You Belong to Me, Babygirl

Daddy and I have been almost inseparable lately. The sweet (and filthy) messages, late-night movies, morning snuggles, breakfast in bed...

It's heaven. I missed being his princess.

And now that we get to experience each other on an entirely new level? Ugh, I just want all the good things all the time.

But...

When mom is home, everything changes. When mom is home, I feel rage.

Suddenly, I'm not just his girl anymore.

Suddenly, I'm forced back into one of two familiar roles: obedient or defiant.

Submissive or brat.

Either way, when the sun is up, I'm not his. Not fully. Not the way I want to be.

I shouldn't care. He's my dad, not my boyfriend.

I tell myself that every time I feel this way.

Every time he presses a kiss to her cheek. Every time he tucks her hair behind her ear. Every time his voice drops into something softer when he speaks to her, something careful, something that makes my stomach twist into knots.

Every time he laughs at something she says, a real laugh, the kind I used to fight to pull from him.

The kind I thought only I could.

The kind that makes me feel special.

But maybe I'm not special.

Maybe I'm just there.

His fingers graze the small of her back as they pass in the kitchen.

Barely a touch.

Barely anything at all.

But my whole body goes tight.

I pretend I don't see it.

Pretend I don't hear the warmth in his voice when he says her name.

Pretend I don't feel it.

But the feeling is always there.

The sharp, ugly thing curling up in my chest, the thing I don't know how to name, the thing I don't want to admit hurts the way it does.

Because it does.

It fucking hurts.

Because I know what those touches feel like.

Because I know what he sounds like when he's talking to someone he adores.

And I know that I will never be able to have him the way she does.

Because what we have is something else.

Something forbidden.

Something dangerous.

Something secret.

Something that will never be enough.

Because in the daylight, in the moments that aren't just ours, I am nothing to him.

I am just the shadow of something he can't let himself want.

And she is his wife.

His real love.

His real life.

And I am just a mistake he keeps making.

And god--

I don't know what's worse.

Knowing it.

Or knowing that even if it destroys me, even if it kills me, even if it shatters every last piece of who I am--

I will always let him keep making it.

⸻

I tell myself I won't listen.

That I won't wait for the sound of the front door closing. That I won't count the seconds until I know she's gone. That I won't hold my breath and hope--

But I do.

I always do.

And tonight, when I hear her keys jingle, when I hear the soft murmur of his voice as he walks her to the door, when I hear the low hum of the engine fade into the distance--

I wait.

Wait for him to move.

Wait for him to come upstairs.

Wait for him to go to bed and pretend like nothing happened.

But he doesn't.

Instead, his footsteps shift, slow, steady.

Closer.

Closer.

Until my bedroom door creaks open, until his shadow spills across the floor, until his dark eyes settle on mine.

He doesn't hesitate.

Doesn't fight it.

Doesn't stand there like he's waiting for permission.

He just comes to me.

Like he always should have.

Like he (hopefully) always will.

His voice is low, steady, warm.

I move before I can think, before I can stop myself, before the weight of this can pull me under.

And the second I'm close enough--

His hands are on me.

Pulling me in.

Pulling me down.

Pulling me home.

He sinks into my purple velvet chair, and I sink into his lap, legs on either side of his hips, my fingers curling against his shoulders, holding on, needing to hold on.

His hands slide up my back, slow and firm, like he's reassuring himself that I'm real.

His lips brush against my temple, soft, lingering.

"It's not real, baby."

His voice strained.

"What you saw today--what you always see--"

His arms tighten.

"It's not this."

I exhale, my forehead dropping against his, my breath shaky, uneven.

"Then what is this?"

His fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my face up, forcing me to look at him.

His eyes burn into mine.

"This is the truth."

I swallow hard.

He shifts beneath me, his hands dragging slow over my thighs, gripping my hips, his touch grounding, steady, familiar.

His lips ghost over mine, teasing, barely there.

"You understand, don't you, Babygirl?"

I do.

I hate that I do.

But I nod.

"We have to pretend."

His breath stutters, like it hurts him to hear me say it.

"Yes."

His lips brush against mine again, not a kiss, just a whisper of warmth, a promise.

"But that's all it is."

His fingers press into my skin, firm, possessive.

"Pretending."

His mouth claims mine before I can say anything else.

Soft at first.

Then deeper.

Then desperate.

Then real.

He kisses me like he's making sure I know the difference.

Like he's making sure I feel the difference.

And I do.

His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my bare skin, moving slow, reverent.

His lips trail down my throat, across my collarbone, pressing into the places only he gets to touch, the places only he gets to know.

"You belong to me, Babygirl."

His voice is rough, breathless, full of something deep and dark and undeniable.

His hands grip my waist, tilting my hips, pressing me against him.

"This body? It's mine."

His lips press just below my ear, his breath shaky, uneven.

"This heart? It's mine."

His fingers slide lower, dragging, teasing, making me ache.

"This little whimper? That's for me."

I shudder in his arms, my head tilting back, my hands fisting in his shirt.

His mouth is everywhere now.

His hands are everywhere.

He finally lays me down and he touches me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters--

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"I want to make you feel good too. Can you show me... what you like?"

I reach down between us and squeeze his thickness against my palm. The sheer substantialness of him dwarfs my hand and suddenly I feel so small.

"But you do make me feel good, Babygirl. Just by letting Daddy touch you and lick you and... especially when you let Daddy inside your pretty pink pussy."

Mmmm... pretty and pink. I like that.

I decide to use both hands so I can get a full wrap around the base of his cock. I hear him groan in my ear. In the same instance, his cock pulses in my hands and I can see a few drops of precum seeping from the head.

My mouth waters... and I have an idea.

"Daddy... can I taste you?"

"Yes, of course you can Babygirl. But only if you want to. You never have to reciprocate any of the things we do. It's my job to take care of you, sweetheart. I'm your Daddy."

"I want to."

And with that, I move down his body, positioning my mouth close to his meaty cock... close enough that I can feel the heat emanating from him.

I plant a big, open-mouthed kiss right on the head.

I look at Daddy, right in his eyes, and I lick my lips... slowly. As if I were savouring every second until the taste of him disappears in my mouth.

Because I was.

He tasted like heaven. Sweet, slightly salty. Like pure desire... his pure desire.

Fuck I was desperate for him.

"Mmmmm, fuck... Babygirl, Daddy definitely likes that. Your warm lips felt so delicious on me."

He pulls me back up to lay beside him and his arms settle around me like they were always meant to.

"Thank you for that extra special kiss and for being the hottest little baby girl a daddy could ask for."

His chest is broad and steady against my back, his breath warm against my ear.

His hand finds my waist, fingers splaying wide, possessive.

"I missed you, Babygirl."

His voice is soft but sure, no hesitation, no restraint.

His lips brush the curve of my neck, slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that makes me ache.

"Daddy," I whisper, already breathless.

He hums low against my skin, pulling me closer, pressing his hips flush against me so I can feel how much he needs me. How hard he is for me.

"You know I'm yours, baby."

His fingers slide lower, over my hip, between my thighs, spreading me open like I'm something delicate, something treasured, something his.

"Just like you're mine."

I shudder at the promise in his voice.

Because it is a promise.

Not just for tonight.

But for every night after this.

For always.

He presses me into the mattress, his body warm and solid and sure above me.

His lips find mine, slow and deep, tasting, taking.

"Mine," he murmurs between kisses.

And then he enters me.

His hands worshipping me, his mouth ruining me, his body claiming me in a way that makes me forget I was ever anything but his little princess.

I reach my fingers down between my legs and I rub that spot that feels so good to touch. Daddy seems to like that and his thrusts become sharper, more hurried.

"Are you going to cum for Daddy, sweetheart? I want us to cum together... let me feel your pretty little pussy clamp around Daddy's big cock."

I swallow hard, nodding, already shaking, already almost there.

His lips ghost over mine, teasing, tasting, owning.

"I'm patient," he murmurs. "you don't have to rush."

And I don't.

I let him take me there--slow, steady, like waves lapping against the shore, pulling me under, holding me on the edge just long enough to make me feel it.

His eyes never leave mine.

The final wave builds, climbing higher, stealing my breath, winding tighter and tighter until--

"It's coming," I gasp. "Daddy--"

And then I cum.

As wave after wave crashes over me, pulling me under, dragging me into something deeper, stronger, something only he can give me.

His grip tightens, his body still holding mine, still moving, still taking.

I barely register his breath catching, the way his fingers dig in, the way his body shudders as he follows me over the edge.

But I feel it.

All of it.

Him.

Us.

With my insides thoroughly painted in Daddy's cum, his arm tightens around me. Lips pressing lazy kisses against my temple, voice low and wrecked and completely certain.

"I'm gonna keep you safe forever, Babygirl."

This time-- I believe him.

My daddy. Mine.