My Dad's Best Friend-3
1564 Words
CHAPTER 3
KAYLEE
He’s still buried inside me, half-hard and pulsing, when he suddenly rolls us. One second I’m on top, the next I’m face-down on the mattress, his heavy weight pinning me, c**k sliding out only to slam back in so hard the air leaves my lungs in a broken moan.
“Hands above your head,” he growls against my ear, voice dark with sleep and hunger.
I obey instantly, wrists crossing, cheek pressed to the sheets that smell like us. He grabs both my wrists in one huge hand, pinning them to the small of my back, and starts f*****g me like he’s trying to break me in half.
Every thrust is brutal, hips slamming against my ass, balls slapping my c**t. The bedframe screams against the wall.
“Caleb—f**k—yes—” I sob, trying to push back and take more.
His free hand cracks down on my ass, sharp and loud. “Who?” he snarls.
“Mr. Thompson!” I cry out, the sting blooming hot and perfect. “Harder, please—”
Another spank, harder, then another, until my ass is glowing red and I’m dripping down my thighs. He shifts his grip, thick fingers wrapping around my throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make my head spin.
“That’s right,” he rasps, pounding deeper. “My best friend’s little girl, begging for my c**k like a filthy f*****g slut.”
I come instantly, screaming into the pillow, p***y clamping so hard he has to fight to keep moving. He doesn’t slow—just f***s me through it, choking me lightly, spanking me again and again until I’m shaking and sobbing and coming a second time.
Only then does he slam in to the hilt and unload, thick, hot ropes flooding me so deep I feel it in my stomach. He grinds slow, milking every drop, then collapses on top of me, both of us panting, sweaty, wrecked.
We fall asleep like that, tangled and sticky, his c**k still inside me.
I wake up hours later to the smell of bacon and coffee. Sunlight pours through the windows. I’m alone in the bed, sore in the best way, his c*m crusted on my thighs.
I pad naked down the hall, following the scent. He’s at the stove in nothing but gray sweatpants, flipping pancakes, muscles flexing with every move.
“Morning again, baby,” he says without turning, voice warm. “Sit. Eat.”
We devour breakfast like starved animals, stealing kisses between bites, his hand sliding between my thighs under the table to keep me wet and ready.
By afternoon the kitchen island is spotless, gleaming white marble, the exact spot where his daughter and I used to do homework, paint nails, have sleepovers. Now I’m bent over it, t**s pressed to the cold stone, ass in the air, skirt flipped up, panties long gone.
He stands behind me, c**k out, stroking himself slow.
“Say it,” he orders, slapping my ass hard enough to echo.
“Thank you for letting me crash here, Mr. Thompson,” I gasp.
He thrusts in to the hilt.
Again. “Thank you for letting me crash here, Mr. Thompson—”
Every word punched out of me with a brutal thrust. The island creaks under us. Pancake plates rattle. He grips my hair, yanks my head back, and pounds so hard my feet leave the floor.
“Thank you—f**k—for letting me—oh god—crash here, Mr. Thompson—”
He spanks me again, again, until I’m sobbing and coming around him, p***y gushing down my thighs. He doesn’t stop until he’s filling me again, groaning my name like a prayer.
Later, we’re on the living room couch, the same exact spot where we used to binge-watch Disney movies while his daughter painted my toenails. I’m on my knees between his spread thighs, TV flickering some random show, his c**k down my throat during every commercial break.
He threads fingers through my hair, guiding me slow and deep.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice low. “Take it all. Show me how grateful you are for this house-sitting gig.”
I moan around him, drool dripping down my chin, eyes watering as I swallow him to the root. When the show comes back on, he pulls me off gently, wipes my mouth with his thumb, and kisses me soft and sweet.
Then the next commercial hits and I’m right back down, choking on him, worshipping every inch while the laugh track plays in the background.
The doorbell chimes.
I’m bent over the kitchen island, Caleb’s c**k buried balls-deep, when the sound cuts through the wet slap of skin on skin.
He doesn’t stop. Just smirks, grips my hips harder, and slams in again.
“That’ll be FedEx,” he growls against my ear. “Package for a very naughty girl.”
I whimper, trying to push back. “Caleb, someone’s—”
He pulls out suddenly, spins me, and marches me naked through the house to the massive floor-to-ceiling glass door that looks out over the backyard and the street beyond. Sunlight pours in, turning us both golden.
“Hands on the glass,” he orders.
I obey, palms slapping the cool window, t**s squishing against it. Anyone walking by could see everything.
He kicks my feet wider and slides back in with one brutal thrust.
“Look at you,” he rasps, pounding hard enough that my breath fogs the glass. “t**s pressed to the window like a desperate little slut while the delivery guy waits.”
The doorbell rings again—ding-dong, ding-dong—impatient.
“Caleb, please—” I sob, p***y clenching around him.
“Please what?” He spanks me hard. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop while he watches?”
I can’t answer because I’m coming, screaming, forehead against the glass as my whole body shakes. He keeps f*****g me through it, slow, deep, cruel strokes that make my knees buckle.
The FedEx guy rings one last time, then I hear the truck pull away.
Caleb pulls out, spins me again, and drops to his knees. Two fingers scoop his leaking c*m from my p***y and paint it across my lips.
“Open.”
I suck them clean, moaning.
“Good girl,” he praises. “Now wave goodbye.”
I lift one trembling hand and wave at the empty street, t**s still pressed to the glass, c*m dripping down my thighs.
He chuckles darkly. “That was just the warm-up.”
By noon the gardeners are here. Two guys with mowers and leaf blowers, trimming the hedges right outside the pool house. The door is cracked open six inches, hot summer air pouring in.
Caleb drags me inside, lifts me onto the weight bench like I weigh nothing, and spreads my legs wide in the missionary position. The leather is cool against my back, my ankles hooked over his shoulders.
“Listen to that mower,” he murmurs, sliding into me slow and deep. “Ten feet away. One look and they’ll see me splitting you open.”
He starts moving, long, filthy strokes that make the bench squeak under us. Every thrust lifts my ass off the leather, t**s bouncing wildly.
“Caleb—oh f**k—they’re right there—” I gasp, trying to cover my mouth.
He pins both my wrists above my head with one hand. “Let them hear. Let them know who this p***y belongs to.”
The mower drones louder as one of the gardeners gets closer. I can see his shadow through the gap in the door.
Caleb speeds up, hips snapping, c**k dragging over my g-spot on every stroke. “Wave at him, baby.”
I turn my head, cheeks burning, and lift one hand in a shaky little wave.
The gardener glances over, does a double-take, and nearly drops the trimmer. His mouth falls open.
Caleb laughs low, thrusts even harder. “That’s it. Show him how pretty you look taking my cock.”
I come screaming, back arching off the bench, p***y gushing around him. He keeps pounding, chasing his own release, until he slams deep and unloads, pulsing hot and thick inside me.
The gardener scrambles away, mower roaring as he practically sprints across the lawn.
Caleb pulls out slow, watches his c*m drip from my swollen p***y onto the leather bench.
“Think he’ll be back next week?” he asks, smirking.
I can only whimper.
Later that afternoon the sss guy shows up with like six boxes. Caleb answers the door shirtless, signs for them with one hand while the other is down my shorts, two fingers curled inside me.
“Thank you,” he says politely to the driver, pumping his fingers slow and deep while I bite my lip to keep from moaning. “Have a great day.”
The second the door shuts he bends me over the entryway table and f***s me so hard the packages slide off and hit the floor.
By evening I’m limp, wrecked, covered in his c*m and my own slick, grinning like an i***t.
He carries me to the couch, lays me across his lap, and kisses my forehead.
I might never leave.
- Writer
