Archive of Our Own

"You look pretty," the mirror said.

Harriet frowned at herself. The green dress hugged her body and highlighted what little curves she had, transforming her small breasts into an acceptable cleavage. She liked the fabric, all satiny soft, and she liked how it looked on her, but still she hesitated. Sliding both palms against her flanks, she watched the light play along the gown, the quick, liquid shimmer of silk.

"Isn't it too much for a first date?"

"Not at all!" the mirror said cheerfully. "You look very pretty."

It was repeating itself. Not a very smart mirror, this one. Harriet had gotten it on sale and now she understood why. She missed the mirrors of Grimmauld Place. They were all old and cantankerous, but they gave excellent fashion advice. She should have brought one with her in her London flat.

"I look like I'm going to a gala. I could have worn this at the Triwizard ball."

"Yes," said the mirror.

She sighed and pivoted, eyeing her arse. Okay, the dress did incredible things to it. Her backside had never looked so good.

"Fine. I'm wearing it."

If not today, when? Severus had bought her the dress for her eighteen birthday two weeks ago, and she'd been dying to put it on. The next Ministry gala would likely be in the fall, or even in December. She didn't want to wait until then. A date was the perfect opportunity.

"I'm wearing it," she repeated.

"You are."

With a huff, Harriet hastily brushed her hair and applied some make-up. There. She was ready. And just in time, too, for there came a knock at the door.

Neville had a bouquet of white roses in hand. He stared at her, mouth open like Trevor when he wanted to catch flies, eyes slightly bulging.

"Hi, Neville."

He was still staring. Mmh, so the dress had been the right choice.

"Hi," he said, his brain visibly booting back online. "Uh, I got you…"

He brandished the flowers in her direction. She accepted them and took a big breath of their sweet scent, thanking him for the attention.

"I'm not too early, am I?"

"Nope, perfectly on time! So, where are we going?"

The answer was Hogsmeade. Neville had secured a reservation at the Blue Lantern, a high-end restaurant sprawling on three stories at the end of the main lane. A waiter greeted them and escorted them to their table, where they were served complimentary cocktails and a vast variety of appetizers.

"You look very pretty," Neville said.

The exact compliment the mirror had given her. She tried not to let it bother her.

"Thanks. You look nice too."

He was wearing dark robes trimmed in silver and a blue tie that echoed the color of his eyes. It all flattered him, in a wealthy pureblood sort of way, while Neville's gentle countenance shone through anyway. And he was cute.

The first course arrived, a shellfish bisque soup that was rich and spicy, served with herb-crusted bread. Harriet ate with care, intent on keeping her dress stain free. Magic made it easier to deal with accidental spillage, but she didn't want to make a fool of herself in front of her date.

Her first date.

She wasn't counting whatever had happened with Ginny during her sixth year. It had been very messy, and mostly clumsy kisses anyway, with no actual dates. So this was her first time. She wondered if that was Neville's first date, too. Probably not.

"So," he said, "how are things going? Now that you're finally… you know."

"Voldemort-free?"

"Yeah, that."

"It's great. I can do pretty much whatever I want without having his shadow overhead. I feel like for the first time, I have a future, you know? It's new. A bit scary, too, but that's part of the fun."

He grinned.

"And you? Assistant Herbologist next year, I hear. You must be excited."

"Terrified. Sprout says I have what it takes, and I love working with plants, it's my favorite thing in the world, but it's still a big step. I'm going right from student to professor. I've no idea how the seventh-years are going to look at me and respect me…"

"They will," she said, twirling her spoon. "And if they don't, remind them what you did to Nagini."

"I can't do that," he said, laughing. "That'll come across all wrong and then someone will accuse me of threatening my students… No, I'll… I'll do my job and teach them, and hopefully they'll be interested in learning Herbology. I know it's not the most glamour of subject, but it can be fun."

"You'll be fine. Hogwarts has had far worse teachers than you, Neville. Not that you'll be bad, but—well you know what I mean."

"It has," he said somewhat grimly. "Quirrell…"

"Lockhart."

"Barty Crouch…"

"Umbridge."

"Snape," Neville said, and winced. "Sorry, that came out by reflex."

"He wasn't a bad teacher," Harriet said.

Not a kind one by any means, but he did some actual teaching as opposed to Lockhart, and under his care many students got their NEWTs—a better percentage than the cohorts under Slughorn, by a small margin.

Neville made a face that indicated he disagreed.

"Let's not talk about him, okay?"

"He's my dad. If we're going to date, you'll have to do more than talk about him. He'll be in your life."

"Are you still planning to be an Auror?"

She bristled at the abrupt change of subject.

"I'm not sure. It was my dream job for a long while, but lately I've been reconsidering. For now I'm focused on helping the victims of the war."

"You've got time to decide."

The waiter brought the main course—grilled langoustine and confit potatoes. Harriet had barely dug in that Neville made a strange choked-up sound and turned white. Then he tumbled off his chair. Instantly, Harriet was there besides him, wand out. She cast a spell to clear his airway, but it did nothing. He wasn't choking. Something else was happening, something that was making him convulse, eyes rolling back, froth foaming from his mouth.

Waiters flocked around them. Someone among the other diners this evening was a Healer, and he knew how to help Neville. One spell gave him back his color, another made sure he was breathing. It turned to be a rather serious allergy that landed him in St Mungo's for additional treatment. Harriet stayed with him as a team of Healers checked his vitals and cast more spells on him. Neville grimaced throughout the process, pale and sweaty.

"Sorry this ruined our night," he said. "I told them no nutmeg and they swore there wasn't any, but…"

He shook his head, sighing.

"It's fine. I'm just glad you're okay."

He smiled weakly at her.

She got home after midnight. Took off her shoes, let down her hair, and slipped out of her dress. The mirror asked how the date had gone. She answered with a shrug. The truth was that she liked Neville, but she didn't like him enough. There had been no spark between them.

When he tentatively broached the subject of a second date a few days later, she declined as gently as she could. He was nice, he was sweet, and they could have dated… but it wouldn't have been fair to him. He had much more feelings for her than she did for him. She didn't want him. Not really. She wanted something else, only she wasn't sure what. Plus whoever she would end up dating would need to get along with her Severus.

"You'll find someone," Neville told her, taking the rejection well enough.

*

"Yes, yes, excellent, my dear. Your paramour will prostate themselves at your feet. They will sing paeans in your name. After they've located their melting brain matter, that is."

Harriet grinned at the mirror. She'd pilfered this one from Grimmauld Place and gotten rid of the other one.

"Lipstick or no lipstick?"

"That depends on whether you're planning to be kissed tonight," the mirror said in a conspiratorial tone.

"I am."

"Then I advise no lipstick… unless you happen to have Belgram's Better Buttery Lips in your make-up kit, which has a delightful vanilla-cinnamon flavor."

"Never heard of it," Harriet said, guessing this was something from the 70s, or perhaps even earlier.

"No lipstick it is! Your lips are already perfect, my dear."

She hoped Ginny would think so. She'd put on the dress again, and made her hair the way Ginny liked, with a sort of side-braid running along one part of her face. Chewing on her lower lip, she checked herself in the mirror again.

Why was she hesitating?

Ginny was fun. Ginny was uncomplicated, and cool, and they shared many interests. Plus they'd already sort of been together. Now they would pick up where they left off… and it didn't have to mean anything immediately. They could have fun.

She Apparated to the Burrow. Mrs Weasley opened the door and seemed surprised to see her. Inside, it was a war zone, the furniture displaced, the room near unrecognizable given how everything had been moved. Ginny was halfway under the sofa, her lower half sticking out, shaking something that was making a rattling noise.

"Harriet is here, dear," Mrs Weasley said.

"What?" Ginny said, crawling out with a grunt. She froze upon spotting Harriet. "Oh fuck, our date—I forgot it was tonight—"

She was in everyday clothing, her hair a frizzy, dusty mess, a can of bird treats in hand.

"What's going on?" Harriet said.

"Huddleberry. I can't find him. He's always lodging himself into the stupidest places, so I've been checking every corner, but it's like he's disappeared."

"I'll help you look for him."

He was a tiny white owl who loved hiding in Ginny's hair. She had last seen him last night before heading to bed. There was no reason he should have been anywhere but in the house today. And yet looking everywhere produced no result, nor did any vigorous shaking of yummy owl treats. Harriet even checked in the garden and the edge of the woods at the back of the house. No sign of him.

"He'll probably turn up soon," she told Ginny. "Maybe he found a mice nest and gorged himself, and now he's sleeping it off."

"Yeah," she agreed, but her eyes were restless, cycling between the usual spots where Huddleberry was ordinarily found.

Harriet hugged her, then went home in a strange mood, part worried for Huddleberry, part relieved that there had been no date after all.

"You're back early," the mirror commented. "Was your date such a bad kisser?"

"Nothing happened."

"With you looking like that? Unthinkable! Who bungled such a chance?"

"Ginny."

"A common name. So pedestrian. From which family is this Ginny?"

"Weasley."

"Oh dear," the mirror said. "You don't want a Weasley, poor you. They're all blood trait—"

Harriet groaned and silenced the mirror with a spell. Maybe she'd switch it back for the other one. Between trite remarks or racist ones, there wasn't really a choice.

Lying in bed, she went over her dating problems in her head. Perhaps this was Fate telling her she and Ginny weren't made to be. That she should keep looking for the right person… but she didn't know who that person was. When she closed her eyes and pictured her ideal dating partner, well… she came up blank. She only knew what she didn't want.

She didn't want someone meek.

She didn't want someone her own age.

She didn't want someone who wouldn't get along with her dad.

Where on earth was she going to find someone like that?

*

She had lunch with Severus every Sunday. He arrived around eleven, and they cooked together. It was their little tradition, one that had endured through years. He had taught her to cook early on, before Hogwarts, nearly from the moment he had rescued her from the Dursleys. He'd put a knife in her hands when she was six and shown her how to use it patiently. By the time she was eleven she was dicing potions ingredients nearly as well as him. She had inherited his flair for brewing.

Finding out he was her actual father had been a shock, but they had both adjusted to the news rather well. It helped that it had happened early, in her first year.

"Salt," she called.

He floated the shaker into her hand. She generously sprinkled the potatoes and gave a twist of her wrist, sending them tumbling around the pan. Served with a chives salad, a dressing of creamy goat cheese, and a cut of rib steak, it all made for a perfect lunch.

In years past, they used to talk about Harriet's grades and whichever mortal danger was currently stalking her. Now they talked of Severus' little potions shop and her plans for the future. The shop was thriving, orders pouring in. Severus had come out of the war with an Order of Merlin and the aura of a hero, which was nothing less than he deserved.

"The French royal family reached out the other day. They want Wolfsbane, brewed the Snape way. Twenty cauldrons of it."

She nearly spluttered, which would have spewed potatoes all over her plate.

"That's—that's great! How much will they pay you? You get half in advance, right?"

"I care little about the money. The prestige, on the other hand…"

"Right. That'll make the Snape Wolfsbane even more famous. Potions Quaterly's going to be begging you for an interview…"

"Perhaps," he said.

He was trying to remain nonchalant, but she knew him too well. The tilt of his lips indicated he was very pleased.

"I don't have any alcohol to celebrate," she said after a mental review of her cupboards.

"This is celebration enough," he said, and lifted his glass of water.

She grabbed her own to toast like this.

"Okay, but once it's done and your name is everywhere, we have to go out for a proper celebration."

"If you wish."

The conversation moved onto her plans once summer was over. She confessed she wouldn't go into Auror training just yet—or maybe not ever. She didn't feel it was right for her after all. He agreed, and told her she should simply enjoy herself for the time being.

"...although I am glad to see you still live alone," he concluded.

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, Dad. Voldemort's barely been dead for three months. I haven't even had a proper date yet, and moving in with someone is a big step. I'll probably live alone for at least another year."

"Wasn't there something planned with Longbottom?"

She didn't ask how he knew that. He'd been a spy for years—he had his ways with information.

"Yeah, but our date was cut short. He was allergic to something in his dish, and we ended up at St Mungo's."

"Mmh. Unfortunate."

The words came with a slight note of relish. She chalked it up to his usual dislike of Neville.

"I had another one lined up with Ginny, but her owl went missing, so that killed the mood."

Huddleberry still hadn't reappeared.

Severus leaned back in his chair. He considered her as he traced a long, slender finger along his lower lip.

"You can do better than Ginevra. Or Longbottom. They are not worthy of you."

"No one is, according to you."

He hummed. She waved a hand as if to clear the air between them.

"I know, I know. I'm a diamond and I need someone who can make me shine. Remember when you said that? Truly inspiring words to hear from one's father as I was agonizing with stress about the Triwizard ball."

He'd tried to be fatherly then, even more so than the usual. He'd taught her to dance, he'd given her advice, and he'd ranked her potential suitors. He had also threatened to castrate whomever would kiss her. She'd gone with Cedric in the end, and he had kept hands and lips to himself, too afraid of Severus' wrath.

"I stand by those words. You're exceptional, Harriet. You shouldn't settle for anything less than your equal."

"I'll get back to you once I've found him."

*

One week later, she was wearing the dress again. This time her potential boyfriend was a Muggle. She'd met him while shopping at the supermarket, and he'd been cute enough that she'd given him her number when asked. Why not, after all? She could try dating a Muggle. He didn't know anything about her, which was refreshing, and conversely, she didn't know anything about him.

They met at a restaurant a few streets away from her flat. He wore a dark suit that flattered his pale complexion, and with his black hair and brown eyes, he now looked handsome instead of merely cute. He was twenty-eight. She wouldn't have minded if he were a little older.

"So, what do you do for a living, Harriet?"

"I just finished school. Not sure yet where I'll go or what I'll do. I'm in a sort of… floating period."

He nodded and began telling her about his job—he worked in finance. Halfway through a sentence, he stopped. The next syllable simply didn't come out, and he closed his mouth. His expression shuttered, going from soft interest to a hard wall.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I have to go."

"What? Now?"

He rose, smoothed the front of his suit, and turned away from her.

"Did I say something wrong?"

He left without another word. She remained in her seat, utterly confused. The waitress came by and diplomatically asked if she'd like the check, adding that there'd be a complimentary cocktail. The sad cocktail of the stood-up girl. Not that she'd been stood up, not exactly. Her date had shown up, everything was going well, and then… it wasn't.

She declined the check. She'd chosen this restaurant because she wanted to have a taste of their Japanese cuisine, and she was going to, date or no date. An hour later, happily full of excellent food, she walked home under the evening drizzle. The shock of her date walking out on her had faded, and she was left with bemusement and the suspicion that maybe she wasn't cut out for dating.

Maybe it was too early.

She was trying to make it happen so much it was backfiring on her.

From now on, she'd focus on herself.

The bright light of the corridor made her wince. She fumbled for her keys and unlocked her door, slipping inside her darkened flat. With a sigh, she ran a hand through her damp hair. She hadn't used a spell nor any umbrella, so really the whole of her was slightly wet. Her dress clung to her skin. She would have to peel it off to get into her pajamas.

One step forward—and she stopped.

She wasn't alone. The prickle at her nape told her so, and that peculiar tugging sensation in her guts. Instinct. She reached for her wand, slipping it out of her thigh holster. Whoever it was, they'd regret sneaking into her home, and if they were Muggle, they'd get a very big surprise, too.

Hello, magic is real, now get out of my flat before I make toenails grow out of your nostrils.

Lumos was on her lips. Before she could cast it, the shadows shifted and the intruder stepped forward. It was her dad. Clad in his black frock coat, he seemed sculpted out of darkness, one raw block of night bisected by a single stripe of moonlight that reached him from the kitchen, turning his hands and face pale marble.

Her heart gave a stutter.

He had the keys, but he always warned her before dropping by. And it was so late. It must have been an emergency.

"What's wrong?"

"That is my question to you. Were you not supposed to have a date tonight? Did he disappoint?"

"He left barely ten minutes into it. That was weird, actually. He looked like he was into me, and then for no reason at all, he fled."

"I know."

He stepped closer, leaving the beam of moonlight.

"I was expecting you here much sooner."

"What do you mean, you know?"

Closer, closer, stalking forward, until he loomed over her.

"Dad..."

He reached out. His thumb slid against her cheek, his palm molding to her jaw. His hand felt burning hot on her damp skin.

"He wasn't worthy of you, princess. None of them are."

She swallowed, hard.

"What did you do?"

"I protected my little girl."

He advanced. She stepped back until she hit the wall. She was still holding her wand, but she couldn't use it. Not against Severus. Her father. The man she trusted most in her life.

"Such thoughts in his head," he murmured. "If you'd seen the filth that was running through his mind, Harriet… He's lucky I didn't disembowel him."

He pressed his lips to her temples.

"The Imperius was a kindness. I was immensely merciful… for you."

He had used an Unforgivable to stop a boy from going on a date with her. It would have been absurd if she hadn't known just how serious he was. How dangerous. But not to her, never to her.

"Neville's allergy…?" she said, already knowing the answer.

"Had it been entirely up to me, Longbottom would be dead. But I know you have some fondness for the boy, and so he lives, despite his numerous, appalling flaws."

"Ginny's owl?"

"Mmh. A timely nudge to redirect her attention."

He murmured the words against her skin, lips sliding to that soft spot behind her ear. His body heat radiated into her. There were mere inches between them.

"You're wearing that dress..."

"I—"

"Do you know how utterly delectable you look like this? The green echoes your eyes, and the silk molds to your curves as if it were a lover, intent on caressing every inch of you… Of course, I would know. I chose it precisely for those qualities."

One large hand spread over her belly. She took a strained breath, and the motion pushed her stomach into his hand. His fingers flexed, bunching up the fabric. Then he was slipping his hand lower, grabbing a fistful of silk at her thigh, and dragging it up, revealing her bare legs. He angled his face down to watch. In the gloom of the corridor, he couldn't have been seeing much, and yet he let out a rough sound as her inner thighs were on display.

"And pretty, lacy knickers," he said, gravel rolling up with every word. "Were you hoping that boy would see them tonight? Would slide them down your legs?"

"No—I wouldn't—I wasn't planning on sleeping with him, not on the first date—"

"That's my girl."

He hooked a finger into her knickers and tugged them aside. His knuckles pressed against her bare cunt, a slow, intent contact that made her gasp. A knot of pulsing heat spasmed deep in her cunt. Sudden arousal drenched her, sending her mind reeling.

But she didn't stop him.

She let him do it, pinned there against the wall by his larger frame, his hand between her legs. She had never thought of him this way. He was her Dad, her fortress, the solid pinnacle around which the rest of her world turned. He had taught her nearly everything she knew. He'd been there for every ordeal, every moment of joy, every moment of pain. She had always trusted him, and there had never been a single instant of sexual anything between them.

And yet—

And yet she'd given her number to the Muggle boy because he was handsome, and he'd been lean, tall, with black hair and dark eyes and—

"Dad—"

His fingers swiped against her cunt. They glided through her wet folds, and she leaked liquid arousal onto them.

"Is that for him? Mmh, princess? Are you this wet for that boy?"

"N-no."

"Then for whom?"

She bit her lips, every nerve south of her belly gone scorching hot, animal need gnawing at her brain. She wanted more. How terrible was it, that she wanted her father's fingers deep inside her? That she wanted him—

"Say it," he growled, and he ground his thumb against her clit.

She moaned, squeezing her thighs around his hand, hips twitching forward.

"For you—for you, nnghh—"

"For me."

He pushed two fingers inside her, sheathing them at once in her waiting cunt. She whined. Her wand clattered to the floor. Hips rolling, she grasped at his shoulders, a string of wanton noises spilling from her mouth. He braced her against the wall and moved his hand, fucking her at a languorous pace. She followed the motions. Pleasure glower at her center, burning hotter, coiling tighter with every slide of his fingers. They dragged against her walls and touched her so well, touched her in a way that was so much better than anything she'd done to herself...

His hand were great—she had always thought so—she just hadn't known how great they would feel inside her—

"Will you let me…" he said.

His breath puffed hot against her face, his lips pressed to her forehead. His body was plastered to her front, the iron line of his erection digging into her thigh.

"Will you let me, Harriet..."

He didn't need to say it, not really. They had always understood each other without words.

Will you let me have you?

Will you let me worship you?

Will you let me fuck you until you forget your own name?

"Yes, yes—"

He removed his hand. She heard him fumble at his belt, undoing it one-handed, and she caught a glimpse of his cock. Thick, was all she had time to think. Then he was gripping her hips, lifting her, and pushing in. He filled her in three thrusts, each one reaching deeper. Gravity helped, and he positioned her so she was sliding onto his cock until he was hilt deep. It burned a bit, and then it felt overwhelmingly good, a solid length of heat spearing up right where she wanted it most, and before she knew it it was over.

She had lost her virginity to her father's cock.

"Oh God," she said, head thumping back against the wall.

He shushed her, whispering soothing words in her hair.

"Good girl… You took everything, mmh? Every inch of my cock in that tiny little cunt..."

Hard fingers at her hips, hard body against her, hard cock inside her—

He moved, a slow slide out, leaving her cunt only to push back in just as slow. He had to fight her body's resistance. His cock was too thick, her body too small. The stretch was insane. She whined as he made her take inch after inch.

"Dad..."

Her voice broke on the word.

"You're doing very well, princess."

A shudder went through her. Her cunt gave a spasm, contracting around him. He felt so big. His prick throbbed inside her, buried deep. There must have been a bulge. She wasn't in any state to check, vision blurry, head thrown back, but she knew her body couldn't possibly take him without physical evidence of it. The girth of him had to show there in her belly, and he was looking at it, her dress rucked up, his gaze lowered.

"Is it too much?" he said in a rumble that vibrated through her chest as well.

"No—no, it's—it's not—"

"My brave girl."

He rocked back and forth, fucking her against the wall. Her knickers pushed to the side, she was speared on his cock, and he held her weight, sliding her and up down his length as he drove in. Filthy sounds echoed in the hallway. Her own soft moans, his ragged breathing, and the wet smacks of their bodies. Her mind was a blur. Static crowded her nerves, a savage heat swelling as her father's cock worked her open.

The slick hot slide of him felt better with every stroke. She strained and trembled in his grasp, holding onto him tightly, and he was sinking into her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if they had always been headed for this moment.

For a forbidden encounter in her flat one late evening, and a panting, flushed, barely eighteen Harriet Potter full of Severus Snape's cock.

"If only you could see yourself, Harriet… Your pretty little pink slit split open on my prick. Your wetness shining on my cock… the way your belly bulges every time I push home..."

She closed her eyes, picturing it. Shaking, hips jerking in forward little rolls, she tried to match his pace, tried to fuck herself on him faster.

"I would have killed them all," he said. "Had they touched… had they seen this… even glimpsed it for a single second… they would all be dead. This is for no one but me."

She knew he meant it. Death for any potential dating partner. It should have repulsed her. It should have left her cold and disgusted, but it didn't. It made her burn hotter. His possessiveness ratcheted up her own need, and she moaned for him, fingers digging like claws into his shoulders.

"Ah, ah, Dad—"

"That's right. Keep saying it. Don't you forget who's fucking you."

She could never. Right now her entire world was all him—and they were closer than they had ever been. He drilled into her with deep, long thrusts, making space for him inside her, wrenching wanton sounds from her. She wanted to tell him how much she loved it, but couldn't string a coherent sentence together. Could barely breathe, in fact, and she moaned the same syllable over and over as everything threatened to unravel, dad, dad, dad, because that was all she was capable of.

He chuckled.

"Are you going to come on Daddy's cock?"

He slowed down, switching to a kind of slow grinding.

"You first, princess… and then I'll have my turn and leave your little hole drenched with my come. You can go to bed like this, mmh? With your sweet little cunt leaking Daddy's seed."

She emitted a muffled groan as her cunt clenched around him.

"You like that idea? My naughty girl..."

Her back arched. She gave a kick of her right leg, chasing the blinding pleasure, trying to get him deeper even though it wasn't physically possible.

"Look at me."

She did. Green eyes locked to black ones, and she saw everything in his gaze, all the breadth and depth of his love—and she came like this, cunt clamping down, muscles locking up, a lightning burst of ecstasy ripping through her system. She sobbed as she came apart. Her cunt gushed slick around his fat cock, and he cursed, dropping his forehead to hers.

He shuddered, holding still while she rode her pleasure, grinding onto his shaft.

"Good girl… good girl, that's it, take what you need…"

Muscles burning, a sated ache in her belly, she slumped backward. He pinned her to the wall with renewed strength. His hands cupped her arse from beneath. He swore again, and then he was moving with brutal thrusts, hips thudding against her, snarling in pleasure as he raced toward his own peak. The wall scraped at her back. Every snap of hips jostled her. She held on, enjoying every noise he made, every tensing of muscle, every ragged groan.

He fucked her like a rutting beast—or like a man who had waited years for this.

"Harriet," he gasped.

"Dad—"

"Harriet, Harriet…"

"Daddy," she said, and angled her head so she was speaking directly against his lips. "Come—come inside me—"

He made a low, wounded sound, and buried himself inside her with one final thrust. His cock pulsed, delivering forceful spurts of seed in her battered little cunt. She echoed his noise and ground back onto him.

"No," he growled, sliding his mouth to her ear. "No squirming, princess. Take—ah—take it all like a good girl, take my come..."

Her breath caught, cunt spasming. He rocked forward, and the motion put pressure on her clit. She cried out. He did it again, slower. His mouth found hers, and he swallowed her next moan, and then next as she came again, an orgasm so sudden and unexpected it left her dizzy, panting into her father's mouth.

He kept her like that, pinned to the wall, his cock buried deep. They kissed, and it was easy, it was effortless, it was everything she wanted.

"You're mine," he said.

She knew what this meant.

She knew what kind of future she was choosing by agreeing.

"Yours," she told him.

She wouldn't have it any other way.