I was already wet when I walked into the campus library.
Not because of midterms. Because Daddy had texted me twenty minutes earlier:
Wear the thin white top. No bra. Study table in the back stacks. Webcam in your bag. Don’t you dare touch yourself until I say.
George didn’t play. When my father called me his daughter slut, he meant it like a title I’d earned.
I found the far table between tall shelves of old law books. Almost no cameras there. I set my laptop up like I was actually working, angled the little clip-on webcam toward my chest, and hit record to the private folder we shared. Then I sat there with my nipples already showing through the shirt, waiting for him.
He showed up in a dark jacket, looking like any other tired dad picking his kid up from campus. He wasn’t. He sat across from me, dropped a thick book open between us, and didn’t look at my face.
“Show me,” he murmured.
I arched just enough that the fabric pulled tight. Both tits sat heavy and obvious. He’d been working them for months—oil, suction, night feeding, the slow stretching that made them sit fuller than they used to. Sensitive didn’t cover it. A rough shirt could make me drip.
Daddy’s shoe found my ankle under the table.
“Blindfold,” he said.
I took the black cloth from my bag and tied it. The library turned into paper-smell and his breathing. Someone turned a page two aisles over. I didn’t care. The second I couldn’t see, my whole chest lit up.
His fingers came over the table, casual as borrowing a pen, and pinched my left nipple through the cotton.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted metal.
He didn’t rush. That was the worst part. He rolled the bud between finger and thumb until it ached, then switched sides, then used both hands like he was studying a map. Breast play with George wasn’t cute. It was work. He knew exactly how much pressure turned the ache into that low pull that went straight to my clit.
“Webcam on?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Keep your hands on the table. If you moan loud, I’ll take you in the stacks and stretch that ass right here.”
I nodded, blind, shaking.
He tugged the neckline down just enough that the cool air hit skin. Then his mouth replaced his fingers. In a public library. His tongue circled one nipple, slow, wet, while his hand cupped the other and squeezed in that deep rhythm he used when he wanted me to come without anything touching my pussy.
It built anyway. It always did now. My tits were trained. He sucked harder, teeth grazing, and the pull went down my belly like a wire. I came in my chair with my thighs locked, a stupid little gasp I swallowed into a cough, panties soaked, webcam catching every twitch of my chest.
Daddy sat back like nothing happened and turned a page.
“Home,” he said. “Now. You’re leaking through the seat.”
Our house was ten minutes away. I kept the blindfold on in the car because he told me to. His hand stayed on my right breast the whole drive, not kind, just owning it, thumb scraping the wet nipple until I was squirming against the belt.
Inside, he didn’t let me take the cloth off. He steered me to the living room, laptop already open on the coffee table, the library recording still uploading, a second camera already live on the couch.
“Daughter slut on her knees,” he said. “Shirt off. Tits out. Ass up after.”
I stripped the top. Blind, I felt how heavy they were in my own hands for a second before he slapped them down.
“Don’t hold them. I do that.”
He sat. I knelt between his legs. He fed me his cock first, just to shut me up, then pulled me up into his lap facing out so the webcam got my chest. Both of his hands covered my breasts completely. He started the real work.
Oil. Warm. He poured it into his palms and went slow: lift, squeeze, roll, pinch, stretch the nipples out until they looked obscene, then flatten his hands and grind the whole mound in circles. He talked while he did it.
“These came in for me. You walk around campus like a good student and come home with your tits full and your hole hungry. That’s what you are.”
I came again from that. No joke. Just breast play, his voice, the blindfold, the knowledge the camera was watching my face twist. My pussy clenched on nothing and I soaked his slacks.
“Please,” I said.
“Please what.”
“Stretch me. Fuck my ass. Come on my tits. All of it.”
He laughed once, low.
“Greedy little slut. Stand up. Hands on the back of the couch.”
The blindfold stayed. He pulled my skirt up and my panties down. Two fingers checked my pussy—drenched—then he went for the lube. Thick. Cold on my hole. One finger first, the way he always started, patient in a way that wasn’t kindness. He worked it until I opened, added a second, scissored, pushed, the stretch burning in that specific place that made my mouth fall open.
“Webcam can see how wide you’re getting,” he said. “Stay.”
Three fingers. I rocked back on them like a bitch. He slapped my ass when I got sloppy.
“Daddy—”
“I know. You can take more. You always can.”
He pulled his fingers out and the head of his cock pressed against my ass. George is thick. He doesn’t pretend otherwise. He fed it in an inch at a time while his other hand reached around and went back to my tits, milking them in time with the push.
The stretch stole my breath. Full. Too full. Perfect. When his hips finally sat flush against me I made a sound I didn’t recognize.
He fucked my ass the way he liked it at home: deep, steady, not frantic, one hand always on a breast. Every thrust shoved my tits into his palm. Every squeeze sent a pulse down to where he was buried in me.
“Play with them,” he ordered. “Show the camera what Daddy’s daughter does when her ass is full.”
I grabbed my own tits and pulled the nipples, stretching them out, offering them. He groaned and went harder. The wet sound of lube and skin filled the room. My clit was untouched and still screaming.
He reached down once and rubbed it with two fingers, just enough to shove me over. I came on his cock with my ass clenched so tight he cursed, still blind, drooling, tits bouncing in my hands.
He didn’t come yet.
He pulled out, turned me, sat me on the edge of the couch, tore the blindfold off so I had to look at him, and pushed back into my ass facing him. Eye contact. His hands went straight back to my chest.
“Hold them together.”
I did. He fucked up into me and used my tits like handles. The stretch was worse this angle, deeper. I could see the webcam light. I could see my own nipples dark and wet and abused.
“Say it.”
“I’m Daddy’s daughter slut,” I gasped. “You stretched my ass. You made me come from my tits. Please come on them. Please cover them.”
He pulled out with a grunt, stood over me, stroked twice, and came.
Hot ropes across both breasts. Chin. Collarbone. He aimed, painted the nipples, the inner slope, the underside, kept going until I was shiny with it. Then he rubbed it in with both hands, mixing oil and cum, smearing it over the same flesh he’d been working since the library.
I looked down at myself. Filthy. Marked. Camera still rolling.
Daddy tipped my chin up and made me lick his fingers clean.
“Leave it on,” he said. “Go shower when I say. Not before. I want you sitting in my cum while you write that paper.”
I nodded, shaking, ass still open, tits dripping.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He kissed my forehead like I was still his good girl, which I was, and hit stop on the webcam.
That night he used me again in the hallway, shorter, meaner, just to remind me the library hadn’t been a one-off. Breast play until I cried. Ass again, less lube. Came on my tits a second time and made me sleep in a damp shirt.
In the morning he sent the library clip and the living-room clip to the folder labeled Crystal.
Subject line:
My daughter came from her tits in public. Then she took Daddy’s cock in her ass and wore it on her chest.
I watched both on my phone in the campus bathroom between classes, touched the still-tender nipples through my bra, and texted him back.
Same table tomorrow. Blindfold already in my bag.
He replied in ten seconds.
Good slut. Stretch yourself in the stall first. I want you open when I sit down.
I did.
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