Now there's this. Just because.

I hear you moving around the house. I'm not quite sure what you're doing, and you told me not to worry. Instead, you set my laptop and school work onto the kitchen table. Math is the last thing I want to do right now, but you refuse to give me the time of day all morning.

"I want you to be finished with this chapter by the time I'm finished cooking lunch, Isabella," you say when you finally walk back in.

I cringe. I'm only about halfway through. "What are you making?"

"Grilled cheese." You give me a pointed look. Busted.

I work fast and hard, my pencil flying across the paper so that when you place the plate of melted yumminess in front of me, I'm done. Relief. "Good job, Isabella. Let's eat."

I can't help smiling the entire time. Even though I'm sure my teeth are covered in cheese and mashed up bread. I'm just so happy to be sitting here with you. To be eating with you. I hope this feeling never fades.

When you're finished, you push your plate to the side and watch me. It should be creepy, but I like it. Your gorgeous greens on me? Looking like that? Like you're still hungry? They should be like that all the time.

"You've been such a good girl today, Isabella," you say, tapping your chin. "I think it's time to reward you."

I nod my head. Quick ups and downs. "Please, Daddy."

You tap the table. "Come and sit here."

I hesitate at first but your gorgeous greens leave no room for complaints, so I hop up with the your help. Your hands are gentle on my feet as they place each heel on the edge of the table. You don't need to ask. My legs fall open. Inviting you closer. Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you accept it.

I can't see it, but I just know it. You have an unhindered view of my pussy. You lick your lips. Confirmed. "Daddy?"

"Don't move, baby girl. You're so beautiful and so wet right here. Daddy is going to have a little taste, all right?"

"Yes. Please, Daddy."

You smile up at me through your lashes as your head dips down, your hands holding me still. Your tongue is so hot. So fast. Tickling until it's not ticking anymore. Until I'm moaning, trying to move my hips but unable to because of the steady grip you have on me.

"Daddy!"

I feel you smile down there. Your happiness only makes my pleasure bloom. "Sing it, sweet girl. Let me hear you."

Your tongue and then, a few seconds later, your fingers make sure I do. I sing so loud, I'm sure poor Mrs. Webber can hear next door. So loud that the table groans along with me. So loud that I can't help thrashing around in dance to its beat.

I hear the crash before I realize your plate has fallen to the floor. You don't care, so I don't either. Not that I would have had a choice because I'm falling too. And it's amazing.

"Such a naughty girl. Look at this mess you've made." You sweep aside the ceramic with your foot, slightly uncaring of the sharp shards and then wait for my heart to slow and my breathing to return by standing and pushing your pants to the ground. The cotton pulls around your ankles as you take your cock in your hand. I watch. So fascinated. So turned on. So needy.

"Do you like this, naughty girl? Do you like seeing me touch myself?" I blush and you chuckle. "It's okay. I like watching you too. Later you'll do this for me won't you?"

How could I ever deny you anything? "Yes, Daddy."

"That's my good girl." You step closer until I can feel your tip probing, asking, wanting in. I push up, and then you're tsking. "So impatient. Daddy is in control here. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." I nod, my body shaking with anticipation that's so hard to control. I want you faster, harder, and it's difficult not to take it, to follow, to listen. "Please! Daddy, please!"

And then you're in me with a roar. Stretching. Pushing. Harder and harder. Until your hips slam against mine and you're screaming your pleasure at the ceiling. "Does it feel good for you, baby girl? Because, by god, it feels good for me!"

You don't let me answer. You know. Somehow you always know. Maybe it's the way you're pounding, really fucking into my body. First slow and then so fast the table wobbles that I'm afraid it's going to break. When I hear my plate crash to the floor, I know it's your fault this time.

Or maybe it's the way I'm moaning. First these tiny little gasps every time your dick drives into me and then these high pitched screams that I try to temper but just can't, that soon turn into, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me, Daddy!"

Your spank is swift and harsh, sweeping underneath and landing on my ass. "Watch you mouth, Isabella!" And yet your dick doesn't stop its takeover of my pussy. In and out. Over and over. And now harder and even harder with each profanity that falls from my lips. "Not another word!"

I seal my mouth shut. It takes so much effort. And now with no way to release the building delight, it almost becomes unbearable. I can't handle it. I'm sure I'm about to combust at any moment. You're going to have to pick my pieces up off the floor. Death by orgasm. Who would have thought it was possible?

Because it is. I explode. Shatter. Torn apart by the stab of your dick and falling to pieces on the floor. Painful it may sound, but oh my god, is it a good kind of pain. Worth death? Most definitely.

My body is in too many pieces to know when you finally explode as well. But it's okay. I feel it later. When you collect my parts from the floor and glue me back together. When you kiss my lips sweetly and pull me to my feet. When gravity sends a combination of me and you seeping from my pussy and down my legs.

You reach, running your finger up my thigh and then bringing it to my lips. "Taste, baby girl. Taste what we did. Taste our pleasure. How is it?"

I suck on your finger like I want to suck on your dick. Soon. "Yummy, Daddy."