Thicker Than Water

"I'll do the dishes, daddy. Are you done with yours?"

"I am, but you're not."

"Huh?" she had sat forward, legs tucked in Indian style, looking at me with cute and innocent curiosity.

"Lick the plate. Get as much syrup as that thick tongue can grab."

My left hand slides behind her head to gather her hair into a makeshift ponytail before gently angling her face down to hover above the plate, which I hold in my right palm around chest-level. She extends her tongue, mouth agape, and starts licking the syrup up like a cat might, but much slower. There isn't anything indifferent about this, of course, I mean it's syrup; who doesn't like syrup? She loves it. The consistency is vaguely similar to cum, too, which she has slowly come to enjoy ingesting, so at least there's a favorable comparison.

Regardless, I just wanted to watch her lick the sticky liquid off the plate, some pancake crumbs included.

Call me sick, I don't care.

Naturally, below the plate now, my cock stands erect.

"Atta girl. Okay, you can go wash 'em now." I hand her the plate as she stands up, retrieving her own as well, careful not to let my fork slide off. As she walks in front of me I slap her ass and she lets out a little yelp. "And be thorough."

I lean back in the sofa, not touching myself but wanting to, curious if waiting is really worth it. On second thought, without any hesitation after the first, I deem that it will in fact be worth it. For both of us.

In fact, I've now mentally made it a personal challenge to draw this out as long as I can manage. An hour or two, probably, at the most. Depending on how much I let myself go...

FOUR

Once I hear the sink water running, her back facing the direction of the den, I get to my feet. I slowly approach her from behind; whether she's unsuspecting or anticipating my eventual arrival, I don't know. If she was smart, which she is, it'd be the latter. I suppose it may be part of the food 'fetish,' but I get weak in the knees and strong in the cock when it comes to booty in a kitchen. I'm drawn to it, and I can't say no.

It's like a drug.

And with an ass like Lyssa's, it might as well be crack.

My eyes scrutinize her from head to toe. She's tied her hair back into a ponytail so it doesn't get in the way with her task. This leaves her upper back exposed, which isn't covered by her camisole. Thus most of her ram's skull tattoo is visible, done in shades of black, with great detail—its curled horns extended across each shoulder blade, and a floral design 'etched' into its forehead. I love the upper back of a woman almost as much as I love their neck and shoulders, but I told her at the time of getting it done that as long as she never got ink on her butt or anywhere else on her torso, her neck, and obviously her face, then I'd allow it. I hated limited her to what she could get tattooed based on my personal preferences, it was almost Nazism, but she didn't have any objection.

Bare skin is bare skin, anyway. Inked or not...

The sight of her exposed upper back, and essentially her shoulders except for the spaghetti-strapped camisole, made me even more aroused. As if her ass in that pink lace tanga wasn't enough, or the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. She presently stood with her feet together, ankles merely two or three inches apart. Her elbows moved back and forth, hands working the sponge as she meticulously washed the dishes.

There weren't much, but just enough for me to take my time playing observer before I stepped in.

I bend my knees to descend to her level, and then guide my cock into her thigh gap; from the front it would be 'easier,' but from behind, her rotund ass serves as a delightful obstruction. My glans pushes past the lower corners of her soft cheeks, and I step forward so that my erection is appropriately embraced by her thighs and ass. Hands on her bare waist, between tanga waistband and the bottom hem of her camisole, I essentially hug her from behind...gently.

Almost as I'm not there.

"Oh, hi, daddy."

"Hey, baby." I kiss her exposed neck, and then behind her gauged ears. She tilts her head to each side, wherever I'm kissing. And then my mouth descends to her upper back. "My little girl is getting so strong."

"Really, you think I look it?"

"A little, sweetie. Not too much, of course. I don't want you to look ripped."

"I agree. I just want to be fit."

"You are fit, Lyssa." I kiss her cheek and peer down at her camisole. My hands rise to fondle her breasts from the outside. "A fit chick with nice tits and perfect hips, tasty lips and talented fingertips."

"Oh, sounds like you're the poet, now," she chuckles.

I notice she's almost done washing the dishes.

"No, baby, I don't write poetry..." My right hand lowers to readjust my cock; it pushes past the part of her underwear between pussy and ass, then slides in. I lower my hips more and my lips drag down the center of her back. "I just fuck it."

I drive my cock upward at the perfect angle, prepared to ride the perfect storm.

Her body lurches forward an inch, her heels clearing the tile floor for a moment. My hands squeeze her waist as I thrust up, penetrating her pussy as far as my cock can reach. She initially drops the knife she was washing, and starts to reach toward herself—likely to stimulate her own clit, but before her hand clears the sink I push it back.

"Keep washing the dishes, baby," I murmur into her ear, and then lick her lobe.

I continue thrusting, not as incessantly as I may have liked, but with the intention of not finishing here I knew I had to limit myself while still savoring the rest of her.

I hands rose to grope her breasts again, still remaining on the outside.

"I've missed my sweetheart's tight pussy so much," I gasp as I thrust harder, a ninth time. She grunts out a moan and almost drops the last fork before she's done, but doesn't. I can tell, too, that my words alone have an enhanced effect on her. I squeeze her breasts harder. "And these beautiful tits...you know, baby..."

I pause to cherish this moment while she struggles to retain her composure and finish washing that last damn fork after having cock in her for the first time in eight days.

Not to mention my teasing leading up to it since I got home.

I lift my left hand from her breast, right one remaining, to finger her mouth. She twirls her tongue around the three fingers I've inserted.

"I think I'm gonna introduce a new rule," I continue talking, but still not thrusting. "You're gonna eat more, really stuff this fucking slutty mouth of yours—"

A hard thrust, and I sort of grip her bottom jaw by pressing my three fingers down onto her tongue and bringing my palm up under her chin. She moans a hollow sound with a lilting pitch to it, which pours over my fingers. I thrust hard again. She's managed to transfer the fork into the dish rack on the other side of the two-part sink only to grip the lip of the counter and lean forward.

"—so you can put more weight in your tits, maybe make your ass even fatter, too. I know how much you like fat cock in your pussy, anyway."

I thrust three more times, rapidly and with high momentum, to the point that the base of her buttocks turn pink.

She whimpers and moans, a sound that indicates that she either really wants to cum or really wants me to cum, if not both. Neither are going to happen so soon, though.

I take my hand out of her mouth and she coughs once.

"Now, when I said wash the dishes, I didn't mean skimp on the clean-up. Be a good girl and rinse your hands off, then the sponge, then the sink itself, and dry your hands before you get water all over the floor and I make you lick that up, too."

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl." I thrust hard and she yelps a sound that is half moan and half gasp. My hands caress her from breasts to waist. I pullout of her pussy and thrust up between her ass cheeks, the underside of my cock wetly gliding up the thong part of her tanga.

She knows I didn't necessarily mean what I say. The word 'fat' is cruel in any usage, unless of course you're talking about cock. But especially for a girl who is hell-bent on staying in shape and honing her butt, expanding it through proper eating and exercise, it's a pretty south thing to say. Like I said though—she knows. I say it on occasion, it's my sadist way of saying that something is big and attractive. Weird, yeah; I'm not even into BBW, so I guess that makes it even odder.

But she understands.

While Lyssa rinses the sponge, her hands, and then the sink—in that order—I slowly thrust up her backside while kissing her shoulders and nape.

"Daddy loves you so much, baby."

"I love you, too, daddy."

"I love hearing that you do."

She smiles; I can't see it at the moment but I can somehow feel it.

"All done?" I ask once the water cuts off.

"Yes. Can I go brush my teeth now?"

"On one condition, baby."

"Yes, daddy?"

"Take off your shirt once you're in the bathroom."

"Okay."

"Good girl." I kiss her cheek and withdraw, patting her butt before she leaves the kitchen. I watch her trot into the hall, and then disappear around the corner. Down a few feet and to the left is the bathroom we share, which is pretty sizeable, but nothing like what would be in a mansion. I think for a moment before calling out: "Oh, and don't use the electric!"

"Okay," she replies.

I sigh and look down. My cock is limp, oozing pre-cum that seems intent on dripping to the floor at any second, but seems to defy gravity right now. I lift it so that the accumulation slowly runs down the underside, and make my way into the bathroom.

"Should I start?"

"Absolutely," I say, six feet from the open door.

I hear her begin brushing rigorously, and I pause half a foot from the threshold. She hasn't seen me yet. I shed my long-sleeved shirt, leaving me in just my socks and a fitted white T-shirt I wear under most clothes, or if I'm just at home relaxing. Then I enter, and before she can turn the slightest I'm standing behind her.

"Face forward, beautiful. Keep brushing. Get..." I put my hands on her waist again, her entire torso now bare. "Get every nook and cranny in there. All that damn PB and toast out."

She smirks around the brush and resumes. Toothpaste has begun to froth at the edges of her mouth. When I look into the mirror, I see it pooling under her tongue, mixed with copious saliva.

Lyssa is standing so close to the sink that her stomach is nearly touching the marble counter that surrounds it.

I look down to notice that her tanga has slid back into place, or she's done it manually, but I doubt that. My eyes revert to the mirror, my chin resting on her right shoulder. I observe her C-cup breasts, 34's last I recall. I apply minor pressure to them, squeezing one in each hands, making motions about her chest. At first she giggles around her toothbrush, and says something garbled. Then I tweak both of her nipples and she lets out a shrill little moan that was clearly unexpected.

"I love your tits, baby," I say, kissing her neck. "You don't need to gain weight or anything. You know daddy just says stupid shit sometimes."

"It's okay...I can gain some weight if you'd like."

"No, sweetheart, you're perfect as you are."

"Aw, thanks, daddy..."

"I love...every inch of you...as you are, in this very moment." I blindly guide my cock between her legs again, but require the added force of my hand to push aside the underbelly of her tanga. So I lower my left hand and she glimpses it descend behind her butt. It is then that she knows, but I hardly give her a chance to prepare. "Every...inch."

I thrust back into her pussy, up and with grand force.

She briefly deepthroats her toothbrush, purely on accident, and gags. Minty toothpaste splashes the inside of the porcelain sink.

"Keep brushing, Lyssa. Get all of that gunk out of your pretty, delicious mouth."

"es, addy," she says, garbled and barely coherent.

I continue thrusting, except now I pull her closer to me, and take a step back. She is forced to lean forward, her left hand clutching the lip of the counter while her left keeps the toothbrush going.

"Over the sink, baby, don't make a mess." I thrust hard, my thighs battering her buttocks straight on, pushing her forward. Her feet stumble but ultimately her knees lock and she fixes herself to the sink, doubled over it, her elbows bent. "That's my girl. Drool all you want into that sink, baby. Don't swallow that stuff, Lyssa. It isn't cum."

She says something unintelligible again, half whimpering and half moaning.

I'm still thrusting, just with less power and speed than before. My hands are focusing on caressing her entirely exposed torso, from her shoulders to her ribs, her stomach and her bare breasts that now sway beneath her.

"Not done yet," I finally make out her words—'not done yet'—as she is forced to spill some toothpaste into the sink, which rolls in a thin stream over her bottom lip.

"Too bad," I say, seizing her ponytail and tugging back.

Her head whips astern, and she emits this growling moan. "Uhhh...fuck." Her voice drawls out every syllable to make one sound like five.

"I don't care how old you are, Lyssa. I don't care how many tattoos or piercings you have." My right hand, still gripping her ponytail and keeping her face vertical, which I can savor the sight of via the mirror, starts to reel back. It stops when my elbow is bent, and even though her hands are on the sink—both of them, the toothbrush lolling in her mouth—I've managed to make her torso arch. Her back curls toward me, feet still flat on the floormat. I lean in and lick the left side of her face, including some toothpaste. "And I don't care how many cocks are in you..."

I thrust again, hard, making her lips tremble and her jaw waver. That toothbrush teeters but her top incisors barely keep it in.

"You still don't get to drop the F-bomb unless I say you can." My voice drips down her cheek. "Understand, sweetheart?"

"es, addy," she moans, garbled. "I ohry."

I keep her head vertical so she doesn't spill anymore.

"It's alright, baby. Now I'm gonna stand you up, I want your arms lifted, hands behind your head. Okay?"

"Wha abow too bruh?"

"Leave it in your mouth. Don't let it slide out, or you'll regret it."

"Ohay."

"Atta girl. Now, come on..."

She stands with my assistance, finally releasing her ponytail, and up her arms go, bent at the elbows. Her shoulders rotate so that her biceps stick almost completely straight up. This way I can reach directly forward and grasp her breasts without navigating her arms.

"So perfect, baby. So fit for cock."

I can't tell if she moans quietly, under her breath, or just lets out a damp exhalation.

Regardless, I thrust again, and raise my right hand to grab the toothbrush. I push it into her left cheek, pocketing it there and making it groan a low sound. In the mirror I watch her beautiful face distort, a scowl painting her visage while toothpaste dribbles off her chin. I've returned her to her initial position, not just standing but being so close to the sink.

I kiss her bare nape, and then as I thrust back into her pussy, I drag my lips across her fingers. She keeps her ponytail bound, hair up, while I thrust up. Her body rocks up before settling back down where she stands, not faltering except for each instant I drive eight inches of cock back inside her. I watch her breasts bounce with each repetition, as if it's a trained exercise. But my eyes keep returning to her gorgeous face, untouched by makeup, torn between the euphoria of pleasure and the grimacing of pain.

Perhaps it's more that I'm teasing her than actual pain.

At this rate, especially after the kitchen venture, she has probably wised up to my scheme. If so, good for her. If not, she's about to grasp it.

I take the toothbrush out of her cheek and then make her gag on it, delving its bristled head past her uvula. She lurches forward, spilling saliva and toothpaste into the sink. I immediately withdraw the brush, holding it outside her mouth as if to examine it. Then I run it under some water, turn the faucet off, and raise the rinsed toothbrush in front of her face.

After all this she hasn't taken her hands down.

"You're such a champion, baby. Go ahead and spit, then rinse. I got the faucet, keep those lovely arms up."

She doubles over the sink to spit, I turn the faucet back on, she gargles and spits, gargles and spits, then withdraws. Water drips down her face and breasts.

I reach for the handtowel, pulling it off the rack and drying off her face with it. Then her chest and the little droplets of water that got on her midriff. Then I lift it back to her face and suddenly wad up some to stuff into her mouth.

I immediately place both of my hands between her neck and each shoulder, forming firm grips on her torso, pushing down a little. I resume thrusting at the same time, harder with each repetition, really making her fit and petite tattooed body jolt up and down.

"Take daddy's cock, baby, I know you've dreamt of it while I've been gone, I know your pussy has ached to feel me inside you again."

She moans around the towel, not a single word or syllable coherent. I usually detest gagging unless it's a ring, because I cherish the sounds a woman can make, especially my Lyssa. But in the moment it seemed right.

"If you thought you loved this cock before, Lyssa, you were wrong. I'm gonna make you daddy's lil' slut all over again. I'm gonna paint you with so much cum you're gonna question what's jizz and what's ink, and you're gonna want to beg for it. But..." I keep thrusting, coming down to my last nerve—my last iota of patience. "But you can't and you won't because it's against the rules. And I know just how to punish my lil' slut in a way that wouldn't please her."

She practically squeals as I say this and fuck her.

Her eyes are wide and she shakes her head slightly.

I put my face close to hers. "But I don't want to do that, baby. I don't want to keep to myself around you. Ignore you. That's punishment for us both. So don't make me, baby. Abide by my rules, Lyssa, and I'll love you on my own terms. Understand?"

She nods and moans around the towel.

I pull it out and she coughs before moaning and yelping with each battering-ram thrust. I release her shoulders and in one backwards step pull out of her. Whether pre-cum or her own fluids or a mixture, something translucent and stubborn stretches between the tip of my cock and the narrow space between her thighs.

"Oh my God, daddy..." she exhales into the sink, doubling over it. She drools into her and I see her thighs tremble. "I was...so close."

"That makes two of us. Now dry yourself off where you need to, and set yourself up to read as you planned. I gotta use the bathroom after you're done."

"O-Okay, daddy. Just a minute."

I back out. "And don't you dare touch yourself, Lyssa. Clean up, dry off, but nothing more than that. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." I pat her butt and step out, cupping a hand beneath my softening cock to keep our little mess from staining the linoleum floor. I back out of view, actually giving her some privacy, but keep my ears open. I know she'd be very pressed to touch herself even a little, to get some kind of relief, but I was insistent for a reason. Deep down I'm sure she saw the logic in it, just didn't want to wait.

Less than two minutes later, Lyssa steps out of the bathroom and walks past me. I snag her hand and pull her back to me, hugging her from the front, my hands on her waist. I look down into those beautiful brown eyes while she gazes up at me, her ponytail released.

"I love you so much, Lyssa," I say quietly.

She smiles small, but I feel it big. "I love you, too, daddy. So very much."