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"Spread you legs for me, kitten."
Your head only lolls from side to side and you fill your lungs a few times in an attempt to gather your wits, but your eyelids are still too heavy to open, your brain too fuzzy to properly react. "Too tired...Please, Papa..."
"Shhh...I don't need you to be awake for this." You can hear the wicked smirk in his voice and it's far from the first time he's woken you up this way. You've managed to roll fully onto your back and raise a knee slightly along the tangled sheets, but you're too drowsy to comply any more than that. He presses against the plush flesh of your thighs with both hands to get them open as wide as he wants them, settling his broad shoulders between them.
The warmth of his breath against your sensitive flesh still isn't enough to wake you, nor the deep inhales he's taking of your scent, heady and musky from the light sweat of summer night slumber and the near-constant arousal that dews your sex any time you're in his presence.
It starts with just kisses, soft and unhurried, dancing around your most sensitive spots as the soft curls of his sideburns tickle at your inner thighs. When he finally presses his tongue against your clit and lets the hardening bud roll under his touch you let out a sleepy mewl, and another, and another, hips rocking involuntarily in search of more pressure.
"Easy...Easy now...," he chuckles after licking a languid swipe along your slit and watching you squirm. "Just let Papa show you how much he adores his little lamb."
He loves you like this, so sleepy and sweet. Body so pliable and obedient. Pussy so wet and ready for him to play with to his heart's content. His favorite little toy.
You take his fingers with ease when he slides them past your tight hole, squeezing them with a hungry whine as you cling to sleep in vain. "Hush now, my angel...Just take what Papa has to give you..."
When he starts pumping his long digits into you, curling them and expertly pressing against your g-spot, you clutch with weak, ineffective hands at the bunched sheets around you in whimpering protests that go ignored. "Papa doesn't want to have to punish you, angel...Unless maybe you WANT me to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress instead?"
That quiets you, at least temporarily. Even in your stupor you're keenly aware that he could take his pleasure from you in the most brutal ways if he wanted to. You hold your tongue, willing your body to relax into his worshipping touch, his prominent nose buried greedily in your cunt while his fingers coax you open and fill the room with the lewd sounds of the juices he's working out of you and spilling anything he can't capture on his tongue onto the bedding below.
When he purses his pouty lips around your clit your whimpers turn to quiet sobs, the twisting and tightening in your core becoming almost unbearable and he has to tighten his hold on your legs to hold you still. But it only takes a few skilled flicks of his tongue to push you over the edge. Your body bows off the surface of the bed and a low, involuntary moan parts your lips. One last shudder ripples through your exhausted frame and you melt back down into the dampened sheets.
He watches the harried rise and fall of your bosom as you fight through shaky, strained breaths, your heart pounding so hard and fast he can see it drumming through your ribcage. He pulls his fingers from you reluctantly, cleaning them with a satisfied hum. He places his hand over your heart, a wordless gesture to tell you that you're safe, that he's proud of you, and your body quiets almost instantly at his loving touch.
You're blissfully boneless when he returns to his usual space at your side and pulls you in close, but when you try to curl up into a sleepy ball against him he stills your attempt with firm hands on your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in.
"No, no, kitten...Keep them open for me." He runs his fingers aimlessly through your silken folds, gently petting until you stop trembling from aftershocks and your breathing slows to the way he found you just minutes ago.
"Rest now, my sweet lamb," he whispers, placing a tender kiss to your forehead as he eases his fingers back into your warm, snug grip, letting his hand rest against your mound. He knows from experience that he'll awaken to your lovely, needy sounds and the wet heat of you riding his hand and pleading for more. Better than any alarm clock money could buy. "Keep Papa's fingers nice and safe like a good girl and I will take care of you properly in the morning."
You nuzzle tighter into his neck, finally losing your sluggish battle with consciousness, lulled to sleep by the lingering scent of sex and sweat and cologne and the steady, familiar rhythm of his calm breathing.