Chapter 6: Morning Devotion
Grant woke first in the grey predawn, the room holding its breath. He turned his head on the pillow, watching the slow rise and fall of April’s chest, the ‘G’ on her breast a faint, drying testament in the dim light. Her musculature was softened in sleep, all that fierce capability momentarily dormant, and the sight of her so vulnerable sent a possessive warmth through him. He shifted silently, his larger frame curling around hers, one arm draping heavily over her waist, his hand splaying across the flat plane of her lower stomach. He felt the subtle heat there, the phantom echo of his claim, and pressed his palm firmly against her skin as if to keep the promise warm.
She stirred, a deep sigh escaping her, her body instinctively arching back into his solid warmth. “Daddy?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
“Right here,” he murmured into the cloud of her red hair, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His other hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb finding her nipple and circling it with a deliberate, awakening pressure. “I was thinking about him.”
“Him?” she whispered, her breath catching as her nipple hardened instantly under his touch.
“Our son,” Grant said, the words a quiet rumble against her spine. His hand slid from her stomach, fingers tracing through the coarse thatch of curls before dipping lower, parting her folds with an intimate familiarity. She was already slick, her body responding to his presence even in her sleep. He pressed two fingers inside, a slow, filling intrusion that made her gasp, her internal muscles clenching around him in a sleepy, velvety grip. “I can feel how ready you are,” he whispered, his fingers curling, seeking the spongy texture deep within. He worked them with a knowing, patient rhythm, his thumb now applying a gentle, persistent pressure to her clit.
April’s head fell back against his shoulder, a soft moan trembling from her lips as the dual sensations pulled her fully from sleep into a hazy, breathless pleasure. Her hand came up to grasp his wrist, not to stop him but to hold his touch there, to feel the mechanics of his fingers as they coaxed her body open. “It’s yours,” she breathed, the words a surrender not just of her body but of her future.
Her climax built swiftly, a tight, bright coil in her core that suddenly snapped, her body tensing like a drawn bow before releasing into a series of soft, helpless shudders against him. He held her through it, his fingers still inside her, feeling the frantic flutters that echoed the pulse he could feel in her neck. As the last tremor faded, the bedroom door eased open, a sliver of hall light cutting across the rumpled sheets. Becky stood silhouetted in the doorway, a tray in her hands, her wide eyes taking in the intimate scene: April, spent and trembling in Grant’s arms, his hand still tucked between her thighs. A slow, understanding smile touched Becky’s lips, a mix of awe and a sharp, wanting hunger. She stepped fully into the room, the scent of toast and coffee mingling with the musk of sex and sleep. “I brought breakfast,” she said, her soft voice tentative, “but I can see you’re already being fed.” She set the tray on the dresser and approached the bed, her gaze fixed on Grant. “My turn next, Daddy,” she stated, her usual shyness submerged beneath a newfound, eager resolve. “I want to be your Princess.”
“Princess?” Grant responded, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the sun-warmed air. Becky nodded, her entire body expressing her plea as she shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other, her hips swaying with a gentle, unconscious rhythm. The movement made her large breasts shift beneath her thin sleep shirt, and she pushed a flowing wave of blonde hair behind her ear with a touch that was all feminine grace.
“If April is your Queen, then I want to be your Princess,” she responded, her green eyes wide with hopeful sincerity. April, still nestled against Grant’s side, let out a soft chuckle at Becky’s innocent enthusiasm, her fingers giving his wrist an affectionate squeeze.
“You can be,” Grant said, his piercing blue eyes holding Becky’s, “but you’re going to have to earn that title.” The promise in his words was clear, a threshold she needed to cross.
“How, Daddy? I’ll do anything,” she breathed, taking a step closer, her soft voice barely above a whisper.
Grant’s gaze traveled down her body with deliberate slowness. “You’re going to have to learn how to suck my cock properly.” Becky didn’t hesitate; a bright, eager light filled her eyes, and she immediately sank to her knees on the rug beside the bed, her hands coming to rest on her thighs in a posture of ready submission.
“Make love to my cock with your mouth and tits,” he instructed, his tone shifting into that of a focused teacher. Becky leaned forward with sincere concentration, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips as she first nuzzled the length of him with her cheek, feeling the heat and heavy weight against her skin. She then took him into her mouth slowly, her lips forming a perfect, soft 'O' as she descended, letting her tongue cushion his underside in a slow, wet caress.
She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lower lip to his glistening head, and looked up at him for approval. When he gave a slight nod, she gathered her full, heavy breasts in her hands, pressing them together to create a soft, warm channel. She guided him between them, her eyes closing as she focused on the sensation, and began to move her upper body in a gentle, rocking rhythm, her skin slick and warm against him. She alternated this with her mouth, each time taking him deeper, her tongue swirling in loving circles around the crown before she descended again, her throat relaxing incrementally with each attempt to welcome more of him.
She then experimented with pressure, her delicate fingers exploring the sensitive ridge beneath his head while her mouth focused on the heavy, dense weight of his shaft, her cheeks hollowing with sincere suction. Changing her angle, she let him slide deeper toward her throat, her body trembling with the effort to relax, a soft gagging sound escaping her that morphed into a moan of submission. “That’s a good girl,” Grant finally said, his voice thick with a gravelly approval that vibrated through her entire being.
He withdrew himself from her mouth with a soft, wet sound. “You’ve made excellent progress,” he stated, his thumb brushing a strand of saliva from her chin. Becky’s eyes, wide and glistening, pleaded with him. “Let me finish, Daddy, please?” she whispered.
“Soon,” Grant promised, and in one fluid motion he pulled her to her feet, spun her around, and drove his cock into her tight pussy from behind without preamble. The air left her lungs in a sharp ‘oof’ as he filled her, the stretch immediate and breathtaking. He set a relentless, pounding rhythm, each deep thrust a merciless claim that jolted her forward, the slap of his hips against her ass a sharp, rhythmic punctuation in the quiet room. Her internal muscles, shocked by the sudden, deep invasion, clutched at him in frantic, fluttering waves as he pistoned into her, his grip on her hips anchoring her for his use.
He withdrew just as suddenly, leaving her empty and quivering. “Stay put,” he commanded, walking over to April who was watching from the bed. He leaned down, whispering something into her ear that made a slow, knowing smile spread across her face before she nodded and slipped from the room. Grant returned to Becky, his hands roughly manhandling her pliant body.
A sharp slap cracked across her ass, painting a red handprint on her tanned skin, before his fingers tangled violently in her blonde hair, yanking her head back. He dominated her mouth with his, then trailed biting kisses down her throat before burying his face between her large breasts, sucking each nipple deep into his mouth with a voracious hunger that made her cry out. He then sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her down sideways onto his lap, her legs splayed.
One arm locked around her waist as his other hand dove between her thighs, his fingers working her slick, swollen flesh with deft, circular pressure while his mouth returned to suckle and tease her sensitized nipples. April returned, a simple plastic tiara glinting in her hand, a relic from some forgotten costume. Grant released Becky’s hair and took the tiara, placing it gently atop her disheveled blonde locks. “Are you ready to be Daddy’s Princess?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yes, Daddy!” she breathed, her answer immediate and shimmering with excitement. He returned her to her knees, and she took him into her mouth with a worshipful passion that transcended technique, her lips and tongue conveying a pure, adoring devotion as she gazed up at him. Her hands caressed his thighs, her mouth moving with a slow, deep rhythm of absolute surrender, and he let his head fall back with a guttural groan.
His release surged over her, hot stripes painting her chin, cheeks, and the soft swells of her breasts. Becky, dazed and beaming, reached up with trembling fingers to adjust the tiara, her smile widening as she felt his warmth drip from it. “Now you’re my Princess,” Grant stated, watching her. A giddy, girlish giggle burst from her lips as she rocked on her knees, her hands fluttering happily at her chest.
He stood, wiping the spend from her face with his thumb and deliberately rubbing it into the soft skin of her breasts. Then he pulled her up and kissed her deeply, his tongue claiming her mouth as she melted against him, her joyous whimper vibrating into his kiss.
Then he pulled her up and kissed her deeply, his tongue claiming her mouth as she melted against him, her joyous whimper vibrating into his kiss. Becky broke away, her tiara slightly askew, and pranced happily over to April. “Was it good? Can I give you some tips?” she asked, her green eyes bright with eager innocence. April smiled, catching Becky’s face in her hands and kissing her softly. “Your enthusiasm is your best guide, baby. Find what feels right for you.” Becky spun in a giddy, girlish circle, her arms outstretched. “Look at me, I’m a Princess!” she sang, her soft voice lilting.
Grant and April shared a quiet chuckle, a rumble from him and a warm sigh from her, watching Becky’s uninhibited delight. Becky stopped spinning, a sudden serious curiosity dawning on her face. “Are you pregnant?” she asked April, her gaze dropping to her stomach. April’s own hand drifted to her lower belly, her fingers pressing gently into the firm muscle. “I don’t know yet,” she said, her voice hushed with a profound weight. “But I hope I am.” A deep, resonant warmth bloomed within her, a sacred and terrifying hope that this act of primal submission had fused their essences into something immortal.
“If you aren’t,” Grant stated, his piercing blue eyes holding hers from across the room, “you soon will be.” The certainty in his voice wasn’t a threat, but a law of nature, and it made that internal warmth in April flare into a quiet blaze. “It’s so exciting!” Becky breathed, clapping her hands together once. April barely heard her, lost in the vision of a future where her body, this powerful instrument she’d always commanded, would swell with a purpose given to her by him.
She stared longingly at Grant, her striking green eyes soft, as her palm made slow, instinctive circles on her skin. Grant moved to the sound system, and the opening synth riff of Blondie’s ‘Call Me’ crackled to life, filling the sun-drenched apartment with its driving, new wave pulse. “Sing it for me,” he commanded, settling into the armchair with the relaxed dominion of a king. April and Becky exchanged a glance, a spark of playful competition igniting between them.
They shed their casual clothes, slipping into the ultra-revealing robes of sheer black lace and crimson silk they kept for him, the fabric doing little to conceal the heavy swing of their breasts or the dark triangles between their thighs. Long, frilly socks climbed their calves, a contrast of innocent adornment against the deliberate display. Becky took the first verse, her voice a sweet, surprisingly clear melody as she bounced on the balls of her feet, her hands fluttering near her face in a coquettish pantomime. “Color me your color, baby,” she sang, spinning to show off the full, jiggling curve of her ass through the sheer silk, her blonde hair fanning out.
April claimed the next lines, her voice lower, a smoky rasp that seemed to pull the rhythm into her hips. “Cover me with kisses, baby,” she sang, not bouncing but undulating, a slow roll of her muscular pelvis that made the robe’s hem ride higher on her powerful thighs. She let the front of her robe fall open, revealing the long, thick nipples Grant had worshipped, her thumbs hooking in the fabric to frame them as she turned her gaze, heavy-lidded and confident, directly to him. They traded verses, Becky’s movements girlish and energetic, April’s a study in controlled, sultry provocation.
Becky twirled, the robe flaring, her laughter mixing with the lyrics. April dropped into a deep, graceful squat, her strong thighs flexing, holding the pose to let him look his fill before rising with liquid smoothness. Grant watched, his expression one of deep appreciation, his eyes tracing the unique shapes of them—Becky’s soft, abundant curves and April’s defined, tensile strength—both moving in devoted offering to the beat and to him.
The music surged into its final, driving refrain, and their voices locked into harmony, a breathless, urgent plea woven into the synth beat. They turned to face each other, April’s hands finding Becky’s hips as Becky’s palms slid up April’s defined abdomen. With a synchronized roll of their shoulders, the precariously tied robes slipped down, baring them to the waist as they swayed, their exposed breasts brushing together with each movement. “Call me!” they sang in unison, April’s head falling back while Becky’s mouth found her neck, not kissing but letting her hot breath paint the skin.
For the next “call me,” they pivoted toward Grant, Becky dropping into a deep, wide curtsy that strained the sheer lace between her thighs, while April arched backwards in a proud, taut display, her hands lifting her own breasts as an offering. On the emphatic “any, anytime!” Becky rose and spun, the robe now completely open and flaring like a halo, her body a rotating spectacle of tan skin and blonde hair. At the same instant, April grasped Becky’s waist from behind, pulling her flush and looking over her shoulder at Grant, their two bodies forming a single, available silhouette. They repeated the line, pouring every ounce of want into it; April’s fingers trailed possessively down Becky’s inner thigh, and Becky captured them, guiding them higher against her dampness before releasing them to reach back and tangle in April’s red hair.
Their final “call me!” was a shouted, raw-throated climax of sound, Becky falling to her knees before Grant with her arms wide, and April standing tall behind her, one hand possessively on Becky’s head, the other pinching her own thickened nipple. The last chord hung in the air, replaced by the sound of their ragged breathing. Grant didn’t applaud. He simply leaned forward, his blue eyes dark, and hooked a finger under Becky’s chin. “Go run a bath, Princess,” he said, his voice low. “You’re both going to wash every inch of each other. I’ll be in to inspect.”