Rough Daddy's Forest Fuck

The forest swallowed sound whole. Sunlight struggled through the canopy, fracturing into dusty beams that barely touched the needle-strewn path. Pine resin hung thick in the air, a sharp counterpoint to the damp earth smell rising with each step. Eliza surged ahead, a flash of bare skin against the endless green. Her faded denim shorts rode dangerously high, the frayed edges whispering against her thighs. A tiny crop top, emblazoned with a faded band logo she probably didn’t know, exposed the smooth plane of her lower back and a sliver of her midriff. Every movement was a dare.

“Slow down!” Robert called, his voice rough but carrying easily in the still air. He kept his pace steady, deliberate, his worn hiking boots crunching rhythmically on the path. His gaze, however, was anything but steady. It tracked the sway of her hips, the bounce of her messy blonde ponytail, the way the thin fabric of her top strained when she stretched an arm overhead to grab a low-hanging branch.

She laughed, the sound brittle and too loud, ricocheting off the ancient trunks. “Can’t catch me, old man?” She darted off the main trail, ducking under a moss-covered limb, vanishing momentarily into the deeper green. Her laughter echoed back, distorted.

Robert didn’t hurry. He knew these woods. Knew the shortcuts. Knew the dangerous sinkholes disguised by ferns, the hidden barbed wire from forgotten property lines. He also knew his daughter. He pushed aside a low branch, the rough bark scraping his weathered palm, and stepped onto a narrower, overgrown animal He found ELiza waiting, leaning against a massive oak, catching her breath. Her chest rose and fell quickly beneath the thin top.

“Tired already?” he asked, stopping a few feet away. He took a long pull from his water bottle, watching her over the ...