“Good morning, Mija.”
It was morning, and the sun was still rising. Proof of the day was bleeding through the blinds and bouncing off the walls and lighting the kitchen. Miguel already knew this unseasonably warm day was going to be the death of him. Miguel’s observant eyes tracked and traced his daughter’s fleeting expression of surprise, starting with shock in her seat at the dining table, hand curled around a spoon suspended over her cereal bowl.
By now, it’d only been a matter of 2 months since he had taken the bloody, tattered shoes of her former father, but he grew quickly accustomed to her body language. He knew something was on her growing and curious mind.
There was nothing but concern in his voice as he inquired, “Ay, bendito. ¿Qué pasa? Something troubling you?”
“Um… no. No, Papa.” She said, ever so softly.
And so he nodded. He wasn’t going to pry on his daughter. She’s only eleven, and he trusts she’ll come to him when she needs to. Miguel leans in to lift the strays of her ponytail from her forehead and kiss her temple. Their little game of domestic ballet settled something behind Miguel’s chest.
“Okay, beautiful girl.” he murmured, “Do you want another bowl, or are you done?”
He wrapped his hand around her bowl. When she shook her head no, he turned to place it in the sink.
“Change into your uniform and meet me in the car, yeah?” Miguel reminded, watching his sweet girl nod and pad into the bathroom to get ready for her soccer game. His heart was heavy with pride. He must have been a great father. In a paternal sense, he smiled to himself.
When the game was over and the whistle blew, Gabriella was sweaty and eager, her cute little uniform clinging to her prepubescent form. She was lapping at a cone of ice cream, her cheeks flushed pink as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, a rhythm testament to her spirited play.
The ice cream had been languidly licked one, two, three, four times before Miguel finally cleared his throat. “Come on, baby. Get in the car, so we can head home.”
She took his extended hand (a small, but pivotal connection) and let him guide her to the car. It should have been nothing. An ordinary gesture to the naked eye. He should have dismissed the way her small, clammy hand felt under his. But it wasn’t. He knew he couldn’t ignore it forever, couldn’t ignore the lump in his throat and the aching of his fangs, couldn’t deny the unwelcome presence of sick lust. That word should have never been used in the same sentence where he mentions the light of his life, his creation. Did it matter? He was a monster, after all.
He looked down at her daughter, her oblivious eyes. Her lashes have grown. Keep up, Miguel. He can’t tell if when she looks back at him, he is the father she really loves. Miguel felt his stomach churn. He’ll just get her something to eat on the way home.
When they got home, the day had already transitioned into the evening. Gabriella's uniform had been long gone, and dismissed herself to the shower, and Miguel retreated to his bedroom. Here, he could shelter where his festering thoughts could creep up the walls and influence his actions.
His eyes were glued to the ceiling, his mouth gaped open and his arm was thrown over his forehead. His large hand was working underneath his blanket, rubbing at his swollen dick. The same hands he used to nurture for his daughter.
He tried to think about anything else. Anything at all. Anything to distract him from the thought of his pre-teen daughter’s pretty brown, pinkish lips. Her cute lashes, her round cheeks, and her small, perky boobs. But to no avail. He clicked his teeth and grunted in frustration, throwing his hand onto the sheets and screwing his eyes shut.
What would she think? Knowing who she thought her father was, truly is?
Just as he was about to reach under his briefs and try again, his eyes quickly snapped open to the light blearing from his door growing as it opened. Peeked through was Gabi’s bright, beautiful brown eyes and her hand on the door.
“G’night, Daddy.”
An angel falls, right into the trap of his hands.
As quick as he could, he removed his hand from his cock and wiped his juices on the sheets, and sat up.
Miguel's fingers shook. “Goodnight. Come give me a kiss, mama,” he whispered, as casually as he could muster. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he watched with hawk-like eyes as his beautiful girl waddled towards him wearing nothing but a large t-shirt that extends to her thighs.
God, he’d bet her tiny little pussy smells so good and fresh. When she got on her tippy toes to kiss him, he hesitated. Comically, she closed her eyes and puckered her lips, and of course— he chuckled. Gently holding the back of her head, he leaned in to place a chaste, fatherly kiss upon her small lips. It lasted a second too long. Two seconds too long. Three seconds too long, and before he knows it, Miguel’s fingers are twitching and he needs to pull himself away.
“I love you, Gabi. Go get some sleep.”
In the dimly lit room, Miguel’s sharp eyes still picked up on something like hurt crease her brows.
“Bien, Papa. Yo también te amo.”
She turns to leave, and she closes the door behind her.
An angel flies away and slips out of his corrupting hands.
Again— it should have been nothing. Why is it eating away at him? Why is he such a sick pervert? This labyrinth of his own mind needs to be destroyed, brought down and never built back up.
He reached over to turn on his lamp set upon the bedside table, and grab a book while he was at it.
Maybe some reading will distract him enough to fall asleep, even though he knows the underlying uneasiness under his skin won’t cease.
A beat. Miguel’s eyes fluttered open, eyebrows furrowed in disruption. He swallowed, throat feeling dry and uncomfortable. Something was happening. There was a pressure on his dick, and a tight coil in his stomach. Pooling, pooling, threatening to build up his throat and come out his mouth.
Two beats, and shit.
As quick as ever, he grabbed at the wrist assaulting him. He blinked a few times, cleared his vision, and a familiar face looked back at him.
“G-Gabi? Mija, what- what’s going on?”
Her tiny, perky boobs were smushed against his, his shirt obviously ridden up by now. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused.
Her father moved slowly, careful not to startle her.
Three beats.
“Da-ddy… I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It’s been so long.”
Miguel gritted his teeth as he felt her trying to touch back at his cock in restrained movements.
“What do you mean, Mija? S-stop.”
She buried her face in his neck, tears spilling and her tiny, little body trembling.
“Why don’t you want me anymore? You haven’t played with me in forever!” her voice shook with depression, with fear.
“Stop it, baby, what are you talking about?”
She wouldn’t. She kneaded and clawed at him and didn’t stop her assault.
“Why are you aski- Papa, why are you asking me to stop? Please, I—“
“I’m not asking you, Gabriella! Stop it, now.”
As the father of his precious daughter, his first instinct was to comfort her regardless of not knowing about whatever the hell she was talking about. He placed his much larger hand on the back of her head, the other rubbing circles on her back. “Tell me, mama, what’s troubling you?” the softest tone. A company of parrots, the call of a siren.
He waited. In between her sniffles and hiccups, he caressed her with a gentle touch. His smart girl. Miguel wasn’t concerned about his pants pooled to his ankles, her t-shirt ridden up and exposing her privates. Just about wiping her tears, smoothing the edges away. Making sure his baby was no longer in distress, so long as he was alive.
She is what has him on his knees. On his knees praying that to whatever God there is above that there is an afterlife, an afterlife for her to live. A place where her beautiful, innocent soul can go to rest. Somewhere that isn’t here, not on this corrupt world.
He wouldn’t let the grips of nature get his girl. Wrap its vines around her, take her, and exchange her for a developed, traumatized woman, corrupted by the beliefs of other men. No one would love her as much as he did. Especially no man.
Four beats.
He released his grip on her, loosening his possessive hold.
As she settled, he felt her begin to grind her hips against his own.
His breath hitched, and he opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing came out. The smell of her arousal was driving him insane, and he faintly acknowledged the extension of his fangs.
She watched as she sat up, straddling him. Her grinding turned into humping, rubbing her tiny, underdeveloped clit against his wet, hairy cock.
“Baby, please. Ta-talk to me. What is this?”
“You’ll see, Papa…” she promises. “Come on, y-you know how tingly you make me.”
This was wrong. This was so wrong, and he knew it as he did nothing to protest her positioning her tiny hole against his wet and self-lubricated enlarged clit. Maybe he wasn’t even trying.
She rolled her hips until she was stretching him, and her father’s dick was pulsating inside of her.
Miguel was a terrible father. He bit his lip, but no amount of strength a man bore could prevent the grunt that escaped through his mouth.
Gabriella was letting out gasps and whimpers, skin burning where Miguel had his towering hands wrapped around her petite waist.
“A-ah, Daddy. You’ve gotten bigger… it feels so funny.” she gasped. Her own tiny hands were placed upon Miguel’s abs, scattered and littered with hair and old scars.
When he was entirely in and stretching her, she began to grind back and forth, up and down.
“F-fuck! Gabi— shit.”
It was lighting electricity up his body, rooting at his clit. God, what is going on? He is allowing his daughter to ride him.
Is this what his claws were made for? His canines and his red eyes? To ruin? To mark and destroy?
He couldn’t take it. Tightening his hold on her waist, he flipped them over, ears picking up on her tiny yelp, and the way she clung onto him.
He wasted no time. The larger man rutted into her, their intersection a sloppy, wet mess as he frantically fucked into her. Miguel watched as she turned her head, moaning out loud and throwing her wrist over her shoulder. He watched as her pre-developed boobs rippled and bounced, watched as her brown nipples hardened.
He moved his head to maintain eye contact, before leaning down to kiss at her neck. His entire jaw could fit around her neck, and fuck— this is so twisted. He could rip her throat out now and leave her to die, and no one would look for her.
There was no going back. After this, it will be engraved into his head. The love he had for his girl will never be the same ever again. The thought had him nipping at her neck before crimson beaded and stained his teeth. She cried out, and Miguel’s head spun. What a treasure to keep, he thought.
“Daddy, no! No, please, that hurts.” her voice a broken melody in the quiet room. He likes it. Miguel decides he wants more. Of course, though, like a sinner to his saint, a sinner to forgiveness, a sinner to his god, he lapped up at the wound.
“Lo siento, mami. I’m sorry.”
He whispered it into her ear, like a confession. Their little secret.
He knew he towered over her little body, and he loved it. Loved every aspect of it, loved the way her soft curves felt beneath the pads of his fingers. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that this was temporary. The guilt will swallow him whole, eventually.
There was a timelessness to this, to the way their bodies worked together. Forbidden, unallowed, frowned upon. This wasn't okay, but did he really care? The answer was evident in the way he tuned her body into his. Her gasps, her whimpers, her moans, it was all music to his ears.
Miguel just couldn’t stop. He couldn’t get enough of the way she pressed close, her breath getting heavier and heavier. Gabi was twitching underneath him, ay por Dios, how it was intoxicating. A higher-pitched string of moans, and he knew she was cumming. Her eyes slammed close and she threw her head back. With grace, her back arched and her vagina clenched with the tiniest bit of fluid making its way out.
She cried out in what he knew was overstimulation now, but he couldn’t stop. He fucked into her with vigor, he knew he was close already. Digging his nose into her hair, he was bordering on a sensory overload. She was speaking, but nothing was clicking for him. It felt as if he were stuck underwater, all of his senses clogged and filled.
“Pa— Papa, mmmh. I-I always loved this part about you— your, uhm.”
What? “What?” he whispered. He minded the way her small hands slithered down to grab and knead at his ass.
“Y-your butt.” she whispered, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
And, oh— how innocent. Fuck, he was close.
Now, it was five beats. His thighs clenched as he came deep inside of her pretty brown pussy, squirting on the bed, and some in her. It wasn’t loud, overbearing or too much.
Miguel moaned a soft ‘mommy’ and exhaled with his orgasm. His eyes were rolling back, feeling his daughter’s pussy clench around him. He knew he was so fucked. There was no missing the way her eyes fought to stay open, and her limbs less tense.
“A-ah.” He pulls out of her, a thin line of their fluids connecting them. Miguel bit his lip until he drew blood while he watched his daughter fall into sleep. He knows she’ll bruise. He knows she’s going to grow and realize how deeply she was taken advantage of, how her youth was stripped of her. The guilt hits him like a freight train, his pupils dilating with fear.
Something sick inside of him hopes she doesn’t make it long enough to see the day. Something sicker hopes that she does. Hopes that she’ll always come back to Papa, through every voice crack and through every growing pain. Something sick inside him knows she will, that she is beyond saving.
She, she, she. Miguel will sabotage anyone, anything else before he admits that he is beyond saving.