#capt daddy

Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean that you know the first thing about taking care of a baby, but Michelle was your best friend and little Beth is your goddaughter. If they need you, you’re there.

When Michelle called you crying hysterically that her mother was in a car accident and wanted to know if you could come spend the weekend at her house, looking after Beth while she and her husband Michael went out of town to see her mother in the hospital.

You told her you were on your way.

Grabbing an old shopping bag from under the kitchen sink, you packed the essentials and didn’t bother getting out of your PJ’s. It would take about an hour and a half to get to Michelle and Michael’s house and you wanted to be comfortable on the drive over.

—

“Mesh, stay calm, okay. You talked to your sister, right?”

You were leaning against the passenger side window of the car looking in at Michelle and Michael as they got ready to back out of the driveway to prepare for the six-hour car ride to Mobile, Alabama, to see Michelle’s mother.

“Yeah, yeah, I talked to her. As much as I could. You know how Christine is, everything is always about her.”

You remembered Michelle’s older sister and could concur that Christine thought the world revolved around her. You take Michelle’s hand and give it a squeeze.

“Everything is going to be okay. I’ll take care of Munchkin, ya’ll be careful and call me when you stop to get gas and when you get there so I know ya’ll are alright.”

“Uh, hey YN, I called my old army Captain–he’s a good friend and Beth adores him, I let him know what was up and he said he might swing by to check on you two.”

Michael leaned over in the driver’s seat to talk out of the passenger window.

Great, so they’d called in reinforcements? Instead of feeling salty about that, you nodded.

“Thanks, Mike. I’m sure we’ll be okay but I appreciate it.”

—

Any other time, Beth was a joy to be around. The sweet little six-month-old was a happy baby. She loved bouncing on your belly, taking long walks around the house and sucking her binkie, but something about today had the baby girl in a rare state.

Maybe she could since your anxiety? Maybe she missed her mommy and daddy, or maybe she was just having a bad day, but from ten o’clock that morning when she woke up from her morning nap with a wet diaper, she couldn’t be pleased.

You walked her, rocked her, read to her, gave her a bottle. Checked her diaper again to see if she was wet.

All the usual things you did to help soothe her were not working. You even tried a warm bath in the sink with some of that lavender sleepy time bath soak, but she would whimper and grunt and cry all the same. She turned down food, which was not normal.

Instead, Beth’s big eyes kept looking at you, pleading for something as she gnawed on her fist and slobbered all over herself.

“Oh, honey, I wish you could just tell me what’s wrong. Mama and Daddy will be back, I promise. You don’t have to be sad.”

You cooed and coddled her before sighing and falling onto the couch, flipping the tv on. Beth loved Nascar she could watch those cars make left turns for hours on end. Not today. Sighing, you laid her on your belly, stroking her back, patting her bottom, thinking maybe she had gas and that was making her miserable and fussy when the doorbell rang and she let out another piercing wail of discontent.

With a small grunt, you got up from the couch, hugging Beth to your side, getting batted in the face by a baby fist that knocked your glasses accuse you turned the deadbolt and opened the door.

At first, you weren’t sure what you were looking at. It was just big blurry red shape and instantly for a second, your frazzled mind asked if someone summoned the Kool-aid man.

“Well, hey sugar. What’s going on here?”

A deep timber asked and you felt Beth reaching for whom ever was at the door while you tried to straighten your glasses.

Blinking into focus behind the lenses of your glasses, you took him in.

“A-are you the Army captain?”

The big, burly, bearded man took Beth out of your arms and tucked her up to his chest like a football as her tiny fingers grabbed his beard and pulled.

“At’s me darlin’, Dwight Syverson, everyone just calls me Sy.”

Now wasn’t the time to swoon, that accent and a baby in his arms that was now cooing and chewing on his chin and he didn’t seem at all bothered as drool dripped on his red shirt.

Syverson stomped his boots off, stepped inside, and kicked the door close with the heel of his boot. “What’s all this fussin’ I could hear her from the truck.”

For a brief second, you wilt under his cold cobalt stare and gulp a little bit imagining what he must have been like when he was in the Army, bossing around the other officers. Right now, it feels like the bull of a man is accusing you of something.

“I do not know what to do… Beth’s been upset since she woke up. I’ve rocked her, walked her, I sang to her, and I even put on her favorite show. Nothing’s working. I don’t know, maybe she misses Michelle or she can tell something’s wrong…”

As you ramble, you drift off, shrinking as Dwight stares at you. Beth seems fine now that he’s here.

The little traitor.

Syverson assesses Beth for a second, holding her aloft and wiggling her in the air, which makes her giggle as a long thin line of drool breaks from her chin and drops on his shirt again.

Between feeling completely betrayed by your goddaughter, your child-rearing skills under heavy scrutiny, you can’t help looking up at his chest. Yes, you had to look up to meet his chest; you wonder what he’d look like in a wet t-shirt contest.

“Seems fine to me, ain’t’cha bug? Hnn? She just doesn’t know how to sweet talk the ladies.”

With a grunt, Syverson’s heavy boots thumped on the floor as he sat down on the couch, still holding Beth, who was latched onto his chin again.

“Do you think you could get some food down her while you’re here, Sy? I’ve been trying with her all day and she’s even turning down her bottle… I’ve never seen her do that.”

Maybe feeling upset that Mike called in reinforcements wasn’t such a bad thing. Beth was normally such a happy baby you weren’t that worried, but after today you questioned maybe you weren’t around her nearly enough even though you came down almost every weekend to spend time with your best friend and goddaughter and other family, though you’d never met Sy before. You had heard plenty about him; they were some pretty wild stories, but you’d never come face to face with the famous Texan.

“Turnin’ down a bah-bah? At ain’t like you, bitty bitty.” Syverson spoke to the infant.

You immediately grab her bottle and hold it out. You are a mess. Your hair is a rat’s nest from sleep, there’s drool all over your t-shirt. You didn’t even put a bra on before hopping in your car to get here.

You nervously take a seat in the recliner. Sy tries to get Beth to take the bottle, but at least she proves you right, she won’t take it. Keeps, pushing it out with her tongue and whimpering every time it comes near her mouth.

Sy sets the bottle between his legs and looks at Beth. He sniffs her all the usual checks you’ve done countless times before; he sets the little bundle on his leg and sticks his finger in her mouth.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

Sy doesn’t answer. His brows are drawn with concentration as his finger feels around inside Beth’s mouth. She welcomes it because it’s something new for her to gnaw on.

Sy looks up, and he hits you with the full force of a grin that makes your ovaries ache.

Holy Fuck.

“Little Booger’s cuttin’ a tooth.”

It takes a second for what he said to hit you before you move from the recliner to the seat of the couch next to him, nearly falling into his weight. Sy moves his finger and Beth gives out a disgruntled bark, wiping the slobber covered digit on his leg as you stick your finger in Beth’s mouth and check it out. Sure enough, there’s a little bump on the right side that’s holding a little heat.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look at you sweetie… you’re getting your first little tooth.”

At least this, you know how to deal with. You jump up from the couch, marching into the kitchen. You’re a woman on a mission as you check the cabinets and find the baby Tylenol.

Measuring out a small dropper, you come back and carefully pop it into Beth’s mouth, making sure it gets swallowed instead of drooling it back out.

“There we go, honey, that should help. Hang on, Auntie has one other thing that might help and then… we’re gonna see if we can get that bottle in you. I know you gotta be hungry.”

You hurry back to the kitchen, putting away the medicine before looking around in the freezer. At the very back you find what you’re looking for.

“Look what I got, sweet girl.”

You smile, waving a frozen waffle. Beth’s eyes are following you as you bring it to her mouth and her tiny hands grab it and she gnaws on the cool ridges.

Within ten minutes, Beth is the calmest she’s been all day and Sy is feeding her.

“Will you be okay with her for a minute while I use the powder room?”

Sy glances up, giving you that grin again.

“Sure, sugar. I think we got this handled… go on and take care of yourself.”

You hurry into the bathroom and get a good hard look at yourself. Just as you thought you look horrendous and quickly brush your hair out before using the bathroom and coming back out to find Sy putting Beth down for a nap in her playpen. She’s down for the count.

“I could hang out for a while… tag team this.”

Sy looks at you. He seems a little bashful now that he doesn’t have Beth to distract him. It’s absolutely adorable.

“That would be great. If you’re hungry, I could whip something up in the kitchen, I have a feeling Beth might be asleep for a little while… Michael and Michelle have always talked about you, it would be nice to… get to know you for myself.”

That sounded like it was loaded with some kind of hidden meaning and you’d go to hell with gasoline drawers on if you said you didn’t want to get to know Sy a LOT better but you’re surprised by how bold you feel.

“I’d like that, darlin’. Michelle’s always talking about you… I’ve been curious myself.”

Curious. Syverson had been curious about you?

Two weeks away from the hectic schedule and stuffy classrooms of your mid-level college were exactly what you needed, but your parents went to see your brother out of state at the same time. That was fine. You were over eighteen; you took care of yourself while living the dorm life all the time.

You were trying to put up a brave face as you took the news that you would spend two weeks at your childhood home all alone in Connecticut when your dorm mate extended an invitation you couldn’t refuse.

“Y'know YN, you could always come home with me? I mean, I’m gonna spend a week in Arkansas with my mama and then hop that Texas boarder and spend a week with my dad. If you don’t mind bouncin’ around, that is.”

Michelle has been a lifesaver. Always so kind. Maybe it was a product of being southern? You always heard about the famous hospitality, but until you moved to Memphis to attend college, you never experienced it.

“Really? I wouldn’t be in the way?”

“Of course not, goose, you’re always welcome and I know my parents would love to meet you. Y'know mama was worried about me being by myself and then we were assigned to the same room.”

You did your best to not turn into a crybaby and hug Michelle. She really was the best friend you always dreamed of having.

—

After a week with Michelle’s mom, you felt pleasantly exhausted and sure you’d put on at least ten pounds in five days.

You were also certain that you’d fallen in love with Little Rock. There was so much to see and do and when the four of you weren’t visiting the museums and parks, you were going on shopping trips and eating some of the best food you ever had in your life. Little Rock was definitely a foodie town.

“Miss Heather, I’m sure going to miss you.” You told Michelle’s mom as you were about to leave for Texas. Being around Michelle’s family all week, you were picking up that warm southern way of speaking.

“I’ll miss you too, darlin’ now ya’ll remember to text when you get there and YN, don’t be shy. Anytime you wanna c'mon back here with Michelle, you do so. Bring your family next time too, we’d all have a good ol'e time.”

You beamed. Your mom would love Heather. “Yes, ma'am. I’ll do my best to get them out this way.”

Settling into the car for the next four hours, you drove the first two before letting Michelle take over after her nap on the second half, since she would know exactly where you were going.

“So… I noticed your mom didn’t talk about your dad much.” You commented. You didn’t want to pry, but well — maybe their divorce was painful?

“Mama doesn’t like to dwell. After the divorce it was hard but I think eventually they got to be friends again.”

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like if your parents got divorced. It felt like a terrifying prospect. You weren’t sure you would know how to feel, like a whole piece of you was being ripped apart not seeing your mom and dad together.

“So, they don’t have any ill feelings towards each other? Your dad won’t be upset we went to see her first?”

Michelle laughed, shaking her head. “No, my dad will tease us to death, he’s a real big joker and sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s jokin’ but I’ll tell'em to take it easy on you.”

You felt relieved as you reached into the back seat for your bag. Before your last day, Michelle’s mom insisted on making sure that you and Michelle had all the feminine essentials. Even new bathing suits and sunscreen, despite telling her you were okay, and she didn’t need to buy you anything. Heather insisted saying ‘Child, don’t you take my blessing away now.’

Whatever that meant. Maybe it was another one of those southern things.

Squeezing some bath and body works lotion into your hand, you rubbed it in, swiping some onto your neck and around your thighs that felt like they were baking in the sun coming through the window.

—

Another hour passed before Michelle pulled onto a dirt road and the car bounced off the ruts until you spotted a double-wide trailer sitting in the distance.

“Is that it?” You asked curiously.

“Mhm, Daddy should be home. He said he wanted to cook for us.”

Men’s cooking was something you were nervous about. Your dad could barely pour cereal, so you were a little nervous. You really hoped you didn’t starve to death the last week of your trip. Maybe that was why Heather insisted on 'fattening’ you up before you came to Texas.

The closer you got, you noticed that there was a wraparound porch built onto the trailer and there was a two-car carport where a red Chevy sat along with what you assumed was a big shed or a workshop on the property and the gravel road even’d out as Michelle pulled up under the carport.

Sighing, you climbed out of the passenger side of the car. You were just as nervous if not more so meeting Michelle’s dad, Mr. Syverson… the retired Marine than you were meeting her mom. Heather was easy because she was a woman, but you were never good with men. They always made you anxious because you never knew what to say or what to talk to them about.

Guys were just hard.

“My back and butt feel like they’re going to fall off.” You commented as you heard a loud bang and a booming voice before Michelle squealed and ran towards the porch as the biggest man you’d ever seen in your life caught her and lifted her off the ground.

“Oh, my little darlin’ I’m so glad to see ya.”

Mr. Syverson squeezed Michelle before putting her on the ground.

“Shit, girl, lemme get a look at you. Beautiful, you’d tell you’re ol'e Daddy if there are any boys who need to disappear, won’t you?”

“Daaaaaaaad.”

Michelle sounded like she was annoyed, but from her tone, you knew she wasn’t.

Swallowing, your mouth felt dry as Michelle hugged her dad again and pointed to the car. Jeez, was she pointing at you?

You immediately wanted to crawl under the car and hide.

His hair was buzzed short, however the beard that covered the entire lower portion of his face did nothing to hide the handsome face beneath it.

Mr. Syverson looked too buff for his age, as if he was ready to be called back into service at any moment, judging by the biceps that were taxing the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“H-hello, Mr. Syverson.” You squeaked meekly, issuing a half wave.

He’s twice my age.

He’s my best friend’s dad.

He’s way too old for me.

Guys like him would never look at me.

Geez, why is he so handsome?

I wonder how old he actually is.

“Call me, Sy or Dwayne… only my troupe calls me Syverson.” That deep baritone said, and you realized Michelle was getting the bags out of the car and leaving her dad to his own devices.

Gravel crunched underfoot as you spotted a pair of worn car-hart boots appear as you gazed down at your sandal clad feet.

Oh, sweet cheddar cheese on a ritz he was squatting down to get a good look at you and before you could lift your eyes up and reply, he tucked the calloused pad of his index finger under your chin and lifted your head up.

“What’s wrong, Sugarbear? I don’t scare ya now do I? Hm, cat got your tongue, pussycat?”

“Daddy, don’t tease YN too bad. She ain’t used to being around big ole Texas rough necks.” Michelle laughed.

“Is that all?” Sy asked, glancing back at Michelle for a second before the world was suddenly spinning and you were upside down.

“Ah!” The world righted itself a second before you realized the scream you heard wasn’t from yourself but Michelle and you were both being carried over Mr. Syverson’s shoulders into the trailer.

“Well, I think we can get'er used to us ol'e Texas rough necks over a week don’t you Pumpkin?” Sy asked with a husky laugh and you felt the flat broad part of his palm squeeze the back of your thigh causing the muscle to quiver. An act you were sure that Mr. Sy… Dwayne didn’t miss as he sat you and Michelle on your feet.

The living room of the double-wide was enormous, bigger than the living room of your own New England childhood home. And it was dim. No lights were on and the only way you saw the dark look in Sy’s deep blue eyes was from the sunlight coming through the plantation shuttered blinds.

“You two get freshened up and keep an eye on my sauce, will you, puddin?” Sy asked, his gaze switching to Michelle, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was pulling her shoes off, perched on the arm of a big sectional sofa that dominated one corner of the spacious living room.

“Alright,” Michelle said before the captain was marching back out of the screen door and you heard his boots thumping along the porch.

“Sauce?” You asked, feeling butterflies battling for supremacy in your abdomen. Men didn’t look at you the way he did, they didn’t pick you up either… likely none of them could.

Miss Heather kept saying you were too thin. But compared to Michelle and most of the other girls at your school, you were already on the heavy side of chubby.

Michelle sniffed before grinning. “Smells like Daddy’s makin’ his famous spaghetti and meatballs. I mentioned to him that you’re from Connecticut and he thinks everyone from New England is Italian for some reason.” She laughed.

“Is it good?” Your brows scrunched up softly.

“Best damn spaghetti you’ll ever eat hands down, and that’s a fact. Come with me and I’ll show you where everything is.”

—

After touring the house, and the backyard with Dwayne kept a vegetable garden, an aboveground pool and his grilling pit you got freshened up and were a little more relaxed, except you couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Sy and he didn’t seem like the shy type.

During dinner, he spent the time flashing you a grin as he went over some of Michelle’s most embarrassing childhood memories and some of his time overseas. Mostly, those stories were censored and you could tell that he was avoiding the ones that still gave him nightmares.

Once you all were too stuffed to eat another bite, Michelle wasn’t lying when she said that his spaghetti would be the best you ever had. You helped clean the kitchen before you and Michelle showered.

The three of you were barely through the movie you were watching when Michelle announced she was too pooped to pop and went to bed.

“Sure, you’ll be alright in here all by yourself, darlin? I can take the couch.” Dwayne asked, as you plumped a nice fluffy pillow and stretched your legs out.

“I’ll be okay but thank you Mr. Syv… Dwayne.”

He stared at you a second longer before nodding.

“Y'need anythin’ y'know where I am.”

How invitation lingered. You swallowed slightly, your thighs pressing together of their own accord.

Nodding, Sy leaned over the back of the couch and kissed your forehead, the tickling bristles of his beard scratching your skin as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo and body wash.

“Sweet dreams, pussycat.”

Once he disappeared down the hall, you exhale the breath you were holding and prayed that he didn’t notice how your nipples tightened beneath the thin t-shirt you were wearing. You could still feel the whiskery kiss he left on your forehead fitfully, trying not to think about what it might feel like between your legs, tickling up your thigh from your knees to the apex of your heat.

No, no, no. You will not think about Mr. Syverson’s mouth.

You won’t think about what he might say as he slid your shorts and panties down and spread your thighs.

You certainly weren’t going to that about that oddly sexy growl thing he did when he stretched. Or how his pupils dilated at dinner when you hummed in appreciation after the first bite of the spaghetti, or how his stare lingered watching you lick your lips before remembering your manners and grabbing your napkin to wipe your mouth.

Why, out of all the guys you could get hung up on, did it have to be your best friend’s dad?

Uncomfortably wet, you tried to reposition yourself on the couch and turned the tv down to a soft murmur before flicking through the channels for something to help lull you to sleep. Reruns of Designing Women won as you tried to just take a few deep breathes and forget all about Dwayne’s eyes, his voice, the way his hand felt on the back of your thigh or his finger under your chin. Even the nickname he chose for you.

Pussy cat.

Like he was personally speaking to the aching little thing between your legs.

Damn him.

You tried to sleep, twisting, and turning. It had nothing to do with the couch. It was incredibly comfortable. It was more because of the discomfort between your legs. You never realized it was possible to crave someone you just met so badly.

Glancing at the clock, it was nearly two in the morning and the trailer was silent save for the soft murmur of the tv.

You could not fall asleep, not with the aching need between your legs. You didn’t even think about packing some assistance to bring with you, but then again, you weren’t betting on Michelle’s dad being a total DILF either.

Relaxing onto your back, you laid your hand over your abdomen, idly stroking the flesh of your tummy where your shirt rode up before you listened closely. Everyone was asleep. It couldn’t hurt anything. Could it?

Sliding your hand up your shirt, your fingers found your nipple and began to graze it with your pointer finger, swallowing a shallow moan that was summoned to the back of your throat as those tingled spread from your nipple to the muscles in your thighs. You bit your lip slightly before you moved your free hand from your side and pushed the elastic waistband of your shorts and panties down.

You brought your hips up, pushing the annoying pieces of clothing down your hips before getting comfortable again. Spreading your folds with your index and ring finger, just like your nipple, you barely touched your clit. Just enough to tease yourself and feel those tingling electric shivers in your core causing your back to arch. The second your finger touched that pink pearl between your legs, you were ready to cum right there, but you wanted more. Backing off each time you felt your orgasm building until you were a soaked mess in the sofa cushions.

“Need some help, pussy cat?”

Your eyes shot open suddenly, heart accelerating in your chest so fast and hard you were shocked that you hadn’t screamed and fallen off the couch.

How did he get in here without you hearing?

“You looked pretty distracted, darlin’.” Syverson grinned, reading the expression on your shocked and embarrassed face. You’d never been caught masturbating before by anyone and now this man, who was nearly a complete stranger to you, had caught you red-handed in the act.

“I-…I’m so sorr-,”

Dwayne shook his head. Who knew what brought him out of bed at this hour, and you hoped and prayed that … if you hadn’t heard him, you were making enough noise to wake him up, or heaven forbid Michelle? In the glow from the tv, you could tell he was wearing a pair of red Texas A & M ball shorts and nothing else. The mask of chest hair made you nearly whimper as he moved your blanket and took a seat on the space of the sofa where your leg was curled up.

“Don’t be sorry, little girl. Mind tell'em me what or…who you were thinkin’ of?” He smirked.

Could he tell? How did he know? You began to scoot up, but his hand caught your calve and stopped you, his firm grip massaging the tense muscle. “Come on now, don’t make me tell you twice.”

The tone in his voice was enough to make your thighs clench together as he laid your foot in his lap and you felt the outline of his cock against the arch of your foot.

“I..I was…” you stuttered as his hand moved to your thigh and paused, his fingers dancing over the sticky nectar that had spread between your legs to your upper thigh and his cock twitched against your foot.

“Is he…someone you know or just some fantasy boy you have a crush on at school?”

Swallowing, Sy’s fingers brushed the outline of your weeping folds.

“I know him..n-not a fantasy.”

A deep, low growl issued from his throat as he pressed the arch of your foot against his cock.

“Does he know you?”

You caught his brow lift as he trailed the tips of his fingers up and down the crease of your folds, coating the tip of his digits in your moisture.

“Yeah..h-he knows me. We … just met.” Your voice quivered as his thumb stroked your clit, in this slow up and down pressure that made your breath halt in your throat and your hips twitch.

“I see,” Dwayne mused, leaning back onto the cushion on the couch, his thumb sliding down and tracing the narrow silk of your slit, massaging you with his thumb. “He got you pretty riled up, Sugar…” he commented, “let’s see,” he murmured, smirking at the whimper that escaped your lips as he took his hand away and he gathered the blanket out of his way.

You needed to stop this. It was so wrong.

Mr. Syverson is your best friend’s dad, but your aching core and trembling hands couldn’t find the strength to muster the will to sit up and cover yourself.

He was so big, brawny. Nothing at all like the few guys you dated from school. He wasn’t like those rowdy, yelling guys from the parties you attended on campus.

Everything about Dwayne Syverson was controlled, exuding authority and discipline. Not something you ever expected yourself to be so deeply attracted to.

The brawny bull chuckled faintly at the tangled ball of your shorts and panties. Tossing those onto the carpeted floor. “Goddamn, baby…you look like you been wet all day.” Sy exclaimed lowly, the deep gravely like growl of his voice actually made you clench and from the way he licked his lips as he caught your eyes, he hadn’t missed that.

“Such a pretty little thing.” He cooed, moving lower on the sofa, one of his hands sliding beneath your thigh, lifting your leg higher as he positioned himself between your legs and you nearly cried from the tingling prick of his beard brushing the soft sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Mr. Syver-”

“No mister, little one.” Sy looked up at you, his maw curling back into a ferocious grin that made the muscles in your tummy twitch and a fresh wave of arousal hit you.

“M-may-be we shouldn’t be doing this…” your voice quaked, terror and desire lacing your vocals.

Dwayne looked at you, studying the very real fear and anxiety in your eyes, and felt his cock throb with desire.

“Why not, babygirl? Y'scared of me, baby? Tell me… I can see ya want it,” his gaze drifted to the aching, weeping little thing only two or three inches from his face. “You want it so fuckin bad sweet one.” But he restrained, trailing his fingers along the back of your thigh in slow soothing circles.

“Y-you’re..my best friend’s dad..” you spluttered out, trying to think of any other reason you shouldn’t let this continue though you weren’t pushing him away, you weren’t getting up. He wasn’t wrong, you wanted him. You wanted him more than you had ever experienced for any other member of the opposite sex in your life. “You gonna tell'er?” His brows flicked up, but his mouth tipped lower, his tongue sliding between your pussy lips, lapping up your honeyed elixir causing you to shiver and mewl, arching beneath him. “You gonna go tell that your best friend’s daddy ate your sweet little pussy, babygirl?” Sy mused as he brought his other hand to your lips, using his fingers to spread you apart so his tongue could lave over your clit in low cat-like licks that made your thighs shake and try to clamp together but he easily forced them back open with an amused chuckle. “Are you going to say… that a roughneck from Texas destroyed your perfect tiny cunt with his fat cock over summer vacation?”

Any remaining resolve you might have had to bring this to an end shattered by his words.

Seeing the struggle die in your eyes, he smiled like the cat that ate the canary as his mouth descended on you once more and gave you his full attention. A strangled moan breaking past your lips, not loud enough to wake the house, and Sy hummed against your clit.

“Taste so fucking good, girl. Pretty as a peach.”

The grin that tugged the corners of his lips made your head spin. How could someone be so sinfully beautiful with just a curl of the lips?

HIs hands moved from your thighs and rested against your lower abdomen, pressing down to hold you in place as his tongue began a ferocious assault on your clit and it took everything in you not to moan out loud as you squirmed beneath his brutal libations as if he were offering a gift to a deity on a dais.

You felt a strand at the base of your navel tug with each stroke of his tongue, the humming groans that vibrated from the back of his throat as his lips plucked and tugged at that pearl between your legs forcing your back to arch up off the sofa cushions as your hand tangled into part of the blanket that was half laying on your stomach and half slung into the floor.

That strand of delicate cord was threatening to break as you neared your orgasm, thighs shivering as you bit into your bottom lip to keep quiet, knowing that there was no way you could stop yourself if you cried out.

“I -,” you choked, tears swimming to the surface of your eyes as you panted, steadily fighting for each gulp of oxygen that your lungs struggled to take in as your eyes pinched shut and your lips fell apart.