Fucked into Girlhood

He held himself still inside me for a long heartbeat, letting me feel every thick inch stretching me open, claiming me completely. Our eyes stayed locked — his dark and possessive, mine wide and glassy with need.

“You feel that, baby girl?” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “That’s Daddy all the way inside his pretty little hole. No more pain… just perfect, tight heat gripping me like you were made for this.”

I whimpered, nodding frantically. “Yes, Daddy… so full… please move…”

He gave the slowest, deepest roll of his hips — pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with deliberate force. The condom made everything slick, smooth, filthy-smooth. Every thrust dragged against that sensitive spot inside me until my toes curled and my back arched off the mattress.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he groaned, watching my face. “Moaning like a proper slut already. Tell Daddy how good it feels.”

“So good… ahh… deeper, please… I love your cock, Daddy…”

He rewarded me with a harder thrust that punched the air out of my lungs.  

Then he started fucking me properly — steady, powerful strokes that made the headboard tap softly against the wall. The black lace bra shifted with every movement, my tiny padded breasts jiggling just enough to feel deliciously feminine. My clitty bounced untouched between us, leaking steadily onto my stomach.

After several minutes he pulled out, leaving me empty and whining.

“Turn over, princess. On your hands and knees. Show Daddy that trained little ass.”

I scrambled to obey, presenting myself with my back arched, thighs spread, panties still tangled around one ankle. He ran both palms over my cheeks, spreading me wide.

“Look at this pretty pink hole… all puffy and winking for me. You were born to be fucked, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy… please… use me…”

He lined up again and sank in with one long, smooth glide. This time from behind he went deeper, hips slapping against my ass with wet, obscene sounds. One hand gripped my hip, the other reached around to pinch and roll my sensitive nipples through the lace.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Stroke that cute little clitty while I breed this hole. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

My hand flew between my legs. I stroked myself in time with his thrusts — fast, desperate circles. The dual sensation was overwhelming: his thick shaft pounding my prostate, my fingers slick with my own precum.

“Daddy… I’m close… I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby girl. Come while Daddy’s balls-deep in your sissy pussy. Show me what a good girl you are.”

The words tipped me over.  

My whole body seized. I cried out — high, broken, unmistakably feminine — as thick ropes of cum shot across the sheets. My hole clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock.

He growled, fucking me through it, drawing out every shudder until I was trembling and oversensitive.

“Good girl… such a perfect come… now it’s Daddy’s turn.”

He flipped me onto my back again — missionary once more, but this time my legs were wrapped high around his waist. He drove in hard, chasing his own release, eyes never leaving mine.

“Gonna fill this condom for you, baby… gonna pump it so full you’ll feel it when I pull out…”

“Yes—please—fill me, Daddy—”

Three more brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning long and low as he came. I could feel the heat of it pulsing inside the latex, the way his cock throbbed with each spurt. He stayed deep, grinding slowly, making sure I felt every aftershock.

We caught our breath like that — sweaty, tangled, hearts hammering in sync.

But he wasn’t finished.

After a few minutes of lazy kissing, he hardened again inside me.  

“Round two,” he whispered against my lips. “This time I want you riding me.”

He rolled us so I was straddling him.  

I sank down slowly, gasping at the new angle — he hit even deeper like this. His hands guided my hips, teaching me the rhythm.

“Ride Daddy like the eager little slut you are. Bounce on it. Make those pretty tits jiggle for me.”

I obeyed, rising and falling, grinding my hips in circles when he bottomed out. His thumbs brushed my nipples, tugging the lace, sending sparks straight to my clitty.

“You’re so fucking wet inside,” he groaned. “Leaking all over my balls. You love being Daddy’s girl, don’t you?”

“Love it… love being your girl… ahh—Daddy—”

He thrust up to meet me, hard and fast, until I came again — smaller this time, but still intense, dribbling onto his stomach. He followed right after, filling another condom while I collapsed forward onto his chest.

We barely rested.

Round three was slower, filthier.  

Spooning on our sides, him curled behind me, one arm wrapped around my chest, the other holding my thigh up. He slid in from behind, lazy deep strokes that felt endless.

“Last one, baby… gonna make it last. Feel every inch owning you.”

His free hand found my softening clitty, stroking it gently back to hardness while he rocked into me.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered in my ear. “My beautiful, cock-hungry girl. Come one more time for Daddy… milk me dry.”

The combination — his cock dragging over my prostate, his hand on my clitty, his hot breath on my neck — sent me over the edge again. This orgasm was quiet, rolling, almost painful in its sweetness. I clenched hard around him as I spilled weakly into his palm.

He groaned my name — “Farzin…” — and emptied into the third condom, hips stuttering, holding me tight like he never wanted to let go.

When it was finally over, he pulled out carefully, tied off the condoms, cleaned us both with warm wipes from the bedside. Then he gathered me into his arms — my head on his chest, one leg thrown over his hip, lace still clinging to my damp skin.

I felt small. Safe.  

Completely, blissfully girl.

He kissed my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.

“You were incredible,” he murmured. “My perfect little princess.”

I nuzzled closer, smiling sleepily against his heartbeat.

“This… this is perfect,” I whispered. “I’m the girl I always wanted to be.”

He squeezed me tighter.

“And you’re mine now, baby girl. Sleep. Daddy’s got you.”

I drifted off like that — wrapped in his arms, sore and satisfied and so utterly claimed — knowing tomorrow I’d wake up still wearing the faint trace of pink lipstick, still smelling like him, still exactly who I was always meant to be.