Misty stood in the center of the sun-drenched backyard, the late-afternoon light catching the sheen of sweat on her bare shoulders. The volleyball net sagged slightly between the two poles Justin had driven into the grass that morning. She was twenty-three, long-legged, and still breathing hard from the last rally. Her father, Justin, forty-seven and built like a man who had never stopped working with his hands, wiped his face with the hem of his shirt and grinned at her.
“Game point, baby girl. You ready?”
Misty bounced the ball once, twice, the motion making her small white sports bra ride up. She wore tiny black spandex shorts that clung to the curve of her ass. Justin’s eyes stayed on her longer than a father’s should. She felt it. She always felt it.
She served. The ball sailed high. Justin moved under it with easy power and spiked it straight down between her outstretched arms. The ball bounced hard against the grass and rolled toward the patio.
“That’s three in a row,” he said, voice low and rough. “You lose. You know the forfeit.”
Misty’s stomach flipped. The forfeit had started as a joke three summers ago when she was home from college. Loser had to strip. First time it was just her shirt. Then her bra. Then everything. She had never told him to stop. She had never wanted him to.
She glanced toward the house. Her mother was out of town for the weekend, visiting her sister. The wedding was tomorrow. Misty’s wedding. To a nice, soft-spoken accountant named Ethan who had never once made her feel the way her father’s stare did.
Justin walked over, picked up the ball, and held it against his hip. “Clothes off, Misty. All of them. Right here.”
She swallowed. “Daddy…”
“You agreed. Forced nudity is the deal when you lose three straight. No arguments.”
Her fingers trembled as she hooked her thumbs under the sports bra and peeled it upward. Her breasts spilled free, nipples already tight from the cool evening air and something hotter underneath. Justin’s gaze locked on them. She pushed the shorts down next, along with the thin cotton panties, and stepped out of them. Completely naked in the backyard, sunlight painting every inch of her pale skin.
Justin’s cock was already thickening inside his shorts. She could see the heavy outline of it, the way it strained against the fabric. Huge. She had seen it before—accidental glimpses when he walked from the bathroom, the time she walked in on him jerking off in the garage last Christmas. But never like this. Never while she stood naked and he looked at her like she belonged to him.
“Turn around,” he said. “Hands on the net post. Legs apart.”
She obeyed. The metal post was warm under her palms. She felt him move behind her. His big hands settled on her hips, then slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts.
“You’re getting married tomorrow,” he murmured against the back of her neck. “Wearing that white silk dress your mother spent a fortune on. Walking down the aisle to another man. But tonight you’re still mine.”
Misty’s breath hitched. “Daddy, we can’t—”
“We can. And we will.” One hand cupped her breast, squeezing. The other slid between her legs from behind, two thick fingers finding her already slick. “Christ, you’re soaked. My little cock whore is dripping just from being stripped in the yard.”
The words hit her like a jolt. Cock whore. She had never heard him talk like that. It should have felt wrong. It felt electric.
He worked his fingers deeper, curling them, rubbing that spot that made her knees weaken. “You’ve been teasing me for years. Walking around in those little shorts. Sitting on my lap at Thanksgiving when you knew exactly what it did to me. Tonight you’re going to take what you’ve been asking for.”
He pulled his fingers free and turned her around. His shorts were down. His cock sprang out—thick, veined, the head already glistening. It was bigger than she remembered. Longer. Heavier. The kind of cock that would stretch her open and leave her aching.
“On your knees,” Justin said.
Misty dropped. The grass was cool against her bare skin. She looked up at him, heart hammering. He gripped the base of that huge cock and tapped the head against her lips.
“Open. Suck it. Show me what a good little cock sucker you are.”
She parted her lips and took him in. The taste of salt and heat flooded her mouth. She had never sucked a cock this thick. Her jaw stretched. She hollowed her cheeks and slid forward, taking as much as she could until the head bumped the back of her throat. Justin groaned and threaded his fingers into her hair.
“That’s it. Deeper. Use that tongue. You’re going to drink every drop I give you tonight.”
She worked him with messy, eager strokes, saliva running down her chin, eyes watering when he pushed deeper. He fucked her mouth in slow, deliberate thrusts, watching her the whole time. When she gagged he held her there a second longer, then let her pull back for air before guiding her back down.
“Wedding’s tomorrow,” he said, voice rough. “You’re going to walk down that aisle with my cum still in your belly. With my handprints still on your ass. My little silk-covered bride who’s already a daddy’s cock whore.”
Misty moaned around him. The vibration made his hips jerk. He pulled out suddenly, the thick shaft shiny with her spit, and hauled her to her feet.
“Inside. Now.”
He didn’t give her time to grab her clothes. He marched her naked through the sliding glass door, across the living room, and up the stairs to the master bedroom. The wedding dress hung on the closet door—pure white silk, delicate straps, a soft A-line skirt that would brush her knees. Justin pushed her toward it.
“Put it on.”
Misty’s hands shook as she lifted the dress from the hanger. The silk whispered against her skin as she stepped into it and slid the straps over her shoulders. It was meant to be worn with a bra and slip. She wore nothing underneath. The fabric clung to her damp nipples, outlined the soft curve of her belly, and settled against the wet heat between her legs.
Justin stood behind her at the full-length mirror, still naked from the waist down, that huge cock standing rigid against her lower back. He reached around and cupped her breasts through the silk, pinching her nipples until she gasped.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered. “Tomorrow you’re someone else’s wife. Tonight you’re my whore in white.”
He bent her forward over the edge of the bed. The silk skirt rode up. He kicked her feet apart and rubbed the thick head of his cock along her slit, coating himself in her wetness.
“Beg for it.”
“Please, Daddy—”
“Louder. Tell me what you are.”
“I’m your cock whore,” she whispered, then louder when he slapped her ass hard enough to sting. “I’m your cock sucker. Please fuck me. Please put that huge cock in me.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was brutal. Misty’s mouth opened in a silent cry as inch after thick inch forced its way inside her. She was tight—tighter than she should have been for a woman about to be married—and Justin took his time, sinking deeper until his hips pressed flush against her silk-covered ass.
“Fuck,” he growled. “You’re gripping me like a fist. My baby girl’s cunt is perfect.”
He started to move. Long, deep strokes that dragged every ridge of his cock along her walls. The silk dress rustled with every thrust. He reached around and rubbed her clit with rough fingers while he fucked her, the dual sensation making her legs shake.
“You’re going to come on your daddy’s cock,” he told her. “Then you’re going to get on your knees in this pretty wedding dress and drink every drop I give you.”
Misty’s orgasm hit hard and sudden. She clenched around him, crying out, the silk sticking to her sweat-slicked back. Justin didn’t stop. He kept pounding into her through it, chasing his own release, until he finally pulled out, flipped her onto her back on the bed, and straddled her chest.
“Open.”
She opened her mouth. He stroked that huge cock twice and came. Thick ropes of cum painted her tongue, her lips, her chin. She swallowed what she could, the rest sliding down her throat in warm pulses. He kept coming, more than she expected, until her mouth was full and she had to swallow again just to breathe.
“Drink it,” he said. “All of it.”
She did. She licked her lips clean. She sucked the last drops from the head of his cock while he watched, eyes dark with something possessive and final.
Justin climbed off her and sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard. Misty stayed where she was, the white silk dress rucked up around her waist, her father’s cum still warm in her stomach.
He reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Tomorrow you marry him. You wear this dress. You smile for the photos. But every time that soft little husband of yours touches you, you’re going to remember who stretched you open first. Who made you drink cum in your wedding silk. Who owns this body.”
Misty nodded, voice small. “Yes, Daddy.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, almost tender. Then he stood, pulled his shorts back on, and walked to the door.
“Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
He left her there in the master bedroom, naked beneath the ruined silk, the taste of him still on her tongue.
She lay awake a long time after the house went quiet. The volleyball net still stood in the backyard under the rising moon. Her sports bra and shorts were still scattered in the grass. Tomorrow she would walk down the aisle. Tonight she was still his.
And somewhere deep in her chest, under the guilt and the shame and the heat that wouldn’t fade, Misty already knew she would lose another game of volleyball the next time they were alone.
She would strip again.
She would get on her knees again.
She would drink every drop he gave her.
Because some forfeit were never really over.
—
The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright. Misty stood in front of the bathroom mirror while her mother fussed with her hair. The silk dress had been steamed and pressed. No one noticed the faint crease near the waist where Justin had gripped it the night before. No one smelled the ghost of him on the fabric.
Justin walked her down the aisle.
His hand rested lightly on hers as they moved between the rows of white chairs. He leaned in just before they reached the altar and whispered so only she could hear.
“I can still taste you on my fingers.”
Misty’s smile never wavered for the cameras. Her voice was steady when she said “I do.” Ethan’s hands were gentle when he lifted her veil. The reception was perfect—champagne, dancing, cake.
Late that night, after the last guests left and Ethan fell asleep in the hotel suite, Misty slipped out of bed. She stood at the window overlooking the city and touched the silk of her discarded dress where it hung over a chair.
Her phone buzzed once.
A text from Justin.
Next weekend. Volleyball. Same forfeit.
Misty stared at the message for a long time. Then she typed back two words.
I’ll be ready.
She set the phone down, climbed back into bed beside her new husband, and closed her eyes. In the dark she could still feel the stretch of her father’s huge cock. She could still taste the salt of his cum on the back of her tongue. She could still hear him calling her cock whore while the silk whispered against her skin.
The wedding was over.
The rest of it was just beginning.
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