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I lean back, stretching one arm over the back of the wood as I watch, my other hand resting on my thigh as her arms crest above her head and her body bends and sways like a willow in the breeze.
She is nature. She is perfection. Just as the birds and the waterfall behind.
This girl could pull sin from Jesus.
I bring my hand to adjust the painful angle of my hard cock in my pants and I imagine what she would feel like as I press inside of her. The walls of her innocent cunt fighting me off then relenting when I finally demand entry.
Daddy.
Fuck, when she said that word, it felt like the world spun beneath me. Just the memory has my entire body hardening and I grip my dick through the fabric.
Is this right, Daddy?
Yes, my little sprite. Stroke Daddy, just like that…
What am I doing? Her voice is on permanent repeat in my head while she gives me my own private dance, out here in the woods where no one can find us. My cock seeps cum and I know it’s going to leave a dark spot on my beige trousers, but I don’t give a fuck.
I need this girl. Every part of me is begging for her, the ache is almost unbearable as she splashes her toes at the edge of the water, the bottom of her skirt drenched with every sway of her hips and arch of her back.
It was instinct when I took her hand, touched her back, put the socks on her sweet feet. My aversion to touch is non-existent with this magical creature and I now believe that maybe there are mystical, magical woman that cast spells on lonely men…
I want to hear her call me Daddy while she’s in the throws of an orgasm that I give her. I want to feel her legs wrapped around me while she clings to me, her ass pink from a spanking and her body weeping slick juice all over my dick while I impale her over and over, reminding her who she belongs to.
Me. She belongs to me.
The sun shows her pink cheeks, ripening from the effort of her dance as she moves faster like my hand. We are both lost in our bliss, but I know I’ll never find relief without her so I pull my hand away, letting my cock ache in agony. She’s the only balm for the pain I feel and my cum belongs in her sweet cunt now, not in my pants, not in my hand.
No, those will never be enough ever again.
She’s spinning faster, faster, like a dervish…the water now up around her calves as she holds her skirt pinched in her fingers, pulling it upward, just above the water, her head back, eyes unfocused, and I see a little girl. Lost. Alone.
I felt her father’s coldness toward her. There’s no love there and I intend to show her what a father should be like. Caring. Nurturing. Guiding. I want to give her all of that and so much more.
Just when I think her beauty almost too much for me to bear, her dance comes to a crescendo, she freezes, then falls backward, like a sacrifice into the water.
A splash around her body and she’s gone.
And I can’t breathe.
Time stands still. My cock is as hard as it’s ever been as she rises up, like the birth of Venus, her gauzy clothing clinging to her thin body, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from jizzing in my pants.
My cum feels like it’s boiling in my balls, surging and pressurized, ready to fill her until she’s bred with me, then keep filling her until every bedroom in my ridiculously large house is stuffed with our spawn. I never knew, when I renovated the enormous barn into a house, why I put in so many fucking bedrooms, but now I do.
She’s walking toward me as I lean forward, my eyes pinned to her taut nipples and the fabric that clings to her slight hips. She’s childlike in her way, but a well-honed vixen in another.
Jesus, I don’t know how old she is. I’m in deep, too deep…
She giggles and her steps turn into skips as she comes closer, and I marvel at the perfection of her. What man wouldn’t lust after such beauty and innocence? That thought spears me in the throat. From now on, I’ll be the one to stand between her and the voyeurs that lust after her. I’ll cloak her in feed sacks and canvas tarps when she’s not with me.
“It’s perfect here. The sound, I could hear the music in my head like an orchestra was playing just for me.”
I growl in response, her body on display under the translucent, soaked fabric. She’s not wearing a bra, and she doesn’t need one. But what if her top fell too low while she danced at the fair? I grit my teeth, thinking of someone else getting a glimpse of what’s mine.
