I heard Dad fucking his girlfriend

That night, I heard her through the wall. Dad’s girlfriend, Sarah. Her moans were high and breathy,. At first I was mad. It was only a month since the divorce was finalized and my dad was already moving on. Then I started feeling warm as I listened to the moans get louder and wet friction. It made my stomach twist and my thighs clench. The more I listened the hornier I got. I lay in my bed, fingers already sliding down my pajama bottoms, tracing the slickness between my legs. I closed my eyes and imagined it was him and mom making those sounds. Then slowly the image changed into me. That it was my mouth wrapped around his cock, my pussy gripping him, my ass bouncing under his thrusts.

But it wasn’t. It was her. Some woman who didn’t even know what she had. Some woman who got to sleep in his bed, who got to feel his stubble scratch her neck, his hands gripping her hips. I hated her. And I hated the way my fingers worked faster, pretending I was the one moaning for him.

I came with a silent gasp, my own cum sticky on my fingers, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

The next morning, I peeped through the crack in his bedroom door. The light was dim, and Sarah was on her knees in front of him. Her head bobbed, her lips stretched around his cock, spit dripping down her chin. But Dad wasn’t watching her. His eyes were closed, head tilted back, jaw slack. He wasn’t even looking at her face. He was lost in his own head, chasing his own pleasure. And I knew—rather I hoped—he was thinking about me.

I was so horny I could barely breathe. My pussy throbbed, wet and aching. I slipped my hand inside my shorts, rubbing my clit while I watched. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. When he groaned and shot his load down her throat, I came again, silent and trembling against the doorframe.

I was jealous. So fucking jealous. And I was going to make him see me.

I started wearing suggestive clothes. The lingerie mom had left behind, lace that barely covered my nipples, garter belts that hugged my hips. When I walked through the living room, I made sure he saw me in a crop top and shorts so short my ass cheeks peeked out. He stared, I caught him. He turned away, but not before I saw the bulge in his jeans.

I waited for him to make a move. He didn’t. So I made one myself.

One evening when Sarah was out with her friends, I went into the living room where Dad was scrolling on his phone. I wore a thin tank top, no bra, and pajama shorts that rode up my ass. I sat down close to him on the couch and said, “Hey, wanna watch a movie?”

He hesitated. I saw the conflict in his eyes. But eventually he said, “Sure, baby girl.”

I picked a romantic movie. The kind with slow kisses, hands roaming under shirts, bodies tangled in sheets. We sat in silence for the first twenty minutes, but I could feel the heat radiating off him, could see his hand resting on his thigh, his knuckles white. When the scene got intense, I shifted closer. My shoulder brushed his arm. I let my leg fall open just slightly, knowing he could see the wet spot on my shorts.

“Dad,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. But his hand moved, sliding over my knee, up my thigh. I stopped breathing. He hesitated again, looking at me, his pupils blown wide. Then he shoved his hand inside my shorts, two fingers pressing into my pussy without warning.

I gasped, arching into his touch. He didn’t look at the movie anymore. He watched my face as he fingered me, his thumb rubbing my clit roughly, his fingers curling inside me. “You like that?” he said, his voice low.

“Yes, Daddy,” I whimpered.

He pulled his hand out, wet and glistening, and brought his fingers to my mouth. “Suck them clean.”

I did. I tasted myself on his skin, sweet and musky. Then he unbuckled his belt, pulled his cock out, and guided my head down. “I’m not going to fuck you, it's not night” he said, but his voice was ragged, breaking. “But please help me finish.”

I didn’t argue. I took him in my mouth, my throat opening for him like I’d been practicing for this forever. He groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair, and I worked him with my lips and tongue until he came hard, hot and thick on my tongue. I swallowed, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He pulled away, tucking himself back in, and stood up without a word. “Go to your room,” he said, his voice hoarse.

I got up, my legs shaky, my pussy still aching and empty. I went to my room, and I heard his door click shut. I knew he wasn’t sleeping. He was probably thinking about me, the same way I was thinking about him.

I lay in bed and fingered myself again, imagining his mouth on my neck, his cock inside me, his cum dripping down my thighs. I imagined Sarah gone, and me taking her place.

Next time, I’d make sure he couldn’t refuse. I’d make him want me more than he wanted to resist.

I wake up to the weight of him settling onto the mattress beside me. The morning light is pale through the curtains, and I’m still half-asleep, but I feel his hand brush my hair back from my face. “Baby, I couldn't sleep. Been thinking of your cunt,” he whispers, his voice rough with sleep. “I just want to put the head in. I promise I won’t fuck you.”

My heart starts pounding. I’m still wearing the thin tank top from last night, no panties underneath. I feel his hand slide down my stomach, fingers slipping between my legs. He parts my folds slowly, his thumb circling my clit. I’m already wet from dreaming about him, from the memory of his cum on my tongue.

He presses just the tip of his cock against my entrance. I feel the heat of it, the slick pressure, but he doesn’t push inside. He rubs the head along my slit, dragging it through my wetness, teasing my clit with every pass. I gasp, my hips bucking involuntarily. The sensation is maddening—just enough to make me ache, not enough to fill me.

“Daddy…” I whimper.

“Shh,” he says, his voice strained. “Just feel it.”

He keeps rubbing, sliding the mushroom tip through my folds, bumping my clit on each stroke. My whole body tenses, my pussy clenching around nothing. I can feel myself building, a hot coil tightening in my belly. He watches my face, his eyes dark and hungry.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

I nod, unable to speak. I’m so close, so fucking close. His cock head glides over my clit one more time, and I shatter. My back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping my lips as I cum hard, my pussy pulsing and dripping, but still empty. I lie there trembling, my thighs slick with my own arousal.

He pulls away, and I see his cock is glistening, precum beading at the tip. He doesn’t wipe it off. Instead he looks at me, his expression shifting from lust to something darker.

“Baby,” he says slowly, “why are you a little slutty? Have you been fucked before?”

I freeze. My cheeks burn, but I don’t want to lie to him. I want him to know everything. “There was… a neighborhood boy,” I whisper. “A few times. I let him put it in.”

Dad’s jaw tightens. For a moment I think he’s angry, but then his hand cups my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “Was he good to you?”

“Not like you.”

He smiles, but it’s a dangerous smile. “Do you want Daddy to try fucking you, baby?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and electric. I don’t hesitate. “Yes. Please, Daddy.”

He shifts over me, his body covering mine. I feel the weight of his chest against my breasts, his breath hot on my neck. He lines his cock up with my entrance, the head pressing against my opening. I’m still slick from my orgasm, but he’s so thick—his cock looks impossible.

He pushes in slowly, just the tip again, then a little more. I gasp as the stretch burns, my walls struggling to accommodate him. He stops, letting me adjust, then pushes deeper. I feel like I’m being split open, but the pain mingles with pleasure, making my head spin.

“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder. “Breathe, baby.”

I try to relax, but he’s too big. He only gets about halfway before I’m crying out, my nails digging into his back. He thrusts shallowly, not forcing more, just rocking inside me. Every movement sends sparks through my clit, my g-spot, my whole cunt.

“Daddy, it’s too much…”

“You can take it,” he says, his voice ragged. “You’re my good girl. Look at you, so tight and wet.”

He keeps fucking me with those shallow thrusts, and somehow my body starts to respond. The pain fades, replaced by a deep, building pressure. He hits a spot inside me that makes my vision blur, and suddenly I’m cumming again, clenching around his half-buried cock.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans. “Cum for Daddy.”

I cum again, and again, each wave making me more sensitive. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull out. He starts thrusting a little deeper, a little harder, his hips slapping against mine. I lose count of how many times I come—it’s like my body has become a machine for pleasure, every nerve ending on fire. I have never been so filled by a dick.

Finally, he drives in as deep as he can, still not all the way, and I feel his cock pulse. Hot cum floods my pussy, painting my walls, spilling out around his shaft. He stays buried in me, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine.

“Your pussy is so good,” he whispers, his voice full of wonder. “So fucking good for Daddy.”

He pulls out slowly, and I feel his cum leaking out of me, pooling on the sheets. I’m trembling, sore, completely spent. He kisses my forehead, then my lips, soft and tender.

“Get some rest, baby. We’ll do this again tonight.”

I hold his hand,

"Dad, what about Sarah?"

"We'll figure it out." He says before leaving the room.

He leaves me there, covered in his seed, my thighs sticky, my cunt aching and full. I close my eyes, smiling. This is exactly where I want to be.