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Rebekkah hummed a sprightly tune as she danced around the kitchen. There wasn’t much variety in the supplies her father had lying around, but there was enough for a simple breakfast. She set a pot of water on the stove to boil, then placed a half-dozen strips of bacon in a skillet and turned the heat to medium.
While those were doing their thing, she opened the fridge in search of something a little lighter and healthier for herself. Samson–a little shiver of pleasure raced down her spine when Rebekkah thought of her father by his first name–could get away with eating tons of fat and protein, but she was a plain, ordinary human who had to watch her weight. She was already pudgy enough without a baby on the way.
“Hmm,” she mused. “Some wilted spinach, a mostly-empty jar of strawberry jam, and a tub of hummus.” Bekkah wiggled her butt from side to side in sync with her humming as she surveyed the options. “Not much to choose from. Oh, wait.” She spun away from the fridge, kicking it closed as she did, and darted out into the backyard.
Sure enough, a handful of ripe apples still dangled from a tree a little distance off from the porch. “Yes!” Bekkah cheered. Then she eyed the tree. The lowest apple she could see was a good seven or eight feet off the ground. She could climb the tree, but… a brisk autumn breeze brought goosebumps to her bare skin. Yeah, no. She’d need to get dressed first, and she didn’t want to until she had to. “I’ll ask Dad to grab a couple for me.”
Rebekkah turned around and took a step back into the cabin, only to bounce off a broad, bare chest. Strong arms wrapped around her, keeping her from falling down. “Careful where you’re going, angel,” her father told her. He smiled down at her through his short salt-and-pepper beard. “You want some apples?”
A blush, part embarrassment, part arousal, bloomed on Bekkah’s cheeks. One of her dad’s big, callused hands was kneading her bare ass, and it was making it hard to think. If her nipples weren’t already stiff from the chilly morning air, it’d be making them hard too. “Um, yes, Sir. Please,” she managed to force out. Samson chuckled and flexed his arms, causing a squeal of surprise to escape Bekkah as he lifted her up onto his shoulders, straddling the back of his neck.
Rebekkah wrapped her legs tight around her father and leaned into his head to maintain her balance as he started to walk. Her actions also had the effect of grinding her bare pussy against her father’s skin. She felt her blush growing hotter. God, he’s so strong, she thought to herself. I’m not the lightest girl, but he didn’t even strain to lift me.
An image flitted through Bekkah’s mind of her father holding her, his hands under her knees, her back to his chest, as he fucked her standing up. Okay, we’re trying that one, she decided with an unconscious flick of her tongue across her lips. “If you don’t want breakfast to burn, you’d best get to pickin’, Bekkah.” Samson’s voice rumbled through Rebekkah’s groin. She bit back a whimper of arousal, although there was no way her father couldn’t feel her wetness soaking into his neck.
“Yes, Sir,” she said and looked up into the tree branches. There were a few apples within reach. Bekkah steadied herself with one hand on her father’s head and pulled down an armful. “This will do for now. Eep!” No sooner did she finish telling her father she was done than he plucked her from his shoulders and into a bridal carry. One of her arms cradled the apples to her chest while the other wrapped around his neck.
Rebekkah lost herself in her father’s eyes as he gazed down at her. They were the same blue as her own. Within those cerulean depths swam happiness, pride, appreciation, and no small amount of lust, among other positive emotions. Under all those, though, there was a lurking shadow piercing Bekkah right to her soul. “Dad,” she said as he walked back toward the house, “I’m happy. Here, with you.”
Bekkah wasn’t dumb, and the mate bond didn’t make her blind to emotions. She knew where the darkness in his heart came from. “I can’t say I wanted this,” she continued, speaking with slow, careful diction. “I wouldn’t have chosen it. But,” she hurried on, trying to interrupt the pain those words would cause, “not for the reason you think. I never thought of you, um, like that, but my plans always involved living near you.”
Rebekkah nuzzled her cheek against her father’s shoulder. “I love you, Dad. I always have, and even without the bond, I always would have. You were the best dad in the world to me. You always supported me and cheered me on without making me feel like your love depended on my success.” His arms tightened around her a tiny bit. Bekkah allowed herself a tentative smile. Happiness bloomed within her when her father’s lips twisted up at the corners.
“I know you treated Mom very well, too. When I started growing out,” Bekkah bounced her breasts with her arm for emphasis, then blushed as her father’s eyes dipped down to watch, “we had a long talk about men and boys. Lefkoşa Escort She told me about how you met, a bunch of your dates, that kind of thing. And she talked about the bond. Not much, but I know she was the one who approached you about it.”
A deep breath caused Bekkah’s chest to swell. This time, Samson’s eyes didn’t so much as twitch toward her bare assets. She let her breath out in a sigh. “Dad, she talked about how things were different before and after you bonded with her. About how much control you could have had over her and how little you actually exerted. I think she wanted to scare me off of finding my own sexy werewolf.” Her father’s smile faded. Damn it, stop reminding him of what happened to me, she berated herself.
By this time, they were back in the cabin. Samson knelt down and set Rebekkah on her feet. Before he could stand up again, she darted forward and gave him a quick, firm kiss. “Dad, unless you’ve had a big change of heart in the last few years, I’m not afraid of you taking advantage of me. Mom told me your rules. Do they apply to me, too?”
Bekkah’s father looked at her with those proud, mournful eyes for a second longer before crushing her against his chest. “Darlin’, you can set the rules however you want.”
An instinctive denial welled up in Rebekkah’s throat, but she forced it back down. The bond wanted her submissive to his every whim, but she could resist anything short of a direct command with enough willpower. “Let me think about it while I finish breakfast.” A quick kiss later, her father’s arms dropped from around her. She walked over to the counter with a little extra sway to her hips and dropped off the apples before turning her attention to the stovetop.
Thankfully, her father’s stove was old and took a bit of time to heat up, so there was still plenty of water, and the bacon wasn’t yet burned. Rebekkah flipped the bacon over, then took the pot off the stove and poured it onto the grits she’d set aside before starting.
“Angel, you shouldn’t be cooking bacon without a shirt or apron,” her father said from behind her.
Rebekkah looked over her shoulder and flashed him a coy smile. “Oh, you’re right,” she said, “but your apron is much too big for me, and for some reason, I didn’t get a chance to unpack last night. Can you think of another solution?” Hunger flared in her mate’s eyes, but he hesitated. Bekkah turned away, rolling her eyes where he couldn’t see, and shook her butt at him.
A low growl clawed its way out of Samson’s throat, and he stepped forward, crossing the distance between them in a single stride. Two large, rough-skinned hands reached around her and cupped Rebekkah’s breasts, covering a significant fraction of her exposed skin. Pleasure surged through her. She let her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she drank in the feel of her mate’s touch. His fingers against her nipples, his broad, hairy chest against her back, the denim jeans failing to disguise his arousal digging into her butt.
“You make an adequate apron,” Rebekkah teased. She needed to build up his confidence. It would be her project for the next few days, she decided. The wolf’s actions damaged their relationship, and she couldn’t trust her dad to fix it on his own. This needed a woman’s touch.
So, she snuggled back into her mate’s embrace and finished cooking breakfast. There wasn’t much left to do. She stirred the grits every minute or so to keep them from clumping up, turned the bacon over another couple of times before draining the strips on a paper towel, and scrambled up a couple of eggs in the leftover grease. Her father’s hands stayed in place the entire time, even once the risk of grease burns passed.
“Go sit down,” she told him. “I’ll set the table.” Samson did as she asked after nuzzling the top of her head and placing a short kiss there. Rebekkah puttered around for a moment, doing nothing except letting the lingering heat of her mate’s caress fade away. It wouldn’t do to get too horny too fast. She needed to maintain a careful balance.
Once she felt a little more composed and in control, Rebekkah fetched one plate, a bowl, and two sets of silverware, then laid them out in front of her father. He raised one eyebrow at the extra fork and spoon, but she didn’t bother answering his unspoken question. He’d figure it out in a second. Another trip brought butter, salt, pepper, her hummus, and–ugh–a bottle of hot sauce to the table, all placed within easy reach of her father.
Then Rebekkah collected her father’s plate and bowl, filled them with the food cooling on the stovetop, fetched herself a pair of apples, and brought everything back to the table. She laid the meal out before her father, then, with a happy hum, wriggled her way onto his lap facing forward. His left arm wrapped around her waist, holding her in place.
“We do have other chairs,” Samson said with a wry twist to his voice.
“I know,” Rebekkah replied with a giggle, “but I wanted this one.” She wiggled Girne Escort against the obvious erection in his pants. “It’s my favorite seat in the whole house.” Doing her best to ignore the sexual tension, Bekkah set herself to slicing up one of her apples, then dragged it through the hummus and took a bite. Her father sat there for a little while, unmoving aside from his slow, steady breaths. Then he squeezed her with his arm and picked up a fork.
“I could get used to not having to cook my own meals again,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically tentative.
“Cooking can be one of my Duties if you want, Dad,” Bekkah told him. His thumb brushed across the side of her waist.
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t mind it.”
Samson lifted a forkful of hot sauce-covered scrambled eggs to his mouth, taking silent refuge in chewing. “Then,” he said after swallowing, “yes, it is your Duty to prepare meals for the both of us whenever possible and practical, and when it does not interfere with your work, studies, free time, or other Duties with higher priority.”
Rebekkah shivered as the command took hold. A pool of liquid heat formed low in her belly. Part of her, directed by her bond, quivered with arousal caused by her mate giving her a direct order. It was only a fraction of the fire coursing through her veins, however. Any other were wouldn’t have bothered to place so many careful conditions and loopholes. Bekkah’s heart swelled near to bursting with love.
“Yes, Father,” she responded. “I accept this Duty as your mate. I look forward to it.” The first sentence came from the bond. The second was all her, a little positive reinforcement to reward his care and encourage him to take further action. “You might as well give me laundry, too. I love you, Dad, but I don’t trust you to know how to handle clothes less rugged than denim.”
Samson chuckled. “You wound me, Bekkah.” His whole hand was moving now, making slow, small, lingering circles on her side. “I know how to do the wash.”
“Oh? What settings do you use for silk-and-lace lingerie?” Bekkah smirked to herself. Her question would serve two purposes. She was sure her father didn’t know the answer, and it’d also put a picture in his head. Sure enough, his hips shifted beneath her. When he didn’t respond right away, Rebekkah continued, “Just give me the command, Dad.”
“As you wish.” Bekkah flushed. She could never mistake that phrase in a context like this for anything but an intentional reference. “It is your Duty to keep the household’s clothes, linens, and other washables clean and fresh, so long as it does not interfere with your work, studies, free time, or other Duties of higher priority.”
“I accept this Duty as your mate,” came Rebekkah’s ritual response. “And I love you too.” A kiss on her head was all the acknowledgment she received, and it was all she needed. Her father surprised her with his next words, however.
“It is also your Duty to share my meals with me when possible and practical, partaking of the same foods you serve me, and to eat until you are full.”
Rebekkah stiffened. Her fingers clenched against the edge of the table as she fought the command. “Dad, I,” she managed to get out between gritted teeth before the bond overwhelmed her. “I accept this Duty as your mate.” She shook as the compulsion left her. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. “Why? Why?”
Rebekkah’s father squeezed her tight. “Because I won’t have you starving yourself.” His voice softened. “You can eat healthy if you want. I’m not placing any restriction on what meals you prepare, but we’ll both eat the same food.”
“And making me gorge myself.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. Didn’t want to, in the face of her father’s betrayal.
“Rebekkah.” Samson nuzzled the top of her head. Rebekkah tried to duck away, but he followed and, wrapped as she was in his arms, she couldn’t elude him. “Bekkah. You are beautiful. I know you’re not as confident about your appearance as I am. I know the other girls,” his voice dripped with venom, “in high school and college made fun of you because you carry a few more pounds than most of them.”
“A few? I’m–“
“Rebekkah, do not ever let that word pass your lips.” Steel reverberated in her father’s words. The command lashed at Bekkah, forcing her to shut her mouth and swallow the words she’d been about to say. “I never told you this because it was never relevant, and I doubt your mother did either, but she was not at all my type. Hazel won me over with determination, hard work, and being a hellcat in bed.”
“Dad!” Rebekkah’s blush returned in full force. Samson chuckled.
“Think about your mom for a moment, angel. Bring her picture to mind.” Bekkah closed her eyes and followed the command. It didn’t have the same weight as the others he’d given this morning, but she had no reason to fight it.
Hazel Jacobs, nee Rubin, had been a tall woman, taller even than her husband. She had shoulder-length Magosa Escort black hair, brown eyes, a slender frame, narrow hips, and breasts that would’ve been a perfect handful for a man two sizes smaller than Samson. Her face was a little on the plain side, with thin lips and a nose a touch too large compared to the rest of her features.
“Now, shrink her by about six inches. Widen her hips. Make her lips a bit fuller.” Samson’s hands touched Rebekkah’s body in an echo of his description. “Chip away at her muscle definition until she’s nice and soft-looking. Lighten her hair up a touch and make it longer. Give her a cute little button nose. Put some extra weight around her belly, butt, and thighs. And then give her some double-Ds.”
“Dad,” Rebekkah whimpered as his hands cupped her breasts at the end. Tendrils of fire were moving through her veins again. It was obvious what he was doing. Even if she hadn’t caught on with his words alone, his hands made it impossible to misunderstand. The changes matched her almost to a T. Almost. “I don’t have double-Ds,” she protested.
“I know,” he said with a low, feral roughness rumbling from deep in his chest. “But I had to settle for imperfection before last night.” He found her nipples, seized them, squeezed them between rough fingers. Bekkah twisted, writhed, a loud moan forced from her lungs as her pleasure spiked. “This is one thing you inherited from Hazel, you know? She always broke down when I got my hands on her nipples.”
“Daddy!” A protest, a supplication, Rebekkah wasn’t sure which it was.
“This is the final Duty I’m going to give you today, Rebekkah, so listen well. It is your Duty to know you have always been and always will be beautiful in my eyes. You are my perfect angel, my ideal mate, and, if I can figure out a way to make it happen, my beloved wife. You will never call yourself fat, or overweight, or obese, or use any other derogatory term about your weight.”
Every word was a knife slashing away at Rebekkah’s mind, cutting through childhood insecurities and schoolyard traumas. Each command was a hammer, reforging her soul with new truths, impossible for her to refute. Bekkah curled up with her knees pushing against her father’s hands, sobbing as emotions she’d long repressed raged through her. “I accept this Duty as your mate,” she managed to whisper between sobs.
Samson’s hands slipped off of her breasts and wrapped around her waist once more. He held her in a tight hug while she shook and cried. After a few minutes, once her tears died down, he spoke again in a far gentler voice. “If, and only if, you want, I can help you develop and follow through on an exercise plan. I will never order you to do so. I love you exactly the way you are. But I want you to be comfortable in your own body. If you want to lose weight, I will support you in every way I can. My feelings for you aren’t dependant on your body type.”
That did it. It was too much. Rebekkah twisted sideways in her father’s lap, then threw her leg over his hips to straddle him. Her lips sought his out and claimed them. One arm wrapped around his shoulder, hand tangled in his short hair, the other plunged down between them and clawed at Samson’s pants. “Shift,” she demanded between hungry kisses. “Hybrid form.” It was the only one he hadn’t taken her in yet, and she had a sudden, overpowering need to complete the circle. But this time, she would be in the dominant position.
To his credit, Rebekkah’s father could read the mood. He stood up with her in his arms and shifted. One moment, he was a tall, broad, well-muscled, completely human man. The next, he fur covered him, his face reshaped in a lupine mold, his legs bent like a dog’s, and a shaggy tail protruded from the tattered remnants of his blue jeans. “Bed,” Bekkah ordered, and Samson obeyed. “You first,” she told him when he stepped into the master bedroom.
The crotch of Samson’s jeans was still more-or-less intact, and Bekkah ground herself against the hard bulge within as her father sat down on his king-sized bed. She pushed at his shoulders until he lay back on the bed, leaning forward as he did. “So, you like my huge tits, Daddy?” Rebekkah asked. She put a little extra energy into her motions, making her heavy breasts sway in front of her father’s hungry eyes.
“I love them, angel,” he rumbled. His voice was deeper and rougher in this form, and he spoke slower, the words more difficult to form with his altered facial structure.
“And you don’t mind if I’m…” chubby, she tried to say. Thick. Plump. Pudgy. None of the words would come out thanks to her mate’s command.
“Full-figured? Curvaceous? Rubenesque? Zaftig? Voluptuous?” Each new term sent a jolt straight to Bekkah’s clit. “Darlin’, I like my women soft and plush.”
Bekkah bit her lip and slid down her father’s body, her breasts pressed against his furred chest. The roughness on her nipples sent heat exploding through her body. Once she reached his waist, Rebekkah pulled the lingering scraps of her father’s pants off him, revealing his cock. Like the rest of him, it had a somewhat bestial appearance. It was long and red with a bulging ring of flesh around the base. It remained human in all other respects, lacking the tapered tip or furry sheath of her mate’s wolf form.
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