Chapter 4: Daddy's Fingers
Frank's fingers were already inside her before she could think, before she could breathe, before she could remember her own name. Two thick digits, scarred and calloused, sliding into her slick heat like they belonged there. The stretch burned—God, it burned—but it was the good kind of burn, the kind that made her toes curl against his thighs and her back arch off his chest.
"There you go," Frank murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Taking me so well, baby girl. So fucking tight."
Allie whimpered, her forehead dropping to his shoulder. Her fingers clawed at his shirt, bunching the fabric in her fists. She could feel every ridge of his fingerprints, every rough patch of callus dragging against her walls, and it was nothing like her own fingers. Nothing like the careful, practiced strokes she used alone in her bed at night.
This was deeper. Fuller. Frank filled her like she'd never been filled before, his palm pressing against her clit as he worked his fingers in and out of her in a rhythm that was almost lazy. Almost patient.
"Look at me," he ordered, his free hand tangling in her damp hair.
She shook her head, burying her face deeper into his neck. She could smell him—leather and gunpowder and something darker, something purely male. Her hips were moving on their own now, grinding down against his hand, chasing the friction she desperately needed.
"I said look at me, Allie."
His grip tightened in her hair, yanking her head back. The sting shot through her scalp, sharp and electric, and she gasped. Her eyes flew open, meeting his. The lamp light caught the gray of his irises, turning them molten. He was watching her with an intensity that made her feel stripped bare, laid open, every secret she'd ever kept spilling out of her like blood from a wound.
"There she is," he said, his voice dropping to something almost gentle. "There's my good girl."
The praise hit her like a physical blow. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, and she heard herself moan—a pathetic, desperate sound that she couldn't hold back. She was so close already. She could feel it building in her gut, a hot coil winding tighter with every stroke of his fingers.
"Please," she breathed. "Please, Daddy—"
The word slipped out before she could stop it. She'd meant to say Frank. She'd meant to keep some distance, some control. But the word had tumbled out of her mouth like it belonged there, like it had been waiting years to be spoken aloud.
Frank's eyes darkened. His fingers stilled inside her, and for a horrible moment, she thought she'd ruined it. Thought she'd crossed a line she couldn't uncross.
"Say it again."
It wasn't a question. It was a command, low and rough, spoken against her lips.
Allie's heart hammered in her chest. She could feel his cock twitching beneath her, thick and hard through the denim of his jeans. She could feel his restraint fraying, could feel the beast he kept caged straining against its bars, and the knowledge made her bold.
"Daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, Daddy. I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me come."
Frank's breath came out in a harsh rush. His fingers resumed their rhythm, faster now, harder, curling against that spot inside her that made her see stars. His thumb found her clit, pressing in tight circles that made her gasp.
"Such a dirty little girl," he said, his voice thick with something like awe. "Pretending to be so innocent, walking around that kitchen in your little sundress, bending over so I could see your bare ass. Did you think I didn't know what you were doing?"
Allie shook her head, a choked sob escaping her lips. She was so close. So fucking close. His fingers were spearing into her, relentless, and she could feel herself spiraling toward the edge.
"I knew," he growled against her ear. "I knew the moment you came down those stairs that you were nothing but trouble. But I couldn't stay away, could I? You got your hooks in me, you sick little thing."
"Please," she begged, her hips bucking against his hand. "Please, Daddy, I'm gonna come—"
He pulled his fingers out.
The emptiness was a physical ache. Allie cried out, a desperate, keening sound that she would have been embarrassed about if she'd had any shame left. Her body was trembling, her thighs slick with her own juice, her clit throbbing with the need he'd brought her to.
"Why—" she gasped, looking up at him with tear-bright eyes. "Why did you stop?"
Frank's smile was slow and predatory. He brought his fingers to his mouth, never breaking eye contact, and sucked them clean. The sight of it—the way his tongue curled around his own digits, the way his eyes darkened with hunger—made Allie's breath hitch.
"Because I'm not done with you yet," he said, his voice rough with want. "And I want to taste you first."
He kissed her then, his mouth crashing against hers with a force that made her head spin. She tasted herself on his lips—salty and sweet and so vividly intimate that it made her dizzy. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her, and she melted against him, her fingers tangling in his short-cropped hair.
When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Allie's lips were swollen, slick with spit, and her eyes were glassy. She'd never been kissed like that. She'd never been kissed like she was something to be devoured.
Frank's hands moved to her hips, lifting her off his lap. She made a small sound of protest, but he ignored her, setting her on her feet on the worn carpet. She swayed, her legs weak, and he steadied her with a hand on her waist.
"Hands on the coffee table," he ordered.
Allie blinked at him. The coffee table—the scarred, water-stained slab of wood that had held countless beer bottles and ashtrays—seemed a strange destination.
"Now," Frank added, his voice brooking no argument.
She moved on autopilot, her hands finding the edge of the table. The wood was rough beneath her palms, smelled of stale beer and dust. She felt Frank move behind her, felt his hands on her hips, guiding her into position.
"Spread your legs."
She obeyed, her feet sliding apart on the worn carpet. She could feel his gaze on her, burning into her exposed flesh, and she blushed furiously. She was completely bare to him—her ass in the air, her pussy slick and swollen, nothing left to hide.
"Look how pretty you are," Frank murmured, his hands sliding down her thighs. "So pink and wet. This is what you've been hiding under those shorts, huh? This is what you've been dreaming about while you touch yourself in your room?"
"Yes," she whispered, her voice small.
"Yeah," he echoed, his thumb tracing the seam of her folds. "Yeah, you have."
He didn't give her time to prepare. His thumb slid into her, just one, and she gasped at the intrusion. His other hand roaming her ass, grabbing handfuls of it just to spread her slit even more.
His other hand roaming her ass, grabbing handfuls of it just to spread her slit even more. The cool air of the room kissed her exposed flesh, and she shivered, a small, trembling sound escaping her lips. Frank's thumb pushed deeper, testing her, stretching her, and she whimpered at the unfamiliar fullness.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low rasp against her ear. "You're so tight, baby. So goddamn tight."
She couldn't form a response. Her mind had gone blank, wiped clean by the sensation of his thumb buried inside her, his other hand gripping her ass like he owned it. The coffee table dug into her palms, the rough wood scraping her skin, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
Then his hand pulled back.
The first slap landed on her ass with a crack that echoed through the room. The shock of it—the sharp, burning sting—made her cry out, her hips bucking forward against the table. Frank's hand soothed over the reddening skin, almost tender, before pulling back again.
"You've been such a bad girl, Allie," he said, his voice calm, almost conversational. "Teasing me in that sundress. Bending over while I was trying to read the paper. Do you know how hard it was to sit there and pretend I wasn't watching?"
Another slap. Harder. The impact made her gasp, her fingers curling against the wood.
"I told you to be good," Frank continued, his hand rubbing the sting away. "I told you to go change. But you just had to keep pushing, didn't you?"
A third slap, and Allie sobbed, her eyes stinging with tears. The heat radiating from her ass was almost unbearable, but beneath it, she could feel something else—a dark, aching pulse of pleasure that made her hips rock back against his hand.
"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry, Daddy—"
"Sorry?" Frank's thumb pushed back into her, thicker than before, and she gasped around the intrusion. "You're not sorry. You're a greedy little thing who wanted attention. And now you've got it."
He fucked her with his thumb, slow and deep, while his other hand continued to spank her. The rhythm was punishing, relentless. Each slap made her jolt forward, impaling herself deeper on his thumb, and the sensation was maddening—pain and pleasure so tangled together she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"Please," she begged, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Daddy, I'll be good. I'll do anything—"
"Anything?" Frank's voice was dark, amused. "You'll be a good girl? Do what you're told?"
"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, Daddy, anything, please—"
He pulled his thumb out, and she cried out at the loss. His hand grabbed her hip, spinning her around to face him. Before she could react, he'd hoisted her onto the coffee table, her bare ass scraping across the scarred wood.
"Beg me," he said, his voice low and rough. "Beg me to fuck you."
Allie's mouth opened, but no words came out. She could see his cock straining against his jeans, thick and obscene, and the sight of it made her mouth water. She'd never seen one in person before, never felt one inside her. She'd imagined it, dreamed about it, but now that it was here, looming in front of her, she was frozen.
"Cat got your tongue?" Frank's hand found her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of his presence. "You wanted this. You pushed for this. So beg."
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please fuck me, Daddy. I need it. I need your cock—"
"Louder."
"Please fuck me!" she cried, the words tumbling out of her in a desperate rush. "I'll be so good, Daddy, I promise. I'll do anything you want. Just please—please fuck me. Tell me you'll give me your cock. I need it so bad. I need you to make me feel—"
Frank cut her off with a thrust.
He didn't even bother to undo his jeans fully. He'd already freed himself—thick and hard and utterly enormous—and he pushed her back onto the table, spreading her legs wide as he drove into her in one brutal, relentless motion. The stretch was blinding, a pain-pleasure so intense that Allie saw stars. She'd never been so full, never felt anything like the sensation of his cock splitting her open, filling her to the brim.
"Fuck," Frank growled, his voice ragged. "So fucking tight."
He didn't give her time to adjust. He pulled out and slammed back in, setting a brutal pace that made the coffee table shudder beneath her. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady, and she could see the veins in his forearms standing out as he fucked her.
"Please—" she gasped, but she didn't even know what she was begging for.
"Please what?" He slapped her ass again, the sting sharp and electric. "Tell me what you want, baby girl."
"I want—" she cried, her head thrown back, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. "I want you to fuck me harder—"
Frank obliged.
He slammed into her with renewed force, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the dark room. Allie's moans turned into screams, incoherent and desperate, and she could feel herself spiraling out of control. The pleasure was overwhelming, pooling in her gut like liquid fire, and she couldn't hold it back.
"Daddy," she sobbed, "Daddy, I'm gonna come—"
"Good," he grunted, his grip on her hips tightening. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
She shattered.
The orgasm hit her like a freight train, wrenching a scream from her throat as her walls clamped down around him. For a moment, everything went white, and she felt herself gushing—hot liquid spraying across the coffee table, splattering down her thighs. Her mind went blank. She'd never done that before. She'd never—
But Frank didn't stop.
He kept fucking her, brutal and unrelenting, even as she shuddered around him. He could feel the slick evidence of her orgasm coating his cock, her spasming walls milking him. He slapped her ass again, hard, and the sting made her sob.
"Take it," he growled, pulling her down onto his cock. "You wanted it, you fucking take it."
She choked out a moan, her body limp on the table, barely able to breathe around the pleasure so raw it bordered on pain. He fucked her through the aftershocks, his hips slapping against her abused ass, his rough hands forcing her to take him deeper.
"So close," he grunted, his voice ragged with effort. "I'm gonna come inside you. Gonna fill that tight little cunt with my seed."
"Please," she whimpered, barely conscious. "Please, Daddy—"
He came with a guttural roar, slamming into her one final time and burying himself to the hilt. His release was hot, flooding her, filling her, and Allie felt every pulse of it against her sensitive walls. She was too fucked out to do anything but take it, her body trembling as he emptied himself inside her.
He held there for a long moment, breathing hard, then pulled out. Allie's body sagged into the coffee table, unable to hold herself up. She felt him step back, heard the zipper of his jeans, and then the soft thud of his weight as he collapsed onto the couch behind her.
She stayed there, face pressed against the old wood, her ass still in the air, his come dripping down her thighs. The lamp flickered, casting long shadows across her trembling, slick body. She could hear Frank's breathing slow, and a lifetime of consequences settled like lead in her stomach.
The lamp flickered once, twice, then steadied. Allie's cheek pressed against the scratchy wood grain of the coffee table, her breath coming in shallow, reedy pants. She could feel the sticky aftermath cooling on her thighs, his come dripping down her slit, pooling on the scarred surface beneath her. Her body was limp, boneless, a marionette with its strings cut.
She heard the zipper of his jeans. The soft pad of his boots on the carpet. She thought he was leaving.
Then the click.
It was sharp, mechanical, unmistakable. A sound she'd heard a thousand times at the diner when customers photographed their food, their faces, their happy little moments. But there was nothing happy about the way Frank Castle knelt between her still-spread legs, his iPhone angled down at her exposed, ruined cunt.
"What are you—"
"Shh." His voice was quiet, almost soothing. "Stay still."
The camera clicked again. And again. Each flash of the screen lighting up the dark room, capturing the glistening evidence of what he'd done to her. His come slicking her thighs. Her pink, swollen flesh, still gaping from the stretch of his cock. The way her body looked so utterly debauched, her ass still red from his handprints.
"Frank—"
"I said shh, girl." He didn't look at her face. His eyes were fixed on the screen, his thumb swiping to the video mode. "You're so fucking pretty like this. So messy. So used."
Allie's face burned. She tried to close her legs, but his hand shot out, gripping her thigh, forcing her to stay open.
"Don't move," he ordered, his voice low and hard. "I'm not done with you yet."
She watched, frozen, as he brought his free hand to her cunt. Two fingers pressed against her entrance, and she winced—she was so sensitive, so raw. But he didn't push inside. Instead, he collected the come that had leaked out of her, scooping it up on his fingertips.
"Can't let this go to waste," he murmured, almost to himself.
He pushed it back inside her.
Allie gasped, her hips jerking at the intrusion. The sensation was obscene—slick and warm and filthier than anything she'd ever imagined. He worked his fingers deeper, pressing his spend back into her greedy little hole, making sure every drop was tucked away where it belonged.
The phone camera captured all of it.
She could see herself on his screen—her pussy spread open, pink and slick, his fingers pushing inside her, the way her flesh seemed to swallow them greedily. She looked like a depraved little porn star, and the thought made her clench around his fingers.
"That's it," Frank breathed, his voice rough with appreciation. "You like that, don't you? You like having my come stuffed back inside you."
She shook her head weakly, but the lie was thin, pathetic. Her body was already responding again, her hips rolling slightly, grinding against his hand.
"Yeah, you do." He pulled his fingers out, then slid them in again, slow and deliberate. "You're a greedy little cunt, Allie. Always wanting more."
A moan slipped out of her—low and involuntary. The camera captured it, the soft little sound she made, the way her lips parted, the flush spreading across her cheekbones.
"Oh, that was a pretty one," Frank said, his thumb finding her clit. "Do it again."
"I can't—" she started, but the words died in her throat as he pressed harder, circling the swollen nub with just the right amount of pressure.
She moaned again. Louder this time, her back arching off the table.
"Good girl," he praised, the words sending a jolt of heat straight to her core. He kept the camera trained on her, his thumb working her clit in lazy circles while his other fingers slowly fucked her. The sound was wet and obscene, filling the dark room like a dirty symphony. She could hear her own little gasps and sighs amplified through the phone's speaker, the intimacy of it making her face burn.
Frank shifted his weight. She heard the rasp of his zipper again and realized he was hard. Already. She could see his cock jutting out from his open jeans, thick and glistening with the evidence of her own arousal.
He adjusted the phone, propping it against a stack of old magazines on the coffee table so the camera pointed directly at her spread cunt. Then he shifted closer, positioning himself between her thighs. She waited for him to push inside, to take her again the way she'd been dreaming about for weeks. Allie waited for it. But he didn't push inside. He just kneeled there, the tip of his cock pressed teasingly against her slick, swollen entrance.
"Look," he commanded, tapping the phone. "Look at the screen."
She did.
The phone was recording in high definition, the zoom tight on the point where his cock met her body. She could see the dark, flushed head of him pressing against her pussy lips, the glisten of her wetness coating his skin.
"See how pretty that is?" His voice was hushed, almost reverent. That thick, scarred length of his slowly pressed forward, splitting her open inch by inch. "See how well you take me?"
She could feel her own walls stretch to accommodate him. Her body was so full, so utterly consumed by him. On the screen, she watched his cock disappear inside her, her flesh swallowing him greedily, one inch at a time until he was buried to the hilt.
"I'm going to record this, Allie." His voice was strained, ragged. "I'm going to keep this video. And every time you think about walking away from me, every time you think about running, I'm going to watch this. And I'm going to remember how you sucked me in."
Her mind was a blur of sensation and fog. She couldn't form coherent thoughts, could only feel the reality of his cock inside her, the weight of his words pressing down on her. He started to move—slow, deep, deliberate. Each stroke pulled him nearly all the way out before sinking back in, and the camera captured every second of it.
"Look at you," he murmured, his eyes flickering between her face and the phone screen. "Look at how I fill you up."
She was a mess, her body shaking from oversensitivity, her mind shattered by the weight of it all. But when she looked at the screen, all she could see was the two of them—his thick cock stretching her, her body desperate to take him deeper, to keep him inside her. She felt a sob building in her chest.
"Please," she managed, the word a fragile thing. "Please, I need to come. Please let me come."
He didn't respond. He just focused on the screen, his strokes growing faster.
"Please let me come, please—" She was babbling now, the pleas spilling out of her like a confession. "I'll be so good, I'll do anything, please Daddy—"
"Keep your eyes on the camera," he ordered, his voice sharp. "Show them how pretty you look when you come."
She obeyed, her eyes locked on the screen, her body trembling on the edge of an abyss. He fucked her through the beginning of her orgasm, his phone capturing the moment she shattered. The image flickered with her. The way her lips parted. The way she gasped. The way she sobbed out his name.
When she finally came back to herself, he was still moving inside her, still watching the screen. His pace was relentless, his focus absolute, and she felt herself being caught up in another wave before the first had even subsided.
"You're going to come for me again," he said, his voice low and hypnotic. "And this time, I'm going to capture every second of it."
The camera zoomed in closer.
The world narrowed to a single point of heat and pressure, the phone a cold, silent witness to her ruin. Frank's hand found her hair, yanking her head back just enough to force her eyes to the screen. She saw the raw, violent union of their bodies.
"Watch," he growled. "Watch how you take me. Watch how you fall apart."
She was a thing he was recording, a specimen pinned under glass. And the thought—the filth, the shame of it—sent a fresh wave of heat coiling in her stomach.
He slammed into her, the impact jolting her entire body. She reached up, her fingers brushing the phone, not to push it away, but to steady it. She wanted to see. She wanted to witness her own unraveling, to burn the image into her memory.
"Please," she whispered, though she didn't know what she was begging for.
Frank's hand closed around her throat, not squeezing, just settling there—a brand, a claim. He drove into her with a force that made the coffee table screech against the floor, the sound of his balls slapping against her wet skin filling the room. She came apart with a scream that was more sob than cry, her body convulsing on his cock as he followed her over the edge, spilling himself inside her once more.
The camera kept recording.
It captured the way his hips stuttered, the way his fingers tightened on her skin, the way he collapsed over her, his chest pressing into her back, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. It captured her trembling, and the slick sounds of their combined release leaking out of her. It captured the silence that followed, broken only by the click of the phone as Frank finally shut it off.
He pulled out slowly, and she felt the loss like an amputation. She lay there, another leaking mess, as he picked up the phone, his thumb swiping across the screen. He watched the playback, a low, satisfied hum escaping his lips.
"You're mine now, Allie." His voice was a murmur, almost gentle. "I've got you on camera. I've got you in my blood. You think you can walk away from this?"
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her body was still sparking, her mind a blank slate of white static. She heard him stand, heard his zipper, heard his boots cross the floor.
"Clean yourself up," he said, his voice distant, already heading for the stairs. "I'll be waiting in the bedroom."
The lamp flickered. The house settled around her. She stared at the ceiling, feeling his seed leaking down her thighs, the ghost of his hands still branding her skin. She'd wanted to ruin her mother's marriage. She'd wanted to leave them both in the dust.
But as she lay there on the scratchy wood, the taste of her own come still on her lips, she realized she might have just started something she couldn't possibly finish.