Fuck, I do not need to be thinking about my stepdaughter’s lips right now. All that does is make me picture her on her knees, looking up at me with a smile as she opens her mouth to show me the cum pooling against her tongue, my red, swollen dick gripped in her delicate little fingers.
Blonde, curvy, perfect in every fucking way. It’s a miracle I held my perverted thoughts at bay until her womanhood truly settled in.
I can barely breathe. Imagining her under me, naked, is like trying to imagine what heaven would feel like.
That Oscar de la Renta dress I sent over as an early birthday present slid up her thighs when she got out of the car, and I caught just the tiniest glimpse of pastel-pink cotton, pulled tight enough across her virgin cunt to hint at the shape of what wasunderneath. And now I know I can’t walk away without taking my daughter’s virginity.
Yeah, virgin. I know that for a fucking fact, because until I moved out permanently a month ago, after this place was fully fixed up, I kept close tabs on her. Not only that, but her doctor is a close personal friend, who knows I have dirt on him if I ever needed to use it. I’ve never even needed to make that threat explicit. I make all her appointments, and I get reports about everything. Her virginity is just one part of a very long list of things I want to know about.
So I know for sure, Lina is as pure now as the day I met her, but that’s not going to last long.
That thought is in my head as I lead her through to the kitchen, take the cake from her slightly trembling hands, and place it on the counter. I don’t know whether she’s still upset about some fucker out on the roads, or whether she noticed the way my dick was trying to find its way to her out on the drive, but I don’t intend to let any negative thoughts linger in that pretty little head.
“You had a nice birthday, baby?” I ask as I grab two glasses and open the fridge for champagne.
“Mom’s away, so I went to the shelter. There were two baby desert iguanas brought in last night. Daddy, they’re so cute.” She grins as I turn back to her, starting to pour for us both. “They can both fit in the palm of your hand at once. I got to name them. Guess what I chose?”
I put my hands under her arms and lift, her tiny weight like nothing to me as I sit her on the counter in front of me, like I used to do when she was thirteen, and I’d make her those banana and peanut butter sandwiches she loved and her mother forbade.
She self-consciously pushes the hem of her dress down between her legs, but not before I see those thighs glistening-damp under the kitchen lights, and smell the unmistakable scent of my daughter’s pussy.
My mouth is too dry to speak properly when I choke out a reply. “What did you call them, baby?”
“Smeagol and Deagol.” She laughs. “You know, like in Lord of the Rings?”
I chuckle, remembering reading her that story at bedtime. I’d only heard of the films until then, I didn’t even know that they were based on a book. I’ve done a lot of reading in my time, but little of it for entertainment. She used to love the voices I did for the characters, though, and it’s cute that it’s still her favorite book.
“Here,” I say, handing her one of the glasses of champagne. “Happy birthday.”
“Happy birthday, Daddy,” she says, lifting the glass and clinking it against mine as a spurt of cum seeps from my dick.
I lean in, trying to hide the shudder that passes through me, and bump her arms with mine. Her glass tips. The sparkling wine sloshes over the side of the glass and splashes against herample tits. She gasps, jumping back, and that only causes more of it to spill down her front, soaking her already see-through dress so that it clings to the outline of her bra.
I’m moving on instinct, taking the glass from her hand and putting it aside.
“Oh, I’m soaked!” she complains, looking down at her pretty pink dress as it goes dark all along the bodice. “I’m sorry, Daddy, that champagne probably cost a fortune—”
I’m leaning forward before I know it. Who knows what’s going through my mind as I take hold of the hem of her dress and start to pull it up.
“Daddy, what are you—?”
“We need to get this off you,” I tell her, my mind working in a daze. “It will never come out of this fabric if we don’t get it soaking immediately. Don’t act like you don’t want me to take care of you.”
She pushes at my hands. “No, I can’t… I’ll go change in the bathroom. I have some of my own clothes here, Daddy…”
She tries to wriggle away, to climb down off the counter, but something inside me shifts.
I grip her hips firmly, seating her in place, thumbs raking over the soft fabric of the skirt, lifting it higher on her thighs as her face turns red.
“You don’t need to go to the bathroom to change. You’re a big girl now,” I tell her. “You’re my daughter, and I’m here totake care of you. Now, Daddy is going to take this dress off, and you’re going to let me.” My voice is dark, and I notice the way she shivers as she nods, her mouth parted with no words coming out. I slide my hands up her sides until they cup her breasts. Her body stiffens, but she doesn’t try to pull away as her nipples start to poke out on the darkened pink, damp chiffon. “You don’t want the new birthday dress Daddy bought for you ruined, do you, baby?”
She shakes her head, and I trail my hands down again from her tits to the hem, pushing it up to reveal her thighs. She lifts her bottom off the counter like the good girl she is for me to slide the dress out from under her, then I lift it up, baring her inch by beautiful fucking inch until I pull it off her head and drop it to the floor.
“Daddy, doesn’t it need to be soaked?” Her face is still red as she tries to cover her tits with her hands, squeezing her legs together to hide her pussy. She’s wearing pastel pink matching bra and panties that short-circuit my brain.
I shake my head. “Soaking is important, but there’s something else that’s soaking that’s more important right now. Your pussy is wet, isn’t it?”
I put my hands on her knees and shove her legs wide, enjoying the failed bit of resistance she tries. She knows this is wrong, and her cute little virgin, good girl mind is telling her she should stop, even as her body begs for what’s about to happen. We’re not actually related, but I’ve been her only father, and she’s never looked at me other than as that parental figure.
