Could we get a dad x plus size!virgin! Daughter??
You’ve always been his little girl, his sweetheart, his darling. And it hasn’t stopped. Even now, when you’re an adult woman, robust and more than capable of holding your own, he calls you his baby — because you are.
Your dad makes sure a thousand times that this is what you want before he lets this happen. He lays you down on the bed where he has tucked you into as long as you remember, in the room that has been yours since childhood. A safe, familiar place. And the affection in his eyes when he looks at you has faded none.
“This is going to be new to you, baby,” he presses a kiss on your cheek, and he continues to pepper them down your neck, “And I’m going to guide you, and take care of you, just as I always have. Okay?”
“Okay,” you hear yourself sigh, when he kisses his way down to your chest until he reaches the lace that barely contains all your soft curves and rolls. He got you that lingerie, as a gift — something to mark the occassion, make it even more special for you. And, well, it’s a gift to his eyes as well, when he gets to peel it off of you and see how your freed flesh bounces.
The contrast is stark, his rough, sinewy hands on your soft body. He gropes you and massages and kisses you, just his two hands unable to hold everything he likes about you all at once, and just his mouth unable to kiss every part, yet still trying.
“I used to kiss you on your tummy all the time when you were younger,” he sighs, every word a warm breath on the soft, naked fat of your stomach, and you can feel him smile against you as he makes you squirm and giggle out of instinct.
“Dad, I was a toddler, a baby—”
“And you still are,” he holds you still so you can’t escape as he makes his way down to your thighs, “You are and always will be my sweet, adorable baby...”
Your dad crouches between your thighs and kisses his way up your stretch marks, moaning against your skin when his tongue traces them. He presses a light kiss on your already wet panties, chuckling when you jolt from the sensation, when your breath quickens. He inhales your scent, tastes you through the satin, and you see his eyes flutter shut for a moment. They open again, looking at you with affection and something else, something that has them intense and dark with pupils blown wide, something that has warmth spill at the bottom of your stomach.
“Lift your hips a little for me, sweetheart…”
His thumbs hook under your waistband, and he pulls the soaked scrap of fabric down your thighs. He sniffs them one more time, grinning at the face you make, before he drops them on your nightstand and parts your thighs.
“Oh, my little baby really has a woman’s body now,” he sighs, a proud smile on his face as his fingers spread your plump folds, “You have grown up so beautifully.”
Your father brushes his thumb against your clit, as gentle as he brushed any nightmare-induced tears from your cheek, and you keen so prettily for him.
“Have you, uh, touched yourself yet, darling?” he asks, fingertips tracing you, up and down. He gathers some of your dripping slick on his fingers, and there’s a low groan in his throat.
“Sometimes?” your father is panting, nosing against your clit while his fingers circle your hole, “Has my little girl already fingered herself?”
“Yeah? You should have come to me, baby. I want to be there for all of your firsts…”
“I’m sorry, dad,” you gasp, as you feel a finger slip into you.
“Shh, shhh, it’s okay. No need to apologize, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and suckles on your clit as he eases another finger in and starts to thrust and scissor them inside you, “Did it feel good when you did it?”
“N-not as much as this,” you confess. It didn’t. You had thrusted them in blindly, not quite even knowing what you were looking for. But your dad does. He has always known just what his little darling needs, with precision that makes you briefly wonder if he has done this to you before and you somehow, miraculously, just don’t remember it.
“Yeah? Do you like dad’s fingers better, baby?” he asks, as if he needed to with the way you moan when you can feel his fingers curl inside you as if beckoning. Your dad latches onto your clit, his eyes locked onto yours. It never felt like this on your own, and you clench on his fingers, whining for “dad, dad, dad” until something inside you breaks a little.
When you fully come to, he’s kneeling on the bed, maneuvering a pillow under your ass to prop your hips up.
“Theeere we go, that’ll make this nice and easy for you,” he murmurs, before leaning over you. A cock, first one you’ve ever seen in real life and this close, bobs between his legs, head ruddy and already leaking pre-cum.
You came from there. And now it’s going to—
“Ready, baby?” he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek, gently guiding you to look up into his eyes.
You nod, not trusting in your own voice to carry, not when a bead of precum drops and rolls down your clit.
“Words, my darling, use your words.”
“Yes,” you don’t recognize your own voice, breathy and wound tight with need, “I’m ready, dad.”
He smiles, and you see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows nervously. You are still his baby, any father would be nervous enough about their little girl popping her cherry, and it actually doesn’t help all that much that he’s the one doing it.
“I’ll be gentle,” he kisses your forehead, and brushes his nose against yours. Just like when he tucked you in as a kid.
Your dad lines his cock up with your wet, softened cunt, and you can feel how he strains to go slowly as he starts to push in — and yet it’s still almost too much.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, my darling. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Your dad takes your hands in his own, fingers intertwining with his sweet girl’s as he gently breaks you in, and you squeeze his hands. He looks at you just like when you learned to ride a bike, or started first grade, or graduated from high school. You know what it means to make your father proud, you know the warmth that comes from his unconditional love, but you have never felt it as acutely as now, with his cock sinking into your inexperienced cunt.
