Work Text:
꘏
“I really can’t stay.”
“But baby, it’s cold outside.”
The car radio hummed the jaunty Christmas tune and I sang shamelessly right along with it as the car trundled down state road 402. It was a shame I was alone in the car; the chagrined stares from onlookers as I butchered beloved classics for a solid month was easily in the top ten reasons I loved the holidays. That, and it was Samantha’s number three favorite song, right behind Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree and Silver Bells, a rather mature favorites list for a ten year old girl, if I say so myself. Her father’s terrible karaoke brought out from her raucous laughter without fail each and every time.
The world outside the car was a blanket of white. Evergreens along the edges of the road stabbed up through, only to find themselves similarly caked in the stuff. A snowstorm was on its way through tonight, leaving a couple inches on the ground already. More would follow overnight and into the morning. Plows were out in force, but it just wasn’t enough to keep up and the road was pretty thoroughly iced. Four wheel drive did wonders though.
The song ended as I pulled into the entrance to City Park, where a half dozen mothers and a gaggle of kids had already gathered. A few of the moms were calling to their little ones, some of whom stubbornly ignored the call to go home and continued their life-or-death snowy battles on the hill behind.
Sam caught sight of me before I even parked the car. She mingled with a trio of three others, all a head shorter than her, excitedly gossiping or whatever it was ten year old girls did. She made animated hand movements, clearly not drained of energy in the slightest, despite a full day of snowball fights, sledding, and ice skating on the small pond. When one of the girls pointed me out, she dropped her conversation and waved brightly at me.
“Over here, Daddy!” she shrieked loud enough to hear through the sealed windows and over the blast of the heat. I laughed and shook my head as I turned off the car and stepped out.
A few of the mothers turned their heads and smiled politely, even as a puff ball of blue winter coat, earmuffs, and snow-boots ran over and barreled into me a mere ten steps from the car.
“Oof!” A jolted and stepped back to hold both of us up. She hit like a meteor and wrapped around me like a spider monkey.
“Daddy! Me and Marissa got in a snowball fight with Charlie and Tom, and guess what?”
“What?”
“We. Won!” she cheered. I patted her head, covered by a blue wool hat, beneath which wispy strands of thin blonde hair sprouted. She looked up at me with a red nose and cheeks, grinning madly.
“Nuh uh,” a young boy’s voice erupted from the crowd. I held Sam up under her bottom and walked us toward the group. “You didn’t win, you cheated!”
Sam whirled her gaze at him and stuck out her tongue. “Did too! Your mom even said so!”
The other boys sarcastically chorused a simultaneous “Oooh” at the boy. It was Charlie, by his red hair and freckled cheeks. His cheeks burned and he stomped off, fuming.
“He’s just mad I hit him in the nuts with a snowball,” Sam muttered.
“You did not,” I scolded. “Samantha Young, you know not to aim there.”
“But he put snow in my pants!” she protested.
On second thought, maybe that little cretin had gotten what was coming to him. A grin split my face. “I’m trying very hard not to explicitly condone your vengeance,” I said to her.
She grinned back, and we shared a brief moment of impish glee.
“Hey Mark,” Stacy greeted me as I reached the group. She was mother of one of the other girls I forget the name of. Her SUV was parked with its trunk open, serving hot cocoa out of a cooler in the back. She handed me a plastic cup which I awkwardly accepted as I tried hard to keep my daughter seated on my arm.
“She’s getting so tall,” Stacy beamed. “What are you feeding that girl?”
“I’m only four-nine,” Sam protested. Finally, she climbed down of her own accord to sneak another cup of coca and slinked off to talk with her friends again. Stacy and I laughed, but she had a point; she was a bit tall for her age, yet she remained thin as a rail. Being on the girls basketball team helped with that.
“Thanks again for organizing all this,” I said, downing half the watery cocoa in a gulp. I could hardly believe Sam drank the stuff without complaint. Mediocre was putting it lightly. “She’s been begging to go ice skating with the girls for months now.”
She waved me off. “Don’t even worry about it. We do this every year. She’s a natural on the ice, by the way.”
I couldn’t help the proud smile. Sam on ice made my walking look like a drunkard’s inebriated gait. “Yeah, she got it from her mother. Wish I could have made it to see.”
She chuckled. “I have a half hour of video on my phone I can send you. Let me get your Facebook…” the woman pulled out her phone and we exchanged contact info. “I cant believe they made you work on Christmas Eve of all days.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It is what it is. I’ll have the next week off, though.”
She elbowed me. “Good. Get in some father-daughter time.”
After that, we cut our friendly conversation short and I called my daughter back over. “Ready to go?”
“Yep!”
“Got your skates?”
“Already in the car.”
I pulled her to my side and patted her head. “Good girl.” I turned to Stacy. “Well, looks like we’re off. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” She bent down and gave Sam a tap on the nose, which made the girl giggle. “And merry Christmas to you, cutie-pie. I think Santa might be getting you some new skates.”
She beamed.
꘏
I slid the pot onto the stove and cranked the heat all the way up. In went milk and enough chocolate to kill a diabetic three times over.
Yeah, she’d had hot cocoa at the park, but my little girl was a self proclaimed cocoa connoisseur, and I knew there was no way premixed dregs from a cooler would pass her muster. Plus, Christmas eve protocol necessitated a hot sugary beverage by the fire while watching movies until we fell asleep. The traditions my wife had started stuck with us, long after it was just me and Sam.
To that end, I left the pot in the kitchen and snagged a box of matches on my way out. Sam had eagerly set up the fireplace with kindling, sheets of paper, and full chunks of would from the shed as soon as we had gotten back, before even taking off her winter clothes. I chuckled and tossed a lit match at the pile, standing for a long while to watch it go up in flames.
I heard the bathroom door open and close from down the hall, and Sam stuck her head in the room a moment later. Her bundle of winter clothes had been replaced with a post-shower towel, wrapped round her chest and waist. She dripped water on the floor, but had chosen not to wash her hair, which flowed around her shoulders in wispy, silvery rivers of blonde.
My daughter was a very beautiful little girl, once she wasn’t wrapped all up in winter gear like a colorful penguin. She was tall for her age and nearly ethereal with her razor straight hair and thin, delicate limbs. I worried how much more beautiful she’d get once she grew into herself.
With all the subtlety of a shout in a library, she sniffed the air and then stared intensely at me. “Are you making cocoa?”
I nodded. “You bet.”
“Yes!” she cheered. She bounded into a hug with such force that I fell back on the couch and she straddled me. “Can I have marshmallows in mine?”
Again, I nodded.
“And whipped cream?” she batted her eyelashes with a slight grin.
“Well, of course, Princess.”
Another cheer, and she buried her face in my chest. “Love you, Daddy.”
I patted her head. “Love you too, dear.”
For a brief moment, it seemed like she didn’t want to climb down off of me. Her knees were dug into the couch on either side of me, causing the towel to ride her her slim hips. She’d done a hasty, slipshod job of wrapping it and hardly seemed to notice or care; with a distinct lack of breasts holding it up, already it hung dangerously loosely on her chest. The edges near the bottom had parted, revealing a sliver of thigh, hip, and side. If she moved with any more excitement, it was bound to come loose entirely.
I took all this in as I moved my eyes up her form, and startled when I finally met her eyes. She stared with marked intensity as she worried her top lip with a shy smile. That moment seemed to go on forever and a day, before we both blinked out of our stupor.
“Erm…heheh, I guess I should go get dressed,” she said, face dusting red as her eyes flicked away.
“You better. Running around without clothes will get you on the naughty list. There’s still time.”
She hopped down and gripped the top of the towel to keep it on. She stuck her tongue out at me and ran back down the hall, full of mirth. “I already know you’re Santa, Daddy!”
I shook my head clear and sat back. More aware of myself now, I realized with some embarrassment that I was hard. Samantha looked a lot like her mother. Especially the way her collar bone was so prominent and how her shoulders sloped almost too gently into her arms.
I decided to chalk my momentary lapse of sanity to multiple years without a lover, or even a date. I was more than happy to give Sam all my time.
An angry hiss floated from the kitchen as the pot of cocoa boiled over. “Shit!”
꘏
My daughter reemerged in her signature Christmas PJs, a pair of pine green socks, a white t-shirt with “Merry X-mas” printed on the front in huge, cursive letters, and her favorite red sweats printed all over with little reindeer.
I turned the lights down low, not off, because she didn’t like them fully gone, but she didn’t want to watch movies in full light either. So enough to plunge the room into an atmospheric mood. Combined with the crackling warmth of a fire and the snowy darkness outside, the room felt vividly romantic. We settled in, Sam tucked into my side like a puppy.
We shamelessly sang along to Frosty the Snowman, my aforementioned drunk-karaoke level singing voice turning Sam’s lines into fits of laughter. I hammed it up, making it worse and worse until no one was singing and there were tears in both our eyes.
Thirty minutes into the movie, her mug sat finished on the table. Mine was still halfway full. It tasted great, but the damn drink was just too sweet to chug the whole thing. Maybe Stacy had the right idea watering the stuff down a smidge.
“Are you gonna finish your cocoa?” Sam asked, and then without waiting for an answer, as if she knew it would be a “no,” she followed up with, “Can I have it?”
Begrudgingly, I let her. Way too much sugar for a kid this late at night, but what the hell, it was Christmas.
She climbed off the couch and rushed into the kitchen to throw it in the microwave. When she returned, she was carrying the can of whipped cream. She sat back down with a mildly insane glint in her eye and proceeded to load up the mug—which was only half full of cocoa—all the way to the top.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Think you got enough?”
“Nooope!” She sprayed a three inch tall pile beyond the rim of the mug as protest. Stubbornly she tried to drink it and keep her focus on the movie at the same time, but the endeavor was ill-fated, and the tower of whipped cream left a spot on the tip of her nose. She giggled, going cross-eyed trying to stare at it, and so I stuck my thumb into my mouth and swiped it off. She blinked in surprise and then took another huge gulp, dipping her nose intentionally into the cream. I shook my head and repeated my swiping action. This time she giggled and did it again.
“If you don’t quit that, I’m gonna do something you really hate.”
Her eyes glimmered in stubborn challenge, and she did it again.
I narrowed my eyes and bent down, sticking my tongue out and quickly licking the tip of her nose. She’d always hated her mother licking food of her cheek when as a toddler. I bet that would settle her right down.
Instead of a squeal of disgust or surprise, she bit her lip silently. The silence rapidly grew awkward, with only the soft sounds of movie carols and crackles of the fire to cut down the tension.
Samantha, now intently locking her stare with mine, set her cup on the table, then bent forward and took a mouthful of cream, and rubbed her lips until they were thinly coated with the sugary substance like crude lip gloss. It was a mess, and looked ridiculous, and yet, the only interpretation my brain would accept was a sexy one.
What exactly was she asking for?
The little minx pursed her lips and removed what little doubt there could be. Her cheeks were burning red and her eyes gleaming as she waited for my answer to her latest challenge.
I swallowed the dryness in my throat. I’d kissed my daughter before, of course. On the forehead. Her lips were a different matter. Reaching down slowly and deliberately to the remote on the coffee table, I silenced the television and leaned forward, never breaking eye contact with her.
I towered over her petite, fearless form. As my face moved closer to hers, her eyes widened in momentary amazement that I’d really do it, and then fluttered closed. She squirmed her hips on the couch to turn slightly toward me, and tilted her chin up. I slid a hand around the back of her neck, sending her shuddering, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Our lips met. Warm, creamy sweetness suffused my lips and tongue, which was quickly lost when her lips parted in a soft gasp, or maybe a sigh of contentment. They were jello-soft, pliant, and easily gave way to my own. I licked her bottom lip of any remaining sugar and sucked her top between my own lips. It was a bit of a shock for her, at first. A few seconds in and she loosened considerably. It was, surprisingly, not the worst kiss I’d ever had.
We broke, and when I opened my eyes, she was already staring at me, eyes wide, mesmerized and elated. Her cheeks burned red and her chest rose and fell rapidly. I brushed my fingers over her cheek, letting my thumb drag on her bottom lip.
“A-again,” she said, shyly.
And I did. This time we went at it with more force, our lips smacking loudly as we swapped who was sucking what. Her lips fully parted for my tongue when I pushed it against to ask silent permission. She made a noise of approval as I pushed through, only to meet her own little tongue there waiting for me.
She fell back, or I pushed her. I don’t know. Regardless, she ended up on her back on the couch, with me leaning over her, hands on her hips and steel-hard erection poking her belly through my pants. Our tongues pushed against each other and slipped around within the nexus of our connection. Her saliva tasted like sugar and chocolate.
My hands quested for skin. I moved my thumbs under the bottom edge of her t-shirt and pulled, slowly rolling the garment up to reveal her pale, flat tummy.
“Arms up,” I murmured into the corner of her mouth.
She raised them, momentarily breaking the kiss so I could remove the shirt altogether. I took in the sight of her naked upper body. With her breasts just barely beginning to bud, she was due soon for a training bra. Tonight she wore naught but a rosy blush along her neck and collar and a toothy smile on her face, leaving coral-pink nipples stiff in the warm air.
I gave her one more kiss on the lips as I unbuttoned my own shirt. My fingers fumbled annoyingly with the damn thing, until she reached up with unexpected deftness and unbuttoned the bottom three, freeing me.
When that was done, Samantha took the time to take her own eyeful of me. She proped herself up on one elbow and poked at my peck, and I flexed it, getting a giggle in response. I had a mild case of dad-bod, but got to the gym when I could. Keeping up with her energy was an ever lofty goal. Apparently she liked what she saw, because her face flushed even harder.
I placed a finger under her chin, and with hardly any force, she obeyed and lifted her head to expose her neck. Her throat went taut for a moment as she swallowed and she nodded for me to continue.
Gently, so she barely felt anything, I brushed my lips against her throat. Her whole body shuddered. “D-daddy.”
Fighting a smirk, I parted my lips and washed her skin in warm breath. Visible goosebumps sprang up on her flesh and I kissed the base of her throat. I didn’t want to overwhelm her with my vastly superior experience, but damn it felt good to melt a girl like that.
She mewled and squirmed as I kissed and licked, her rapid pulse fluttering beneath my tongue. I slipped my arms under her back to lock her still, and moved my attention down her collar bone, where I nibbled and she mewled until a trail of light bruises appeared in my wake.
Upon the meager expanse of her flat chest, her nipples sat lonely and unattended. With a mischievous smirk and the beginnings of a silly plot in my mind, I took the can of whipped cream from the table and aimed the nozzle at her left nipple. Her jaw dropped when I sprayed a dollop of the fluffy white cream that had started this nonsense in a swirl right on top.
“Daddy,” she said, looking absolutely and utterly scandalized. “That’s for the hot cocoa.”
I shook my head emphatically. “Whipped cream’s for sweet things. And you, young lady, definitely qualify.”
With no further argument to be had, I took the nipple into my mouth, whipped cream and all. She squealed a high pitched giggle and locked her fingers into my hair. She tugged insistently and raised her body at me, the simultaneous effect mushing my lips to her nubile breast. There was softness under the skin, a developing layer of fat that would assert itself with her looming puberty. For now, I suckled like a baby, perhaps too eagerly, for I had vacuumed the whole of her quarter-sized areola in, and was swirling the nipple with my tongue. I reached out blindly to where I thought her other breast might be and sprayed another dollop of cream there. When my first target was thoroughly cleaned, I jumped over to it, only to find I’d missed my target and was much closer to her armpit. So I licked it clean before devouring her right nipple as well.
“My turn!” she declared, snatching the cream from my hand and spraying a gob of it on my fingers. Before I could react, she had pulled them into her mouth and was sucking them with a seductive look that didn’t belong anywhere near a ten year old’s face. I hadn’t imagined she’d know much of anything about sex at her age, but from the look on her face I was certain she knew what part of the process she was emulating; I imagined it was my cock she was licking clean, as she ran her little pink tongue around the digits and divots appeared in her cheeks as she sucked hard.
“You’re on the naughty list,” I rumbled. I found my self moving the fingers in her mouth, pushing in deep until they reached the back of her mouth. She gagged, and tears started to glimmer in her eyes as they widened, but she moved her head up in response and I felt the muscles of her throat working ever so slightly around the tip of my index finger—a promise that someday soon, when she’d had enough practice, it would be indeed my cock she swallowed.
But not tonight. I withdrew. Threads of saliva trailed from her lips to my fingers, and she darted up to give them one last lick.
I experimented further with the whipped cream. Different patterns painted along her chest and neck, and eventually her stomach. When it finally started to sputter and hiss near empty, I spend the last of it a a final dollop right above the waistband of her sweatpants. I left it for the moment, moving kisses down her body in a jagged line, shuffling my knees backward and enjoying the feel of her belly fluttering under my lips whilst she held back laughter from the tickle.
Finally, I reached my prize. My hands on her hips, thumbs pressing into the bony ridges of her small body, I licked from one hip to the other in a long, indulgent swipe. I ran the very tip of my tongue just under the waistband and caught the last of the sweetness in the process. Samantha’s fingers tightened in my hair, and her previous fit of giggles faded. The fabric of the red sweats bunched in my fingers as I tugged gently. My intention was to strip them completely, but what patience I had lasted only long enough to make it just over her butt—enough to reveal the pure white panties guarding her innocence like a freshly fallen field of snow. A line of dampness ran down their center, an amusing fact, but hardly one worthy of notice as I rolled the thin garment down as well.
I whistled softly at the sight. Like every other aspect of her nascent body, my daughter had an exquisitely beautiful mound nestled between her thighs. Two plump labium, pale and currently sprinkled with goosebumps as the rest of her, cradled a barely visible clitoral hood and a set of thin inner lips the way a mother cradled her newborn child.
Using a thumb, I parted one side of her, opening her lips to see the tiny pink hole, damp with either arousal or residual moisture from her previous shower. Upon being exposed to the outside world, the entrance contracted, as if shrinking from my gaze.
“You’re so very beautiful down here, sweetie.” My own voice sounded ragged and dry.
“Th-thanks.”
I didn’t make any preamble or warning. I just dove in, latching my mouth over her whole vulva at once. It was understandable that she tensed; it was her first ever kiss on the lower lips, by a man over thrice her age, and her own father no less. None of that mattered right now though, after a few moments of sucking and pressing my tongue flat to her as a sort of tease, she relaxed considerably. I felt her fingers go slack in my hair as I pressed in, lapping up the nectar between her lips.
“Ohhh…daddy, that feels good.”
Restraining my smirk of self-satisfaction, I pressed in deeper, resting my chin in the stretch of the waistband still surrounding her upper thighs. Her entrance was an ice rink that I danced my way around the edges of, never quite dipping in. Her clit was an occasional sweet I only allowed us the indulgence of every few minutes or so. For her, the treat was in the rush of lightning that shot up her arched spine. For me, it was the resulting catch of her breath, or the gasp that tore from her lips with each flick. At some point, I readjusted us, fully removing her sweatpants at last and leaving her in socks, then turned her on the couch so I knelt on the carpet before her with her legs dangling over my shoulders. All so I could more fully dig my face in to maximum effect.
I brought her close to the edge, and backed off, over and over again until she was practically sobbing and begging to know what was happening to her. I quieted her and assured her everything was just fine. I was taking care of her and wouldn’t hurt her. “Just let it come,” I soothed.
She nodded rapidly, digging her palms into her eye sockets and contorting under the agony of the pleasure. My cock jumped eagerly in my pants, feeling impossibly constrained and tight within. I regretted not removing them already, but didn’t dare uncurl my arms from her thighs to rectify that mistake. All of my focus went to making her first orgasm one she’d never, ever forget. Her body coiled like a spring, going taut as she bucked and jolted her hips at me, anything to get more. Just a little more.
“Daddy…Mmm! Ah!” she moaned. “Fua…nnng…!”
Her voice broke and devolved into a wash of vocalizations having no basis in conscious thought or coherent speech. Finally, I gingerly bit down on her clit and rolled it between my teeth. Her whole body jerked and the coil snapped. She howled like I had belted her across her bare ass. A wash of her juices flooded my mouth, and I reverently drank them down like a parched man in the Sahara. I didn’t stop or remove my mouth until she had stopped shaking and instead lay sideways in a sweaty, drunken state of post-orgasmic amazement, her thighs still quivering against my neck and her virgin pussy still twitching on my tongue.
“Oh my god,” she sighed. “That was so good.”
“Yeah?” I grinned, pulling my mouth away. Her inexperienced clit was bright red and satisfyingly swollen to the size of a pushpin. “Better than ice skating?”
She nodded.
“Better than hot cocoa?”
Her head shot up and she glanced at me with narrowed eyes. But she couldn’t keep the mischief from her face as she said, “Hmm, I dunno yet.” Her eyes slid shamelessly to my crotch and renewed with fire as she pulled herself back up into a sitting position. “Isn’t there more? You didn’t put your thing in me yet.”
I blinked. Her knowledge apparently went deeper than I realized. I thought to question her on it, but honestly, what the hell did it matter now? She was about to learn all of that and more. “Oh?” I challenged. “Think you can handle this?”
I tore off my jeans and boxers, letting my steel-hard erection fly free like an eagle soaring over the Rockies. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped open. “Woah, that’s huge!”
Truthfully, I didn’t expect her to be able to take any of it—I was well above average, and she had some narrow hips, even for her age. From my tonguing moments ago I knew she’d barely be able to take a finger, let alone my whole cock.
But we were damn well going to try. I cleared our glasses from the low coffee table, setting them gently on the carpet. The stack of mail we used as a makeshift coaster I swept more carelessly into the floor, then grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and spread it on top.
“C’mere,” I growled, grabbing her by the arm and lifting her off the couch. She yelped, and I deposited her on her back on the blanket layered table. She stared up at me, eyes flicking rapidly from my face to my raging erection. There were sparks of anticipation and trepidation in her eyes, and I got on my knees, dragging her ass to the edge. With an almost instinctive ease, she locked her legs behind my hips, pulling me in so my balls smacked her swollen and slicked pussy. The table put her at perfect height to line up with my cock, which I laid on her stomach. Once I did, the challenge she’d face became immediately and worryingly apparent. My shaft went up past her belly button, and was about half as thick as her wrist.
“Think we might have to call it quits here,” I grunted. It wouldn’t do to force things.
She pretended not to hear it and occupied herself trailing her fingers along the new object of her attentions, poking and exploring without a sound. I sucked in a breath and shuddered, thrusting my hips in the empty air as I felt the wet lips and hard nub of her clit cushion the underside of me. Pre-cum smeared her smooth, flat tummy like slimy paint on a freshly stretched canvas.
“I think it’ll fit,” she declared.
“It’s not gonna fit.”
She chewed her lip and gave me an overly-innocent glance that she damn well knew wasn’t anything of the sort.
“Don’t you wanna put it in, Daddy?”
I nodded breathlessly, throwing my head back as she stroked me with her hands. “God, yes.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to be inside her. I needed to be inside her. How could I come this far and not go all the way?
She loosened the leg lock around my waist enough to shuffle herself backward. I stopped her with a hard, possessive grip on her hips, and instead backed up for clearance. The momentary move away from the molten heat between her legs was chilling and went against what I wanted, but it was worth the next sensation to touch me.
The tip of my penis, for so long deprived of the luscious feel of a woman, pressed against hot, sticky moisture, nestled between young, innocent pussy lips like pair of matronly arms welcoming a child back in from the frigid cold outside. I spread them apart to a ridiculous degree, without even penetrating her. I kept slipping. Up over her clit. Then down into the crevice of her ass-cheeks. And pushing harder only seemed to make the slipping problem worse. She was just too small.
Samantha reached down and steadied my cock. I wanted to hit myself for not thinking of it in lust induced haze. “Thank you,” I rumbled. I could already feel her tiny entrance straining against the intruder. I pushed harder, dimly aware of the tears cutting lines down her face and the grimace that took hold of her features. Harder.
“Ow, ow, nngg!” she wheezed. I grit my teeth and spared a glance down. I was halfway to getting just my head in. The compression actually hurt, for how tight she was. I had no doubt she’d be sore for days after this. But I wanted it. She wanted it; hell, she’d started this whole thing.
I felt like a horrid beast as I pushed even harder, stretching her beyond the breaking point, tearing her near in half. Her hands gripped me like a vice and shook like someone hopped up on too much coke.
“A little more, baby. Almost in. Hang in there.”
She nodded in understanding, throwing her hair into disarray.
With a jerk, and a scream of agony from within her clenched teeth, I popped in. Her strength fled, hands falling away. Laying back on the table, she sobbed.
“Shhh, it’s alright. The hard part’s over.” I picked her up in a hug and stroked her teary face. “Daddy’s got you.”
“Daddy,” she wailed.
I held her until her sobs cooled to shuddering gasps, then whimpers as she clutched at my back. I remained hard throughout it all, doing multiplication tables in my head to prevent myself from exploding inside her.
It was a long minute before she pushed weakly at my chest. I leaned up immediately, and she craned her head to look down.
“Aw man,” she said, half sniffling and half laughing. “It’s not even all the way in. I thought I was gonna die.”
Relief washed through me, and I let out a breath. “The first time hurts the worst. I’ll get better, but it’s gonna hurt for a little while. And you’re gonna be sore.”
She glared at me, though the effect was blunted by the playful smile and tears remaining in her eyes. “It better feel good soon. Sex is going to lose to hot cocoa at this rate.”
We shared a brief laugh, and then fell into silence. We both knew what needed to happen next. I’d have to shove in further, stretching her insides the same way I had with her entrance. In all honesty, I had not a clue if it would hurt more of less for her now that the barrier had been broken. But it had been broken, and I didn’t intend to quit unless she asked me to.
With a deep breath, I set my hands on her hips. She audibly swallowed, the speed of her breathing already increasing, and reached out for my forearms. Her little hands clenched me the same way she did when getting her shots at the doctor’s office.
I pushed in.
I went as slowly as humanly possible, but her eyes snapped shut and her breaths accelerated near to hyperventilating. I moved in maybe half an inch, and then stopped until she caught her breath and nodded at me again.
This time though, I pulled back a bit, wincing at the sight of bright crimson blood on my flesh. She was going to be really sore for a while.
We went on like this for nearly ten minutes. The fire crackled along, nearly half burned to smoldering coal and cinders by then. The room was hot. Too hot. And I was sweating. Each tiny thrust brought me a little closer to her, forcing her open long before her body was ready. Before I realized it, her sharp gasps of pain had softened with my thrusts, and I had sped up, and we were moving together in some kind of rhythm that she found agreeable. Her legs tightened around me and she closed her eyes. At long last I saw the beginnings of pleasure take hold on her face.
“So big,” she breathed. “It’s so huge. Ohhh…”
“Still hurts?” I asked.
“Y-yeah, a little. I’m used to it now though. It feels kinda…good, I think.”
I smiled. “I’m glad. Tell me what you need.”
“I um…” she winced as I pushed a little too deeply, and I pulled back. “C-can you push my button down there again? I liked that.”
“Absolutely, my princess.” My hand flew to just above where my thick shaft plunged slowly in and out of my baby girl, smeared slightly with dull crimson. I mashed my thumb into her clit, reviving a pleased coo from her in response. I swirled it in circles in time with my gentle thrusts. Despite how tight she already was, I felt her passage squeeze even harder around me.
There was a slight bulge, right at her belly button, that pushed into existence when I pushed in, and faded away when I pulled back. I was only about three quarters inside her at the deepest, yet I could already feel the spongy resistance of her cervix at my tip. With a perhaps unhealthy curiosity, I gripped her hips harder and experimentally sank in until I felt the resistance, then pushed a little more.
She moaned, fingers gripping my forearms and jaw hanging open. Rather than hurting her worse, pushing in deep seemed to flip a switch within her. I blinked and considered this, before grinding in even deeper. I had about two inches left of cock to give her, if she could take it.
An inch. Half an inch. A centimeter. The bulge on her stomach grew until there was no mistaking the girth of the thing inside her. She howled, shuddering violently. I pushed, and her little butt pressed against my pelvis like a cushion.
And then I was fully in. All seven inches of my adult manhood buried so deep in my little girl that you could see it from the outside. How in the hell had her little vagina managed to stretch so damn far?
“More,” she hissed. “Please, Daddy!”
I realized I had stopped moving as I pondered the wonders of her small body. I shook off the stupor and obliged her. Now that she was fully stretched and I knew she could take it, I quickened my pace and fucked her much more roughly. The inner flesh of her pussy clung hungrily to me as I drew my entire length out until my head started to slip free. With a grunt, I shoved it all back in, stabbing her in the cervix and smacking our hips together.
She cried out, eyes wild as I repeated the motion. Apparently she liked it hard. I’d started off plunging my dick into an innocent child and was now fucking a newly awoken creature of pure lust. Her high pitched moans and whines drove me insane, my inner ego boiling and bathing in the delight my own daughter’s aroused voice brought me. It demanded I be the only one to ever give her this kind of pleasure. The only one to ever touch her in this way. The inherent protective jealousy every father possesses toward their children flared as I railed her. I watched the sweat bead on her pale skin, her chest heaving rapidly, her stomach sucking in and out with each frantic breath.
“Daddy, Daddy!”
“Good girl,” I hissed. “Good girl.”
In a fluid and sudden motion, I lifted her while still inside, and unceremoniously flopped us back on the couch. No longer on her back, she fell forward and laid on me, our sweaty skin sticking together. She did her very best to keep working her hips, but I took her little butt into my hands and squeezed her, kneaded her, ground her more forcefully onto my cock. Her face fell onto my chest, dragging her lips across me to leave trails of saliva. Her moans and mewls came out as jagged gasps, broken by each upward thrust I made. The bottoms of her thighs raucously smacked the tops of mine, adding to the lewd cacophony of our mutual moans of pleasure.
All at once, her breath stopped, and she came with a jolt: her second orgasm of the night. She sputtered something against my chest. As her eyes rolled back in her head, her fists balled and shook.
I was close, but not quite there, and kept fucking her, not content to stop until I was spent as well, even while her stretched and abused passage squeezed around me hard enough to tear my cock right off.
I held her head against me and finished myself with long, deep strokes in her pussy. At last, I felt my testicles clench and my cock started to throb with release. The pride and desire I had felt blossoming inside me the whole night suddenly exploded in a fiery burst of lust that seemed to burn up every nerve in my limbs on its way out. The fire pulled the life out of me to pulse through my crotch and out my cock, dousing her tiny cervix with burning, incestuous seed which, with any luck, would fail to take root.
One shot. Two. Four. I lost count after half a dozen spasms. I squeezed my eyes so hard I saw stars. I hadn’t cum so hard in…no, I’d never cum this hard.
For a long while, We laid in silence, shuddering in aftershocks. When I opened my eyes again, there she was, staring at me with a drunken smile and half-lidded eyes still shiny with wetness. The movie was nearly over, muted and forgotten.
“How was that?” I asked her, tucking a stray strand of platinum hair behind her ear. She leaned into my hand and turned it into a touch of her cheek.
“I think we gotta add it to the Christmas eve tradition,” she said.
I laughed at the absurdity of it: Christmas sex with my daughter as the new yearly tradition. “So, at least as good as hot cocoa?”
She rolled her eyes. “I guesss so.”
It was a partial victory, as far as I was concerned. I patted her bottom. “We don’t have to restrict it to only Christmas eve, too, you know.”
She rose her hips off me, unsheathing my softening manhood with a wince. Strands of pinkish cum dripped from her pussy, now swollen and red. It looked like we’d been at it for far longer than we had. She resettled further up my body, resting her hips on my stomach and smearing it with residual cum, and stuck her tongue into my mouth.
“I know,” she said when the kiss broke. She rested her head on my chest and yawned.
I blinked in abject surprise. The famously inexhaustible Samantha Young, defeated by two orgasms and a gallon of hot cocoa. “Tired already?” I teased.
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s not like I have to stay up and wait for ‘Santa’,” she murmured, with a one handed air quote and a knowing smile. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
I gave her a kiss on the forehead. Probably the most chaste kiss of the night. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
I pulled the throw blanket from the table and covered us. We fell asleep just like that, together in a naked embrace and basking in the glow of our new relationship.
꘏