Claiming Daddy Ch. 18
The room was thick with the scent of us: old sex, new sweat, the faint sweetness of my perfume clinging to the sheets.
There’s something about a man asleep that makes him look younger, even if the man in question is your father and the last twelve hours have aged him about a decade. I woke before dawn, before the city had even started to rattle its trash cans, the apartment so quiet that the only sound was the soft tick of the radiator and the matched metronome of our breathing. My head had been pillowed on his chest, but at some point I’d shifted, and now I was curled against his side, one thigh draped over his and my hand sandwiched between us like a forgotten peace offering. I let myself lie there for a long time, mapping the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the slight whuff of exhale that meant he was still dreaming. The window, half-shaded by battered blinds, split the early morning light into parallel bars that striped us both, drawing soft shadows on his body and painting his face in bands of gold and gray.
There was stubble on his jaw now, a bit of overnight growth, rough and just shy of unkempt. I wanted to touch it, to see if it would scrape my fingers as sharply as it did my inner thighs. I watched him for a minute, then two, and drank in the sight of him: naked, vulnerable, so obviously mine in a way he never would have allowed himself to be, even in the old days when he still made breakfast in his pajamas and called me “princess” with a sleepy grin. A current of fondness ran through me, almost motherly, and for a moment I let myself believe it could always be like this. Warm bodies tangled in the aftermath of pleasure, no threats on the horizon except the slow tick of the clock.
Of course, the present had other ideas. My hand, which I had thoughtlessly tucked between us before sleep, had gravitated to the base of his cock, which now stood at strict attention against his belly. Morning wood: the universal constant. If the sun ever fails to rise, I suspect men’s dicks would keep trying anyway, as if sheer optimism could reboot the universe. My thumb pressed against the thick root, feeling the pulse there. His cock twitched under my fingers, and I had to suppress a giggle for fear of waking him too soon.
I extricated myself from the bed with exaggerated care, first unhooking my thigh from his, then rolling out in a single, smooth motion that landed me kneeling on the carpet at the foot of the bed. The comforter had been kicked down around his ankles; his body, stretched long and strong and lit by those stripes of gold, was on full display. I took a moment to appreciate the view of my father’s broad chest, lean belly, the light dusting of hair that trailed down to the sharp line of his hip. His cock, thick and flushed, jutted up like a declaration of intent. It looked even harder than last night, if that were possible, as if the hours of frustrated need had transformed it into something more mythic, less human. I traced my finger along the underside, watching it jump at the contact, then circled the head with the tip of my nail. Pre-cum had already gathered, beading at the slit; I caught a drop on my finger and brought it to my tongue, tasting the salt, the faint bitterness. My body answered, liquid heat blooming between my legs.
I wanted to devour him. But I also wanted to savor this. To make the moment last. To enjoy the newness of what we did together until it was no longer new.
My lips pursed to kiss to the head of his cock. He didn’t wake, but his hips twitched reflexively, as if his body knew me even while his mind was elsewhere. I grinned, a wolf with the sheep already in its mouth, and licked a slow stripe from the root to the crown, watching a droplet of clear fluid well up in answer. Another kiss, then another, my lips soft as I mapped out the circumference. Only then did I open my mouth, letting the swollen tip rest on my tongue. I didn’t move for a count of ten. Just let him feel the heat and wetness, the promise of what was to come.
Daddy stirred, eyelids fluttering but not yet opening. His hand twitched at his side, reaching for me in some half-remembered dream. I took him in deeper, sealing my lips around the ridge, and hummed low in my throat. The vibration must have reached him, because this time his eyes opened. At first unfocused, then wide and impossibly blue as they fixed on the sight of his daughter, kneeling between his legs, her mouth full of his cock.
For a split second, shock and shame warred with the sleepy pleasure on his face. Then he exhaled, a soft and broken sound, and the pleasure won. I let the moment hold. Let him watch me, understand what his daughter was doing, what I wanted to do to him. I hollowed my cheeks and bobbed my head, slow at first, then deeper, each descent bringing him closer to full consciousness and full arousal.
The room was thick with the scent of us: old sex, new sweat, the faint sweetness of my perfume clinging to the sheets. I inhaled, letting the mix fill my lungs, and used my tongue to tease the sensitive underside of his cock. He moaned, the sound muffled but unmistakable, and his hand found the back of my head, not to force but to guide, a silent plea for more. I obliged, taking him all the way to the back of my throat, feeling the fat head bump against my palate. I gagged, just a little, and the involuntary squeeze of my throat made him shudder.
“Oh, God,” he said, voice thick with sleep and disbelief. “Jessie…”
I pulled back, letting his cock slide from my lips with an audible pop. “Good morning, Daddy,” I said, wiping spit from my chin. “Sleep well?”
He stared at me, as if unsure whether he was still dreaming. I grinned, slow and smug, and gave his shaft a slow pump, squeezing just hard enough to make him gasp. Turned my head to trace my lips with his cock, as if I were putting on lipstick.
“I told you,” I said, letting my breath ghost over the glistening head, “I was going to push you further today.” I flicked my tongue over the slit, lapping up the pre-cum with deliberate delicacy. “Ready for your lesson?”
He nodded, wordless, his eyes never leaving my face. I loved the way he looked at me in these moments, equal parts hunger and worship, with just a dash of terror. It made me want to be cruel, to draw out his need until it bordered on pain.
I started slow, using my mouth and hands in concert, stroking the shaft with wet, twisting motions while I sucked and licked the head. My other hand cradled his balls, rolling them gently, feeling the heavy fullness that spoke of how desperately he needed to come. My eyes locked on his, even when tears stung at the corners from the effort of swallowing him so deep. I wanted Daddy to see everything, to know that I was not just willing but eager to take him apart.
He didn’t last long. He’d been denied too much, and my mouth was better than any dream. Within a minute, his breath hitched, and I could feel the first telltale flex of his cock, the way it swelled in my throat as if preparing to unleash. But I didn’t let him. Not yet. Just as he was about to lose control, I pulled back, squeezing tight at the base to stave off his climax. He whimpered, a high and desperate sound, and I smiled wickedly.
“Not yet, Daddy,” I whispered. “You have to earn it.”
A groan rose from deep in his chest, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. I released my grip, then bent to kiss the head again, softer this time, almost chaste. “Tell me you want it,” I said, running my tongue along the pulsing vein. “Tell me you want your daughter to swallow your cum.”
He choked on the words, shame and need fighting for purchase. “I want it, Jessie,” he said, barely audible. “Please…”
I rewarded him with another long, slow suck, but when he was about to tip over, I pulled away again. This time, he reached for me, hands cupping my face, and I let him. Let him hold me in place as I licked and sucked and denied him release.
The light from the window shifted, illuminating the beads of sweat on his chest, the flushed heat of his skin. I let my hands wander, tracing the lines of his ribs, the curve of his hip, the trembling muscles that strained to keep him anchored to the bed. I wanted to mark him, to leave a map of my mouth and hands that he’d carry with him all day. I grazed my teeth along the length of his cock, just enough to make him shiver, then soothed the bite with a soft, wet kiss.
“Jessie,” he begged, his voice rough and broken. “I need to come. Please. I can’t—”
“You can,” I said, pumping him slowly, watching the panic and pleasure chase each other across his face. “You’re stronger than you think, Daddy. You can take it.”
I brought him to the edge again, this time letting him hover there for a full minute, his body tense and shivering, before I eased off and let him settle. The frustration in his eyes was delicious, but so was the trust. He believed I wouldn’t let him break, that I knew exactly how far to push. He trusted my control, even when he couldn’t trust his.
After the third round of denial, he was shaking with the effort. I crawled up onto the bed, straddling his waist, and pressed my slick cunt against his thigh. “You’re doing so good,” I murmured, kissing the line of his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble against my lips. “I’m so proud of you, Daddy.” I rocked my hips, letting the heat of my need rub off on him, the wetness spreading as I moved.
He arched up, desperate for contact, but I held him down with a hand to his chest. “Not yet,” I said, licking the shell of his ear. “You haven’t earned it.”
The morning light had climbed higher, and now it spilled over us in a molten wash, painting our skin gold. I imagined how we looked—two bodies tangled in hunger, marked by the night, desperate for something only the other could give. I wanted to freeze the moment, bottle it for all the mornings to come.
My body slid down the length of his, trailing soft kisses and whimpers of hunger. I slurped his cock in my mouth with renewed fervor. Blinking up at him innocently as I made his body jerk and twitch, whimper and gasp.
I wiped the corners of my mouth with the back of my hand, then leaned over and pressed a slow, mocking kiss to the tip of his still-stiff cock. “You’re not done,” I informed him, voice as casual as if we were discussing grocery lists. “Not even close.”
He looked at me like he wanted to argue, or maybe just confess some unspoken terror, but all he managed was a low, shaky moan. I trailed my tongue along the head, gathering the precum on my lips, then sucked him in again, letting my cheeks hollow and my lips tighten until I heard the air whistle through his teeth.
He was more sensitive now, every nerve ending raw and exposed. I used it, feathering the underside with the flat of my tongue, then abruptly flicking at the crown until he twitched and bucked under me. His hands fumbled for the edge of the mattress, gripping the sheets so hard I thought he might tear them. I could see the whiteness of his knuckles, the frantic, unconscious way his legs tensed and trembled. I wondered if he even realized how easily his body gave up its secrets.
The room was bright now, sunlight spilling in through the window like molten gold, warming the side of my face as I worked his cock. I let the light touch every part of us, illuminating the sweat that broke out on his chest, the sheen on my lips, the mess of tangled hair that hung over my eyes. The air was thick with the smell of sex, the faint sting of his cum mixing with the more animal reek of his fear and want. It was glorious.
I edged him again, bringing him right up to the cliff’s edge before backing off, letting him squirm and gasp and thump his head back into the pillow. He didn’t beg yet. Not out loud. But I could see the plea in the way his hips chased after my mouth, the desperate thrusts that betrayed how much he wanted to lose control. I denied him every time, pulling back with a smug grin and licking his shaft like it was an ice pop, slow and lazy.
“You’re learning,” I murmured, running my lips up and down the underside, pausing only to tongue the sensitive spot just beneath the crown. “But you’re not ready yet. You have to beg for it, Daddy. That’s how this works.”
His breath hitched at the word, the shame of it burning in his eyes, but I could tell he loved it, the forced helplessness, the surrender of all those old taboos. I wanted to see just how far he’d go for me. I wanted to see if he’d shatter.
Down again, pushing past the gag reflex and swallowing until my nose was buried in the warmth at his root. I let him feel the slick contraction of my throat, the subtle flexing that milked his cock even as I refused to finish the job. He arched off the mattress, a strangled sound escaping his chest.
“Jessie—” he managed, but I cut him off by letting go entirely, his cock dropping wetly against his belly. He whimpered, one hand coming up to cover his face as if that could hide the betrayal.
I let him stew for a moment, then crawled up to straddle his hips, my pussy pressed flush against the damp head of his cock. I was dripping, and I let him feel it, let him know that my need was just as savage as his, but I still wasn’t going to let either of us have what we wanted. Not yet.
“Tell me what you want,” I said, my voice low and urgent. “Use my name. Use all the words you’re not supposed to say.” I brushed my fingertips at his hair. “We’re lovers, Daddy. Just be honest. Let the words come out however they need to come.”
He stared up at me, his face a beautiful ruin of lust and humiliation. “I want to come,” he whispered. “I want you to suck me until I come. Please, Jesse. Please.”
Grinning, I shook my head, slow and deliberate. “That’s not good enough. Beg me.” I rolled my hips, letting the length of his cock slide along my soaked slit. “Beg me to torture you.”
Dad groaned, his whole body shaking with the effort. “Please, Jesse. Please don’t stop. Please torture me with your mouth, with your body, with everything. Make me wait for it. Make me beg.”
“Don’t you want me to make you come in my mouth?” I asked softly. Kissed his trembling lips. “Don’t you want to be my breakfast?”
“Yes,” he sighed. A sudden gasp and moan. “No. Jesse, I don’t know what I want.”
“You do,” I disagreed. My lips closed around one of his nipples to suckle as my tongue fluttered. “Say it, Daddy. Yes or no. Will I be your lover or a cumdump?”
“Your lover. That’s all I want, baby.” He licked his lips and gulped. “Make me strong, Jesse. Teach your old man how to love you right.”
I smiled, victorious, and slid back down his body, taking him in with renewed hunger. This time, I varied the rhythm, alternating between deep, relentless suction and teasing, feather-light flicks of my tongue. I played him like an instrument, changing tempo just as he got used to one, always keeping him off balance.
He broke faster now, the denials piling up, each unfinished orgasm leaving him more desperate than the last. Sweat poured down his temples, dripping onto the pillow, and his breath came in ragged, uneven pants. Every muscle in his body was tensed to the breaking point; his thighs quivered and flexed, his stomach rippled with the effort of holding back.
I could see how badly he wanted it, the hunger in his eyes, the way his hips snapped up with every stroke. He was barely human now, reduced to a raw bundle of nerves and need. I loved him like this. Helpless. Feral. Mine.
The third time I edged him, he did sob, just a little, a sound that broke free before he could stifle it. I paused, wiping my chin with the back of my hand, and looked up at him with feigned innocence.
“You can do this, Daddy,” I assured him, licking my lips. “Let your little girl have all the cock she can swallow. Wait until I’m ready to eat your cum.”
He shook his head, too broken to speak. His breathing was ragged. Desperate. Like a cornered rabbit.
“Think of it as exercise,” I grinned against the head of his cock. “You’re just working a very specific muscle.”
He lost language, reduced to helpless, desperate noises, whimpers, moans, the wordless plea of someone past the point of pride. I watched his face the whole time, memorizing every micro-expression, every twitch of agony and joy. My mouth was soft and wet. Slow. Undeniable. At the last second, just as I felt his cock swell with the impending flood, I pulled away. He screamed, a sound so raw I almost came from the power of it alone.
“Please,” he sobbed, tears streaking down his face. “Please, Jesse, please—”
I crawled up beside him, pressed my wet cunt to his hip, and whispered in his ear, “You’re doing so good. You’re being so brave for me. I’m so proud of you, Daddy.”
He turned to face me, eyes red and wild. “I can’t do it,” he confessed, voice shredded. “I need you, I need to come so bad—”
I stroked his face, gentle now, the torment replaced by a strange tenderness. “You either come, or you love me,” I said, twisting the knife deep into his heart. “You can’t have both, Daddy. Which do you want? A daughter that loves you or a slut that lets you come in her whenever you want?”
He shuddered, a full-body quake, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, accepting his fate, and let me hold him while his need burned through his veins. A big hand rested on the nape of my neck. Strong. Powerful.
“You’ll never be a slut to me,” he whispered. “I’m weak. That’s all.”
“I know.” I was merciless. “You think fucking a woman is about pumping her full of cock until you empty your balls inside of her. But I’m not that kind of woman, Daddy.” I shook my head. “So… you can have me, or you can come when you want. But you have to pick. You have to decide and then you have to make me believe that you mean it.”
I marveled at him, at how easily I could bend him, how far he would go for me. I knew, in that moment, that he would do anything I asked. No matter how painful, no matter how wrong. He was mine, remade in my image, and I was never going to let him forget it.
My fingers stroked his cock as it throbbed. I waited. Watched his face and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t make me say it, Jesse. Please.”
Eyes dancing, I crossed my hands on his chest and rested my chin there. Stared up at him with adoration and the deepest love possible. I already knew where this was going. I’d already won. He just had to know it.
“I can’t make you do anything, Dad,” I told him. “I really want to suck my father’s cock some more, but he hasn’t said that’s what he wants.”
“I want to love you. To be your lover.” His eyes closed as something broke inside him. “Please, suck my cock. And don’t let me come. Do it for you.”
“Good Daddy,” I said, patting him on the chest. “Now, remember what you want when you start begging.”
My mouth was merciless. By now, I knew his body. Knew how it tipped its failure just before I went too far. I kept him at that jagged pinnacle, neither letting him come down or surge beyond it, until my father’s body had gone beyond ordinary exhaustion and into a state that hovered somewhere between transcendence and total collapse. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat, the slick line of his stomach; every muscle in his thighs and calves trembled with effort, as if they’d long ago forgotten any purpose but to clutch and quake and ride out the storm I kept him in. I found it beautiful. Not just the sight of his cock, swollen and leaking, or the spasming desperation of his hips, but the sheer, raw openness in his eyes. How every wall and mask had been stripped away, leaving nothing but hunger and helpless, unguarded love.
This time, as I let his cock slide from my mouth with a flourish, I didn’t immediately return to my slow torture. Instead, I sat back on my heels, hands resting on his trembling knees, and took a moment to admire the damage I’d done. His cock, angry and purple, curved up against his belly, twitching with every breath. Tears slicked his cheeks, though he didn’t seem to notice them; his eyes stayed locked on me, pupils huge and unblinking.
I waited until his breathing slowed—until the first spark of hope flickered in his face that maybe, just maybe, I would let him have what he wanted. Then I asked, soft but clear: “What do you want more, Daddy? To fuck your daughter, or to love her?”
The question hung in the air, echoing between us. I watched the gears grind behind his eyes, the panic and shame and lust all clashing at the surface. For a second, he looked away, unable to meet my gaze, his fists knotting the bedsheet so hard I heard threads tear. His cock twitched, a pulse of need, but his chest heaved with something deeper, a longing that had nothing to do with sex.
“To love you,” he said, finally, the words ripped out of him like a confession. “Always to love you, Jessie. Even if it kills me.”
He meant it. I believed him, and it felt like a triumph more absolute than any orgasm I could’ve given him. I smiled, slow and radiant, and reached for his face, cupping his jaw with both hands. I kissed him, gentle and open, letting him feel the gratitude on my lips, the way his surrender was the most beautiful thing in the world to me. He kissed back with desperate abandon, like he needed the taste of me just to stay alive.
Then I crawled down his body, slow and ceremonial, my hair trailing across his skin, my breath hot on his twitching cock. This time, I took it in with infinite care, the softest pressure, the lightest swirl of my tongue. My hands rested on his hips, fingertips barely grazing the surface, just enough to keep him anchored to reality as I worked him with pure, surgical precision.
I wanted him to feel everything; to know the power he gave me. The unbearable sensitivity of his shaft, the way the air cooled the spit-slicked skin, the contrast of my tongue’s wet velvet and the ghost-touch of my fingers. I varied the rhythm, never letting him get used to one sensation before switching to another, keeping him always just off-balance, always chasing the next drop of pleasure.
His begging changed. No longer just “please,” but “please, please don’t let me come,” mixed with broken whimpers of “I love you, Jessie, I love you so much, I need you, I need you, please.” I could hear his voice cracking, the words half-swallowed by sobs and the helpless tremor of his lips. It was worship, and I accepted it.
I edged him again and again, each time taking him right to the ragged lip of release, then easing off, letting him whimper and writhe and settle before I began again. His hands fisted in the sheets, then in my hair, then hovered uselessly in the air, as if he’d forgotten what hands were even for. His legs bucked involuntarily; his cock leaked a steady stream of clear, sticky fluid that soaked his belly and the inside of my cheeks. I swallowed every drop, relishing the taste and the proof of his suffering.
The air between us felt thick, charged with the kind of electricity that only comes from absolute trust and absolute risk. I could’ve destroyed him; he knew it, and so did I. But I chose mercy, at least for a moment.
I let his cock slip free and pressed my face to his thigh, cheek against his trembling body. “You’re perfect,” I whispered. “You’re the best Daddy I could ever ask for.”
He sobbed, a single, shattering sound. I kissed the inside of his knee, then the sharp bone of his hip, then climbed up to lie beside him, my body pressed to his side, my arm draped over his chest. His cock, still impossibly hard, throbbed against my stomach, leaving a trail of slick warmth on my skin.
I held him while he came down, while the spasms in his body slowly faded and the wild storm of his mind calmed to something like peace. I stroked his hair, his face, the sweat-damp curve of his shoulder. He cried quietly, the tears mixing with my own, and I let him. I didn’t shame him, didn’t try to fix it, just held him like a lifeline.
When his breathing finally steadied, he turned to look at me, eyes glassy but calm. “Why do you do this to me?” he asked, voice barely audible.
I smiled, brushing a tear from his cheek. “Because I love you,” I said. “Because you’re the only man in the world strong enough to take it.”
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense. Maybe it did.
We lay there a long time, bodies twined together, the heat and need still simmering between us but rendered somehow holy by what had just passed. I knew I could have finished him with a word, a touch. But I didn’t. Instead, I whispered praise, soft and constant, into the crook of his neck, telling him over and over that he was good, he was loved, he belonged to me.
And he believed me. Because every word of it was the deepest truth of what we were now. More than father and daughter. More even than lovers. He belonged to me as he had never belonged to anyone. Never even knew he could belong to someone like this.
He was mine.
