavy. The pain fades to a distant pulse. All I feel is his hand, the weight of his arm, the rhythm of his breathing.

"Sleep, baby," he says softly. "I've got you."

I sink into the mattress, into the warmth of his body, into the darkness behind my lids. His hand never stops, a gentle current pulling me under. The last thing I feel is his lips brushing the top of my head before I'm gone.

I'm floating in that warm, weightless space between sleep and waking when I feel it—a slow, rhythmic pressure against my backside. My pajama shorts have ridden up in the night, and there's skin against skin, his legs tangled with mine. But it's the motion that pulls me up. A gentle push-pull, his hips working against the curve of my ass. He is rubbing his cock on my ass. I have heard of my classmates in class about playing with their dad's cocks, one of them is so addicted to the game that she can't survive a day without it. Yet I never thought this could happen to us.

My eyes flutter open. The room is dark, just a sliver of moonlight through the curtains. His breathing is heavier than it was when I fell asleep, not quite steady.

"Dad?" My voice cracks, thick with sleep. "What are you doing?"

He stops for a second, his hand still resting on my hip. Then he shifts, and I feel him press closer. I feel his hard dick on my thigh. His lips brush my ear, hot breath against my neck. "You're so pretty, Amber." His voice is low, rough, different. "You look so much like young mommy. And you make daddy so horny."

My heart hammers. I should pull away, say something. But I'm still half-asleep, and his hand is sliding down my belly, fingers splaying over the soft skin. "Can you touch daddy here?" He takes my wrist, guides my hand behind me.

I feel it—his cock, hard and thick against my palm. The heat of it, the slickness at the tip. My fingers curl around it before I can think. It's heavy, pulsing. He lets out a shaky breath, his hips bucking into my grip.

"That's it, baby. Just like that."

I stroke him, slow at first, then faster as his breathing quickens. His hand finds my hair, tangles in it, pulls just enough to tip my head back. "Yeah, yeah, right there." His voice breaks into a moan. I feel the hot spill across my stomach—thick, messy, painting a stripe from my belly button to my ribs. He keeps jerking against my hand until it's done, his whole body shuddering.

Then he's up, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, dabbing at my skin with careful strokes. "There you go," he murmurs, wiping me clean. "My good girl."

I lie still, watching him in the dim light. His eyes meet mine, dark and soft. I want something but I am not sure what. He leans down, kisses my forehead. "Daddy wants to take care of you now."

Before I can respond, he's gone—sliding down the bed, pushing my shirt up, peeling my shorts and panties down my thighs. His hands spread my legs apart, and then his mouth is on me. No warning. Just the wet heat of his tongue against my pussy. This is probably what I wanted.

I gasp, my hips bucking. He holds me down, his palms flat on my inner thighs, pressing them open wider. His tongue works in broad, flat strokes, then flicks at the little nub at the top. I grab fistfuls of the sheets, my back arching off the mattress.

"Dad—" It comes out as a whimper.

He doesn't stop. He hums against me, the vibration making my toes curl. He sucks, gentle at first, then harder, pulling my clit between his lips. His fingers slide into me—two of them, curling, finding a spot inside that makes my vision go white.

"Come for me, baby." His voice is muffled against my flesh.

I do. It crashes through me like a wave, my whole body tensing and releasing, a gush of heat flooding his mouth. He keeps licking through it, drawing it out, until I'm trembling and gasping.

When he finally lifts his head, his chin is slick, his lips glistening. He crawls up beside me, pulls me against his chest. "Shh," he whispers, stroking my hair. "Daddy's got you."

I press my face into his neck, my heart still thudding. The mess on my stomach is gone, but I can still feel the ghost of his tongue, his fingers, the weight of him behind me. I don't say anything. I just let him hold me, let his hand rub slow circles on my back. The air feels thicker, charged with a tension that makes my skin prickle. He’s hovering over me, his eyes dark and hungry. He leans down, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that isn't gentle anymore. It’s deep and demanding, his tongue sliding into my mouth, claiming me.

As he pulls back, I feel it—the heavy, pulsing heat of his cock pressing against my thigh. He’s hard again, harder than before. He shifts his weight, sliding his body between my open legs. He doesn't go inside yet; instead, he begins to rub the head of his dick against my folds. He slides it back and forth, the slick head of his cock dragging across my clit and the sensitive lips of my pussy, smearing the remnants of my own wetness.

"You're a big girl now, Amber," he whispers, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "You should make daddy happy."

I look up at him, my breath hitching, feeling a strange, dizzying mix of submission and desire. "Daddy... I want you to be happy," I whimper.

He groans, his hips snapping forward. He tries to push inside me, but the moment the head of his cock hits my entrance, I gasp and recoil. It’s too much. He’s too big. I feel the tight stretch of my virginity fighting against him, a sharp, stinging pressure that makes me wince.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he pants, his forehead resting against mine.

He doesn't give up. He goes back to rubbing, using the broad head of his cock to massage my folds, sliding it up and down with a rhythmic, punishing pressure. The friction is intense, building a fire between my legs. I start to shake, my hips involuntarily bucking up to meet him. The sensation of his thick head gliding over my clit is too much; I let out a sharp cry, my muscles clamping shut as I come hard right around the head of his dick, my juices soaking him.

But as the orgasm fades, he tries to push in again. I cry out, my hands pushing against his chest. "It hurts! Daddy, it's too big!"

He stops, breathing hard, looking down at where he's struggling to enter. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lube. He pours a generous amount into his palm and then slathers it over his cock and all over my opening, his fingers sliding inside me for a moment to stretch me out, prepping me for what's coming.

"Just relax for me, baby. Just breathe," he commands.

He positions himself again, the lube making him slide easily against my skin. He pushes slowly this time, a steady, relentless pressure. I feel my hymen stretch to the breaking point, a sharp, searing pop echoing in my mind as he finally breaks through. I let out a choked scream, my fingers digging into his shoulders, tears pricking my eyes from the sudden, intense pain of losing my virginity.

He freezes, letting me adjust, his cock buried halfway inside me. "I've got you, Amber. You're making daddy feel so good."

Once the initial sting fades into a heavy, throbbing fullness, he begins to move. He slides out almost all the way and then drives back in, deep and hard. The pain transforms into a crushing pleasure, the sheer size of him filling every inch of me. I moan, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears, as he picks up the pace. Daddy's cock inside me feels like nothing I have ever experienced. So good.

The friction of his thick shaft hitting my cervix sends sparks through my nerves. I'm clinging to him, my legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him deeper.

"Daddy, daddy." I moan. I feel another wave building, stronger than the last. As he slams into me one last time, I scream, my pussy gripping him in tight, rhythmic spasms as I come violently on him.

The feeling of my orgasm triggers his own. He lets out a loud, guttural roar, his body stiffening as he thrusts deep and holds it. I feel the hot, thick jets of his cum exploding inside me, filling my womb, pulsing over and over until he's completely spent.

He collapses on top of me, his heavy chest heaving against mine. We lie there in the silence, the only sound our synchronized breathing, while his seed leaks slowly out of me and onto the sheets.