“Oh shit!” Winona exclaims as my darting eyes come back to see that she’s spilled half her glass of water down the front of her shirt, soaking the thin fabric over both her lush double-D breasts.
My first thought should be to grab a towel. It isn’t.
Jesus, I’m a monster. I remember when she came to me asking if I would order her this special, like flattening bra off some website four years ago, because her mother was on a girls’ trip to Turks and Caicos, and apparently, a couple of the boys in her class had started mooing at her when she walked down the hall.
They transferred out of her school the next day after I forced Winona to tell me their names, then visited each of them, standing over their beds in the middle of the night, appealing to their survival instincts with a nine-millimeter pointed at their balls.
Now, all I can think about is stuffing her full of baby-making meat and wondering how long it will take for her to start lactating after I root my seed in her womb. Because if there’s one thing better than those epic, barely legal tits, it just might be suckling on them as they stream sweet cream into my mouth.
“Damn cat.” I shake my head, finally reaching for my napkin, then setting my hand down on top of it, re-thinking my plan. “Good thing he’s... cute...”
I struggle to form the words as her shirt turns completely see-through. The outline of a bra cutting across her round tits is clearly visible, but it’s doing nothing to hide what’s underneath.Even the darker pink of her areolas is on full display, along with the little tightening bumps around the hard, extended peak of her nipples.
When the fuck did that happen?
I mean, sure, I’ve kept close fucking tabs on her tits for longer than I should admit, but that? Her fucking nipple is poking out half an inch or more. It’s magnificent. Protruding like it’s trying to tear through the fabric to give me a personal, up-close viewing.
“He’s a menace.” She grins, tugging at the front of the shirt, peeling it off her skin, and rounding her shoulders as though she’s trying to shrink herself.
I need to get out of this room before I rip off those little yoga shorts right off her and take what I’ve been dreaming about for months.
The vision of driving my dick up and down through her cleavage as she squeezes those big orbs of fuckable flesh together for me has my fingers digging into the edge of the table.
Jesus, get it together.
“How about I clean this up,” I tell her through gritted teeth, “then you get the karaoke machine warmed up?”
Her eyes light up my world as she does this little wiggle and clap, which only serves to pull more of my attention to her jiggling tits.
“Really? I thought you had a spreadsheet calling your name tonight, as usual?”
I shrug.
I’ve been telling her the last month or so every evening I have work to do, mumbling about spreadsheets and contracts when what I’ve really been doing is beating off like a fucking lunatic until my dick is a stick of raw sausage. Hoping like fuck if I empty my balls enough times and jerk off until I’m cross-eyed, the urges I have toward her will abate.
It hasn’t worked. Quite the opposite, in fact, because the only way I can bust my nut now is imagining her in some depraved way. I even fantasized about her asking if she could have whipped cream and a cherry on top of her dessert, to which I agreed, then proceeded to decorate my dick with said toppings, putting her on her knees and teaching my little girl how to help Daddy relax.
Her throat and pussy aren’t the only places I’ve imagined forcing my cock. In my depraved fantasies, all her holes belong to me.
“No spreadsheets tonight,” I grumble as she pops up from the table, leaning over to wrap her arms around my shoulders, her fuckable tits so close to my mouth I nearly bite at the fabric of her t-shirt.
I might be spreading some sheets, but not the way she thinks. The gnawing beast inside of me is clawing at my insides, and for the first time, I understand I may not have the strength to fight him off.
“Karaoke night!” She bounces up and down, and I nearly pass the fuck out watching her tits bounce nearly to her chin in my personal wet t-shirt fantasy.
I push back from the table, my dick catching in the hem of my boxers, making me wince and grunt as her hands move to my cheeks, and before I can stop it, her lips are on mine.
My whole world explodes into technicolor. It’s innocent, a kiss she’s given me hundreds of times when I’d tell her how proud I was of her, celebrate some achievement she’d made, or tell her a story at bedtime before tucking her in like a good stand-in father should.
But this?
This is not that kiss. This is warmth turning to sin. I let her linger there, my hand instinctively roaming up to take a handful of her throat, just under her jaw, with a soft squeeze.
My guts rearrange themselves. Blood moves hot through my veins, my erection so painfully swollen, white sparks dot my vision as her own pulse moves under my palm.
I catch myself before I can take it too far, releasing her and stepping back. Her body softens, lips rubbing together as though she’s trying to figure out if an innocent kiss with her father’s best friend, and her stand-in Daddy, wasn’t so innocent tonight.
“Go,” I order, needing a moment.
