Short Story: Father's Love

We've made it.

After all of this time, our hard work finally paid off.

I got my big break on that American TV show called "The Voice," my first appearance was of me singing Olivia Lufkin's "Winter Sleep;" after that, my father and I were in newspapers and on TV ever since. We even posed for People magazine, together. GQ. Star Magazine. You name it.

We are now living what we call "the life," here in my mother's birthplace, the country where her body rests, the United States.

But even through all of the struggle, through all of the heartbreak, came a thought that settled deep within me for years: my father, my handsome Russian father, Vladimir Ilyich Volvokov - I fell in love with him.

I've never wanted a human being half as much as I want him. It does not help that he looks like a beautiful model - a human being that nearly everyone on the planet wants and desires. A being whose body looks like it was crafted by Adonis himself. He's had so much attention lately from the media that he does not have time for me.

And that hurts.

The question is, is living "the life" worth it? Before all of this, we shared every waking moment together. He held me when I had nightmares, even at this age. His kissed the top of my head and told me often that he loved me. Now...now, we barely communicate. Because of this, there are some days in which I wish I could take it all back, and just live the average life we were living in Russia, and let it just be us and no one else.

But I love him.

I love him so much that it hurts to think about. With this love, comes undeniable desire. A blood red, silky feeling that wraps its tendrils around my mind all the time. A hot fire shoots up from my feet to between my legs every time his piercing, ice-bl...

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...y pulled out of me and pulled me up, turning me so that I could face him. My face was near his hard cock again, and I look up at him.

"Be my dear," he rasped, "and swallow my come."

"Anything for Father," I tell him, out of breath. I open my mouth and his cock is shoved into me, pumping gently this time, until I feel jets of warmth lace my tongue.

His love. This is what his love is. It tastes like sweet pineapples. He must have eaten some.

I close my eyes and swallow the slick, sticky liquid. I peer at him when I open my mouth to show I swallowed it all, and he tells me, "good girl," between heavy breaths.

"Thank you, Papa," I say to him. He collapses onto the floor, back against the couch. I walk away from him to clean up my mess. But soon enough, I am there to join him, and he embraces me, only a blanket covering our naked bodies while we kissed each other.