by Adrian Amos
Sliding his fingers in and out, I begin to salivate. He gathers my saliva for his use, coaxing it from my mouth so he can moisten my other nipple. Between his fingertips he pulls the nub from hiding, bringing it to attention just like her sister. Daddy alternates nipples, sucking one and flicking it with the tongue, while twisting and pulling on the other one.
Slowly, the accumulated lightning weakens my arms, causing my elbows to bend until I'm steadying myself on them, and then causing them to weaken as well, forcing me all the way to the ground. Flat on my back, daddy's twisting fingers smoothly slip down my stomach until they come just above my lace panty line.
He rubs from side to side, tempting my body but never pushing it further south. I squirm with each moment, expecting him multiple times to break that southern border and invade my cunt, but he never does, unwilling to cross that threshold.
Impatiently, I beg him, “Daddy, please touch me down there.”
His hand travels south but flies straight past my soaking panties. He instead caresses my inner thighs, gripping and clawing at them, torturing me even further as he gets as close as the crease of my thighs before turning back.
I reach down and try to guide him to my pussy, but daddy merely shakes his head. “No, no,” he chides, “this is an oral competition. Maybe you need your hand to make daddy come, but daddy's not touching this pussy with anything but his mouth. He's going to make you explode just with his mouth.”
I blush, embarrassed that I hadn't thought of that. If he uses just his mouth, and I really do come hard, does that mean I lose?
My thoughts are truncated as daddy slides between my legs. He grabs the band of my panties, and I lift my hips off the floor, authorizing daddy to remove them. The air hits me and I feel the coolness immediately, my cunt so wet that my body temperature drops the moment my underwear leaves me.
Daddy lies down in front of me. He places his head a few inches from me, warm air brushing against me as he breathes on my pussy. He holds it there, blowing on me with a delicate stream of forced air, making everything throb down below.
And as daddy leans in, a feeling wells in my gut as I anticipate his touch on my lips.
But daddy's lips fall to the inside of my thigh. My body jumps from his touch anyway, blasting erotic signals up through me. Daddy continues to test my misery, slowly kissing his way along the soft flesh of my inner thighs, reaching the crease of my leg before switching sides and repeating, coming close but never quite touching my pinkness.
He makes his way around my mound, kissing me all around it, loud, emphatic puckering sounds with each tender placement of his lips. When he makes the semicircle trip, his lips move inward, kissing my labia. Moving his head side to side, his lips and nose open me slightly as he places kisses on my sensitive area.
At each diabolical refusal to touch me, I kept thinking he was going to kill my libido tormenting me like that! Every time he came close, I'd get charged up, only for it to subside. But I'd always go right back up when he approached, no more weaker than before. In fact, the power of my urges was getting even stronger.
The second his lips decisively make their way in, the moan from me is deep and foreboding.
Oh my god!
“That feels so good! Oh fuck, daddy.”
I'm going to come so hard, I know it. The sensation is so sharp and strong that I can barely stay still on the ground. I'm writhing with each touch, my body begging me to fucking explode all over daddy's face.
Even if I wanted to be a sore sport and stop my orgasm, I don't think my body would ever forgive me. I actually don't think it would even allow it to happen.
Daddy's mouth touches my clit and my back arches, the fire in me burning hotter than ever. My body wants nothing more than to release every last drop of pent up energy inside me!
There's no way I could stop it if I wanted to.
I'm a slave to my inevitable orgasm!
Shallow kisses and deep kisses, daddy makes love to my clit, the vibration of his puckering like a sex toy pushing on my button. When I feel like it might be too much, daddy relents, his mouth moving around, giving me kisses along my thighs and mound again, letting the pressure die down.
When it feels like it's about to completely dissipate, daddy's mouth makes its way back to my clit, kissing and vibrating my little nub. He does it all over again, building my pleasure all the way back up, until my moans become so powerful and loud that he pulls away, letting my torture continue.
He comes back when my vocalizations die down, but instead of resorting to kissing me, he goes in for the kill. He places his lips directly on my clit and begins to suck on it, drawing it in and milking the pleasure straight from it.
My hips buck as the pleasure in me flares, my pussy burning from daddy's touch. He uses my pussy like he used my nipples, clamping his lips around me as he flicks his tongue over the throbbing bump.
“No, daddy, no!” I scream, scared at the immense buildup of pressure in my stomach. The inner competitor comes out just as I realize my body's about to break, crossing that threshold for eruption.
But daddy just pushes harder, sucking wildly and battering me with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh fffffuuuucccckkk!” I cry out.
My back arches so hard off the ground I feel like I'm about to pull a muscle, bracing in the air as my body winds up to release the floodgates. When all is ready, my body dumps all the energy into my flaming cunt.
Daddy merely sits back and watches.
I seize violently, my back undulating as my ass bounces off the ground. I twist and scream, my muscles convulsing. I reach down and place my hand on my burning lips, trying to stop whatever may come.
But it's too little too late.
My pussy vibrates in my grip as the pulses of my orgasm seem to run on forever. Maybe a dozen, I have no idea. So many that I lose count. Each burst so strong it picks me up off the ground. I gasp as I struggle against the onslaught, only catching my breath once everything runs its course.
My body melts, my legs and back sinking deep into the ground. My muscles are so spent that I can't imagine standing up on them, so sore and tender.
It takes me a minute before I feel like I'm breathing normally, and then another minute before I can open my eyes again.
Daddy's watching me, studying my body as my breasts heave from my deep breaths.
“So,” he says, “I think it's fair enough to say I won this one.”
My voice is weak. “You can't just say that. I gave you the best orgasm ever. You said it yourself.”
He chuckles, “And what did you just have?”
My face heats up. I shrug, “It was okay.”
He laughs, “Okay. Maybe you're just not able to admit it yet.” He bends over and pokes me in the stomach, eliciting the weakest bodily jerk ever. “But at least I didn't collapse when I blew my load.”
I scoff. “Fine. It was the greatest thing I've ever felt in my life!”
“There we go.”
With the only energy I have left, I pick myself up to at least be sitting when I invoke my next challenge.
“Let's make it two out of three.”
“I don't mind that, not one bit. We'll go as many times as you need, little lady.” I can see a drop of precum glisten on daddy's cock as it twitches. “But right now, it's one to zero. Daddy's up.”
In more than one way he's up, but I'll make sure to soften that lead really quick.
- - -
Daddy Bends Me Over
“Are you ready, babygirl?”
I nod, almost imperceptibly.
The look on my stepdad's face borders on anger. “I'm serious. Out there”—he points to the the door leading out of the preparation space to the gymnasium—“that's real competition. It's going to be way tougher than what we went through before. I need to know right now if you're good to go.”
“I am! I swear, daddy.”
I'm not—not at all. But I can't tell him that. It's not that I'm afraid of
him—he does get angry, but he's never hurt me—it's just that I don't want to ruin this for him. If I let my own anxiety out, it might make him anxious, which will definitely ruin our whole routine.
And we've worked so hard to get here.
For the past eight months, we've been training on weekends and the occasional weeknight for the daddy-daughter dancing competition. It was a small dance tournament started a few years ago that's erupted onto the national stage recently, bringing all sorts of fame and fortune to the daddies and daughters that competed.
I mean, seriously, we're at the regionals for chrissake! The next step is the final national competition where you get crowned as the country's top dance pair for the year. It's like a dream come true for us—for me, especially.
This whole thing was my idea: I've been addicted to dancing every since I was a little girl. It wasn't until my stepdad came into my life a few years ago that I finally decided to pursue my dreams. He pushed me, and I responded, trying my damnedest to become a great dancer.
I'm lucky to have him, and I'm lucky the competition allows for nonbiological stepfathers to fill the role of the deadbeats that should be there. Eck, I don't want to even mention that turd anyway.
Lucky, like I said. Whenever I felt like quitting, daddy's been right there to push me, to be critical when I've needed it. If I'm doing something wrong, he's been there to snap at me, show me a bit of tough love. At first it was hard to deal with, but it didn't take long to really appreciate what he was doing for me. He was fighting for me, fighting for my dreams. He wanted me to succeed even when I wasn't sure I could. He took time out of his few days off every week to train with me and make us the best.
It's worked, too. We're at regionals, right? We went through the county and the state competition, taking first in both to get us to this point.
We're good at it, but every time we've advanced, my anxiety attacks me harder. I've yet to slip up, habit taking hold and getting me through each routine.
But now...
The regionals...
I don't know if I can handle it this time. I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack. Each step is closer to the televised national competition.
Daddy snaps his fingers in front of my face, bringing me back to this world. “Focus,” he demands, “you know the steps to each routine.”
I nod, not saying anything, not wanting my dry throat to croak and signal my nervousness.
“All right, get ready.”
I grab my outfit, a somewhat Flashdance inspired number—the movie I was addicted to when I was a kid. It's all red, with a small top that barely covers my tits and a slit halfway down, splitting open and showing more of my stomach; a pair of panties, exposing the curve of my ass; and one red stocking up to my right knee. I tore a number of holes in the stocking, giving it a beaten-up look. I thought it would convey all the energy and work daddy and I have put into our training.
Daddy really likes it for other reasons.
He thinks it's sexy as hell!
He told me that after I showed it to him—a surprise I had been building up to him for weeks. He eyed me up and down, which made me blush super hard. I had no idea if daddy would like it or not, but I didn't expect that response at all.
I think after he saw my embarrassment, he tried to cover it up by saying that sex sells: if I look good, then it'll win brownie points for the judges.
But it definitely felt like something a little deeper than that.
But, whatever. I gotta let those feelings go. I have to settle down and prepare for our dance.
“All right,” daddy says after we get dressed, “let's do some stretches and limber up.”
Each team has their own prep room to get ready before they hit the stage, so I don't feel embarrassed bending over in my outfit, since there's no one there to see me.
Except for daddy, that is, but he's doing his breathing exercises. It's weird to be worried about people seeing me, since I'm about to go out in front of a gymnasium full of people. But, I don't know, they're so far away, it's like they don't count.
After I stretch my arms, I work on my back and lower legs. Bending over at the waist, I suck in air and push my limits, touching my toes and exhaling slowly. I can feel the tug on my hamstrings, but more so, I can feel the touch of daddy's hand on my back. I jerk involuntarily, frightened at the sudden contact.
“Remember your breathing, babygirl. You seem incredibly tense.”
I turn my head away from him, not wanting to acknowledge how nervous I am. The warmth of daddy's hand on my lower back feels insanely comforting, but I know my face is etched in worry.
I just don't want him to know.
But I'm pretty sure he does.
“All right,” he says, waving me up, “we have an hour to practice.”
I stand up straight. “I thought you said we'd take this time to simply relax. You said you didn't want us to get in our own heads.”
“I did, but I changed my mind. You seem like your letting tension get the better of you.”
I shake my head, meekly responding, “No.”
“Well, then come on. One time through should be enough to make sure.” Daddy offers me his hand, but he isn't asking. His words are barely masking distrust and agitation. I'm not sure what he'll get out of testing me, but I sure as hell don't want to let him down.
So we break into our Latin dance. It uses a lot of twirling and close contact, daddy pulling me in close to his body and rotating himself against me, his hand across my lower back and his other holding my hand high above us.
This is my favorite dance together. Each time we do it, I feel incredibly close to daddy. There's a reason why people say dancing is a metaphor for sex. All the close grinding, the bare skin of our bodies touching, the hands barely containing themselves above the boundaries of decency. Daddy's hand usually slides down and touches my ass crack plenty of times. He ends up chastising himself for it, since it's not proper hand placement and a slip up of form, but I know that every time it happens, my body immediately tingles. I swear his does too, or at least stiffens in all the right places.
Now, though, daddy's form is perfect. Our training is kicking in and the routine goes fluidly.
Except for the very end. I should have known I couldn't maintain my composure long enough, even if only in a practice session.
When daddy bends me over, dipping me in his arm as the final maneuver of our routine, I go far too stiff. I'm supposed to bend easily, my back going limp in daddy's arm, my stocking-adorned leg in the air. It's supposed to look like I collapse, having completely spent myself in my display of vigor, daddy supporting me in my last moment of exhaustion.
But that doesn't happen.
Instead, my anxiety turns into stiffness, and when I fall into the dip, my back doesn't bend anywhere near enough. I end up kicking my leg up out of habit, but since I'm not bent over correctly, the flying leg sends me teetering and I roll right off daddy's arm, hitting the ground with a loud thud.
“Are you okay?” daddy asks, stooping down to help me up.
But I jump to my feet, wanting to show that I'm not bothered by it at all. “I'm fine, I'm fine.”
Daddy's helping hand folds across his chest over his other one. “So, what was that about?”
My face burns up. I can't believe I was so foolish to believe I could hide my angst. You can't hide that from someone who spends so much of their time mere inches away from you. They know you, whether you want it or not.
“I...” I don't know how to choke the answer out of me. Admitting it is going to hurt me as much as him.
“We don't have time. Out with it.”
The courage never rises in me; instead, a mix of fear and resignation pull the words from me. “I'm too nervous. I don't know if I can go through with it.”
Daddy shakes his head, staring at the ground. I don't know what to expect. He's strict, but he's comforting. Hardships like this tend to bring out the soft side of him.
T
his one does not. “What was the one thing I told you when we started dancing?”
I look down at the floor, my feet turning in and out as I think about it. I honestly can't remember. I'll know it when I hear it, but I can't for the life of me recall what it was.
When my silence goes on too long, daddy intervenes. “Never lie to me. About your work ethic, about your schedule, about your nerves. Anything. That was my one rule to ensure we achieved our best. I asked you repeatedly if something was wrong, and instead of telling me the truth, you wasted our time by lying to me.”
I'm such an idiot. I can't even look daddy in the eye, because I know I failed him. “I'm sorry, daddy. I was scared. I didn't want to mess us up.”
“Those are excuses.”
“I know, I'm sorry.”
“I could have started a while ago getting you over your anxiety.”
I look up at him. “Really?”
“Yes, but now we're running out of time, and daddy has to take matters into his own hands to make sure all the tension is erased from your rigid body.”
“How?”
“I need you limber and relaxed.” He sits down on the bench. “Come here.”
I shuffle my feet over. When I get close, daddy grabs me by the hand. I think he's going to guide me down to the seat next to him, but instead he pulls me over his lap.
“What are you doing?!” I cry out, kicking my feet as they come off the ground.
“You lied to me. Now you have to face the consequences.”
“Daddy, we don't—“
He pins my upper back across his legs.
My pitch elevates as I see his hand lift up. “—have time for this!”
My toes curl as his big hand lands across my tiny rump. Oh my god! He just spanked me! I'm a grown woman, and I've never been spanked in my life.
“No, daddy, stop! This isn't fair!”
Not only does daddy ignore me, but his hand slips under my waist band and pulls my shorts down, exposing my bare ass.
