He laughed and then sat back down on the sofa, leaning back and spreading his arms and legs apart. "I expect you to clean this by hand."
I bit my lip. "How?"
"Come here," he ordered.
I went to him.
"Kneel."
I raised my eyebrows but I obeyed, kneeling between his wide-open legs. I was looking up into his eyes, but I was well aware of the bulging shorts in front of me, as well as the wet spot I had left on him.
"Clean up your mess," he said.
"How?" I whispered.
"You left your p***y juice on me," he said. "If you spilled juice on your hand, what would you do?"
"Um, um," I said, my breath coming a little faster, "lick it up?"
"Precisely."
My eyes were wide. "You want me to lick my p***y juice off your shorts?"
"It's your mess, babygirl."
"Oh, my, Daddy," I whispered.
My eyes lowe
