Aching Sweet Reminders
Two days after that unforgettable night, the soreness lingered — not the sharp, tearing pain from the first time, but a deep, delicious ache. Every time I sat down, shifted in my chair, or walked a little too quickly, a sweet twinge shot through me, reminding me exactly how Daddy had claimed me. Three times. Three perfect, condom-slick rounds that left me trembling and spent. The memory alone was enough to make my clitty twitch and leak into my panties. I stayed constantly horny, replaying every thrust, every whispered “good girl,” every time he called me his princess. The ache wasn’t punishment — it was proof. Proof that I’d finally become the girl I’d always dreamed of being. Several weeks earlier, I had taken a bold new step: I created a private Twitter account. No face, no real name — just soft lighting, cropped shots of lace-clad hips, arched backs, glossy lips parted in invitation. Seminudes at first, then bolder nudes: smooth thighs spread wide, my clitty caged or leaking, my ho...