Daddy's Little Girl: Bred by My Daddy 3 (erotic taboo breeding erotica)

Daddy’s Little Girl: Bred by My Daddy 3 (taboo
breeding erotica)

By Francis Ashe

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition

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***

If you’re new to the series, catch up with:

Bred by My
Daddy

Daddy’s Baby: Bred
by My Daddy 2

***

“Hey Liz! Wasn’t expecting you so early.” My
daddy extended a hand through the open door to take Davis, in his
little carrier, and help me with the rest of the load.

He set the eight-month-old bundle of energy
and cooing down and wrapped his arms around my waist. Holding me
close, he stooped and kissed me once on the cheek, pressed his lips
to mine and stretched one of his hands just below the top of my
skirt.

“I can’t believe he’s so big,” he said, “and
you... you look absolutely gorgeous. I don’t know many women that
look
better
after they have a baby. You’re a little
different, though.” He kissed me again and kneaded the top of my
pelvis with his fingertips before letting go.

“Well, thanks,” I said, blushing and looking
away. He always knew how to make me feel just the right sort of
embarrassment.

“Oh stop. You know you’re hot!” my daddy,
Peter, chided. “Come on in, get settled. It’s early, but would you
like a glass of wine? Anything?”

“No, no, thank you though. I just need to sit
down for a little bit. Two hours in a car isn’t much, but with an
overly excited baby, it gets a little long, ya know?” I said,
stretching out flat on the couch. Daddy just laughed.

“Listen, sweet, we need to talk. You mom is
out of town, obviously, but she’s coming back today. Her plane gets
here early afternoon. She’s... uh... not real happy. With us, I
mean.” He paced around, still carrying one of my bags.

“It’s okay daddy, we can work anything out.
She isn’t pissed at the baby or anything is she?”

He shook his head. “No, no, it isn’t anything
like that. Hell, she’s not even mad at
you
this time. It’s
all me, I’m afraid. I honestly wouldn’t say much if she finally
started to get on about you and me, but no, it’s something else
entirely.”

“What is it? Is she cheating on you? Did you
guys have a fight?”

“No. Well yes, but that isn’t the point.
She’s been with other guys for years. I knew about it though. We
never saw each other, and her being as gorgeous as she is, and as
libidinous, I always assumed. I didn’t – don’t mind. I’m pretty
open about sex, after all.” He paused to make an amused face.
“It’s... oh Hell, Liz, its money. She got another raise and has
been riding me hard about being useless. Even though I keep the
house up, do my little side jobs. I think this has been coming for
a while but now she’s decided that unless I move with her to New
York at the beginning of the year, she’s leaving me. There, it’s
all on the table.” He sat down in a huff.

That got me irritated.

Mom always played games like this. Always
told Peter she’d leave him for this reason or that. She never
would, and he knew that. She liked having him around, but I think,
for whatever reason, my patient, too-kind-for-his-own-good daddy
had enough.

“What are you going to – we – what are we
going to do? You’re stuck with me, and there’s no way in Hell I’m
going anywhere that it snows more than three times a year.” I
asked, slipping my hand into his.

“That’s the thing,” he said back quickly,
“I’m not sure. I mean, I like it here. Quiet little town, this nice
house, a yard for the dogs I don’t have. I don’t want to move
across the country, away from everything I care about, just so she
can bring home another pile of money. We’ve got enough. I do
anyway. I’ve got you.”

It was corny, but I knew he meant what he
said.

“We’ll figure something out, I promise. If
nothing else, you can come to town with me. I make enough to afford
a two-bedroom rental. You’ve still got that cash from the
pharmaceutical company lawsuit and the stuff you make and sell on
the side. We’d do fine. Better than fine. I want you to do it. I’m
tired of being apart.” I looked hard into his eyes and squeezed his
hand again.

“I’m sick of not waking up in the same bed
with the man I love and Davis is sick of not having his dad around
all the time. Well as sick of it as eight-month-old can be. I want
you around and he needs you.”

He nodded and seemed deep in thought. “Me too
babe, me too. We’ll see what happens. Okay?”

Standing up on my tip toes, I kissed him on
the chin. “Everything’s fine. I promise.” I whispered.

“Well, alright. Anyway, remote’s on the
coffee table. I was just getting done in the yard before it gets
too hot to breathe out there. I’ll be back in a few. You good?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I really mean it – you’re
absolutely the best.”

He smiled mocked a hat-tipping motion, and
went on his way.

***

Peter, Peter. Oh, Peter.
That’s what
he made me call him when we were out in the world. Made sense – I
mean, for all our quirks, I can understand why he would prefer I
not call him “daddy”, even though he was my step-dad.

I lay back, flicked on the local
news-at-noon, and half-heartedly rocked the baby for a moment
before he started making his hungry sounds.

Although I could have done without the little
bundle’s gnawing, the feeling of his warmth pressed against my
chest, and his weight resting on my belly was just wonderful.
Davis’s little suckles, the way my milk spilled across his lips and
how he always managed to latch on to the same bruised place on my
breast gave me a strange feeling of bliss. No matter how much it
hurt, or how often he pinched the same part, there was just some
kind of magic about this little life form, this tiny jumble of me
and my daddy that made it so everything was alright.

I absent mindedly stroked the back of Davis’s
head as he sucked. For some reason, I became utterly transfixed
with the knot on the TV weatherman’s tacky, splotch-patterned
necktie.
Looks like a mixture of Jackson Pollock and, I donno,
rotten tomatoes
. A snort of laughter came out of me and
surprised my baby, making him spit, which in turn, got me laughing
even harder.

As soon as he calmed down enough to eat
again, and I quit chortling at Sam Skipton’s necktie, the cool
rhythm of suckling and swallowing made the lights in the living
room seem a bit dimmer. A sort of hypnosis. Those were the most
relaxing moments of my life – safe in my daddy’s house, waiting for
what promised to be an enjoyable Labor Day weekend hanging out by
the pool, and waiting for my gorgeous, funny, tiny man to finish
his lunch.

The world could not, I thought, get much more
perfect.

Laying there with little Davis, I decided
sink into the giant, over-stuffed couch and rest my eyes while he
ate. As soon as my head hit the cushions, my vision was blocked by
a huge stack of laundry.

Oh shit. I almost forgot about this pile of
pants. Guess I better get up and deal with that before my eyes
start to get heavy and...

“Are my little girl’s tits sore from all that
milk?” As I accidentally drifted off, the baby at my breast was
replaced in my mind by my daddy, Peter. He stroked my hair out of
my face and let one of his hands go to on my belly directly
underneath my bare tits.

His lips brushed against mine in a sweet,
safe kiss and then traced my jawline to just behind my ear where he
nibbled softly.

Peter’s hair was thick and soft tangled
around my fingers. He kissed down my neck, a trail of goose bumps
rising along his path until he nestled his face between my breasts
and cupped one gently in his palm.

My daddy drew a slow, tight pattern of
circles with his tongue starting from the prickled skin on my chest
and ending up with fluttering licks across my sweetly aching flesh.
Caressed by his breath and excited by the promise his tongue made,
my nipples puckered and peaked, yearning for his embrace.

Th-th-th-th-thwop-op-op!

I sat up, cradling my baby to my chest,
startled and alarmed

Thweeee-we-we-we-op!

“Weed eater,” I said, craning my neck to look
out the window. “Daddy is weed eating the bushes. Why can’t he just
use a pair of shears like everyone else on Earth?” I laughed as I
watched him wobble around with the orange tool over his head,
chopping accidental lines in the shrubs.

“Well, little man,” I said, rubbing Davis’s
back, “you about done?”

He responded by sputtering and looking back
at me with that glazed, euphoric look he always has after a
meal.

“Okay, good. Let’s get some of this laundry
done. Well – I’ll do the laundry. You’re going to take a nap.”

After I got him swaddled and safe in the
port-a-crib, I grabbed the pile of pants, the baby monitor,
wandered in next to the washing machine and started to work.

Completely wrapped up in mechanical folding
and washing, I was unaware that my daddy had come in behind me
until I felt his thick, powerful forearms close around my
waist.

“Hi there,” he said, kissing the back of my
neck. I could hear his smile.

“Baby down?”

I nodded.

“Good.”

I turned to face my daddy. “I guess,” he said
as he closed the door with his foot, “it’s just us then? Just us in
this lonely laundry closet.”

“Oh yeah?” I looked up at him, my eyes wide
and innocent, and chewed my lip a little. “What are you gonna do to
your little girl? Are you gonna flip this skirt up, throw my leg
over the dryer?” I ran a finger down my chest and lifted the hem of
my pleated skirt just below where my cleft began. “You gonna shove
me face down and stick that big, hard cock straight in me?”

Before he could respond, a pop song that
seemed to be lost in time burst forth from Peter’s pants pocket.
“Oh,” he said, “hark, your mother.”

“Hey Marie, what’s doin? Uh huh, hey listen,
I... uh...” He made a ‘blah blah blah’ hand gesture. I couldn’t
make out individual words, but it was obvious that my mother was
talking up quite a storm in my daddy’s ear. I felt bad for him in a
way, but decided that I was going to turn his conversation into a
little bit of a game.

Lifting my leg and stroking my knee against
the appliance, I slipped a finger inside my mouth, wet it with my
tongue and traced a line down my chest, hooking my shirt and
pulling it down to give my daddy a little preview of my milky-white
tits.

“Buh- Marie, just a sec. Uh, call coming in.”
He blurted out, held the phone almost a foot from his face and
found the ‘hold’ button with a silly looking, bemused grin.

“I just... God, Liz, you’re a sight. I don’t
know how you do it,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and
feeling my arm, “you’re just incredible, you know?”

Grinning, and feeling playful, I let my shirt
pop back into place and turned my back to my daddy. As I bent over
the dryer, I made sure to grind my thighs together just enough that
my skirt rode up my legs, and he could see that my panties were in
the washing machine.

“Quit it! You’re making this call even worse
than it already is,” my daddy said, returning to the call.

“Okay, sorry. So, you were saying?” He
attempted to return his attention to my mom. Whatever she was
saying didn’t make him happy, but that made my game more fun.

“I donno,” I looked back and shook my ass a
little, “I think I feel like just getting fucked, daddy. Right
here. Right now. Watching you work in the yard all morning got me a
little... well...”

He moved right up behind me so that I felt
the heat of his body against me. His virile, delicious smell filled
my nose. “You’ll be here when? Oh okay Marie, that’ll be great.
Listen, I think Liz and the baby are coming in for the holiday
weekend... Uh-huh, yeah. That sounds good. Oh man, I hate to do
this again but someone’s calling. Just a sec.” He put her back on
hold, laughing.

“You are an evil, evil thing, Liz,” he said
and chuckled again.

My daddy pushed closer. As his skin touched
mine, I couldn’t help but gasp. The scent of his sweat, oil and gas
from the lawn equipment was enough to drive me just a little crazy.
I shimmied against him and bent forward, spreading my legs a
little. His bulge brushed against my lips, parting them ever so
slightly.