Prunum

ORC

Nothing makes you feel more full than the feeling of your wife’s large green fingers splitting you open. She’s massive, of course she is. The clan leader needs to be a personification show of strength to ward off any enemy. Too bad you’re also one of her victims when she decides to spread you apart on your shared bed after a rough day training.

She’s always grumpy after, sweat glistening on her muscular arms before she hoists you over her strong shoulder to the bed. She’s quick to rip apart your underwear, she always makes up for it and buys you a new pair anyway. She just can’t help herself from stuffing her face between your legs so she can lap at your pretty pussy. Her large tongue rolling around your twitching pearl as you sling in her arms begging for mercy. Her tusks have probably left an indent on your inner thighs from how much they poke at you when she slurps at you. At first it was painful…then uncomfortable, and now you barely feel them at all. She begs you to pull on her black curly hair, the tug alone makes her wet with a groan.

NAGA

She has always been overly clingy. Her favorite pastime was always cuddling up behind you underneath the trees and snuggling you to death til the both of you fall asleep. Her tail is massive, and surprisingly warm. She likes to bask it in the sun just so you can warm up against it whenever you come back home. She cries when you leave for work, trying her best to make you stay with her. If you can’t she can always try convincing you otherwise. Your wife was strong, a tall woman with a massive tail that overpowered you completely, she lifted you up easily, flipping you upside down in your pajamas before you could get ready. She removes your underwear easily, tossing it aside before rubbing the end of her long tail over your slit as it slowly eases inside you.

She fucks you good, so good that you forget you even need to go to work. Her tail isn’t rough or anything, it’s surprisingly smooth at the end, the perfect size to plug up your pussy when you think about leaving her. Once you’re too overstimulated to move she’ll flip you around again so you’re hovering over her face, letting you ride her tail before she wraps her large mouth around your entire pussy. Her tongue is long, twisting and twirling as it stretches you out along with her tail. She’ll make you beg for her to stop…and since you’re too tired now, it’d be best you stayed home.

SEA WITCH

When you go to the beach you always try to wear cute clothes for your wife. You buy countless little sun dresses, shorts, bathing suits and skirts that only end up drifting carelessly away at sea. You were sure you could have filled half a mile of point Nemo from how much stuff you’ve lost over the past couple of years. Maybe there will be a chance for society to embark on all your ripped up bikinis and dresses. Your wife always managed to mess up your clothing. She didn’t hate it, far from it, you looked beautiful, and she can never help that itch she gets to just drag you by the ankle with one of her tentacles to your knees before slipping you into the ocean.

You were tired of her fucking up your shit, so you finally decided one day to wear an outfit she can’t rip. A cute lingerie set with your pussy exposed under your old sun dress, you were lucky enough to live on a semi deserted island, the nearest village was half an hour away for anyone to see you getting fucked silly on the sand. You twirl around for her, a cheeky smile on your face when you feel the familiar slimy grip of her tentacles dragging you straight toward her. She flips you over, your elbows landing harshly on the sand with your ass under water . She rips your dress apart to shreds, you’re happy you wore a dress you didn’t quite like anymore. Not that she cared. Clothes were a foreign concept in Merfolk culture, she seemed more irritated each time you even bothered putting something on. Once she sees your body she lights up immediately, tentacles wrapping over your breast and thighs as she pulls you onto her lips. She can go at you for hours like this.

VAMPIRE

A fresh smelling human woman with blood as divine as aged wine. It’d be surprising if the countess didn’t fall head over heels in love. She was old, much older than you, but she was stunning. She took you as her bride as soon as she smelled you quivering alone in the woods, how could she resist such beauty from this cute pathetic woman? She’s overly gentle with you, using an amulet to keep you young for her forever. She doesn't fancy anyone else’s company after meeting you. She’s tall, strong, but surprisingly overly gentle with you, her sweet wife. When she took you to bed the first time it hurt..bad. What else did you expect from a vampire as old as her? A vampire who hasn’t had a meal this delectable in a long, long time. No, she needed to savor your taste.

Eating you out isn’t always a simple game when she’s angry or stressed. Your thighs are etched with bite marks as scars to prove it. She tries to be gentle as she can, but fangs as long as hers can’t help but hurt as they sink into your thighs. You squirm, tears bubbling up over your waterline as you bite those cute plump lips of yours. She is always apologetic, promising you euphoria as soon as she has her fill of your blood, and she always comes through. In seconds her bloody red lips wrap around your clit, tongue fast and powerful enough to make you arch your back. She keeps at you for hours to the point you can’t even feel the earlier puncture.

WEREWOLF

Your wife has always loved it when you run from her..just like how you two met years ago. It’s become a tradition at this point. Sometimes when she’s away you sneak off to the nearest lake to go take a bath, but oh no, she’s not as stupid as you take her for, she’s almost always waiting, watching, anticipating for you to step your soaking nude body out the water so she can pounce you back onto the dirty ground when you’re done. How dare you think you can take a bath without her? You always seem so content when you bathe, so cute and vulnerable, she tried warning you about keeping up with your surroundings. I suppose you never learn, do you? Or, maybe you actually liked the idea of her watching you.

She waits until you get out the water, neatly wrapping a towel over your perfect body before you make your way back to the village. She’s behind you in an instant, crawling in bushes, stalking your every step. She only pounces when you notice her..she loves the chase. You always let out the sweetest gasp when you spot her, fumbling around with your towel as you start to dash away. But your human legs can only get you so far. She lets you create distance..she wants you to feel safe and secure before tackling you. She pins you in the ground, fluffy body heaving as she lifts up your squirming legs as you curse her out for ruining your bath. Her tongue is long and swift, curling over and under your clit as she messily eats you up. You can get back at her later, for now she wants to taste you.

GHOST

Living with a ghost as a wife seemed scary at first, especially when she took your soul at the start of your marriage in exchange for her love. At first she only did it as a joke, but now that she’s taken the time to get to know you she’s been obsessed with you ever since. You haven’t known peace. She’s clinging to you the second you get home, pulling off your shoes and coat before showering you with icy kisses. She loves staying wrapped around you at night even if it makes you uncomfortably cold. She can’t seem to get her hands off you. She knows you work hard to maintain and take care of the house, so why shouldn’t she show her appreciation?

She died years ago when she was still living here, all alone, but now that she has you she has no interest in letting you leave her. Ever. Sometimes when the two of you get into a fight and you try leaving the house she gets nervous..she knows your marriage isn’t legitimate by legal means, but for crying out loud she has your soul. You were hers. She completely flips out, rushing to you before you can reach the handle to possess your body. She quickly apologizes each time, she promises to make it up to you, she knows you can feel every single move she makes in your body, so she’ll finger your pussy while she begs you to stay with her. And when you do eventually calm down, she’ll happily give your body back so she can suck on your tiny clit with her cold tongue.

WITCH

Your wife was far too old to participate in such “lewd behaviors”, or so she’d say. She was decades older than you, an older woman with a low libido. She wasn’t as active as she used to be in her youth, but she knows how needy humans can be, especially her sweet little wife. Bending down to eat you out wasn’t exactly her forte, too tasteless for an advanced witch such as herself. No, no— she liked to use the element of surprise.

A stupid smile played at the corners of your lips, despite the grueling two-hour flight that had somehow turned into five that morning with all the delays, gate changes, TSA short-staffing, ground operations snafus, and screaming, kicking, crying children that clearly couldn’t have hated air travel more if they tried.

Panama City Beach for spring break was a good fucking time regardless of all the nonsense that it took to get there. Your string bikini was practically glued to your skin underneath your clothes, and your brain was filled to the brim with wild and dumbass memories that would last you several lifetimes, if not longer.

“Bye-eee! Try not to die!!” your friend yelled presently, leaning out the driver’s side window of her car to wave.

You stood on the front stoop of your boyfriend’s house, one hand shielding your face from the sun, and you smiled. Pained and now nursing a hangover that felt like it might legitimately kill you, you shouted back:

“You, too!”

“Tell your dad I said hi!”

And before you could return with so much as another syllable—or, your middle finger, as your friend had probably expected—the little sedan sped off down the road. You were left standing on the porch with all your luggage, shaking your head and thinking it was pretty insane to be dating a man almost three times your age.

Knowing, deep down, your friends would have a whole lot more to say about your relationship if they knew what other things happened behind closed doors.

Shortly, the one in front of you creaked open.

Joel stood there. His brown eyes shone.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Admittedly, this was a fucked up way of showing love.

What you and Joel had come to explore over the course of the last year wasn’t normal by any means. People would probably call you freaks if they knew. This…routine that the two of you had fallen into had started out as a joke, frankly. And a bad one at that.

‘Daaad,’ you’d groaned one day, pulling the covers over your head in an effort to defy his beckoning hands. ‘I don’t wanna go to school. I wanna stay here with you.’

The ‘funny’ part was, you didn’t have class that morning or afternoon. Joel obviously wasn’t your father, and it sure as fuck wasn’t his job to make sure you got your butt out of bed. It had still ended with you folded in half underneath him, ankles bobbing at either side of his head while he drilled you into the mattress.

That was when both of you learned you liked roleplay.

Daddy and his darling daughter, sweetheart and her doting father—whatever you two called it, it worked.

It turned you on to no end pretending like Joel was something a little more paternal. And dirty. And wrong, running his hands over your body with a darkened glint, like, ‘I really shouldn’t be doin’ this, sweetie.’

And yet you did, every single time.

It only got better with practice, and the fantasy took on wilder and more intricate, filthy dimensions every day.

Tonight, Joel made dinner. You sat and ate in relative silence, admiring the grays in your old man’s beard and wondering if he might not have aged a year in the week you’d been gone. You took another bite of your chicken fried steak and smiled—the gravy was perfect.

“I got somethin’ on my face, babygirl?” Joel hummed.

Across the table, he met your gaze, and your grin grew.

You probably did look silly chewing and staring, but you didn’t care. Joel didn’t seem to mind it, either.

“Nuh-uh,” you answered.

“Nuh-what?” Joel returned, a little more pointed.

You swallowed and then straightened in your seat. Softly, apologetically, and also making sure to lick one corner of your lips as you did, you corrected yourself:

“No, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Already, Joel was somewhat disgruntled that you hadn’t bothered to tell him what time your plane would be landing, and that he hadn’t been able to pick you up from the airport because of it—‘You know I’m not crazy ‘bout surprises, baby. And your safety’s most important. OK?’ Ever since then, it seemed as though the guy were trying to find some reason to scold you, and be stern. Whenever you spent too much time away from him, he had a tendency to get a little more possessive; this evening was no exception.

“Clean plate club, remember, pumpkin?” Joel pointed with his fork at your plate of food, still only half-eaten.

Beside the china, on the table, your phone buzzed.

“I…um,” you started off, slow. Distracted. “I ain’t—”

“‘Am not.’”

When you looked up from where you’d just read the notification that had popped up on your device, Joel was scowling again. Challenging you with his eyes.

Sure you wanna go this way, sweetheart?

“I mean, I am not too…hungry,” you said.

“Well, you said you’d eat it, remember?”

Simultaneously, your phone vibrated again.

That seemed to snag Joel’s attention well enough—almost immediately then, he rose, clearing his throat.

The little breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen wasn’t particularly large, and he didn’t have to travel very far to reach your spot from across the way. Just as you were retrieving your utensils again, conceding, ‘OK, OK, I’ll eat it! I promise I’ll eat all my food,’ Joel was standing over your shoulder, hand quick as a whip to land on the back of your chair as he leaned right in.

“I’ll eat it, Dad, I’ll—”

“—be a good girl, or I’ll put somethin’ else in that pretty little mouth’a yours that won’t fit as nice as this steak.”

OK.

OK, fine, maybe you did want to suck his dick, but—

Another two painfully loud vibrations sounded.

From: Harry Castillo

Make it home OK?

Missin’ you pretty lady

Fuck if that stupid motherfucker couldn’t catch a hint if it were hotglued to his palm. Inwardly, you groaned.

Outwardly, you bat your lashes at your pretend father.

“I’ll eat it all, don’t worry, D—” you started.

“Who the fuck is Harry?”

Well, it just wasn’t fair.

A dipshit like that texting at a time like this.

You’d been towing what almost anyone else would’ve considered a razor-thin line between discipline and getting the lights fucked out of you right there on the kitchen table, and then came the mess with the texts.

On your second night out at the beach, you and your friends had made the acquaintance of a group of guys from Ole Miss—all seniors in Sigma Chi, all super nice, and all on their spring break together—and you’d gotten along great. Drank heavily and bar-hopped from place to place throughout the week, making a groupchat to keep up-to-date on plans. You never thought much of it, or of any of them, but you’d had a sneaking suspicion that Harry Castillo was definitely into you, even though he knew you had an ‘older’ boyfriend back home. The funny thing was, he probably figured Joel was a grad student just a couple years your senior and not an almost fifty-year-old man.

Damn if Harry could see you now, getting your legs spread wide over this old, oak farmhouse table for two.

You weren’t getting fucked anytime soon, though.

No, your dear old man was making damn sure of that—he had you half-spreadeagle there getting absolutely nothing while you sat and squirmed and wanted to cry.

“Dad, this isn’t fair!” you huffed, blowing out a loud and indignant breath. Squeezing the edge of the table underneath your butt and wishing your skimpy blue bikini bottom was off and not just pulled to the side.

Joel didn’t gratify girls who’d been bad, he’d told you.

“‘Hey. Just wanted to say…you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and I wish I could’ve gotten to know you better. If you’re ever down in Oxford, just H-M-U.’” Your boyfriend rattled off the lines by heart—that particular text had stuck with him, for obvious reasons.

After seeing the two most recent messages from Harry, he’d gone through your entire text thread with the guy. All of six or seven texts had been exchanged between you and Harry while you’d been in PCB, mostly to update the other on bars and parties and events your friend groups were going to. But, of course, Harry had had to end the week by sending that message Joel had just repeated, after everybody had said their goodbyes and the guy suddenly felt the need to confess all of his deepest, dumbest feelings for you.

You’d left him on read and never responded to it.

You had zero desire to entertain any of that bullshit, and by that point in time, you were already on your way back home, so why even bother sending a rejection?

Evidently, though, Harry still had had hope, as he’d sent you a string of texts during your dinner with Joel:

Hey you

Just got back to Oxford 😌

And then:

Make it home OK?

Missin’ you pretty lady

Now you were paying for that goddamn idiotic persistence in spades—Joel had you splayed over his table like you were the main course, and he wasn’t particularly hungry. He was just there to toy with you.

Torture you.

“Y’know why I hate whenever you’re away for too long?” The man’s voice was low, tone serious. His old, weathered hand slid up and down your inner thigh, and the texture was almost like sandpaper. The calluses on his palm made your shivers multiply a thousandfold.

“W-Why?” you stammered before sucking in a breath.

“Can’t...keep my hands on you. Keep an eye on this.”

And with that, Joel finally moved his touch to your wet and aching seam. Like he knew your body better than the back of his own hand—which, in truth, he probably did—he started to thumb little circles over your clit.

Your head fell back on a soft moan.

All of your body was hypersensitized and as full to the brim with energy as a live wire at the moment; you couldn’t help it. You also couldn’t resist blurting out:

“Oh, fuck, Dad. Fuck me, please.”

It was lewd.

It was wrong.

It was everything you simply weren’t able to keep contained inside your chest and nothing of what your faux father, Joel, wanted to hear from you right now, strict as he was about you not using crude language.

So, you weren’t surprised in the least when that thumb on your clit was replaced by a spank between your lips: one quick, light swat on your slit just hard enough to grab your attention, but not sharp enough to hurt you.

Still, you keened, whining petulantly.

“Owwww! That hurts, Dad.”

“Does it, sweetheart?”

Why that fucker was grinning was beyond you.

“Y—You don’t...” you started to say, then stopped. Swallowed, blinking harder. “…don’t trust me enough to spend a week at the beach with m-my friends?”

Your face was flushed, and your body was almost incandescent with heat. While your pussy pulsed and drooled between your legs, there was no doubt some indignation had started to creep into your words. Really, what was he so worried about, anyway?

“Ain’t you I don’t trust,” Joel returned instantly.

‘Is not’ you could’ve corrected him.

But you didn’t. Joel went on:

“‘Course it ain’t you I’ve gotta worry about in the slightest, no…It’s those goddamn boys with their pryin’ eyes and sniffin’ noses, goin’ after what’s mine.”

And at the same time, before you could even process what was happening, another blow landed on your throbbing clit. A peal of pleasure and pain blossomed through your limbs, and your hips bucked by instinct. This time, fortunately, Joel’s move was succeeded by a thumb pressing down, dulling the sting of what he’d done with a string of tender, apologetic lemniscates.

While the motions on your clit sent wave after wave of mollifying pleasure spiraling through your system, you could feel the burn with it, too. You could see the firm and paternal look in Joel’s eyes and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath a fine dusting of salt-and-pepper stubble before he spoke to you again.

Calmly, then: “Mind if your old man takes a look?”

You knew what that meant; you didn’t need to ask.

And Joel didn’t need an answer beyond the one you were supplying with your eyes and the single dip of your chin. It might as well have been tattooed over your forehead—‘Please, pleeease touch me, Dad’—and it wouldn’t have reached him any more clearly. Both of you were more than familiar with this kink.

Inspection, that is.

Was it even properly labeled a fetish if it came to be imbibed by you both more easily than the air you breathed? A mix of dominance and submission, give and take and touch and baiting each other endlessly.

“She been good f’me?” Joel said then, spreading your slick down your seam with just the pad of his thumb.

He was seated. You were perched on the edge of the table with your legs spread open to him, one ankle hooked over his shoulder and the other dangling up in the air. It all felt so precarious, what with you in only your barely-there, yanked-aside bikini and your man—this father figure of yours, who most folks would probably assume was just that at a glance—had a front row seat to your most intimate parts in the quiet and calm of this kitchen. Should a neighbor decide to stroll past the big bay window to your right, your secret and Joel’s would be exposed in a blink, no doubt about it.

“I said, has this pussy been good f’me?” Joel repeated.

“She has.”

“Promise me?”

“I promise, Dad. Didn’t…do…a thing.”

Almost too swiftly, Joel spit. One thick, glistening glob of saliva dropped from his lips to hit its target—your cunt—and mixed without a hitch as those circles of his continued. The sounds were delectable, and the sensation was amplified beyond what you could even begin to describe, Joel’s gaze locking with yours.

That lined face was handsome. Warm. Watchful.

“You wear this bikini out on the beach?”

“I— P-Please—”

“By the pool?”

You tried to reply to him again, but the sound caught in your throat; Joel planted his free hand on your thigh to hold you wider, and then he lowered his head. What you expected then would be his tongue appearing in the next second to lick a long, wet stripe up your slit ended up being just the tip of one of his fingers instead

Gently, Joel prodded at your entrance.

And though he didn’t breach you so much as a millimeter, simply the presence of his touch—the anticipation of being teased and pressed and stretched—was enough to have you whimpering.

You dug your heel into Joel’s shoulder. Your hips twitched restlessly, desperate for more contact.

“No wonder that boy’s been blowin’ up your phone,” Joel said, and at the same time, began tracing the rim of your cunt with his long and callused middle finger. “Lookin’ the way you do, pussy as sweet as she is…”

“He— He didn’t…I didn’t show him anything.” You barely managed to choke it out. Every nerve-ending in your body was alight, and it was taking all you had not to cum from the way his touch was grazing against you

Then that middle finger pushed its way inside.

“Harry never touched this, huh?” Joel cooed.

With the intrusion, it was as if every muscle in your body contracted at once; your walls clamped hard around Joel’s finger, and you couldn’t even hope to control it. Your cunt choked him, then made it almost impossible for the man to drag his finger back out.

Gently, though, Joel managed. He slid his big—now glistening—digit out of your pussy, and he smirked.

“You let those boys down in PCB touch you anyplace close to here, darlin’? They get to see, or…cop a feel?”

“No!”

Just as the protest clawed out of your throat, and you sat up stiff as a board to assure him, of course I didn’t do that, Dad, Joel’s mouth descended again. He nudged you backward, and you had no choice but to make space for shoulders bulldozing their way in.

It happened with one flick of his tongue.

One measly little lick, Joel groaning:

“‘S’all mine, ain’t she, honey?”

And then you were finished.

‘Embarrassing’ was the first word to come to mind while it happened. Embarrassing that your thighs trembled against the table, gut clenching as if you’d just been punched. Embarrassing that you let out a cry of ‘Daaaaaad!’ loud enough to wake half the neighborhood and humiliating that Joel’s lips hadn’t even been attached to your clit for two seconds before you came unraveling underneath his touch. Just…what the fuck? And why the hell now? And how?!

And what would a fictional sex scene be without dialogue to send the incel fuckwit losers on an anonymous confessions blog into a frenzy?

“Dad’s so proud of ya, kiddo. Cum f’me.”

“But— But— it’s wrong. We shouldn’t.”

“I can feel you squeezin’. Keep goin’.”

In just a dozen or so words, Joel told you even more. He wasn’t simply giving you permission to let go but to feel what you wanted, think whatever you pleased to get to your peak, and lean into this dynamic—completely fabricated and without any basis in reality. No need to feel guilt or shame over a silly little forty-five minutes of roleplay with a person you loved. You were safe to navigate whatever fantasy you wanted with him, and because of that, it all flowed naturally.

The façade slipped a second as you reached for Joel and he held you right back, gripping your hand and grinning like the most pleased-as-punch old fucker.

“Oh, Joel. Joel, Joel, shit,” you whispered in a rush.

“I know, baby.” Joel said, almost seeming to commiserate. “I know, I know. Jus’ let it happen.”

And you did.

Joel thumbed at your clit with his other hand, and another miniature wave of ecstasy rolled over you—whether it was a new orgasm or not mattered very little to you. You just moaned and rolled your hips, and you smiled back at Joel in that sleepy and entirely contented way you did. You felt boneless.

“Maybe…pick back up where we left off tomorrow?” your old man started to say after you finally came down, rubbing your thigh. “Know it’s been a long day with your flight an’ all. Don’t want my girl feelin’—”

“I do.”

“—pressured.” he finished.

“Perfectly fine to keep going, Dad,” you corrected.

If you could’ve bottled that moment to keep safe inside your memory forever, you would have. The way you watched the corners of Joel’s lips twitch up again, buried beneath a swath of silvery dark hairs you’d come to love dearly, was bliss. The great bulk of his chest, the gentle curve of his tummy and the indent of his navel, his biceps—all visible through the tight gray fabric of his t-shirt. His smile, so unassuming and sweet, didn’t seem to belie a man capable of calling you his perfect, precious daughter and in the same breath slide his cock inside you to the hilt. But he did.

And he was, currently, taking himself out. You helped.

Joel’s cock was long and hard and heavy, flushed red with an uncharacteristically large pearl of precum beaded at his tip. He might’ve run his hand down it once or twice then before you felt yourself salivating.

Angling your hips, and admiring the way his length looked so imposing and big over your body, you said:

“Are you sure it’ll fit, Dad?”

You played up the bit.

Your fingers spread your puffy, swollen lips to give Joel the clearest view of your cunt, dripping wet for him, and you could feel air cooling you. Your slit was shiny and slick. While you peered up at him sweetly, you also made sure the man could see your still-pulsing hole underneath where he was currently fisting his cock.

Joel lowered his hold and dragged the head of his dick through your folds, all the way down until the crown met your entrance. His hips flexed, but the rim of your cunt didn’t budge. Joel grunted, seeing and feeling it.

As if partway in a trance, and a little pussydrunk now already, he went on gently, “We’ll make it fit, honey.”

He put on the ‘Dad voice’ so effortlessly—it seemed it became second nature right before he worked his way inside you. Like the rest of the world was white noise and all that mattered was that thick, hard thing fitting in your tight, wet, sticky warmth, he guided you as tenderly as ever. He planted a hand beside your head on the table, not too far away from all the plates and glasses and silverware from your since-abandoned meal, and he started to push ahead with deliberation.

At first, it was just the tip pressing forward. Testing you, almost, as if to make sure your pussy could stretch to accommodate his girth. Joel knew better than this, of course, and you whined in answer.

“M— More’n that. Can take more, Dad,” you moaned.

“I know you can, kid,” Joel answered, still just stretching your rim with the tip of his cock. Holding onto his base. He’d barely breached more than an inch, and he already had your legs shaking, clutch sucking at him with all the force it could manage. He grunted.

“I’m…checkin’.” He stopped to exhale again. Dragged his cock forward and backward just to scrub the first bit of your inner walls. “Makin’ sure this pussy ain’t been touched since the last time I been inside her.” And once more, knitting his brows and thrusting as if he were really feeling around for something, accent growing coarser and more distinctly Texan as he did so, “That’s a good girl, you jus’ sit tight right there.”

And tight you were. Tight you gripped him, cunt gaping into a perfect ‘o’ around his length, and high-pitched were your moans as he fed you just those couple inches, again and again and again. Joel slowed.

Your pussy involuntarily clenched, and he shuddered on a groan. His hand curled into a fist on the tabletop.

“Fuck me,” he panted out. “Kept it nice an’ tight for dear old dad, knowin’ just what it’d do to him, yeah?”

You might’ve giggled if you weren’t so turned on. If your hands hadn’t drifted to your bikini top and freed your breasts to start toying with your nipples outside of the soft, nylon fabric, you might’ve taunted him back. But the truth was, your body was as taut as ever, your pussy was leaking liquid heat, and you were dangerously close to your second, or third, climax of the night with just a fraction of Joel sawing in and out.

He sank deeper, and both of you tensed, moaning.

“‘S’why she’s so sensitive now, huh?” Joel murmured, thrusts slow to pick up. The sounds of him hitting the table with each jerky motion echoed through the kitchen. “Why you came so fuckin’ fast on dad’s cock, ‘cause this pussy ain’t been touched all week? That it?”

Joel’s grin was wolfish and sly, but there was a tenderness to it all the same. He knew damn well he didn’t really need to feel inside to know you’d behaved.

“Haven’t been touched. Not even…on my own.” You pinched your nipples and let out a low, shaky breath.

“Not once?” Joel questioned.

“N— No, sir.”

Out of habit, you glanced down your body, and your cunt throbbed. Half of Joel’s cock had disappeared and was reappearing, soaked all the way to his balls.

“Guess we’re in the same boat then, you an’ me.”

And, as if the man could read your mind right then, Joel sank all the way in on his next thrust. He filled you up until those round, swollen globes of his were kissing your ass and the tip of his cock was hitting your cervix, and then he let out a sound of pleasure. Contented and craving still, his voice was hoarse and throaty and low. He leaned down until his body blanketed yours completely over the table, then fucked in deeper.

Joel moved his hands to grip either side of the wooden surface to the left and the right of your head, and in time, the wet plap-plap-plaps got even faster. Louder.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Darlin’ girl.”

“Dad couldn’t cum all week without this perfect little pussy snug ‘round ‘im. Y’know what that means, hm?”

Joel’s words were punctured by a breath, and without a syllable more from him, you could already sense it.

Could tell from the way that thick and throbbing head was gliding—diving—into your core repeatedly while his slick-drenched sac battered your ass with an agonizing weight, ‘Dad’ was close to having an orgasm

More than that, though, this was going to be a lot.

After not fucking for an entire week, not only did Joel tend to blow his load much sooner than usual, but the stuff that came out of him was insane in its sheer volume. He could already practically paint your face or fill your tummy on any given day, but when he’d been deprived of release long enough, his cum was just…

“—so. fucking. much.” Joel’s voice cut in over the crescendo of sound buzzing through your skull. He repeated what he’d said: “I love you so fucking much.”

He rutted into your needy, leaking cunt like he meant it

You kissed him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as your legs did the same around his hips.

In between panting breaths, you managed, ‘I’ and ‘love’ and ‘you’ against Joel’s soft, stubbled mouth.

‘Dad’ as his cock carved a path toward your center. ‘Dad’ to make the lips kissing you back form the faintest of smiles as he fucked you. ‘Dad’ because it drove you both batshit crazy with how wrong and taboo and wild the word sounded between you two in moments like these. ‘Dad’ because that wasn’t what your relationship was at all, and you and Joel could distinguish fantasy from reality like full-grown adults.

“Ain’t gonna last,” Joel murmured shortly. His hips stuttered, your own mostly-naked body writhing against the motion, and he watched your tits bounce.

He soaked up the sight of you grinding and moaning and soaking his length with that bright blue string bikini shoved to the side—the one that had probably driven every guy half out of his mind in PCB last week—and you could tell that he was relishing the fact that this was all his. You were all his, and no fuckwit fratboy from Ole Miss was changing that. His gaze brightened.

Then those eyes traveled up. Past your pussy being split in two over his pistoning cock, your bouncing tits, over your face and up to something out on the table.

He hesitated only a second before peering back down:

“You gonna cum again for me?”

With his thumb moving between your bodies and pressing to your clit to draw little circles again, you didn’t even need to answer in words. You just did it.

You finished on Joel’s cock, and his thrusts continued to land relentlessly, fucking you all through your high. There were whimpers and cries and fingers clawing at his sides, and it all felt so indescribably good you thought you might burst. At the same time, Joel sucked a breath through his teeth and groaned.

His cock jerked inside you, a sign of impending release.

Just as Joel’s hips drove furiously against you, and your wetness all but flooded and stuck to your writhing bodies with each and every thrust, you tried to speak.

You’d just started to form the words on your tongue:

‘Cum inside me, Dad. Cum inside me, please.’

And then Joel was pulling out.

Reaching for something over your head while he fisted his cock and let out a hoarse, almost strangled sound.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Knees—on your knees.”

As soon as he said it, you didn’t hesitate.

You didn’t even try wondering at what he might be saying—you just slid off the table he’d just been fucking you on and then dropped to the floor.

Your face was right beside the edge of the tabletop, eye-level with the surface, and your head was spinning.

Stars burst along the periphery of your vision, and you were still busy trying to catch your breath from your most recent climax when suddenly, you heard the sound of porcelain on wood. Sliding over, as it were.

Joel had taken a plate—your unfinished meal, by the looks of it—and he yanked it to the corner of the table. Still fisting his cock in his other hand, he let out a grunt

“Right here, kiddo. That’s it,” he commanded.

Then, once he’d positioned the china right where it appeared he’d wanted it, he grabbed you by the chin. He tugged your face forward, closer to the table where he’d just moved your plate, and he made you look up.

He bared his teeth in almost a sort of wry, knowing smile, and then he peered down at you under him.

Starting to stroke his cock again, he went:

“You want Dad’s cum, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

Again, you didn’t think.

You just stared up at him, mindless and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been, and you opened your mouth. Stuck your tongue out like a good, sweet, obedient girl and waited for Joel’s load to come spattering on your face.

And it did, in fewer than three or four seconds.

You kneeled there, chin tilted up, and you couldn’t help but grin, too, as you felt rope after rope of Joel’s hot, heavy seed spilling all over your skin. It felt like a goddamn prize showering you and sinking into your open mouth, eyes, and everyplace else. Evidence of you being the best, most precious girl to your old man after he’d fucked you so well. And, just as you’d expected, there was so much stuff coming out.

Joel might’ve painted a third of your upturned face and filled a decent part of your mouth when he groaned again, reaching to the left of him jerkily.

And then, to your quiet, wide-eyed disbelief, he kept on going—pumped his cock again and again, and again, more cum spurted out from his pulsing tip.

This time, though, he’d pivoted toward the table.

Joel jerked himself over your dinner plate, cursing, and let four or five ropes more spatter over your mostly uneaten meal. Each one landed with startling precision

Dimly, you remembered what your dinner had been.

Chicken fried steak—a Southern staple and one of Joel’s favorites to make. Almost all of it was there.

Smothered in gravy.

Joel was finished.

He turned to you, just as your cum-drenched face was peering into the thick, wet, sticky-white mess the man had just made over the plate. Your mouth was slightly agape, and you couldn’t deny a little spit had begun to pool inside it, right along with the rest of Joel’s load.

Joel moved a warm and comforting hand to the crown of your head. He stroked it gently, in that excruciatingly paternal way he’d perfected of late.

Then, meeting your gaze, he finally spoke again: