Content: Daddy/girl D/s established relationship, consenting adults, jealousy play, punishment play, ownership, possession, spanking, belt spankings, becoming unleashed, anger play, looking vs seeing, dirty talk, force & CNC, not explicitly consensual, grooming play, other familial mentions (mommy/your mother), strap on sex / cock hunger, cum talk, butch masquerading as a cis daddy (kind of), praise kink, and more.
This story is fantasy and is in now way intended to be a guide for how to act in a D/s relationship, or any kink relationship. All characters are 21+. Your mental health matters; please don’t read it if this isn’t what you like to read.
They all have their eyes on her — her curves, her skin, her perfect ass. I knew when she asked me to come along to her figure drawing class that she’d be posed in front of a bunch of artists, but I didn’t know how much it would make my cock hard to watch them watching her, and to feel this possession over her.
How dare they even gaze upon her, my brain seethes. How dare they think they can look upon what’s mine.
When we get home, I follow her into her room and lock the door behind us. She looks at me, wide eyed, doe in headlights, still, with her mouth open in a little o.
“Did you get what you wanted?” I growl, as I take her neck in my big hand, coming close enough to smell her perfume.
“What do you mean, Daddy?” she purrs, looking up at me through her lashes.
I take her hand and move it to my cock. She inhales. “Did you like getting Daddy all hard? Did you like all those strangers staring at your pretty naked body? Staring at what’s mine?”
She lets out a little gasp, pulling her hand, but I hold it tight with mine and make her stroke it.
The artist, a woman, in front of me is clearly very skilled, her charcoal movements fluid and fast and free, set up on her own large clipboard against a second chair. It is silent in here but for the sound of graphite, pen, marker, brush against paper, and occasionally the turning of the page when the timer goes off and the pose is changed.
The man next to me is more precise, a yellow number two pencil in a large plain white sketchbook, sharp and held loosely but crafting detailed lines as his eyes trace over her shoulders, her back, her thighs. When I sneak a glance and see he is detailing the curls over her private parts, I seethe.
He’s doing nothing wrong, I tell myself. This is what is expected. He — all of them — are supposed to look at her, and draw.
And I fight every urge to cover her up in a blanket and escort her swiftly back to my car.
I pull her over my lap, sitting on her bed, and pull up her skirt. Quick, sharp slaps to her ass.
“Daddy!” she shrieks.
“Tell Daddy you’re sorry,” I sneer, still landing blow after blow, her skin already warming under her panties.
“Daddy,” she says again, whining, protesting. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“You never told me this was figure drawing for adults. You never told me there would be grown men there, staring at and lusting after your naked body.”
She whimpers, gasps when I hit her again, my other hand gathering both of her wrists in mine and holding them behind her back. She pulls against me, but she knows to keep still — it’s worse for her when she doesn’t.
“I thought you knew! I thought Mommy told you.”
“Your mother may think you are old enough to whore you off to grown men, but I know better. I know what men think, how when they see a little morsel like you, they think they can just take you. Your mother might like to exploit your beauty for men, but you are still my little princes. That’s who you’ll always be.”
“I … I didn’t mean to, Daddy.”
She shifts in her chair, and she’s leaning over the back of it with one leg outstretched, the other bent under her, her heel next to her pussy, which is exposed and facing right at me. I could go up behind her, grab her by the hair, shove my fingers or my cock right in.
No doubt all of them around me are thinking the same thing.
It makes my anger burn hot in my chest. It makes my dick throb and pulse and strain behind the zipper of my jeans.
The woman in front of me draws the way her curls tublr over her shoulders and down her back. The man next to me draws her pussy with entirely too much detail. I shouldn’t have come. What was she thiking? What was her mother thinking when she signed up our daughter, my little girl, mine, to do this? I bet she pocketed the compensation. I bet she did it to work up that community art teacher that she’s always flirting with. Look, aren’t I the spitting image of my daughter? She would say. Don’t you want to find out exactly how similar we are?
I spank her until she cries, then throw her on to the bed and get up. Stubborn and defiant as she is, always teasing me, making me want her, reminding me how she can make her own choices now and how much she loves it when older men want her, watch her, look at her. I unbuckle my belt and pull it from the loops.
“No, Daddy, please no,” she whines, her voice going soft. She sniffles and wipes her cheeks.
“Yes.” I say, hard and demanding, and fist her hair to turn her to her stomach on the bed.
I move my hand from her hair to clamp it over her mouth. “Stay quiet and take it. You know you deserve it for being such an exhibitionist little bitch. I know you liked all those men looking at you.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. Her eyes are wide and wet.
I swing the belt.
She shrieks under my hand, her noise muffled, trying to hold back the sounds. The belt comes down again. I pull her panties below her ass and appreciate the marks, the stripes, already starting to rise. My marks.
I pin her legs with mine when she starts squirming.
“Tell me you like it,” I growl into her ear, my lips brushing over her skin. I remove my hand and wait.
“I … like it?” she says, tentative.
“You like when men look at you,” I say. “Say it.”
She whimpers, looking at me with her eyes pleading, but she knows how to play this game. I know she does.
I swat her ass with the belt again, and she cries out. “I like it! I like … when men look at me,” she finishes in a small voice.
“You like when they want you.”
“I like when they want me.” Her voice is still small, a little hint of crying in every word. I swat her ass with my hand, then let my hand linger, soft strokes over the red welts. I can feel them, hot and raised.
“Does it make you feel good, to be a pretty little object for them?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
My fingers brush over the lips of her pussy; she’s swollen and slick. “They all wanted you, wanted to fuck you. You like that power you have over them, don’t you.”
“Yes, yes Daddy,” she whispers.
“Men are dangerous, little girl. I know you’re all grown up, I really do, but you’re still just a sweet little piece of meat to them. A hole to fuck —” I shove two fingers in — “and play with.”
“Yes,” she breathes. “I know, Daddy.”
“Daddy wants to keep you safe,” I say, moving my fingers deep in her as she arches back and takes me deeper. “You belong to Daddy. You’re mine, not theirs.”
“I’m yours, Daddy, I’m only yours,” she moans.
“You got my cock so hard today. Is that why you wanted me to come? To see you all naked and exposed, with everyone watching you?”
“Oh, Daddy —” she winces when my arm brushes against her ass, but her pussy is open and begging for more. “Maybe,” she admits. “You don’t play with me enough. I need your big cock, Daddy. I miss you coming into my room at night.”
“Oh, you need Daddy’s cock more, do you?” I pull back, unzip my fly, take my cock out. “You know you can always tell me what you need.”
“I’m embarrassed, Daddy,” she’s curled up, her arms under her body, spreading her legs and raising her hips. I stroke myself, smearing some of the pre-cum along the head. “I’m too needy.” She almost cries again, hiding her face in the bed.
“You’re perfect, pretty girl.” I line up the tip at her opening and push. She stretches around me, and gasps. “God, I love this perfect pussy.”
She oans. I feel her fingers on her clit, against her opening, tentatively touching the shaft of my cock as it goes in and out.
I fist her hair and pull her head up. “Look,” I say. She can see the reflection of me on top of her, holding her by the hair, in the mirror of her closet door. She can see her face, wet with tears, eyes red and full of lust.
“Watch Daddy fuck you. Watch your pretty face while I pump all my cum into you.”
Her face flushes with want, her mouth open again. She reaches one hand above her to brace on the edge of the bed as I fuck in and out, stretch her open, fill her deep.
The last pose is supine, on the floor, one leg up and bent, arms under the pillow. This is how she sleeps, how she used to sleep all those years when I would come into her room at night. I trained her to never wear panties to bed. I trained her to grip my cock tight when I tarted speeding up and getting close, to milk all the cum out of my balls.
They may get to look at her like this, but they’ll never get to have her like I do. Never get to stand in the doorway of her room with only the hall light to watch her. Never get to run their tongues up her inner thighs and into her curly strawberry hair at her cunt. Never get to taste her, sharp and sweet. Never get to hear her whimper and cry out, and never know what her guttural moans sound like when she comes.
I watch a man near me adjust his crotch as he draws the curve of her hips. He’ll never get to touch her. Not like I do. And I will be sure to keep it that way.
She watches me as I thrust, as I take what’s mine. As I relentlessly use her body as an object for my pleasure. She becomes abstract when I get like this, a tool, a sex toy made just for me. But at least she’s still 3D, not flattened into a 2D drawing, a captured moment in time.
She works against me, saying, “Thank you, thank you,” saying “Fuck me harder, Daddy, harder Daddy,” and she watches. She sees me over her, pounding, my attention gathering and singularly focused in my cock, my balls tensing and pulling tight to my body, almost ready to shoot.
I meet her eyes in the mirror and hold them. “Good girl,” I say. Her jaw is slack and her lips are pink; she touches her tongue to them, and that’s what does it, that pretty pink tongue that has been on every inch of my cock and most of my body. My balls clench and my cock twitches as I empty everything I have into her. She feels it, moaning, pushing back against me, her tight hole fluttering around my shaft, kissing into her womb.
She doesn’t look away.
No matter who looks at her, I know I’m one of the lucky few that really sees her, that she shows herself to. And she sees me, too; she knows who I really a, the monstrous things I’m capable of, and she still wants me. I know what she needs; she knows what I need. We need each other, behind closed doors, and all the ways we repent and absolve and forgive each other our sins, and then do it all again.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she says, as I slide out slow and rest on top of her. “Can I come now? Please?”
I kiss her cheek, smooth her hair. “Of course, Princess. Anything you want. Anything.” I feel her mouth move into a grin, and hear her small giggle, and I’m satisfied.
Featured image drawing of figures by TJ / @aluminumbrat on Instagram, reprinted & used here with permission. Thank you!
