Dad is playing with me

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When I wake up, I’m alone in my bed. Last night, after that, I pretended to be sleepy and yawned, lowered my leg, and turned over to go to sleep. It was horrible because his hand was wrapped around my stomach, but he made sure not to touch me, and I just wished he would.

I was dying to rub my pu*ssy against his co*ck to seduce him, grinding against it until I drove him crazy with desire, then he’d pull down my pajama shorts and fu*ck me hard from behind.

I wouldn’t have even cared if he hadn’t kissed me; I just wanted him to fu*ck me hard and give me my first orgasm that wasn’t self-induced.

I’m really not asking for much, am I? I just want a man to give me an orgasm.

And I want that man to be him, but that’s the girls’ fault, not mine.

I'm not the patient.

At least she’s not the only one who’s sick.

Today is Saturday, so I don’t have to work, which I’m grateful for. I get up later, and when I reach the kitchen, I find Matheus standing with his back to me, shirtless, preparing something on the stove.

Her back is a damn work of art, I swear. I could kiss her all night, and I wouldn’t complain.

"Hello," I greeted, passing by her to grab the milk from the refrigerator.

"Not from the pitcher, Diana, grab a glass," he scolds me when I bring the pitcher directly to my mouth. I roll my eyes, but I obey, taking a glass from its place to pour myself some. "How did you sleep?" he asks as he puts the milk back in the refrigerator.

—Fine —I lie. It was torture sleeping with him; I hope it was the same for him.

—I’m glad.

"And you?" I ask, taking a sip from my glass as he looks at me.

What about me?

"How did you sleep?" I insist. He smiles, shaking his head.

"You're driving me crazy, Diana," he admits. I laugh, but I get turned on right away.

—Why? What did I do? — I played dumb.

—You know what you’re doing; you’re asking me all these questions out of nowhere, saying your friends think I’m sleeping with them—it’s clear you’re trying to convince me to sleep with one of them. And I can bet it’s Paula, he blurts out. I blink like an i***t.

“I don’t want you sleeping with my friends!” I yell, beside myself, and he looks at me, turning off the stove.

"So, what do you want?" he asks. I snort.

"Believe me, Dad, what I want is far from what you just said," I assured him, calling him "Dad" to remind myself that what I want is wrong.

Tell me. You know you can trust me. I’ve always answered you truthfully, and I think I’ve shown myself to be more of a friend than a father to you, right? — he insists. I take a deep breath.

“I already told you last night,” I muttered, but I didn’t meet his gaze because today I have nothing to hide behind if he asks me that question again.

"Do you want me to see you as a woman?" he asks, setting the frying pan on the counter to look me in the face. I can feel my cheeks burning.

—That’s just who I am, isn’t it? —I defend myself.

—Yes, but that’s not what you want. I’m not an i***t; at some point, I was your age and I also wanted older women to desire me. Is that what you want? Do you want men my age to see you as a woman? Do they desire you as one? — he asks. The answer comes out of my mouth on its own.

—Yes.

Take a deep breath and start serving the dishes.

—You’re beautiful, Diana. You have a beautiful body, and you could make any man fall in love with just your smile, he promises. I smile—. If what you want to know is whether you’re attractive to men my age, of course, you are. You’re the kind of girl any man my age would want to fu*ck —he admits— and that’s why I don’t want you to be with them. I don’t want you to be seen as just another fu*ck. That’s not what you deserve. You should fall in love with a guy your own age, have a romance with him, and experience all the things you like with him.

I snorted loudly, making him look at me.

—Please, Matheus, guys my age think that fuc*king is just sticking their d***s in and that’s it, but they don’t even know how to give me orgasms. Why bother having a romance with them if they don’t even know how to make me really pant while they fu*ck me? — I retort, opening my arms to emphasize my point.

Matheus looks at me, blinking.

"Have you had orgasms?" he blurts out, and that makes my eyes widen. "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head as he processes his question, I suppose. I take a deep breath and pick up my plate.

"None given by another man, only by me," I admit softly, but I don’t look at him because it’s embarrassing to say it out loud. The girls know it because they haven’t had that many orgasms from guys either. Most guys don’t even care if they get there.

They never do it with me.

— Diana, why the hell do you let them fu*ck you, then? —he asks. I moved ahead, walking in front of him to the couch. Saturdays are for eating in front of the TV—it’s a rule.

“A girl needs to have s*x, Dad,” I defend myself, but when he sits down on the couch next to me and turns on the TV, I drop my glass of milk, and it spills on the carpet.

"What the fu*ck?!" he yells as he sees that what's on the screen is a man giving anal s*ex to a girl who's riding him, facing the screen.

Matheus immediately changes the channel, and I start laughing like crazy, unable to stop myself. He looks at me, confused, as I have to set the plate down on the tiny table so I can double over with laughter at what I saw, and because his face is bright red.

"Did you put it there?" he asks, instantly wiping the laughter from my face. I swallow. The night before last, were you watching that when I got here? — he insists. I sit up straight.

“It turned on by itself,” I lie, and he takes a breath.

—So, just with your fingers, right? —he asks, changing the subject. I blink like crazy. I’m going to help you. I’m going to teach you how to get to a man—he promises, completely melting my mind.

"How?" I murmured.

—You need to know what you want me to do to you, Diana. You need to know how you like to be fu*cked. Take the reins if the i***t who’s fu*cking you don't know how. Fu*ck him yourself, and then you can have your orgasm whenever you want — ditch him.

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