Breeding Daddy’s Super Model

Story Excerpt

My daughter is nineteen, the hottest girl on any runway, and mine to manage, but not to touch. I’ve seen her in a dozen outfits that should be illegal, but nothing compares to the sheer, glittering micro-lingerie she wore that night. Cameras flashed, the crowd roared, but all I saw was her: every inch of her toned, glistening body jiggling with practiced seduction as she strutted in front of me, a walking wet dream. I knew what she was doing. She’s tired of fake fans, fake orgasms, fake contracts. And she wants something real. She wants me. She teases me with eyes that say, “Fill me. Breed me. Make me yours.” She whispers things she knows will ruin me, promises she wants to be done with the spotlight. I try to hold back, but when she tells me she wants my baby? I lose it. And I give her everything.