Page 74 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

"Yes!"

"Good girl. Here's your prize, baby." I grind the words out between clenched teeth. "Daddy's gonna fill you up for being so good."

She comes again with such violence, I think she's gonna tear my dick off at the root.

I nearly drop the camera, but manage to settle it to safety next to her hip before I pin her to the platform with my body and stuff myself as deep as her tiny body will take then I nut hard.

The orgasm tears through me, my cock pulsing like a motherfucker, filling her with all that sticky, baby breeding cream. I come so hard my arms shake, my balls go numb.

Still, I can't stop grinding into her, working every last drop deeper because some animal part of my brain wants her full of me. Wants her dripping with me for the rest of her fucking life.

I stay inside her until some blood returns to my brain and realize I'm crushing her under me.

I rest my forehead against her collarbone, lifting my chest from hers, both of us heaving. As I pull out, sliding my cock against her thigh a rush of our warm mingling fluids rush out of her tight little hole.

"Spread wide, baby," I say, pushing on her knees with one hand while my other finds the camera again, needing another shot.

The perfect shot.

She shakes her head, but she has no strength to resist me. My good little daughter spreads wide, and a rush of my white cream seeps out of her as I bring the camera up to my face.

Click. Click. Click, again.

"So pretty," I whisper. "Now, if you ever doubt it, I can show you who you belong to."

She nods, her eyes closed and I set the camera down and pull her arms out from behind her back.

"Daddy loves you," I whisper as I pull her into my lap, as I think about developing these shots, about seeing them hung up in my dark room. "Even when it hurts, always remember that Daddy loves you, baby."

Chapter 5

After our photo shoot yesterday, I took her shopping in town. We ate lunch at her favorite diner and just spent the day as a couple. People shot us looks, because the age gap clearly makes the relationship muddy but I'm so far beyond giving a shit what other people think, I can't even see it from here.

We fucked half the night, her appetite for me nearly as robust as mine but when she finally lost consciousness after the sixth orgasm, I relented and let her sleep.

She's still asleep when I lay the clothes on the foot of the bed. My gray Henley, a plaid pair of boxers, and Merino wool socks, because her feet are always cold. Everything is me-sized, everything is mine. Including her.

I'm marking territory like a dog running a fence line. I want her walking around my house smelling like my laundry detergent and my cum, swimming in my clothes, body sore and marked as an unspoken reminder she's never getting away.

I should probably unpack that in therapy. I won't.

I'm halfway through scrambling eggs when she shuffles in wearing all of it.

Such a good fucking girl.

Her dark hair is pressed flat on the side she slept on, pillow crease still dented into her cheek. She looks wrecked and soft and seventeen different kinds of fuckable, and I'm gripping the spatula like it's a weapon.

She ignores me, but I've known her long enough to know that morning conversation is not one of her strengths.

She stretches for the top shelf, and the shirt rides up. My brain flatlines, but my dick nearly punches through my pants. The soft curve of her ass shows just under the hem of the boxers.

God, she's a fucking miracle.

"You're staring," she says, not turning around.

"I'm always staring at you. You're my favorite thing to look at."

She keeps reaching for the shelf, but her hand has stopped searching. Her shoulders tighten.