Page 208 of Good Touch, Bad Touch Collection
Christ, those eyes.
They are only dimmed slightly by the intoxicating sight of her pussy. I bite back a groan as she blinks, her lids falling slightly as she swallows the bread, the softest of wet sounds coming up from between her legs.
“From now on, you will associate the pleasure of eating well with the pleasure of touching yourself,” I tell her, watching her delicate fingers move between her outer lips. “When you eat, you will think of me, Larissa, you will feel pleasure, and you will remind yourself to follow every instruction Daddy gives you.”
I feed her another bite, but it’s not enough.
“Spread your legs wider,” I order.
“No.”
“Do it, or I’ll have my staff come in and do it for you.”
She shakes her head as I slice off a small sliver of fig and push it into her mouth.
“You won’t be in charge here. Now do it.”
She wiggles, and I swallow down the urge to apologize for my demands. When her knees widen, her heels hook on the lower rungs of the chair, and she spreads that masterpiece for me, my balls drawing up so tight I feel them in my throat.
“Larissa, you are a masterpiece.”
“No wonder you have to be here on this island. Back home, you’d be serving a life sentence for being a sexual predator, for sure.”
“Your body must disagree, because the sound of the waves out the window isn’t nearly as wet as the sound of you playing in that messy little truth-teller between your thighs.”
I’m hard as nails as she opens her mouth willingly, the movement of her fingers becoming more frantic.
“You like being ordered around by Daddy.”
I trail my knuckles down her throat, feeding her another bite of fruit with my other hand. There’s sweat gathering at the base of my spine.
Every time my fingers touch her lips, my dick gets harder—didn't think that was possible, but here we are.
She gasps, her arousal taking root. The small sound punches me straight in the chest. The straps of the dress wiggle down her shoulders, exposing more of that creamy flesh that makes my fingers twitch.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Her voice quivers, and I think of jumping off the balcony into the surf for making her afraid.
“No. Never.” I pause. “Do you believe me?”
She nods, and
I work the straps down her arms until those juicy little nipples are on full display like two lush strawberries on a circle of angel food cake.
“You’re stunning.” I exhale, unable to continue breathing. Jesus. My palm is on her nipple, and she starts to moan as she moves her fingers faster, faster.
I trail my fingers down the center of her body, the white dress straps hanging on the crooks of her arms, the hem bunched at her hips as I reach out and do something I’ve never done.
“I’m going to help you orgasm. Food, pleasure, the association needs to be solid.” I feed her another scrap of bread, her soft breathing and sweet scent working on me like a drug.
“Daddy, please...” she whispers as I work my fingers toward that heavenly slip of pink and press my middle finger into the wet warmth.
“So wet. It’s working.”
The rim of her barrier is right there. Getting my middle finger inside her an inch is a struggle, but she arches just a hint, her throat working around a swallow, her fingers rasping back and forth, pressing that bundle of nerves faster and harder against the bone underneath.
Another surge of cum spurts from the swollen head of my dick as I watch her body shake with an orgasm, my underwear ruined under the cover of my black pants.
I work her little opening, just enough to stretch the barrier while she chokes and flutters around my intrusion.
