carrington_atlantic | Behind Closed Doors

Blake couldn't help but chuckle at the video on his phone. Outside of the kind of downtown dance club that was wildly popular for a month and closed a few weeks after, a young woman was climbing into the back seat of a luxury sedan, and clearly seemed to be having a difficult time of it, presumably from a state of inebriation. The headline above the article (although referring anything on a gossip site with a descriptor of journalism was much too generous, in Blake's opinon) had read:

CARRINGTON HEIRESS SPOTTED PARTYING AT ATLANTA'S HOTTEST NEW CLUB
Declares Crossroads club to be "Fire"! (Just don't mention to them that she's only 16! Oops!)

He could count on seeing something like this about every two weeks or so, each report cementing his daughter's reputation as the wildest wild child since Lindsey Lohan. Sometimes, he'd put on his best "exasperated but loving father" face and make a statement condemning something or other, and the press would have something new to post about ten minutes later, until the next time she made another scene or was rumored to be dating some rock star or athlete three times her age, not that there was ever any evidence to support the whispers.

Oh, if they only knew, Blake mused as the car slid smoothly to a stop in front of Carrington Manor. He gave a nod to his chauffeur before meeting his major domo Anders at the front door. "Is my daughter home?"

The severe, gray-haired older man nodded. "She went directly to her rooms to 'study'," Anders replied, the skepticism plain in his tone.

Blake frowned, playing his part. "I'll go have a word with her. Make sure we're not disturbed this evening, Anders. I'll let you know when to have dinner ready."

With a curt bow, Anders spun on his heels and headed off, the picture of efficiency. Blake managed to hide his smirk until the older man was out of sight, then climbed the stairs up to the residential wing of the mansion, where his daughter's bedroom waited at the end of the hall.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The soundproofing of the rooms were such that she only knew someone was at her door when they knocked and called put standing right in front of it. Which was perfect, because she hated to have to keep quiet Emma sat straight up on her bed, running her hands through her hair quickly and calling out to one of the smart devices to play her music like she was sure someone would be expecting her to be listening to instead of actually studying. The party club EDM track was just quiet enough that it wouldn't make it through the walls. It would of be audible when the door opened. Emma quickly checked herself in the mirror, made sure nothing was showing in case Anders was lurking behind her father as he often was. She had to shake her shirt out a bit so her nipples weren't visible through the fabric - her breasts were still small enough that bras for her were more about looks instead of support and nowhere near thick enough to hide when she was cold or excited.

She was excited now.

The second knock had her rushing to the door, then pausing at it to take a breath so she didn't look like she was rushing before she pulled the handle open to see her father. Just him, it seemed, but one could never be too careful. No reason to give her bitch of a mother any reason to try to part them, even if Emma regularly pushed the envelope.

"I swear I can explain, daddy," she said with her best pout and whine, stepping back to let him come in, and it was a struggle to keep herself in-check until they could get that door closed.

"Oh, you're going to explain," Blake replied, the tone of exasperation sounding sincere even to himself. As he'd heard Emma starting to open the door, he'd braced himself, not wanting the sight of his gorgeous daughter to affect his performance until they could shut the world out for a few hours. Emma didn't make that easy, of course. He'd always considered her beautiful, but now... she was irresistible.

Blake stepped into the room and shut the door-- just hard enough to sound convincing-- and with practiced fingers, locked it securely without looking.

A moment later, he was pouncing on her. "You're going to explain those texts you sent me this afternoon, and you're going to tell me whether you're going to make good on your promises." They were the last words he spoke before his mouth was busy crushing down against his daughter's as he kissed her, hungrily pulling her smaller, slighter frame against his body.

There was always a brief moment of worry for Emma that she had made her father mad when they had to put on a show. Sure she liked the attention of being a bad little party rebel, but she was an absolute kitten for her father whom she loved more than anyone else in the world.

So when he brought up the flurry of increasingly flirting and naughty texts she had sent him through the school day before claiming her mouth, Emma onlyhad time to squeal with delight before wrapping her arms around her father's strong shoulders and eagerly kissing back. Still petite for her age, she had to stand up on her toes for it. Her body tingled every where it pressed against her father's. She always got desperate and needy for his touch if they had to go a few days without fucking, and the anticipation of it had been too much for her during school. Who could focus on calculus when she knew in a few hours her father's hands and mouth and cock would be exploring every inch of her again, especially with one of her texts being a promise she had not let anyone touch her at the club and he was welcome to thoroughly inspect any and every one of her holes to make sure she was being honest.

"I've been so wet for you all day, Daddy," Emma gasped when they had to part for air, her hands clutching tightly to his suit jacket. Her friends' father's had let themselves decline with their age, but her father's strong body just got better and better. It felt like just yesterday he was taking her virginity, cunt almost too tight to accept his impressive cock. "I might get a stain on your nice suit."

Emma was the perfect size, as far as her father was concerned. Womanly in just the right places to just the right amount, but still small and light enough for him to wrap up in his arms, to hold against his body, and-- when they got particularly enthusiastic-- to practically toss around the bed. Her mother Alexis was of a similar build, and so Blake hoped that his little girl would stay exactly that for him.

Her texts had been thrilling at best, and distracting as well. When she decided to tease him that way, Emma seemed to have a knack for sending them during important meetings. Not that he ever really minded.

Blake smiled. "I can afford a new suit," he replied with a laugh. "But let's see just how wet, hmm?" His hand dove under her uniform skirt and between her slim thighs. Expecting to feel the thin, damp fabric of one of Emma's thongs, he instead was greeted with the soft, smooth flesh of her pussy-- soaking wet as promised. "You naughty little girl," he said, voice rumbling with growing heat. "Were you walking around school all day without your panties? Were you hoping on giving one of those idiot boys in your classes a thrill? Or maybe one of your teachers? Or were you hoping you could play with that pretty little pussy where nobody would know?"

Emma gasped as her father's thick fingers pressed against the smooth, wet lips of her pussy. Just enough to barely part them. Her whole body tingled with the anticipation of more, rocking against his fingers as he told her what a naughty girl she was.

"Not all day, just half of it," Emma protested, like that was somehow better. "I don't think anyone saw, but the English teacher is such a stuck up perv, I think he'd be a lot nicer if girls let him see their pussies and tits more often. I kept imagining you fucking me on his desk and showing him and the whole class how it was done."

And yes, sneaking a rub or two to her pussy when she could get away with it, mostly only serving to rile her up more.

"You're probably right," Blake replied. "If he's as much of a perv as you say, then spending all day surrounded by teenage girls he can't touch must be torture. Getting a glimpse probably would lighten him up." He took his hand out from under Emma's skirt and touched his fingers to his tongue, savoring the taste of his daughter's juices. He then held them out to her lips. "Lick," he instructed, before reaching down again, this time to swirl his fingertips over her clit.

"Oh, I'd like that," he growled. "I'd give you a good railing for them all to see. Who knows? Maybe some of your classmates would get so turned on, they'd go home and fuck their own Daddies."

Behind Closed Doors

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