A cute little goth girl was in danger of failing the college class I was teaching. She offered to suck me off in exchange for a passing grade. Instead, I made her learn the value of hard work, responsibility, and self-respect. And then, yeah, I fucked the shit out of all her holes.

“I love sucking cock,” Morgan told me, leaning forward over my desk, her pale tits almost spilling out of her black tank top. “I love feeling it pump into my mouth, and I love gagging on it. But eating pussy is even better. Especially if it’s a girl who’s never been eaten out by another girl—that’s the best.”

“Be that as it may,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, trying to do anything I could to relieve some of the pressure my jeans were exerting on my rapidly hardening cock. “You still haven’t told me when you’ll finish editing your midterm paper.”

Morgan sat back and pouted.

“Seriously? All that and you’re still obsessed with my paper?”

\~

Allow me to offer some context for this scene.

In my first year out of graduate school, I was a Visiting Assistant Professor (or a VAP, if you will—how Dracula would pronounce WAP!) at a small liberal arts college. I was teaching three courses a semester, which was quite a bit of work, but here I was, living the tweed jacket dream of college teaching.

I barely made it through the first semester without losing my mind, and the second semester opened, chilly and wintery, with the promise of being uneventful—I was teaching three different sections of a basic composition class, and I was fully prepared to write one lecture, deliver it three times, and grade approximately one million papers.

In my first class of the semester, one student caught my eye—she was absolutely adorable, dressed all in black, with aggressive cat-eye make-up, black lipstick, soft hazelnut brown hair, and blue eyes. It didn’t hurt, either, that she had an amazing body—an ass that looked plump through her black jeans, and Big Tiddy Goth GF-level tits.

Her name was Morgan, I learned, as we went around introducing ourselves. As much as I would have liked to stare at her, I had things to do, and she didn’t speak again for the rest of the class, and so I almost forgot about her existence until she passed by me on the way out, murmuring a soft “thank you.”

And with that, I didn’t see Morgan for three weeks.

After she had missed two classes in a row, I emailed her to see if she was all right or if she needed anything—maybe she had dropped the class and this information hadn’t made its way over to me? Nothing. I emailed the Dean of Students, and the head of her residence hall. They promised to investigate, and promptly did nothing at all.

So, I began a ritual of emailing Morgan every evening when I got home, simply to remind her that she was in danger of failing my class. If she were in the hospital, or had to return home for some family emergency, that would be one thing—she merely had to tell me as much, and I’d give her an extension on whatever she needed, a total absolution of her sins against the gods of academic attendance.

By chance, a week or so after I’d begun this ritual, I was on campus and ducked into the little student-run convenience store that seemed to exclusively sell candy, ice-cream, and microwave pizza. Who should I see, on her way out, arms filled with frozen dinners and packets of Sour Patch Kids, but Morgan, her cheeks deliciously flushed against the winter cold?

“Shit,” she said, and started speed-walking away from me. I jogged after her.

“I’m glad to know you’re alive, at least.”

“Um, I’m sorry. About everything.” Still, she sped up, very much like a person who isn’t all that sorry.

“Your first paper was due last week. Even if you turn it in now, the highest you can get is a C.”

“Well, maybe I’ll never turn it in.”

“And you need at least a B to keep from failing that class, and that’s assuming you find a way to salvage your class participation grade.”

“I guess I’m shit out of luck then, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re majoring in, but Freshman Comp is required to graduate, so—”

“Look,” she said fiercely, stopping and turning to glare at me. “How about I just get down on my knees and suck your cock and we make this all go away?”

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that. I found myself looking around, simultaneously relieved and disturbed that there was no one close enough to hear us on the snowy stretch of campus.

“Morgan, let’s talk about this.”

“That’s not enough? You can fuck me too. I’ll fuck you once for each paper, and suck you off for attendance. How’s that for a deal?” She seemed on the verge of tears, but I was hard-pressed to say what about, exactly. “It works for all my other professors, so why shouldn’t it work with you?”

This chilled me. My instinct was to lay a hand on her shoulder, but I didn’t dare touch her.

“I sincerely hope that’s not true. Let’s go inside and talk somewhere—”

“Why?”

“Because you clearly need help with the class and no one else is going to do it.”

“What if I don’t want help?”

“I can’t make you accept it. But, Morgan, I’m guessing that there will be people in your life who will be very upset and disappointed if you fail a class. Maybe even including yourself.”

That seemed to have some effect: her defiant pout melted into a submissive one.

“Fine. Talk at me all you want.”

\~

And, I did. I took her back to my office, we stuffed her frozen meals in the minifridge I kept there mostly for beer (“Are you an alcoholic?” Morgan gasped when she saw the array of neatly arranged craft beers glimmering under the artificial light of the minifridge; “No,” I replied. “I’m just in my thirties.”) and then I sat her down across from me.

She was still pouting, but seemed to be warming up, both literally and figuratively.

“I’ll have you know I’m in therapy,” she said quickly. “Before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to ask. But good to know.”

I suppose some fanciful part of me was hoping for a shocking mystery at the heart of Morgan’s disappearance: a cult, a surprise inheritance from a long lost relative, a murder on a snowy, lonely New England highway.

But, no, it was nothing of the sort. She was severely depressed, had been so since high school, and the imposter syndrome that came with college had brought about a snowball effect, whereby she sank into a profound miasma of self-loathing and helplessness. I was quite sympathetic; I think we both would have preferred a cult.

“I can’t be a therapist to you—”

“I told you, I have one already.”

“The more you tell me you have a therapist, the less I believe you. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I’m more than willing to give you a second chance at the class.”

Morgan dwelt on this proposition for a moment.

“I think I’d rather just fuck my way to a passing grade.”

“That’s not going to happen. I’m not letting you take the easy way out.”

She scowled. “I can’t suddenly show up to class again—can you imagine how embarrassing? No way. No way.”

I started to suggest she might have friends in the class, but, no, she assured me—she hadn’t made any friends in college.

Morgan was going to need a lot more help than I realized.

After a few moments of thought, I proposed an alternative. It would only be for my class—I couldn’t speak to any of her other classes, and if she were failing them, she would have to take responsibility upon herself to seek out the professors and make some sort of arrangement to save her grade—but for the time being, I was willing to meet with her twice a week, assigning her separate essays and exercises, and going over them with her intensely, one-on-one.

Morgan blanched at this idea.

“I still think it’d be way easier to sit my ass on your lap and—”

“Final offer, Morgan. Take it or leave it.” I remembered the effect the suggestion of disappointment had on her: “Like I said, I’m guessing you and your family would be very disappointed if you had to—”

“Fine!” she cried. “Fine. Fine. Fine. I’ll do it. I hate you. Fuck you. I’ll do it.”

\~

And so, for the next few months, Morgan and I met for nearly two hours every Monday and Wednesday to go over her essays. Sometimes, we went over them in depth, as I graded them in real time, with her sitting next to me, nodding along and sometimes whimpering when I pressed her on the logic of her argument. More often, when I discovered that she hadn’t done the essay, I’d have her write it then and there on the spot, prodding her for every subsequent sentence.

It was a fairly agonizing process. She cried the first few sessions and she always left me wondering if I’d see her again.

But, gradually, we started to see some progress. Her essays got better. I actually assigned her more writing than any of my other students, since she seemed to have plenty of time on her hands and since I couldn’t be sure that she’d actually do any of it all. Before long, though, she was completing all of it, and even if it wasn’t Ibsen, it was perfectly decent college level writing.

As her work improved, so did our relationship. Our sessions started to stretch longer and longer, mostly because Morgan would want to chat first, going on about this or that. With the spring came a thaw in her opinion of me—now, she always thanked me when leaving, and this wasn’t the quiet, sad thank you of her first day in class, but a full-throated, affectionate expression of gratitude—often accompanied by a hug.

“That’s really not appropriate,” I told her as she pressed her tits into my chest, giggling. I always kept the door to my office open a crack when I met with her (or any student for that matter) but there was rarely anyone in the department besides the ancient Jamaican receptionist who had noted approvingly the increasing affection displayed by my young charge.

“Hey, you know what I call you in my head? Like, when I think, ‘Oh, I have to finish this assignment for…’ you know who it’s for?” And she stood on her tip toes to stage-whisper in my ear. “Daddy. You’re my Daddy.”

Morgan’s father had left when she was in high school; she was quite upfront about her daddy issues, almost self-consciously so. Her doting mother back in Indiana was still under the impression that Morgan was doing great in college, and had picked up extra shifts at the hospital where she worked as a nurse to pay for Morgan’s tuition.

Once we had a handle on Morgan’s academic work, I shifted my concern to her social life. One afternoon, when she came to see me (and attempted, not for the first time, to sit on my lap) I pulled up a listing of extracurriculars and volunteer opportunities at the college.

“Pick two clubs and one community service activity,” I instructed her. “Stick with them for at least three weeks before quitting. Go to every single meeting. Introduce yourself to every single person there. And then, don’t let a single meeting go by without talking to every single person again.”

She stared at me, horrified, inching away from the previously attractive vista of my lap.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious.” And then, having sharpened my knife, I drove it in and twisted: “Just think—you can call your mom and tell her about what you’re doing on campus and you won’t have to lie for once.”

She hung her head. “Fuck you.”

In the end, Morgan joined a knitting club, a table-top gaming club, and started volunteering with the student branch of a cat trap-neuter-release group. She said little to me about the groups after she joined them, and I wondered if she was actually going. My fears were put to rest, finally, when I caught sight of her on campus, laughing and knitting with a group of students in one of the cafeterias. She met my eyes and smiled sheepishly back at me.

\~

I never knew how serious Morgan’s clumsy attempts to seduce me were. She talked extensively about her sexual experience, but I knew she was prone to lying and exaggeration, and, tantalizing though I found the image of her being gangbanged by an entire fraternity, as she once claimed, I doubted it had actually happened.

It’s not that I wasn’t attracted to her—far from it. But beyond the normal boundaries between teacher and student, I realized that I was something more to her now—a role model? An authority figure? A mentor? I’m not sure what 90’s afterschool special language I could use to define our relationship, but it felt like something beyond that I had with any other student.

Eventually, she even came back to class, and though we kept meeting to go over her essays, I stopped giving her additional assignments and allowed her to complete a final research paper on more or less the same schedule as the other students in class. We made up a vague lie about a medical treatment and scheduling problems to explain her long absence, and before long, Morgan was able to finish the last two weeks of the semester like any other student.

The last week, she came to turn in her essay to me directly. With pride, she dropped it on my desk. Her hair was done up in pigtails, and her black hoodie was unzipped down far enough to offer a glimpse of her black bra and the milky valley between her breasts.

“Hey, can you, uh, grade it now?”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now. And then enter the grade and stuff? Then I want to tell you something. Well, a few things. Three things, I think. But do the other stuff first.”

I started to balk but the look on her pretty face—by turns giddy and anxious—made me reconsider. I graded it quickly, working in silence, as she fidgeted before me, and then submitted and locked the grade from my laptop.

“Done and dusted. A-.”

“Great.” She seemed pleased. “So, uh, first thing’s first. Remember when I said that I had fucked my other professors to get passing grades?”

For a moment, my blood ran cold. But, no, she followed up with the most possible benign conclusion to the theoretical adventure: “That was all a lie. I made it up. Sorry.”

“I guessed as much. It’s all right.”

“I’ve actually only ever been with one guy. My boyfriend, the summer before high school. We only had sex a few times. I’m actually kind of scared of sex.”

“It’s fine to take your time and figure out what you like. Lots of people don’t get any sexual experience until they’re in their twenties, you know.”

“Right. So, about figuring out what you like—I may have gone into your search history when you were in the bathroom a few months ago and—”

“Morgan,” I said, crossly.

“I know what you like!” she concluded. “All that—kinky stuff. That’s what I like too. I mean, I’ve never really tried it, but that’s what I search for too.”

“This is not an appropriate conversation for a professor and student to be having, Morgan.”

“Well, I got news for you then!” she said, giving me a sad smile.

“Oh, no.”

“No, it’s not that bad. I’m taking the next semester off. A leave of absence. I’m gonna’ spend part of it here and part of it home. Just some time for me to get my head right and everything. But that means that…”

“…you’re not really my student anymore.”

“That’s why I asked you to grade and submit my paper and all that.”

I leaned back in my chair, suddenly quite impressed with the little goth teen in front of me.

“So—gosh, I don’t know how to do this—but, like, we’re both consenting adults and stuff, so if you’re interested…” She trailed off and covered her face with her hands.

“If I’m interested in what? Finish your sentence.”

She took a deep breath and flipped me off.

“I’d like to, um, be with you. Sleep with you and stuff. And do more things—nasty, kinky things. ‘Cause you’re my Daddy and all.”

Fuck it. What was there to stop us now?

“Come here, Morgan.”

Hands clasped, she stepped around my desk and sat on it, right in front of me. She wore a black skirt that day, and between her soft, pale thighs I could see the hint of her panty-clad crotch.

“You’re sure that’s what you want?”

She nodded, her pigtails bouncing.

“Definitely. I’ve thought about it a lot. I really, really, really like you. I can’t stop thinking about you sometimes. I feel so little and silly when I’m with you. Like I have an upset stomach.”

I leaned forward, pulling her into me, and we kissed for the first time, lips colliding in a fleshy embrace. I tasted the sweet-sour candy flavor of her mouth, and nibbled at her as she whimpered into me. Every kiss was like a revelation—for me, of course, I’d had a certain number of partners, kissed no small number of women, but for her, this was still a relatively novel experience.

I kissed down her neck, eliciting soft moans from her lips as she clung to me.

“Daddy…” she whispered as I slid my fingers between her thighs.

“Morgan, listen to me,” I told her. “If you really want the things you say you want, then we need to have safe words.”

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“Red light means stop,” I continued. “Green light means go. Yellow is slow down. So, you can make me stop by saying ‘red light’ or slow down by saying ‘yellow light,’ and if I’m concerned about you, I might ask ‘green light?’ Does that all make sense?”

“Mhm. It does, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” She shivered.

“Oh fuck, hearing you say that just does things to me. Green light, green light, green light. Green light me all up.”

I snorted and pulled her onto my lap. I turned her over, so that her ass, barely covered by her skirt, was pointed at the ceiling.

“You’ve made a lot of trouble for me over the last semester. I’ve been fantasizing about doing this for a while.”

“You’re right, Daddy. I totally deserve a spanking.” Morgan reached down to flip up her skirt, revealing her black thong, tucked into the generous mounds of her ass cheeks—each one a gloriously pale pink orb, punctuated here and there by a birthmark. She hooked her fingers under the band of the thong and hesitated. “Should I—”

“Yes.”

Wiggling her hips, she slid the thong down—I saw that the crotch was already soaked and sticky with her juices, and it clung to some part of her anatomy I couldn’t yet see before finally being divorced from her all together. I guided them the rest of the way off her body and tossed them onto the floor.

“Count for me, baby girl,” I ordered. And with that, I began to spank her—each hard, sharp blow, alternating between her ass cheeks, earning a yelp from Morgan’s squirming form, accompanied by the next ordinal number.

At twenty, I paused and ran my fingers between her thighs, finding her wet pussy. Her pussy lips were incredibly meaty, her labia thick and fleshy and dangling from her wet nexus, slipping deliciously beneath my fingers as I touched her.

“Does it hurt?” I whispered. “The spanking?”

“Yes, Daddy. But that’s okay—I know I deserve it.” She whimpered and wiggled herself onto my fingers, managing to suckle the tip of one of my digits inside of her. “I was a bad girl and you were such a good Daddy to me… So I’m kind of excited to show you how much I can take for you.” She giggled. “I guess what I’m saying is, don’t hold back, okay, Daddy?”

I gave her another ten spanks, harder this time, savoring the sharp crack of my palm against her ample flesh. I paused again when I heard her crying softly, just enough to give her time to collect herself as I slid my fingers along her cunt again. Then, I spread her ass cheeks, revealing her tight little star of flesh, pink and unmolested. I savored her scent, too—the combination of her anxious sweat and the thick, earthy musk of her holes.

“You’ve never taken it here, right?” I asked, sliding a finger, now well-lubricated by her pussy, into her asshole. She gasped as it slipped inside after a bit of prodding.

“Never, Daddy. But—I’m excited to. I want you to take my anal virginity. I’m all yours.”

My cock was aching, but more than anything, I wanted to taste her. I picked her up easily—she was so small, compared to me—and set her on the desk. I unzipped her hoodie, and she shrugged it off, revealing her proud, perky tits.

“I’m thinking of getting my nipples pierced,” she informed me, as I unclasped her bra and tossed it aside. Her nipples were gorgeous little pink strawberry peaks, and I caught one between my fingers to twist hard as I stroked the other.

“Then I won’t be able to abuse them,” I pointed out, and began to twist them both hard, digging my nails into her flesh. She let out a long, low, soft wail, and gripped my wrists—but never once did she push me away.

“It hurts so good, Daddy,” she whimpered. “How about you pierce them for me? That’s so hot…”

I pushed her down on the desk and suckled her nipples, one by one, biting them and tugging at them and kissing my way down her belly, planting kisses and bites as I went, until I got to her skirt and pulled it down her thighs…

…only to find a most surprising sight: her pubic hair, a light brown, trimmed into the shape of a heart.

“Um, do you like it, Daddy?” she asked after a moment, when I didn’t immediately say anything.

“It’s adorable. Do you, er, always keep it like this?”

“No, silly. I wanted to do something special. For you.”

She reached down to spread herself wide, showing me her pink insides—the fleshiness of her labia giving way to the slick walls of her cunt. I kissed and nibbled my way up her inner thighs and breathed in the scent of her cunt. It was absolutely intoxicating.

“That’s a good girl,” I whispered when she spread herself even wider, causing her clit to peek out from beneath its hood.

“Daddy, I’ve, uh, never been licked.”

“Your boyfriend didn’t do that?”

“No. He thought my pussy was gross… ‘Cause my lips are so big…”

I paused my advance on that very pussy to pull her up into a sitting position for a kiss.

“He didn’t deserve you, do you understand? Every part of you is gorgeous.”

Her eyes were red with tears, and not just from the spanking.

“Thank you, Daddy. I—I—I was about to say something pretty silly just now.”

I kissed her again, biting her lips. “Save it for later, baby girl.”

With that, I returned to her pussy. I began to lap at her, alternating between sliding my tongue into her slit and then along her clit. I wasn’t trying to make her cum fast—I was intent on savoring her, suckling her meaty lips—but as I teased her clit, she seized me hard by the hair, arched her back, and thrust her hips hard into my face. She let out a soft, strangled moan of pleasure and I felt her squirt onto my mouth—a tiny trinkle of fluid flushing over my lips as I kissed her pink parts again and again.

“Holy fuck,” she whispered. “That felt amazing.”

Now, I stood up, unzipping my jeans. She watched me with an almost dazed look and gasped when she saw my cock.

“Wow. It’s—it’s that big?”

“It’s not that big.”

“I haven’t been fucked in months,” she pointed out. “It’s gonna’ feel big.”

I spread her legs and leaned into her, feeling her pussy suckle at my cock, taking me inside. I skewered her in one hard thrust, impaling her, and she let out a silent groan of pleasure and pain as I gripped her ass, digging my fingers hard into her flesh.

“How does that feel, baby girl?”

“It’s good, Daddy. You’re—you’re stretching me. I feel so tight.”

And she was tight. As much as I know the nonsense about how having more sex stretches a pussy out is just that—nonsense—I couldn’t help but feel like I was despoiling essentially virgin territory, ripping into her tightness. She gritted her teeth as I rode her, pressing her legs up against her shoulders and kissing her hard as her wet walls massaged my cock. Her muscles alternately clenched and unclenched around me with each thrust, and eventually she started trying, however weakly, to meet my thrusts in turn, fucking me back.

“Daddy,” she whispered, passionately, almost in tears. “It feels so good.”

“Tell me how good it feels.” I gripped her by the hair, tugging her as I kissed her now-revealed neck, suckling at her throat. I kissed down her collar bone and then left a hard, suckling bite-kiss on her breast, causing a vicious bruise.

“It feels like you’re splitting me apart. Like you’re making me yours.” She gasped happily. “You can cum in me, Daddy, I have an IUD…”

She told me this not a moment too soon. As much as I would have liked to have seen her face covered in my load, this would be far easier to clean up. I groaned and felt my cock explode inside of her, pumping, spasming, erupting stream after stream of sticky cum into her needy cunt.

Finally, I collapsed onto her in a sticky, sweaty, satisfied mess. She hugged me close, the scent of her skin—perfumed with sweat and sex—surrounding me.

After kissing lazily for a few moments, I pulled out of her. Sitting back in my chair, I pointed to my cock.

“Clean me up, baby girl.”

“Yes, Daddy!” she squealed with a giggle and eased herself, dripping onto the floor, off my desk. She knelt, delicately, and touched my half-hard, sloppy cock with the tips of her fingers. “I can’t believe all this was inside of me.”

“You took me so well, baby girl.”

“I’m glad you liked it, Daddy…” she whispered, leaning down to lick me tentatively. “This is weird, but I, like, really like tasting myself on you? It’s like I’ve marked you…”

“That’s my good girl.”

Working slowly, she suckled my cock into hardness once more, licking and drooling over my shaft as it grew in her hands and between her lips. Finally, she sank her mouth down onto me, gagging a bit as the tip of my cock bumped against the back of her throat.

“Daddy,” she said when she pulled off it. “I saw you like really nasty throat fucking porn…”

“And?”

“Do you want to use my throat like a pussy? And fuck it?”

Why, yes, I did. I had her lie on my desk, hanging her head backwards off the edge, dangling right in front of my cock and balls.

“Since you might not be able to talk while I’m fucking you, tap me twice if you need me to stop.”

“Okay. But I’m not gonna’ do that, Daddy. I told you—you can do whatever you want with me.”

Little brat. Part of me wanted to push her to tap out—just to make the point. I pressed the tip of my cock against her lips and heard the delicious sound of her soft gags as my cock passed her teeth, and invaded her throat. I kept pushing, past the gentle resistance I faced, until I was fully embedded in her throat.

I heard her breaths coming in slow, deep gasps through her nose. Taking my time, I slid back, almost all the way out of her mouth before plunging back in, eliciting another beautiful gag. Slowly, I built up speed, until I was properly fucking her throat, holding either side of her neck and slamming into her.

Her mouth and throat, fully submitted to me, felt absolute exquisite on my cock, her eager little tongue no longer able to lap at my shaft and now just doing everything it could to stay out of the way of the fleshy invader. She was sobbing, I could tell, but she never once tapped, even as she shuddered and trembled.

Finally, I blew my load deep in her throat. She choked around it, but didn’t dare tap out, struggling to swallow the entire load.

Her beautiful face was a mess when I pulled out of her mouth: her make-up was smeared, her eyes were bloodshot and she was dripping spit and snot and tears.

Much to my surprise, she reached for my phone next to her on the desk. She stuck out her tongue, revealing the dollop of unswallowed cum still clinging to her pink organ, and took a selfie. Then, she unlocked my phone and set it as my background.

“So you remember who you own, Daddy,” she said, her voice hoarse.

It was at that moment that I noticed that she’d dripped cum from her pussy onto the floor.

“Finish swallowing that,” I ordered. “And then get down on your hands and knees and lick up what you spilled.”

Nodding eagerly, she dropped to the floor, face all but colliding with the carpet as she shamelessly lapped and licked at my drying cum, sucking it out of the carpet as though she were a treasure hunter desperately panning for gold.

After that, we dressed and cleaned ourselves up. I went to the bathroom and brought her some wet paper towels to clean herself up enough, such that she could leave my office without totally looking like she’d just come from a porno shoot.

“So, Daddy,” Morgan said after downing most of my water bottle. “I’m going to a party tonight…”

“A party? Good for you.”

“Uh-huh. There’s gonna’ be dancing and everything.” She gave a nice little wiggle. “But don’t worry—I’m not going home with anyone but you. So, uh—can I come over tonight after the party?”

How could I say no?

\~

Later that night, at about midnight, my phone buzzed. The campus night shuttle had just dropped Morgan off outside my apartment building. I went down to let her in through the back entrance—potent foreshadowing there—and she flew into my arms, planting a big kiss on my lips when I saw her.

“I had fun at my party,” she informed me, holding my hand as we drifted upstairs. “But I kept thinking about how I just wanted to be with you.”

Once we got to my place, we undressed and I ran a bath for us. I settled in first, and then Morgan eased herself on top of me.

“Ahh, my ass is still so sore from the spanking.”

“That’ll teach you to be a good girl from now on,” I teased, gripping her cheeks and making her squirm.

“I’m a very good girl, Daddy,” she whimpered, and then full on moaned when I slid my fingers against her tight asshole. I had set out a tube of lubricant on the edge of the bathtub and she reached for it, impatient to give me her ass.

She squeezed a thick dollop of the lube out onto her fingers and, wincing slightly, pressed them into her ass. Then, she spread another dollop over my cock, and bent over the side of the tub, dripping water onto the floor, her tits hanging down and her ass up.

“Okay, Daddy. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

I spread her ass cheeks wide and pressed my cock against her tight hole. She yelped and for several moments, nothing happened—my cock just slid back and forth over her slippery entrance.

“Relax yourself, baby girl,” I ordered. She took a deep breath and I felt her body relax, somewhat—enough for my cock to slide a few centimeters inside of her.

She let out a loud gasp.

“Holy shit, Daddy.”

“Just relax your butt,” I whispered. “Push back on me. Push out.”

She did, or tried to. Her ass began to suckle me inside, and I grunted as I worked pushing into her. She was so goddamned tight—her ring of muscle threatened to cut off the circulation to my cock, but I wasn’t deterred as I began to thrust in and out of her, each assault forcing my cock further and further into her ass.

Softly, Morgan began to sob, and I noticed she was gripping her own tits, digging her nails in as I fucked her. By now, my cock was fully inside her ass, and I took one of her pigtails in each hand, using them like reins to ride her as I pounded her harder and harder.

“Daddy, it hurts so good. You’re ripping me apart, Daddy!” she squealed. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop, Daddy! I’m all yours! Hurt me! Fuck me up, Daddy!”

That was all it took to push me over the edge. I unloaded in her ass, grunting and shuddering as my cock filled her for the third time that day. She cried softly, but when I slid out of her and welcomed her back into the bath, she was grinning ear to ear.

“Did I do good, Daddy?”

“You did very well. Time to clean up the mess you made, though.”

I pointed to my cock and I saw her swallow nervously.

“But it was just in my ass.” She bit her lip. “That’s kind of hot, actually.”

Hesitantly, she gave my cock a kiss, and then began licking it, gagging a bit at the taste and smell, but not allowing herself to stop. Soon, she was sucking me eagerly, gently teasing my balls, and before I knew it, I was cumming in her mouth once more.

After that, we snuggled, first in the bathtub, and then in bed. I wrapped her up in blankets—the burrito technique of aftercare—and we watched anime—her request—while smoking a joint, before drifting off to sleep.