Daddy's BIG Secret Stash of Taboo Books, Vol. 5 (10 Books TABOO Horny House Series)

by Adrian Amos

  He slaps my ass with the belt. Even though it's a light hit, my ass is on fire from the previous beating, and I jerk in response.

  “Spread 'em,” he commands.

  I do, opening my legs as wide as my cotton panties will allow.

  “If you want to steal dildos, if you want to be a slut, then you should be treated like a slut. The world'll do no different.”

  The dildo meets my pussy and I flinch, but I'm unable to react quickly enough before it breaks my opening. I yelp, the dildo sliding in easy through my luster as daddy twists it into place.

  But shock turns to immediate pleasure as the thick cock slides all the way into me. It spreads me wide, causing me to stick my ass out as the eroticism takes over and I offer my pussy for penetration.

  “A pretty girl like you is going to get treated a lot rougher than this if you don't shape up.” He maneuvers the cock inside me so that the smaller, extending arm lays against my clit.

  “And men get all the pleasure in the world abusing sluts.” Daddy flicks the switch, and the pussy pulverizer starts up. The vibration is extreme, shaking me the moment it turns on. He flicks another switch and the extending arm starts up, sending a thrum through the little flipper pressing against my clit.

  “Oh fuck!” I groan, the vibration rattling any sense of decency out of my mouth. My butt seems to pulse with the oscillating motor as my clit twitches against the intense pressure shooting through the bud.

  Daddy grabs my panties and slides them back up into place, supporting the cock as he wraps the band over the arm over my clit.

  “I'm sorry, babygirl, but this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” Daddy slips his hand around a wad of my panties and pulls up, roughly dragging the fabric upwards into my asscrack. I moan as daddy uses my panties to press into dildo, forcing it deeper inside me, locking it in position.

  The panties tug hard, preventing the cock from slipping out even a little. My ass cheeks protrude as I lean into the wall, giving daddy the perfect opportunity for his next action.

  “Count again.”

  With his left hand gripping my panties, his right swings down at a high angle, clipping my ass with the leather of the belt.

  I scream out, the strike rattling the cock inside me, my pussy squeezing around it without thinking. As my pussy loosens, the vibrations numb me for a moment before I turn my attention to the stinging in my ass. The high strike and the previous beating make the spanking far more painful.

  But it's made all the more difficult to concentrate as my body is fed multiple sensations at once. My ass burns, but my pussy is filled completely and my clit is vibrating nonstop. The pain from my ass merges with the pleasure in my cunt and my brain short circuits, entirely confused at how to process everything happening to my body.

  I manage to focus for a moment, allowing myself to mutter in a whisper, “One.”

  “Start over. Say 'One. Thank you, daddy.'”

  He swings again, my back spasming as the pain and the pressure of daddy pulling up launches into my core. I swallow. “One. Thank you, daddy.”

  He strikes me again. A smile etches on my face as the two feelings intertwine again. What's wrong with me? Maybe daddy's right, maybe I am a slut! “Two. Thank you, daddy.” It doesn't help that when I mutter those words, all they seem to do is fuel my desire.

  My desire to submit.

  Why do I feel like this? All I've ever done is fight against daddy to get what I want. All I've ever wanted was to be in control and live an easy life. Why the hell am I lusting to be controlled?

  The next slap silences my mind, adding fire to the store of energy kindling in my pussy. It's like my mind is being broken, confused by everything, forced to accept it's fate. Forced to conflate pain and pleasure, submission and happiness.

  “Three,” I say, my breath ragged as pleasure makes it all a struggle, “Thank you, daddy.”

  I proceed to count, slower and slower, distracted by the cock bouncing inside me, by the torture device extorting pleasure from my bent-over body. My words are muffled by moans, a battle between lust and logic.

  “Come on, slut,” daddy says, “Let's hear you come.”

  “What?” I croak. “No, daddy, you can't—you can't make me.”

  He laughs. “I'm not making you do anything. It's what you want, after all.”

  This isn't right. He can't treat me like this. I'm his daughter!

  But the smack on my ass is stronger now, fed into by daddy's interest in my arousal. Before it was my own, but now that daddy's expecting it of me, it seems to come at me harder than before.

  No, why is my body doing this?! Why am I getting so turned on by being abused?!

  My inner fight can't beat out the pleasure daddy's forcing on me. Each word is stifled by the mixing of flaming flesh with aching cunt.

  “No, daddy, no... stop...”

  As my moans come quicker and more emphatic, daddy's spanks come along faster as well. He ignores my words. He's not even waiting for me to count! He's beating my ass hard, tugging on my panties as roughly as he can, pushing the cock as deep as it'll go. He's forcing me to come, no longer giving my mind the opportunity to resist.

  Instead, blistering spanks propel pain into my cunt, which sends it along with pleasure a little north, letting it all build up just above my clit. Each spank and tug sends another pulse of submission, and like waves building on top of each other, it's enough to topple my will and breach me into an orgasm.

  I cry out, my pleasure loud and unabated. Daddy takes my scream and whales on my ass, forcing my orgasm to conflict with my punishment. The cunt-aching convulsions are shot into my body with the belt, causing my core to feel every ounce of energy from my orgasm and my beating. My abs hurt so much from the violent shaking, my moans come out as cries, and my legs tremble uncontrollably.

  Daddy lets up, quitting his beating and loosening the control of my panties. Tears form in my eyes as my orgasm rattles around in my body, tumbling me forward to my knees. I breathe deep, trying my hardest to catch my breath. The cock still inside me, I continue to vibrate against the ground.

  “Turn,” daddy commands.

  I weakly shuffle on my knees, unable to exert much effort. When I finally face him on my knees, daddy unzips his pants and drops them, pulling his cock from his boxers.

  It's rock hard, straining as he watched his little angel orgasm from his beating.

  I look up in wonder, shocked by the fact I'm staring my daddy in the dick at eye level. He starts to stroke it, and the simple sight of daddy touching his own cock, touching it as he looks at me, starts to turn me on all over again.

  Daddy grabs my hair, tugging on his thick cock. My mouth opens without thought, ready to accept his dick.

  But daddy only smirks. “Jesus, you little slut. I'm your father. There's no way you're wrapping your lips around this.”

  My brow furrows in embarrassment. He's right. What's wrong with me?

  “But you are going to see what happens when the world fucks you over.” Daddy's hand vigorously strokes his cock. He quickens his pace as his dick bobs up and down, masturbating himself within inches of my face. His hand grips my hair harder, preventing me from moving or even turning away, but I couldn't move even if I wanted to: my body is destroyed from my spanking, and the cock inside me continues to inflame my libido. I'm stuck focusing on daddy's thick cock moving back and forth in front of me. I'm fixated on it, unable to drop my gaze.

  It's impossible to stop him, so I've no choice but to accept my punishment. When daddy groans, his strokes slow to a stop, he pulls my head back, and a torrent of sticky hot cum launches onto my face. Daddy moans as shot after shot fires from his cock, landing all over me, from my forehead to my nose to my lips, seeping between them to find its way into my mouth. Daddy covers my face with his load, culminating his punishment with the ultimate act of humiliation.

  He lets go of my hair and collects himself. “Now you know what happens to pretty little angels who ste
al. A man'll turn you into a slut the first chance he gets. Never forget it.”

  “I won't,” I smile.

  I lick what's on my lips and swallow, like a good little slut.

  - - -

  Daddy Gives Me a Workout

  The smell hits me for the first time today. Like every other part of this ritual, it's another way point of progress, one I've come to expect, and one I've come to enjoy over the past six months.

  It's the salty, meaty stench of sweat.

  Gross, right? That's what I used to think, not too long ago. I was a stick of a girl—I still technically am—who couldn't manage to lift the dog more than a foot off the ground. I had no interest whatsoever in working out, until I realized just how beneficial lifting weights and running could be.

  And I'm not talking about getting stronger.

  My stepfather's a workout warrior. He's buff—has been ever since I've known him—cut from thighs to shoulders. When he's not at his job, he's working out. It's a regimen he keeps to like nothing I've ever seen. It's actually pretty awe inspiring.

  And a little hot. It's not the muscles that attract me to him, like every other vain girl, it's the determination. The man knows how to get shit done, and he knows how to take care of his body.

  If I got close to him, if he took care of me as good as he takes care of his body...

  But the problem was he was always consumed in his work or his workout. We never got to spend time together, or at least, not enough to sate my interest. He's always cared for me—such a big heart for a big man—but it's always cut short by his daily workout.

  So I took to working out. Not for muscles, but for him. I asked him to train me for whatever reason—I can't even remember what I told him—but all I wanted was to spend as much time with him as I could.

  Watching him now bench pressing an ungodly amount of weight, and even through the sweat and torture of my own workout, I know I made the right choice. It burns my arms as I lift the dumbbells into the butterfly lift.

  It's toned my body far more than I ever thought possible, but I haven't cared all that much about my own progress, only that my progress leads to daddy's praise. He's so excited to watch me strengthen my body, it keeps me going, if only to see the happiness my workout brings to him.

  When we started out, it wasn't all smiles. It was rough lifting weights, but made even worse by the fact that we did it in a crowded gym with a dozen other sweaty dudes. I convinced daddy to buy some more workout equipment for home so we could get everything we needed without having to go anywhere. Daddy was hesitant, but when I mentioned how all the other guys seemed to be creepily staring at me, he straightened up immediately, pushed his concerns with money aside, and bought everything we needed that day.

  And I got daddy all to myself for the first time. All of sudden, working out didn't seem that hard. And the more I did it, the more I started really enjoying it.

  But I think the weirdest part is how I started to like—no, love—the smell of sweat. Not so much my own, but daddy's in particular. It used to gross me out when I was younger when he'd finish his routine and come home completely drenched.

  Now, though... now it's the sexiest aphrodisiac I've ever experienced. Lately, especially, I've been getting more and more turned on by daddy's workout, by the smell of manliness emanating from him. The aura of him, the glow, has made my insides turn in vicious circles.

  Sometimes I end my workout with a budding wet spot in my panties. It's like my own little secret every time I'm with daddy, to the point where I'm no longer embarrassed by it. I expect it to happen, and it only makes me more brazen in my attempts to be with him.

  But the loss of focus definitely makes me neglect my own regimen.

  “Babygirl,” daddy says, the clink of the barbell against the arms of the bench press shocking me from my daydream. “Are you tired all ready?”

  My face flushes as I realize I'd been staring at him for a few minutes without moving. “Uh,” I clear my throat, “no, just thinking.”

  He smiles. “Well, come on, you got ten more. Show me what you're made of.”

  I kick into my lifts, happy to have daddy watch me through my workout. You'd think a spectator would be nerve racking, but I love having daddy's eyes on me. It makes me the center of his attention, which has been the thing I've been striving for... for most of my life!

  My energy picks up and I give daddy a show, really grunting into each lift with passion, showing daddy how much I love working out. I perfect my form, making sure daddy has nothing but praise for me when I'm done.

  “Yeah, there we go. Good girl. You got this!”

  My face burns, and it isn't from the weights! I love when daddy calls me a good girl. Even in my newfound strength, I feel tiny compared to him.

  “Ten!” I huff out, letting the weights fall to my sides.

  “Good job, good job. Thirty seconds, then I want you to give me some dumbbell rows.”

  I smile. “You got it, daddy.” The one thing I like about being distracted is that daddy makes it his mission to get me right back on track. It all comes back down to attention, and even though it seems kind of pathetic, I can't help how much I crave his in particular.

  I catch my breath and feel a shudder in me. I realize the position daddy wants me in: kneeling on the bench press, bent over, head down... I swallow as the eroticism tickles me. My mind is wandering into the nasty.

  I put my knee up on the bench press, place my hand forward to support myself, lean to pick up the dumbbell, and transition into my first rep. Daddy's behind me, intensely watching my form, but all I can think about is how he has a clear view of my ass in my black, spandex boy shorts. He can see the toneness in my ass and thighs as I lift, especially when I shift my leg and back slightly to accentuate my curves. I've been focusing on making my body all the more appealing for a man who's perfected every inch of his.

  If this isn't a sight to behold, I'd be shocked. I spin my head a little, giving my hair a seductive toss over my shoulder, baring my neck. I'm really feeling it today, this need I've had to be with daddy. It's like an overwhelming urge at the moment, to have daddy take care of me more than he's ever imagined. I swear, sometimes working out gets my libido going. I wonder if it's the same for daddy?

  But daddy says, “Babygirl, you're posture's off.”

  Ugh, daddy! That's not what you should be focused on. Sometimes his obsession is so annoying, he misses the obvious things right in front of him. Look at me, daddy! Really look at the woman your little girl's become! You're telling me my posture's more important than this? I shake my butt for emphasis to my thoughts.

  “Come on,” he says, ignoring my inner turmoil, “you need to straighten your back.”

  My shoulders slump in response as I lower the weight at my side. Is he really never going to notice me for the woman I am?

  “Here,” he says, walking over to my side. “You need to lift your stomach and straighten your butt.” Daddy's hand slides under my stomach, which causes an explosion of nerves that radiate outwards. With ease, he lifts my stomach up, and with his other hand, he touches the back of my thigh and pushes it inward, helping to make my leg vertical.

  I'm caught up more with daddy's hands on my body, the immediate sensation of arousal that hits me deep in my core. The simplest touch spreads a fire throughout me. He's corrected my posture before, but today, for some reason, his touch his far too hot on my skin to ignore.

  I look up at daddy, my face red as I lock eyes with him. I want you, daddy. Can you see it? Can you see it in my eyes? I don't think I can make my desire any more obvious.

  Daddy smiles, brings his hands under his arms, and says, “All right, go on. Five more.”

  The feeling inside me is akin to a heart attack. My heart sinks, clobbered by the weight of utter disappointment. I drop the weight at my side with a loud thud against the padding on the floor. I turn to sit down on the bench, my head falling into my hands as defeat takes over.

  “Baby
girl,” daddy says, his hand coming to my shoulder as his voice strains with concern, “what's wrong?”

  What am I doing? Why am I like this? Why am I trying so hard to be with daddy? I only started doing all this to be with him, and he's not even noticing me.

  “Hey,” daddy whispers, kneeling in front of me, “don't worry, you can tell me. What's bothering you?”

  “I just—“ I swallow and clear my throat, turning to fixate on daddy's outstretched arm on my shoulder. “I don't know if I should workout with you anymore.”

  Daddy's always been incredibly accepting of my decisions. He backs me entirely in whatever I want to do. When I wanted to quit being a lifeguard over the summer because I felt like I was losing time hanging out with my friends, daddy had no hesitations about it. He told me it was fine, I'd worked hard enough, and that I deserved some time to myself. It surprised me because of how gungho he was when I first got the job, but I've come to expect him to be accommodating at every corner. Just for me.

  But the pause in him this time is palpable, a long torturous few seconds as he processes what I'd just admitted. He shakes his head. “Why, babygirl, why do you want to quit?”

  “I just—I don't know if this is for me. I don't know if I'm strong enough to keep going.”

  I was talking about being strong enough to keep being around daddy—an admission to myself—but daddy takes it as me being hard on myself. “Of course it's for you,” he reassures me. “You're my daughter. You're the strongest girl I know.”

  “No, daddy. I don't mean I'm weak. I just don't think I can keep doing it with you.”

  He's taken aback, a moment of surprise he wasn't ready for. For a man who's done nothing but keep his cool, it's a shock to see how much it catches him off guard. “Do you not like working out with me?”

  I look into his eyes, and I notice something strange: daddy is really worried about me stopping my workout. At first I thought he was bothered I'd quit and lose all my progress, but now I realize he's bothered I'd stop working out with him. Does daddy really like my company that much?