Sarah: Forum Photos

Sarah and her dad takes some photos for one of his favorite forums...

Sarah' looked at reflection in the window and sighed. Her school uniform made her look even younger than she was— she'd turned fourteen at the weekend but still looked like she was a first year.

Mum said she was a 'late bloomer' but the boys at St. Finbar's had a different nickname for her—'the ironing board'. The taunt followed Sarah down the corridor, bouncing off locker doors in a singsong chorus of 'flat as a pancake, flat as an ironing board.' She clutched her geography folder tighter against her chest like armor, knuckles whitening. The worst part wasn’t even the nickname; it was the way their eyes lingered, not with desire, but with the clinical detachment of boys cataloguing flaws.

The front door clicked shut behind her at 3:47 PM—Dad always left it unlocked for her. She dropped her bag with a thud, the sound swallowed by the plush beige carpet. The house smelled of lemon disinfectant and, and the scent of Dad’s midday whiskey.

"Sarah?" His voice rolled down the hallway ever so slightly slurred, but she could hear the smile in it before she even saw him. He stood in the kitchen doorway, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dish towel slung over one shoulder. His gaze flickered over her uniform—the too-long skirt, the blouse that didn't hide her nonexistent curves—and something in his expression shifted. "How was school, princess?"

She shrugged, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt. The words clogged her throat. 'Ironing board, ironing board'* She could still hear it, bouncing around her skull like a screensaver from hell.

Dad’s smile faltered. He stepped closer, dish towel forgotten. "Hey." A knuckle under her chin tilted her face up. "What’s that look for?" His thumb brushed her cheek.

She swallowed. "They—they call me names." Her voice cracked.

Dad’s hand froze. "What names?" His voice full of concern but tight—like he already knew.

Sarah hesitated, then whispered it: "Ironing board."

"Ironing board?" He echoed, and Sarah watched the slow bloom of understanding in his eyes. His thumb stroked her cheek again, slower this time. "Those stupid boys," he murmured, "don’t know what they’re talking about." His other hand settled on her waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of her skirt. "You’re perfect. Sweetheart." The words came out hushed, reverent.

Sarah sniffed. Dad never lied to her—not like Mum, who always said 'you’ll grow into yourself' like it was a promise. But Dad said things like they were already true. "I don’t feel perfect," she mumbled.

"Women spend their whole lives trying to look younger," Dad said, his fingers trailing up to toy with the loose fabric of her school blouse, "and here you are—already perfect." His breath smelled faintly of whiskey when he leaned in. "You know, a lot of men prefer girls like you. Delicate. Petite." His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on her waist. "They’d kill to have someone as pretty as you."

Sarah blinked up at him. The hallway felt suddenly warmer, the air thicker. "Really?"

Dad chuckled, the sound low and private. "Oh, absolutely." He stepped back just enough to pull his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up, casting a pale glow across his stubble. "See for yourself." His thumb swiped—a forum page loaded, filled with thumbnails of girls in school uniforms, pigtails, knee socks. All small. All young-looking.

Sarah’s breath hitched. The images weren’t lewd, not exactly—but the way they were posed, the tightness of their skirts hiked just a fraction too high, made her stomach flip. "Daddy—"

Charles suddenly seemed embarrassed, and tried to pull the phone away, as it dawned on his alcoholic brain what he'd just done—but Sarah’s fingers were already clutching the on to it. Her pulse jumped, this was naughty, taboo, a little thrill rose in her chest. The screen blurred as she scrolled—girls with braces, girls with hair ribbons, girls who could’ve been anything from eleven to their late teen, all frozen in giggles, sucking lollipops, biting their lower lips.

She didn’t realize she was leaning closer until her shoulder brushed his arm. The whiskey scent was stronger now—he must’ve poured himself another drink while waiting for her. His breath hitched when she paused on a particular photo: a girl no older than twelve, kneeling on a bed, her school skirt rucked up just enough to show the pale skin of her thighs.

"Errr, don't tell your mum about this, okay?" Dad said, rubbing the back of his neck. A slightly worried laugh escaped him. His fingers twitched toward the phone—wanting to take it back, wanting Sarah to unsee what he'd just shown her.

The creeping flush on his skin was fascinating—Sarah had never seen him so flustered before. His fingers twitched toward the phone again, but she angled it away from him, scrolling faster now. The comments beneath the photos made her cheeks burn.

*God I want to ruin her.*
*Perfect little body.*

Sarah blinked at the comment beneath a photo of a girl biting her finger—same pose she'd done last week for a silly selfie in her bedroom mirror. The words prickled across her skin, hot and strange. Her thighs pressed together under her school skirt.

Dad cleared his throat. "Sarah?" His voice had gone careful, like he was testing the weight of something fragile. She could feel him watching her—with a focus that made the air between them thicken. His fingers hovered near the phone, not grabbing. Waiting.

"Do you like looking at this stuff, dad?"

The question hung in the air dangerously, Charles’ breath caught in his throat. Sarahs thumb kept scrolling, slow and deliberate, pupils dilated as they flickered across the screen—his screen—his dirty little secret, now pressed between her palms.

"It's okay I won't tell mum," Sarah said, too fast—too eager—and Dad's eyebrows lifted just slightly, his lips parting around a silent 'oh'.

Not waiting for an answer... it was obvious he did. Why else would he know about this site. Sarah’s stomach twisted, but not from disgust—from something that pooled low in her belly. "Who do you think takes the photos?" She asked softly.

Dad exhaled sharply through his nose. His fingers flexed, brushing hers as they hovered near the phone. "I don't know, boyfriends... maybe even their dads." His throat worked around the words.

Sarah’s lips parted slightly—she could hear the unspoken *like me* in his pause. The thought sent a jolt through her, sharp and electric. She zoomed in on a close-up of a girl’s thigh, the hem of her skirt lifted just enough to show the shadow where her legs met. The comment beneath read: *Daddy’s naughty little girl.*

Her breath hitched. A dampness had bloomed between her thighs—not much, just enough that she could feel the fabric of her cotton panties clinging. The realization twisted her stomach. Was she actually getting wet? Standing here? With her dad?

She may have still looked like a child—flat chest and barely-there hips—but she wasn't not inside her head. She knew what arousal felt like, she'd discovered that secret before her first hair had appeared messing around with her mum's massage wand on a Sunday afternoon.

"Hmmm," she murmured, tilting the phone so the glow illuminated her face—deliberate, testing. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Some of these girls are look younger than me." The words came out breathy, half-laughing, like she was sharing a joke only he'd understand. "Is this even legal?"

Dad looked flustered, "they're all dressed... there just a bit of, err, harmless fun" he stammered, his cheeks turning pink. Sarah noticed his pants tenting slightly—he was getting hard. The realization made her stomach flip again. She'd never seen her father aroused before. The bulge strained against his khakis, unmistakable even as he shifted awkwardly.

It sent another naughty thrill through Sarah—seeing her dad like this, all flustered and stiff in his pants. Her fingers tightened around the phone. She could feel her pulse thudding between her legs now, hot and insistent.

"Do youn think—" Sarah's voice cracked. She swallowed, tried again. "Do you think we could take a picture like that?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her cheeks burning hotter than before.

Dad looked both stunned and excited—his pupils blew wide, darkening his gaze as his breath came faster. His fingers twitched against the phone still clutched between them, his knuckles brushing hers. For a moment, he didn’t speak. The silence stretched, she could tell he wanted to but didn't know if he should.

She handed him back the phone, "we could do it now," Sarah added— a bit too fast, too eager. Her pulse was hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

Dad’s nostrils flared. His gaze dropped to her uniform, lingering on her chest. His tongue darted outt out to wet his lips—slow, deliberate. "You... want to?" The question came out rough, like he'd been holding it back for years.

"In your uniform?" Charles’ voice was thick, uneven. His fingers tightened around the phone—not putting it away, not yet. Sarah could see the pulse hammering in his throat. She nodded, slow, deliberate, watching his reaction. The dampness between her thighs worsened, her knickers clinging.

"Where?" Dad's voice cracked—halfway between a question and a choked-off sound. His free hand hovered near her shoulder, not quite touching. The kitchen light caught the sweat beading at his temples.

Sarah inhaled—shaky, deliberate—and stepped back, letting her school bag slide off her shoulder onto the carpet. Her fingers went to the first button of her blouse. "My room," she whispered. The words curled in the air between them.

Her room was a typical teenage girl's sanctuary—pastel bedsheets, stuffed animals piled in the corner, glow-in-the-dark stars peeling off the ceiling. The afternoon light filtered through sheer curtains, casting everything in a soft, golden haze. Sarah stood in the center, her fingers trembling as she worked the second button of her blouse loose. The fabric gaped slightly, revealing the shadow of her collarbones.

"What shall I do?" Sarah asked, voice barely above a whisper, as she sat on the edge of her bed, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her skirt.

Charles swallowed hard, the click of his throat audible in the quiet room, as he lifted his phone, adjusting the angle to capture her properly. "Just—just be natural," he murmured, though nothing about this felt natural. His pulse roared in his ears. "Maybe... try and copy some of the poses from the photos?"

Sarah bit her lip, nodding. She swung one leg over the other, knee socks riding up her calves, and tilted her head coyly—just like the girl with braces from the forum. The hem of her skirt inched higher on her thighs. Charles's breath stuttered. The phone clicked once, twice—a fake mechanical sound that somehow made everything more real.

"Good," he rasped. "Now—" His throat worked. "Lift your skirt a little." The words came out strangled, like he was pulling them from somewhere deep and forbidden.

Sarah slowly, uncertainly gathered the pleated fabric, inching it up her thighs. The air against her bare skin made her shiver. She could feel his gaze like a physical touch, burning where the hem now rested high on her legs—just enough to glimpse the white cotton of her panties. The phone clicked again, seemingly louder this time.

"Bite your lip," Dad instructed, his voice rough. She obeyed, catching her lower lip between her teeth the way the girls on the screen had. His breath hitched audibly. "Christ—perfect."

Sarah's chest rose and fell faster now, her skin prickling under the weight of his stare. She could see the outline of his erection pressing against his pants, straining the fabric. It should of given he the ick, but instead the sight sent a fresh wave of wetness between her legs.

"Should I—should I take my blouse off?" she whispered, her fingers already drifting to the next button.

"Do you want too? Charles' throat feeling dry as he swallowed. The camera shutter sound clicked again—another photo taken before she even answered. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, gaze locked on the tiny triangle of bare skin revealed by her half-unbuttoned blouse.

Sarah hesitated for only a second before nodding, her fingers working the remaining buttons with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted, revealing the flat plane of her stomach, the faintest swell of barely-there breasts beneath her plain white training bra. The kind meant for girls who didn't need support yet—the kind that looked more like a crop top than lingerie.

Charles made a sound low in his throat—something between a groan and a curse. The phone trembled in his sweaty grip as he captured the image: his daughter, his little girl, sitting on her childhood bed with her school blouse hanging open, her nipples just visible through the material of her training bra.

Sarah watched his reaction with fascination. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted slightly as he breathed through his mouth. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath his shirt. Her own breath came quicker now, her pulse fluttering in her throat.

Slowly, deliberately, she arched her back—just a little. The pose felt awkward at first, unnatural, but the way his breath hitched made warmth bloom between her thighs. She tilted her head, letting her curls fall over one shoulder, and gave him a look she’d practiced in the mirror—flirty, provocative.

"Like this?" Sarah murmured, pressing one hand into the mattress while the other tugged her skirt higher. The hem brushed the curve of her bum now, the fabric taut where it met the backs of her thighs. She could feel the cool air ghosting over her panties, dampened by her slickness.

Charles inhaled sharply. The phone slipped slightly in his slick palm, but he caught it—just barely—before it fell. His fingers shook as he adjusted the focus. "Jesus—yes," he rasped. "Just... just like that." His voice cracked on the last word, rough with need.

Sarah could see the way his knuckles whitened around the phone, tendons standing out in sharp relief. His thumb swiped across the screen—zooming in, she realized, on the gap where her thighs met, where the white cotton clung damp and sticky. The realization sent another pulse of heat through her. She let her knees drift further apart, just a fraction. Could he tell she was wet? The thought made her squirm slightly against the mattress.

"Should I—" Her voice came out higher than she intended. She swallowed, tried again. "Should I take my bra off?" The words hung between them, heavy and tense. She found she was enjoying this feeling of control over him.

Charles froze mid-shot. The phone wavered in his grip. Sarah watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard—once, twice. His pupils were so wide his eyes looked almost black. The silence stretched, taut as a wire, until he finally managed a jerky nod. "If—if you want to," he rasped, voice scraped raw, "but we won't be able to post them... well not on that forum."

Sarah's eyebrow quirked—the way Dad had phrased it made her stomach tighten. "Not on that forum?"

Charles' throat worked visibly. "They don't... allow nudity," he managed, his voice strangled. His knuckles whitened around the phone. "Just—teasing stuff...but there are others—"

Sarah's fingers hesitated on the clasp of her training bra. "Can we look at one of those ones?" The question came out quickly —not quite innocent, not quite knowing. She watched his reaction through her lashes, the way his breath hitched when she traced the edge of the flimsy fabric where it met her skin.

Charles sank onto the mattress beside her, the springs creaking under his weight. His thigh pressed against hers—warm through her skirt, solid in a way that made her stomach flip. The phone screen illuminated his stubble as he navigated to a new site—this one darker, heavier with thumbnails that showed skin, parted lips, fingers slipping beneath waistbands. His thumb hovered over the search bar. "What do you want to see, princess?" The nickname curled between them, sticky-sweet.

Then he stopped, "you have to promise me you won't tell your anyone, not even your mates," his voice was tight with apprehension and excitement, "if you do we'll both be in a lot of trouble... ALOT of trouble. "

Sarah nodded quickly, "I promise."

He opened the first thread—"Daddy’s Girls"—and Sarah's breath caught. The girls here were different. Not coy school-uniform poses, but sprawled across beds with legs spread, fingers spreading themselves open for the cameras mouths parted in soft gasps. One girl, maybe fourteen, lay completely naked except for knee socks, her tiny breasts flushed pink as she pinched her own nipples. Another arched her back while fingering herself, lips glistening.

"Wow..." Sarah breathed, leaning closer until the phone's glow lit up her face—her lips slightly parted, pupils dilated. The images burned into her retinas—girls maybe even younger than her, their bodies petite and smooth, caught in moments of private pleasure. Some had their eyes squeezed shut, others stared directly at the camera with knowing smiles that made Sarah's stomach twist. "They look... happy."

Charles exhaled sharply through his nose. His thigh pressed harder against hers, the heat seeping through her skirt. "They are," he murmured. His thumb scrolled down to reveal a photo set titled 'Daddy's Little Helper'—a girl with pigtails and braces kneeling between a man's spread legs, her small hands wrapped around a thick, flushed cock.

Sarah cheeks burned and she glanced sideways—her dad’s cock strained visibly against his trousers now, the fabric tented obscenely. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he stared at the screen, transfixed by the image of the pigtailed girl with her lips parted just inches from the swollen head of an erect cock. Sarah’s throat went dry.

"Should I keep going?" Charles whispered, her fingers hovering over the screeen—one tap away from opening the full album.

Sarah swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The girl in the thumbnail looked a bit like her—her pink lips parted to accept the tip of a thick cock, her braces glinting in the flash. Sarah could practically hear the wet click of saliva as the girl's tongue darting out to lick the swollen head. Her own thighs pressed together reflexively, the damp fabric of her panties clinging tighter. She nodded.

Charles exhaled sharply and tapped the screen. The next page opened with a slow load—Sarah's breath caught as images resolved into startling clarity. The first photo showed the girl , sprawled naked on a floral duvet, her small body glistening with something wet. Her knees were drawn up, spread wide, her fingers pulling herself open—her pink, tight little slit. There were more of her on the bed in various lewd positions—her hands spreading her pussy lips, her tongue poking out towards the camera, her tiny puckered bumhole winking open slightly as she bent over and pulled her cheeks apart. Another image showed her kneeling on the bed, her small hands gripping her own knees as she leaned back to expose her smooth cunt— whether waxed or naturally like that, Sarah couldn't tell.

The next image made Sarah's pulse jump—the girl's lips wrapped around the flushed, swollen head of a thick cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside. The angle caught her wide, innocent eyes looking up—pleased, eager.

The next few photos loaded with excruciating slowness— out of focus then resolving into something that made Sarah’s pulse thrum in her wrists, her throat, between her legs. The girl’s mouth stretched wider, her pink lips shiny with spit as the cock slid deeper past her braces. A pearl of precum or split glistened on her chin. The next frame showed her gagging slightly, tears beading at the corners of her eyes—but her fingers stayed curled around the base.

Charles exhaled sharply through his nose, his thigh pressing harder against Sarah’s until she could feel the heat of him through her skirt. His thumb swiped—another image loaded: the girl on all fours now, her tiny body arched like a cat, the head of a cock pressing insistently against her pussy. Not inside—not yet—just teasing the swollen little lips, smearing precum across her slit. Her face was half-turned toward the camera, cheeks flushed, mouth open around a silent gasp. The caption beneath read: *Always eager to please Daddy.*

"Are you okay?" Charles asked, his voice rough. Sarah realized she'd been holding her breath—her chest ached with it. She nodded, unable to speak, her gaze darting between the screen and the thick outline of his erection straining against his trousers.

He swiped again—Sarah's breath caught as the next image loaded, sharper than the rest. The girl was bent over now, her tiny hands gripping the bedsheets, her smooth cheeks parted to reveal a tight pink pucker stretched around the man's cockhead. Her mouth hung open in a silent gasp, her braces glinting in the flash, her eyes wide with feigned shock."

"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her lips parting as she stared at the screen. The girl's tiny hole stretched obscenely around the thick cockhead, her pink rim fluttering visibly in the freeze-frame. Sarah's fingers twitched against her own skirt—her stomach flipped, hot and tight, at the thought of something so big pressing in there.

Dad closed the tab suddenly, and the screen back to his homepage. Sarah blinked up at him—her lips still parted, her breath shallow—as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like he was choking down something thick and unspeakable.

"Do you want to stop or... "Dad's voice cracked—the sentence left unfinished, hanging between them like a held breath.
"We could take some photos for that forum?"

Sarah's pulse hammered in her throat as she watched her father's face. His pupils were blown so wide his irises looked black—just like the girls in the photos. Slowly, deliberately, she reached behind her back and unclasped her training bra. The flimsy fabric slid down her arms, revealing small, pert nipples already pebbled tight from anticipation.

Charles made a sound like he'd been punched in the gut—as he lifted the phone with trembling hands. The shutter clicked twice in rapid succession, capturing the way Sarah arched slightly, letting the golden afternoon light catch the faint swell of her almost flat chest. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips—just like the girl with braces—and she saw his throat work furiously.

"Now what?" Sarah asked, her voice deliberately light as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pleated skirt. Dad's breath stuttered when she shifted her hips, making the fabric ride up to reveal the damp patch darkening her white cotton panties—sticky where her slickness had soaked through. The phone clicked again, though his gaze kept flickering between the screen and the undeniable proof of her arousal.

She pushed the skirt down her thighs slowly, letting it pool around her knees before kicking it off entirely. The flush creeping up her neck had nothing to do with the afternoon heat—Dad wasn't even pretending to look at the phone screen now. His nostrils flared as he stared openly at the soaked fabric clinging to her, the outline of her slit visible through the wet cotton.

"Try opening your legs," Charles whispered, the words catching in his throat. The phone's screen reflected in his wide, dark eyes—Sarah saw herself there, tiny and flushed, as she slowly let her knees drift apart. The mattress dipped where his weight shifted closer, his thigh pressing warm against hers. The shutter clicked—once, twice—capturing the way the damp fabric stretched taut between her thighs, clinging to every fold.

"Pull them up tight," Charles murmured, his voice rough with arousal. Sarah hesitated for only a second before hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her damp panties, stretching the fabric snug against her slit. The sensation sent a jolt through her—the cotton dragged against her slick folds, the slight friction making her gasp softly. Charles inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the phone until his knuckles turned white. The shutter clicked—once, twice—capturing the way the wet fabric clung obscenely to her pussy, outlining every detail.

She adjusted the fabric so it slippery up between her lips, pressing tight enough to slay her labia.

Sarah's breath hitched—the pressure sent a bolt of sensation straight to her core. Her hips lifted instinctively, chasing the friction, and she saw Dad's fingers move toward her before he caught himself. The phone tilted slightly in his grip, capturing the way the damp cotton now wedged between her folds, plastered to her skin by her own slickness.

"Touch yourself," Charles breathed, the words scorching the air between them. The phone slipped slightly in his sweat-damp palm as Sarah's fingers hovered over the soaked cotton. Her pinky finger dipped beneath the waistband—just barely—and his breath stopped entirely when she hooked it under, dragging the fabric down an inch to reveal a strip of bare, flushed skin.

Sarah's pulse hammered in her throat as she peeled the panties down her thighs, the wet fabric clinging stubbornly before finally slipping free. The cool air hit her exposed folds—she gasped, her thighs instinctively squeezing together before forcing them apart again. Dad made a sound like a dying animal when she finally touched herself—just one fingertip tracing the slick seam of her pussy, glistening under the golden light.

She barely remembered the phone now—barely remembered anything except the way her clit throbbed under her circling fingers, swollen and aching. Her other hand drifted up to pinch her nipple, rolling the tight bud between thumb and forefinger the way she'd seen in the photos. A choked noise came from beside her—Dad's breathing ragged—but she barely registered it, too lost in the slick sounds of her fingers pushing deeper, spreading herself obscenely wide for no one but herself.

The stuffed animals lay scattered where she'd kicked them aside—a pink unicorn slumped against the pillows, a threadbare bear tumbled to the carpet. Sarah's back arched off the mattress, her thin legs splayed wide enough to make the tendons in her inner thighs stand out sharply. Her toes curled into the sheets, damp patches spreading beneath her where her wetness leaked freely now.

Her two middle fingers worked frantically now, plunging shallowly into her tight little slit while her thumb circled her swollen clit in desperate, slippery strokes. The wet squelches filled the quiet bedroom—each obscene sound making her stomach tighten further. Sarah’s hips jerked off the mattress in jagged, uncoordinated thrusts, her knees splayed so wide her inner thighs burned. A stuffed rabbit lay crushed beneath her twitching leg, one floppy ear trapped under her calf as she ground down against her own fingers.

"Daddy—" The word tore from her throat unbidden, high and broken. Her back arched violently as her orgasm hit—a white-hot snap of pleasure that rolled through her in shuddering waves. Her toes curled into the sheets, her thighs trembling as slick gushed around her fingers, soaking her palm. The phone’s shutter clicked rapidly—Charles capturing every second—her mouth slack, her eyes squeezed shut, her tiny body convulsing with pleasure.

He was on his knees before she’d even come down, the phone hastily propped on her nightstand beside a grinning stuffed frog. His hands—rough and trembling—gripped her thighs hard enough to leave faint red marks as he dragged her toward the edge of the mattress. His stubble scraped against her soft inner thigh, his breath hot and uneven against her dripping folds. Sarah gasped, oversensitive, her fingers still buried deep inside herself as his tongue flicked out—just once—to taste the glistening mess she’d made.

Charles groaned, low and desperate, his fingers digging into her hips as he licked up the slickness smeared across her thighs. His eyes rolled back when he finally pressed his mouth to her—no hesitation, no fumbling—just pure, starving hunger. The vibration of his moan against her clit made her back arch violently off the bed, her legs hooking instinctively over his shoulders.

Sarah whimpered, her fingers twisting into his hair—too tight, probably painful—but he only growled and sucked harder. His tongue lapped over swollen lips, his nose bumping her clit. She could feel his stubble scraping against her inner thighs, the rough friction sending sparks up her spine.

Charles’ hands slid under her hips, lifting her off the mattress, pressing her dripping cunt harder against his mouth. The wet sounds were obscene—louder than her own fingers had been—and Sarah’s stomach clenched as another wave of pleasure built despite the oversensitivity.

His tongue circled her clit slowly at first, savoring the way her thighs tensed around his ears whenever he sucked just right. Then, without warning, his mouth trailed lower—licking a hot, wet stripe down through her folds until his tongue bumped againstness against her tight little entrance. Sarah gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as he pressed inside, just the tip of his tongue working its way into her slick channel before retreating. Then lower still—his breath hot against the sensitive skin of her perineum—until his tongue found her other hole.

Charles groaned against her skin, the vibration making her twitch. His thumbs spread her cheeks wider, exposing the tiny pucker that fluttered under his attention. The first swipe of his tongue there made Sarah cry out—the sensation unfamiliar but electric, sending jolts up her spine. He lapped at her slowly, teasing the rim with broad, wet strokes until each stroke lingering longer than the last until she was squirming, her hips lifting instinctively toward his mouth.

She gasped when he suddenly returned to her clit, sucking hard enough to make stars burst behind her eyelids. His tongue flickered rapid-fire against the swollen bud before dragging down again—this time tracing a slick, meandering path from her clit to her bum hole, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. Sarah's thighs trembled as his tongue circled the tight rim again, the alternating sensations leaving her panting.

Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, his tongue snaked back up—hot and insistent—circling her throbbing clit while his thick middle finger pressed against her slick cunt entrance. Sarah's breath hitched—she'd used the handle of her hairbrush before, clumsy and fumbling under the covers, but this... this was different. The way his fingertip teased at first, just barely breaching her tight little hole before retreating, making her hips jerk up desperately. "Daddy—" she whined, the word cracking on her lips.

Then suddenly—his finger slid in knuckle-deep, curling up just right to stroke that spot inside her that made her vision white out. Sarah's back arched violently off the mattress, her thighs clamping around his wrist as pleasure detonated through her tiny body in shockwaves. The stuffed animals tumbled to the floor as she thrashed, her hands scrabbling at the sheets—she was distantly aware of whimpering noises that must be hers, of the wet squelch as his finger pistoned in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue lashing her clit.

Sarah was lost between the twin points of sensation, her thoughts dissolving into static under the relentless focus of her father's mouth and hands. His stubble scraped her inner thighs raw as he devoured her like a man starved, his finger crooking deeper with every thrust until she almost passed out.

Her orgasm hit violently—no slow cresting wave, but a seismic snap that arched her spine clean off the mattress. Eyes rolling back so hard she saw white streaks like lightning across her vision, her body seized in a series of jerking convulsions. A strangled scream tore from her throat as warmth gushed uncontrollably around his finger—so much slick fluid that Charles made a wet, surprised sound against her clit before redoubling his efforts. Her thighs shook like she'd been electrocuted, the aftershocks rippling through her in erratic pulses as she sobbed into the pillow pressed against her face.

Before she even came down, he was lifting her thighs higher—his hands trembling as he spread her wide—and she didn't think it was possible to still be conscious when his tongue stabbed back onto her clit. Sarah's vision flickered—black then white then blinding color—as another orgasm detonated without warning, her entire body seizing like she'd grabbed a live wire. Her hips jackknifed off the mattress, her mouth gaping in a silent scream as slick gushed in pulses around his tongue pushing deep inside her.

She felt his hands leave her thighs—heard the frantic rustle of fabric—then the unmistakable sound of a zipper tearing open. Sarah lifted her head just enough to see her father's cock spring free, thick and flushed. A pearl of precum already beaded at the slit, trembling as he fisted himself roughly. His knuckles brushed her inner thigh, scorching even that fleeting contact.

Charles groaned, his voice wrecked, as he guided himself toward her—the swollen head catching on her sticky folds, smearing precum through her slickness. Sarah whimpered, her body instinctively arching toward the unfamiliar pressure. His hips jerked forward—just an inch—and she felt herself stretch around the tip, her tight little cunt fluttering desperately.

She was so small—so impossibly tight—but so wet, his cockhead barely breached her before her body clenched around him like a vise. A ragged gasp tore from her throat as he pushed deeper, her slick walls yielding millimeter by millimeter. The stretch burned—not just the size of him, but the heat, the unfamiliar fullness carving space inside her where none existed before. Sarah’s fingers scrabbled at the sheets, her toes curling as her thighs trembled against his hips.

He had her knees pinned up by her ears, her tiny body folded in half like a ragdoll, her spine pressed flush against the mattress. She was so small—so tight—but open, her pussy was flushed pink and swollen from his tongue. His cock twitched inside her her slowly fuck himself inch by inch into her tiny virgin hole.

Her cunt was on fire, it hurt but she didn’t want him to stop.

Charles moved achingly slow, his breath ragged as he sank deeper, watching her face twist with each inch. Sarah’s fingernails bit crescent moons into his shoulders—she could feel every ridge of him, every throbbing vein carving her open. His hips stuttered when he finally bottomed out, his balls pressed flush against her arse, his course curls pressing against her sensitive swollen little clit.

Then he began to really fuck her.

The first thrust punched a startled cry from Sarah’s throat—her fingers clawed at him as his hips snapped forward, driving his cock impossibly deeper. The stretch burned, her tiny cunt fluttering around the intrusion, but the pain was already twisting into something else—a raw, electric heat radiating through her pelvis with every brutal snap of his hips. Charles groaned through clenched teeth, sweat beading along his temples as he fucked into her with increasing abandon, each thrust making her stuffed animals tremble on the nightstand.

Each out stroke making a wet sucking sound as her little cunt clung to him desperately, trying to keep him buried inside her depths. Then he'd snap his hips forward again—harder this time—the slap of skin on skin echoing in the childish bedroom as her tiny body jolted up the mattress. Sarah's breath came in ragged gasps, her fingers twisted in the sheets, her thighs splayed obscenely wide to accommodate his thrusts.

The angle changed slightly—just enough—and suddenly the head of his cock was battering against something deep inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids. Sarah's mouth fell open in a silent scream as he bottomed out again, his pelvis grinding against her clit while his tip kissed her cervix in a way that sent electric jolts through her entire body. The pain-pleasure was unbearable—each collision making her vision whiten at the edges—but when he pulled back slightly she whimpered and arched her hips chasing the sensation.

He changed angles again—this time pulling her hips higher—and Sarah gasped as the new position made his cock drag against a different, even more sensitive spot inside her. Her thighs trembled violently, her toes curling as another orgasm built impossibly fast. Charles’ hands gripped her waist hard, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach as he fucked her harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing off the pink walls.

Sarah’s back arched upward as her climax hit—a sudden, convulsive tightening around his cock that made her entire body jerk like she’d been electrocuted. Her cunt spasmed wildly, milking him in rapid, rhythmic pulses that pushed him over the edge with a ragged shout. Somehow—through the haze of pleasure—he managed to drag himself out just as the first thick pulse erupted, painting hot stripes across her heaving chest. The next landed on her chin, another across her parted lips—she tasted the salty bitterness of cum for the first time, just as another spurt splashed across her fluttering eyelashes.

Sarah blinked up at him, dazed and sticky, her tongue darting out instinctively to catch the droplet clinging to her bottom lip, the taste making her nose wrinkle. Charles groaned at the sight—his softening cock twitching against her thigh—as he reached down to smear the rest across her flushed skin with trembling fingers. He dragged two fingers through the mess pooling in the hollow of her throat before pressing them against her tongue, watching her lips close around them obediently.

Sarah was suddenly aware she was pinned—her father's weight pressing her into the mattress, his fingers still wedged between her teeth. Like she was surfacing from a dream, the details flooded back: her bare thighs sticky with cooling fluids, the faint sting where his stubble had scraped her delicate skin raw, the wet ache between her legs that throbbed in time with her heartbeat. The bedside lamp cast long shadows—her discarded underwear lay tangled around one ankle like a flag of surrender.

What had they done...