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Society likes to make it seem as though men don’t like thick, curvy women, but that’s not true. Not for me. Not one fucking bit. I like to watch my women bounce. Like to watch my fingers indent into soft flesh. I like tits that can suffocate me.
Hiding my hand behind my empty glass, I cross my fingers. Pretty fucking please sit by me.
“You want me to take a tequila shot with you, Doll?” Doll. I flatten my palms on the bar for balance. Yeah, Daddy. I want you to take a shot with me. Off me. Whatever.
Given the opportunity, I’d cling to those shoulders like my life depended on it.
Maybe it’s the way she fucking called me Papi. My blood simmers at the memory. Yeah, Baby Doll, I’ll be your Daddy.
feel like I’ve heard that name in a movie as the bad guy, but who needs superheroes if this is what the villains look like?
“And you call me whatever name you want, Baby Doll. But I like it when you say Daddy.”
Watching Kendra lick the salt off her shot glass a second time might send me into cardiac arrest. But we all got to die somehow. And death by Brat is okay with me.
“Take your tits out. I want to suck on them while I’m fucking you.”
In the span of one evening, we did almost everything two people can do. And, heaven help me, I want to do it all again.
Luther lays a hand on my dad’s shoulder with a wicked grin aimed my way. “That’s right, Kendra. I’m your daddy now too.” I gape. He. Didn’t.
“You want that? You want to walk out there with puffy red lips and tear tracks down your cheeks? You want everyone to know what a slutty little Daddy’s girl you are?”
“When we fuck in this house, you call me Daddy. Now reach back and take my dick out.”
“Unless you want to get caught with my cock buried in this greedy little pussy.” I shove deeper. “Then everyone will know that I’m your Daddy now.”
My cock pulses over and over, and I empty my balls inside my best friend’s daughter.
If you’re going to fuck me, then feed me, you might as well wife me.
“There’s my pretty girl.” His words are a purr, and they settle over my skin like a fuzzy blanket.
“Who’s calling?” I glance at the time. It’s just after ten. Not that late. But late enough that no one should be calling my man.
I like this girl more than a brownie amount.
I pull my hand up and slap it, and the mess, against his chest. He smiles harder. “That’s right, Baby. Mark me as yours.”
“But it hurt. Having the choice taken away from me hurt. And it wasn’t fair.”