The Good Daddy (John/girl!Dean)
Sep. 21st, 2009 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tehdirtiestsockoriginally posted here for a prompt "John/girl!Dean, daddy kink, dirty talk, Dean sitting on her daddy's lap and riding him. underage is awesome, am fine with either consensual or dub-con."
At fifteen, Dee is the spitting image of her mother. John remembers Mary in high school. Silky blond hair, lithe frame and sweet little face. John had been forced to watch her grow into her body from a distance, four years older than she. He never got to have Mary as a sweet little girl...he shipped out to Nam before she was old enough to touch. Mary at fifteen was a good girl, pure as the driven snow. Still innocent at twenty, when he was the very first to have her. He took Mary's virginity when they were long past being children, but John watched Dee give hers away to some snot-nosed kid when she was barely beyond playing with Barbie-dolls.
In some ways, Dee is not at all her mother’s child. With Mary, John had done well by her in keeping his hands to himself. But Dee required a whole different approach.
His little girl had always been eager to grow up. And for all her obedience, she was more bullheaded than her daddy when there was something she set her heart on.
"You need me, honey?" John asks when Dee pads naked into the living room. Smiles and puts his book aside when she nods, suddenly shy. He’s elbow-deep in research on a poltergeist, but he’s never too busy for his baby girl when she needs him. She has an appetite, his Deanna, and there’s a reason she’s no longer allowed to leave during the day to attend school.
John tries to be fair in the expectations he sets for his children. It became clear a long time ago that being surrounded by horny young boys was too much temptation for Dee to handle.
“C’mere, then. Climb up on my lap.” She flushes pink from the tips of her ears to the top of her breasts, skin so delicate and sensitive. She burns in the sun like no one he’s ever known. He’s learned to be careful about that. She’s creamy now, undamaged by time outdoors.
And soft, soft, soft. He runs his hands over her long, bare limbs as she settles herself on his lap. As she straddles his thighs, she shivers…the denim must feel coarse against her cunt. Sensitive, already wet, juice smearing his jeans as she rubs herself helplessly against them, face burning. She’s in a bad way today, he can tell.
“You wait too long to seek me out?”
Green eyes sink closed as she makes a desperate little sound in her throat. “You were busy.”
“You know better than to use that as an excuse,” he reminds her in a firm tone.
“Sorry, Daddy.” He inhales sharply, soaking in that subdued, sweet voice. Always so shy before she’s warmed up for him.
John palms her perfect little breast in reward, the nipple, already erect, rolling against his thumb. Dee’s hips shift in his lap restlessly, and John slumps a little further on the couch til she notches against the stiff material of his fly and the stiffer cock beneath. She purrs a little in relief, hips rocking against him in time with the twist of her nipple.
“Eyes open, baby girl.”
No hiding. No hiding from who he is, from who she’s with. Green eyes, nothing like Mary, big pools of need and desperation and eagerness to please. “Tell me what you want.”
“Cock,” Dee answers, characteristically bald now that she’s too far gone for embarrassment. The flush on her cheeks now is all heat for him, no shame.
“Any cock?”
And John suspects that any cock would do, but Dee knows the proper answer. “Yours. Gimme this.” She gropes at his fly, biting her lip and looking up through her lashes. Daddy’s little tease.
John growls, bats her hands away to get his fly own, to get his cock out. He doesn’t even bother to open the rivet, just tears down the zipper and lifts his cock and balls free. Dee likes to play the slut, at times like these. Likes to soak the crotch of his jeans while she rides him, naked while he’s fully dressed.
John doesn’t mind it all that much himself.
She spears herself onto him, hands fisting in the collar of his flannel, off and running, hips rolling like liquid as she takes him in, cock-hungry little slut. He can tell from the angle and the look on her face that she’s got the perfect position for her clit, grinding it against his jeans seam on every pass. He takes hold of her hips and helps her get it right, get it better, and her head falls back with a moan.
“Daddy…oh….”
John chuckles and kisses her throat, knowing he’s got her good. She’s always bashful with the D-word til she’s got an orgasm in her sights. She whines a little in her throat and arches her back, and John wonders how conscious she is of shoving his face in her tits. How deliberate she’s being.
He latches onto one with his mouth, beard rough against peach-soft skin and her hips jag hard before she falls back into rhythm. Maybe a little faster now. She’s like an oven inside, walls undulating around his cock because she doesn’t pull off, just rocks back and forth.
“You’re my best girl,” he murmurs against her ear, teeth scraping the delicate little lobe. Her hands claw a little at the shoulders of his shirt. Being praised during sex always gets her off. “You’re perfect. Daddy’s perfect little girl.”
Her rhythm picks up a bit of a bounce as she gets more and more worked up. “Daddy,” she cries again for him, and it’s throaty with sex but there’s a trace of the little girl, his baby girl, needy and uncertain of his love. Her fingers twist in his shirt like she’s desperate to keep him close. “Yours.”
And she’d swear up and down in the light of day that it’s a declarative, that she knows her place. But it’s a question. A question she needs answered beyond the shadow of a doubt.
“You’re all mine. Never gonna belong to anybody else. Right?” Her breath hitches in her throat, scared to answer. He smacks her ass, hard. “Right?”
She sobs out a breath. “Right.”
At the end of the day, moments like these are how he knows he's done right by his girl. Dee's heart would have broken a thousand times over if John hadn't kept her close, stopped her from throwing herself at every wet-behind-the-ears boy. Dee needs so much, so desperately, and who can be trusted to give it to her but John? His baby has a far softer heart than she'd ever admit. He saw early on that without him, she was going to develop some pretty twisted ideas about sex and love.
By this point she’s riding him full-tilt, that tight glove stroking him fast from root to tip. Punching out hard, shameless noises as she bounces on his cock. It’s almost time. She’s always frantic this way just before she ovulates, though she doesn’t see the pattern for what it is. Her body, primed to take a baby. The thought drags him real close to the edge, but it’s always better—for his dick, for their chances—if she comes before him.
“Move it or lose it, baby,” he warns her, and her rhythm falters as her clever little fingers seek out her clit. She never quite gets the momentum back, never mastered the art of coordinating both. But the lack of skill buys John the time to hold out til her breath gets ragged and her cunt starts to milk his dick.
He grinds himself in deep and lets himself go.
Afterwards, she buries her nose in his throat and shows no inclination to ever let him go. Which is sweet, in theory, but he can tell that she’s losing feeling below the knee.
He taps one leg. “Pull this one up to your chest,” he instructs, and they’ve done this enough that she knows how he wants her to twist. At her age, everybody’s acrobatic as shit, and before long she’s nestled against him, back-to-chest. He shifts her on his lap, keeping his softening dick buried inside for a little while longer, yet.
He sighs, contented, and lets her drift to sleep in his arms, head tucked under his chin like she’s a little girl, still.
John cups a hand over her flat, smooth belly and wonders what he’s aiming at. There are reasons, good reasons, why they’ll have to terminate any pregnancy that ever comes to pass. Genetics, for one. Hunting, for two. Yet, he takes no precautions, and some dark part of his mind is eager to tempt fate this way. Gets off on this Russian roulette.
She must have figured it out at this point. Never got past the Eighth Grade, but she’s a smart girl. Not a bookworm, but long on common sense. She knows how babies are made. Never had The Talk as a father and daughter should but she watches movies, tv. She knows about birth control, but she’s never asked for any.
She loves Sammy. Is as good with him as she’d be with her own. Maybe she wants another.
Maybe, if she wants one, he wants to give it to her. Isn’t all this just to make sure she’s happy?
continued here
At fifteen, Dee is the spitting image of her mother. John remembers Mary in high school. Silky blond hair, lithe frame and sweet little face. John had been forced to watch her grow into her body from a distance, four years older than she. He never got to have Mary as a sweet little girl...he shipped out to Nam before she was old enough to touch. Mary at fifteen was a good girl, pure as the driven snow. Still innocent at twenty, when he was the very first to have her. He took Mary's virginity when they were long past being children, but John watched Dee give hers away to some snot-nosed kid when she was barely beyond playing with Barbie-dolls.
In some ways, Dee is not at all her mother’s child. With Mary, John had done well by her in keeping his hands to himself. But Dee required a whole different approach.
His little girl had always been eager to grow up. And for all her obedience, she was more bullheaded than her daddy when there was something she set her heart on.
"You need me, honey?" John asks when Dee pads naked into the living room. Smiles and puts his book aside when she nods, suddenly shy. He’s elbow-deep in research on a poltergeist, but he’s never too busy for his baby girl when she needs him. She has an appetite, his Deanna, and there’s a reason she’s no longer allowed to leave during the day to attend school.
John tries to be fair in the expectations he sets for his children. It became clear a long time ago that being surrounded by horny young boys was too much temptation for Dee to handle.
“C’mere, then. Climb up on my lap.” She flushes pink from the tips of her ears to the top of her breasts, skin so delicate and sensitive. She burns in the sun like no one he’s ever known. He’s learned to be careful about that. She’s creamy now, undamaged by time outdoors.
And soft, soft, soft. He runs his hands over her long, bare limbs as she settles herself on his lap. As she straddles his thighs, she shivers…the denim must feel coarse against her cunt. Sensitive, already wet, juice smearing his jeans as she rubs herself helplessly against them, face burning. She’s in a bad way today, he can tell.
“You wait too long to seek me out?”
Green eyes sink closed as she makes a desperate little sound in her throat. “You were busy.”
“You know better than to use that as an excuse,” he reminds her in a firm tone.
“Sorry, Daddy.” He inhales sharply, soaking in that subdued, sweet voice. Always so shy before she’s warmed up for him.
John palms her perfect little breast in reward, the nipple, already erect, rolling against his thumb. Dee’s hips shift in his lap restlessly, and John slumps a little further on the couch til she notches against the stiff material of his fly and the stiffer cock beneath. She purrs a little in relief, hips rocking against him in time with the twist of her nipple.
“Eyes open, baby girl.”
No hiding. No hiding from who he is, from who she’s with. Green eyes, nothing like Mary, big pools of need and desperation and eagerness to please. “Tell me what you want.”
“Cock,” Dee answers, characteristically bald now that she’s too far gone for embarrassment. The flush on her cheeks now is all heat for him, no shame.
“Any cock?”
And John suspects that any cock would do, but Dee knows the proper answer. “Yours. Gimme this.” She gropes at his fly, biting her lip and looking up through her lashes. Daddy’s little tease.
John growls, bats her hands away to get his fly own, to get his cock out. He doesn’t even bother to open the rivet, just tears down the zipper and lifts his cock and balls free. Dee likes to play the slut, at times like these. Likes to soak the crotch of his jeans while she rides him, naked while he’s fully dressed.
John doesn’t mind it all that much himself.
She spears herself onto him, hands fisting in the collar of his flannel, off and running, hips rolling like liquid as she takes him in, cock-hungry little slut. He can tell from the angle and the look on her face that she’s got the perfect position for her clit, grinding it against his jeans seam on every pass. He takes hold of her hips and helps her get it right, get it better, and her head falls back with a moan.
“Daddy…oh….”
John chuckles and kisses her throat, knowing he’s got her good. She’s always bashful with the D-word til she’s got an orgasm in her sights. She whines a little in her throat and arches her back, and John wonders how conscious she is of shoving his face in her tits. How deliberate she’s being.
He latches onto one with his mouth, beard rough against peach-soft skin and her hips jag hard before she falls back into rhythm. Maybe a little faster now. She’s like an oven inside, walls undulating around his cock because she doesn’t pull off, just rocks back and forth.
“You’re my best girl,” he murmurs against her ear, teeth scraping the delicate little lobe. Her hands claw a little at the shoulders of his shirt. Being praised during sex always gets her off. “You’re perfect. Daddy’s perfect little girl.”
Her rhythm picks up a bit of a bounce as she gets more and more worked up. “Daddy,” she cries again for him, and it’s throaty with sex but there’s a trace of the little girl, his baby girl, needy and uncertain of his love. Her fingers twist in his shirt like she’s desperate to keep him close. “Yours.”
And she’d swear up and down in the light of day that it’s a declarative, that she knows her place. But it’s a question. A question she needs answered beyond the shadow of a doubt.
“You’re all mine. Never gonna belong to anybody else. Right?” Her breath hitches in her throat, scared to answer. He smacks her ass, hard. “Right?”
She sobs out a breath. “Right.”
At the end of the day, moments like these are how he knows he's done right by his girl. Dee's heart would have broken a thousand times over if John hadn't kept her close, stopped her from throwing herself at every wet-behind-the-ears boy. Dee needs so much, so desperately, and who can be trusted to give it to her but John? His baby has a far softer heart than she'd ever admit. He saw early on that without him, she was going to develop some pretty twisted ideas about sex and love.
By this point she’s riding him full-tilt, that tight glove stroking him fast from root to tip. Punching out hard, shameless noises as she bounces on his cock. It’s almost time. She’s always frantic this way just before she ovulates, though she doesn’t see the pattern for what it is. Her body, primed to take a baby. The thought drags him real close to the edge, but it’s always better—for his dick, for their chances—if she comes before him.
“Move it or lose it, baby,” he warns her, and her rhythm falters as her clever little fingers seek out her clit. She never quite gets the momentum back, never mastered the art of coordinating both. But the lack of skill buys John the time to hold out til her breath gets ragged and her cunt starts to milk his dick.
He grinds himself in deep and lets himself go.
Afterwards, she buries her nose in his throat and shows no inclination to ever let him go. Which is sweet, in theory, but he can tell that she’s losing feeling below the knee.
He taps one leg. “Pull this one up to your chest,” he instructs, and they’ve done this enough that she knows how he wants her to twist. At her age, everybody’s acrobatic as shit, and before long she’s nestled against him, back-to-chest. He shifts her on his lap, keeping his softening dick buried inside for a little while longer, yet.
He sighs, contented, and lets her drift to sleep in his arms, head tucked under his chin like she’s a little girl, still.
John cups a hand over her flat, smooth belly and wonders what he’s aiming at. There are reasons, good reasons, why they’ll have to terminate any pregnancy that ever comes to pass. Genetics, for one. Hunting, for two. Yet, he takes no precautions, and some dark part of his mind is eager to tempt fate this way. Gets off on this Russian roulette.
She must have figured it out at this point. Never got past the Eighth Grade, but she’s a smart girl. Not a bookworm, but long on common sense. She knows how babies are made. Never had The Talk as a father and daughter should but she watches movies, tv. She knows about birth control, but she’s never asked for any.
She loves Sammy. Is as good with him as she’d be with her own. Maybe she wants another.
Maybe, if she wants one, he wants to give it to her. Isn’t all this just to make sure she’s happy?
continued here
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 11:24 pm (UTC)