Good Girl, Baby Girl, Cam Girl

G O O D G I R L,

B A B Y G I R L,

C A M G I R L

(a 100% fictional erotic story)

Heather kept trying to relax her body, but it was just plain impossible.

The best she could do was try to gingerly brace herself against the mattress, even as her entire body was rhythmically shoved up, up, up.

She kept her face pressed down into the sheets so he wouldn't see her wincing. While showing him her discomfort might speed up this... *fucking* he'd ordered her to call it, not sex, not making love... She also was very aware of his passionate disdain for complaining. And she'd learned in the past week (had it only been a week?) that he considered many things to be a form of complaining.

Asking for him to be gentler, to go slower... to not put it in her ass again, or that she can't breathe when he keeps it down her throat that long - all of these counted as "complaining."

Even crying when he hurt her - like the other night when he'd put it in her butt too suddenly, without even spitting on her poor little butthole first - even the silent tears rolling down her cheeks had gotten her an instant label of "spoiled drama queen" along with a spanking so rough, her bottom *still* felt hot and tender even now...

As it was slammed again, and again, and again by his beer-hardened gut and relentless, powerful hips.

Heather would bet dollars to donuts that he could literally go on humping forever, like a big sweaty Energizer bunny. He could take gold at the Olympics for humpery. Kinda like archery.

Her silly thoughts almost made her giggle, but truly she was feeling just so tuckered out and sore and tender! She hardly had the energy to smile.

Even her mouth was sore. Her throat felt raw, her lips and cheeks had been kept straining wide too often. Her thighs and neck were possibly the most painful, likely from being roughly held in one position for too long - while withstanding a constant steady battering.

Her whole body felt the impact of every single weighty hump. Now he was staying mostly flush up against her butt, his "dick or cock" (his approved vocabulary choices he'd replaced her meek "penis?" with) shoved very deep. He was continuing to rhythmically fuck up into her the last inch of his girthy, painfully rock-hard seven inches.

If she'd had a view from above, she imagined she'd see pretty much only him (since he fully covered and dwarfed her in size) hunched up tense over something as if caging it, holding it down; as if she were prey he'd hunted to the ground. Perhaps her golden hair in his fist could be seen, and her slender legs might be peeking out, pinned, beneath his thicker, hairy legs.

If she had a view from above...

But that's right, he actually had views from all over...

When she'd woken from another unusually groggy nap the other day (she only got naps lately, not a single full night's sleep since arrival) she'd blearily watched him meticulously install several tiny cameras throughout this bedroom, his bedroom - "Our bedroom now, babygirl" - and even in the adjoining bathroom and closet. It kept slipping her mind but she now felt renewed alarm. Was he filming all the time...? He wouldn't show anybody else ever, would he?

"Ungh, ungh, ungh," he groaned close to her ear, his breath hot and quick. "Baby, girl, ungh, fuck, yes, ungh, ungh, tightest, fucking, little, slice."

Ooh, ow, ooh, she "complained" silently in her head.

His hand had a bruising grip on her narrow little waist; then he was shoving his hand under her torso to squeeze her right breast, to pinch her nipple too hard; then he restlessly wrapped his big fingers around her graceful neck; then he grabbed a handful of her hopelessly-tangled, but still gorgeous, wavy blonde hair, and wound around his hand; and then he used this hold to yank her head sharply to the side, close to his.

His face this close made it all rather terrifyingly intimate, she thought dazedly. He could see her profile well, but from her angle his face was a looming, constantly moving, almost sinister shadow in her immediate peripheral.

What time was it, she wondered tiredly; the sun wasn't even up yet. Gracious, she could almost fall asleep...

"That's it, you little slut," he grated in her ear. "Look at that peaceful fucking angel... So, fucking, young, yesss, take it, take it! This is, what you, do now, slut."

His lips were pressing wetly into her ear; she'd learned that he usually drooled right as he was fixin' to release his hot cum; he'd drooled on her slender back, her flat belly, her round titties - once right into her mouth. That had been so disgusting...

Between harsh labored breathing and animalistic grunts, he said in an uncompromisingly commanding tone: "Say it, Heather, baby. Unghhh! Daddy, needs to, cum. Say you're Daddy's, little, whore."

Heather knew better than to put up any fight. She said, out of breath a bit herself from his bulky weight, "I'm, Daddy's, little, whore."

A shudder rippled through her as she called him Daddy. He just didn't seem like...a dad anymore. Not her dad. Not after this downright incomprehensible week. Everything had somehow tumbled down such a dark, steep, twisting path; and she knew, with leaden certainty, that neither she nor her Daddy could ever retrace their steps.

"Ahhh," he was crooning hoarsely in her ear, "that's a good girl, that's a goooood girl..."

The rhythm of his humping was finally changing, becoming erratic. He panted as he fucked his big daddy dick harder and harder into her fresh, beautiful teenaged pussy.

"Aww yeah, baby," he gasped. "Aww yeah, this fucking young...tight..baby...cunt... Unh isn't that... *too* good, fuck! Fucking, little, slut, letting, daddy, fuck you, like this, fuck!"

He was about to cum; she recognized the signs now.

But this was maybe the worst part of all for her.

Despite her confusion, her oddly distant disgust, and her worsening discomfort, every time he started dumping his copious amounts of daddy cum in/on her, she...well, she'd get wet. Like, really wet.

Her thoughts were yanked from their hazy wanderings by how painfully hard he was presently squeezing both of her tits. She couldn't help the faint, feminine little moan that escaped her lips. It had a little pain in it; but she couldn't deny there was more pleasure.

Her quiet moan seemed to have a strong effect on him. He groaned long and low, a primal, goosebumps-inducing response to her rare vocalization whilst being fucked. He'd heard the new ingredient of pleasure in her voice, she just knew it... Even when she'd cum before, she'd proudly choked down any sound that might stroke his already bizarrely outsized ego.

His hips stutter-slammed against her butt. He groaned so loudly that it resembled a primal roar and shoved all the way in her, letting his full weight smush her into the mattress. His hips made the tiniest mini-humping motion against her ass, matching the rhythmic twitching and jerking of his cock.

Heather could feel globs of daddy cum shooting aggressively right up against her cervix. As usual, the dirty sensation of it made her wetter, hornier, hotter - to her everlasting shame.

She was also becoming very, very dizzy; she couldn't draw a single breath under his weight.

I hope I don't pass out again, she thought dreamily.

That's right; she'd somehow forgotten about Daddy deepthroating her so aggressively that she'd eventually fainted.

When she had come to, Daddy had just finished squeezing the last strings of cum from his cock onto her forehead... smearing it down her cute little nose... rubbing the last drops onto her rosy cheeks and full, pretty pink lips. She'd panted, starved for air, and he'd simply continued painting her open lips with his cum.

"There she is...," he'd teased her, smiled contendedly. "Lazy little girl, taking a nap mid-fuck..."

It's happening again, she thought; he's going to keep using my body while I'm unconscious...

He certainly didn't seem to notice her urgent situation; or if he did, he didn't seem to care. He leisurely kept fucking his cum deep into her now-drenched little pink pussy, gently slapping his old dad gut slowly against her back. He obviously savored every millisecond of orgasming in her barely legal body.

He finally - and just in time - ungracefully rolled his drained, middleaged body off her young exhausted body.

He didn't inquire about the huge lungfuls of air she was panting into her deprived lungs.

He did watch her gorgeous round breasts as they rapidly rose and fell with her desperate inhaling and exhaling.

"Clean me off, baby girl," he ordered her,

lazily twisting his hips toward her while using his big paw of a hand on the back of her neck to pull her mouth to his slimy softening cock.

She complied calmy, trying to tamp down the shameful remaining needs of her pussy. He made humming sounds of pleasure as he pushed his softening, but still semi-hard, dick in and out of her hot wet mouth.

Finally he released her neck, letting her collapse back into the same facedown, ass-up position he'd found her in an hour ago...

(He'd promised her he'd let her sleep; but very soon afterward, she'd awoken to him raging at her for... turning the lights off? She'd been nervous and puzzled; his anger had drained quickly as he'd pulled the dirty sheets off her, revealing the jiggly round globes of her young booty. He'd muttered from behind her, "Guess I gotta go again... perfect little butt... just gotta hurt your ass daily I think, little babyslut...")

She was jolted to the present moment when she suddenly found herself being rolled onto her back, her sore limp thighs falling open to show her pretty little pussy oozing hot cum. She tried to press her legs together in alarm; surely he couldn't possibly... Daddy's over 50 years old... Maybe closer to 55?

But no, Daddy had flipped Heather over not for more fucking, but for easier access to her beautiful C cup tits. She lay docile and out of it, letting him squeeze and knead and grope to his perverted heart's content.

Honestly, shamefully, it felt pretty good. The boob molesting, and the part where Daddy spewed cum from his huge angry cock, were both shamefully arousing to her.

As he fondled her fleshy tits, he murmured to her, "You really are such a good little girl, Heather." He plucked at her delicate pointy nipples too hard. "You know that baby?"

He had big, brutish hands - he used to be a bouncer at seedy clubs, had bragged the other day about fucking hot young nightclub tail ("Not as young as you though... You're a real baby," he'd said with a creepy sort of fire in his eyes. "Daddy's gorgeous teenage babydoll..."

But his fingers were almost gentle as he lazily touched her sensitive nipples, her fragile throat, her shiny lips that he'd just painted with the last stubborn old drops of cum spat up from his big hairy sagging balls.

Then he resumed squeezing her ample tits, harder, almost cruelly now.

I'm getting wetter, Heather worried. She hoped she didn't orgasm, since it seemed to communicate that she was fine with with... everything.

But she wasn't fine with everything... A father shouldn't do this to his own--

"So glad we reunited," he murmured, interrupting her foggy, anxious thoughts. He was pinching her nipples, twisting them, pulling on them, making them sting and hurt. His hand slipped down to her soaked, swollen crotch. Briefly he carressed her swollen, slick pussy folds, and it felt so good.

But then he suddenly, viciously slapped her pussy, causing her to holler out in shocked pain.

"Oh shut it," he snapped irritably.

He was so much more mood-swingy these days, Heather had noticed.

"I didn't even hit you that hard. Little crybaby." His voice shifted from mocking to heated. "Daddy's little crybaby slut..."

Heather *was* on the verge of tears - but it was moreso because she needed to cum so badly. However, when she noticed in the gloomy gray dawnlight that his cock, instead of going fully soft now, instead was almost fully erect. She did begin tearing up at the unwelcome discovery, at the thought of him fucking her exhausted, wrecked body again right now.

"Sorry Babygirl, Daddy took some special medicine that keeps his big daddy dick hard. But," he continued as he wearily heaved himself up off the sweaty, messy bed, "I *am* a gentleman, and a very caring Dad; so I'll go fix you one of those green smoothies you like so much."

He towered over her, an unflattering outline in the lingering shadows of naked, let-himself-go-at-35 middleaged lumpy male, most noteworthy for his overall size (he'd always brought to child Heather's mind the image and temperament of a grizzly bear) and also for the impressive size (both length and girth) of his dick.

He was gently massaging said dick as he firmly pushed two of his fingers into her mouth.

"That smoothie'll get some life into you," he said, and she could just make out in the gray light a rather sleazy little smirk curling his lips. "I want you bouncing on daddy's dick when I come back up. And these lights - you turned off the lights again, baby, what did we say about that, huh?"

"That Daddy likes to see my sexy naked body all night," she softly parroted back; but her mind was sharper than it had been maybe all week and she was remembering something about the lights... She'd made an important plan and part of it involved turning off the absurd amount of lights he'd added to the bedroom the other day, to hopefully minimize how much all of his tiny sneaky cameras recorded...

But poor Heather was still in too thick of a mental fog of pent-up arousal and fatigue to stay focused on that important line of thought. Her lovely body almost felt as if she'd been in a car accident; and she was so thirsty and hungry. Daddy didn't stock any beverage here besides beer and his green smoothie fixings. Tap water's no good, he'd blithely warned her the day she arrived for her long-delayed visit.

Part of why she had come was to ask for help with her upcoming fall college tuition. Her mom had made a bad financial error, which somehow - Heather understood none of it - had resulted in Heather's college fund being drained to the penny. The almost immediate next upheaval in Heather's life had been an eviction from her lifelong family townhome (due to unpaid mortgage payments while her mom served an unnecessarily harsh two-year maximum-sentence in prison).

Finding herself suddenly alone, soon to be homeless, and flat broke, Heather had placed all of her eggs into the basket that was her seven-year-estranged father's assistance.

Yes, somehow a whopping *seven years* had passed since that horrible night he'd fought one last huge horrible fight with her mom. He had finally, suddenly declared he was leaving and not coming back; then he'd taken off with their only car, screaming obscenities out the passenger window as he disappeared into the night. "Good riddance," Heather's mom had murmured.

Since that night, her mom had only ever been admirably tight-lipped about him. One time she had let slip: "He is not a good man. I suspect him to be a very bad man, actually. We're glad he's gone."

Truly, Heather had very little reason to think her long-gone father would help her at all.

However, with her mom suddenly in prison and the dreaded eviction from her childhood home looming closer, Heather had grown desperate and begun attempting to reconnect with dear ol' Daddy.

He had responded to exactly none of her phonecalls, texts, emails.

Less than a week before her high school graduation and eviction, she had thought up one final Hail Mary to hopefully get through to him, at least enough to earn some response. She put together a beautiful, thoughtful, and hopefully nostalgia-inducing, handwritten letter.

She had enclosed with it two photos:

her sixth grade yearbook picture - she remembered Daddy had liked it quite a lot - and her stunningly pretty senior yearbook picture taken only a few months ago.

Within four days of her placing the last-hope letter in the mailbox, her longlost father had texted her.

*Of course I can help you sweetheart. I'm glad you're not buying into your Mom's lies anymore. You see where her way of loving got her? She's the reason I left, not you honey. Come immediately to this address and we'll figure everything out together. Your old dad makes good money these days and has plenty to spare for his little girl.*

However, when she arrived at his address (over a thousand miles from her hometown) she saw that Daddy lived in a very old, crumbling, ugly little house. It was dirty and half-empty inside. He confessed humbly that he had been let go from his wonderful years-long position in "business" not an hour after texting her, that he would need time to sort everything out. And the money he'd had in the bank to generously help her?

"Your mother will never own up to it, but I spent just about all my savings to pay her lawyer and court fees. She'll never admit it though. You know how unfair and downright fucking nuts that woman is."

Then Daddy had shutdown her anxious questions by briskly ordering her to relax and cheer up. She must be tired from traveling; here, let him blend up this nutritious green smoothie for both of them, to tide them over 'til supper. He'd shooed her away from the kitchen, instructing her to give herself a nice long self-tour of her new home.

Her self-tour was brief and depressing; when she returned to the kitchen, he'd snapped, "Get the fuck out of here, what did I tell you? I'm working on your smoothie as fast as I can," and had looked surprisingly upset that she wouldn't give him more space.

He'd smiled though when he handed her a big coffee thermos filled to the brim with thick green liquid. She was very hungry and thirsty. She thanked him when she finished it and he looked delighted with her.

Heather had felt uneasy from his mercurial mood shifts.

That first night, she remembered he had stared and stared at her as he played games on his junky little phone; he was very good at his phone games, she could tell cuz he barely had to look at his screen. He mostly just stared at her while adjusting his phone a bit this way and that, making clicking shutter sounds that he couldn't figure out how to mute.

Heather hadn't realized that she'd been gradually slumping over on the tattered, tacky couch. She was almost horizontal; and the way that she slept on her side caused her skimpy red spaghetti-strap top to be pulled indecently low on her chest, almost to the top of her flat belly. Meanwhile her arms had been accidentally squishing her perfect teenage melons together. She also hadn't realized that her tiny cutoff jean shorts revealed the bottom half of her naked buttcheeks.

The next thing she knew, she was groggily opened her eyes to see her father, her Daddy, shockingly close to her. He was pulling her daisy duke to the side a little, and then snapping so many pics so quickly.

Heather had trouble remembering what had happened next. Really the whole week was shrouded in an eerily dreamlike (or nightmarish?) fog.

The sudden screeching and grinding of Daddy's old, nasty blender downstairs shocked her back into the present fully. Her eyes snapped open and she slowly, painfully sat up, and then painstakingly stood up. She blinked against the brilliance of the oddly excessive amount of lamps and light fixtures in the bedroom. Her eyes wandered dazedly from mirror to mirror (he had put up several cheap plastic-framed mirrors from Walmart yesterday) and then her gaze drifted from one tiny blinking red light to another.

How many cameras could he have, she wondered idly. I hope they're not recording right now, since I'm totally naked. Maybe I should cover myself up better?

Moving oddly slowly, she began pulling one of the sweat-stained, musty sex-scented sheets off the bed.