A Sinful Obsession with my Step-Daddy

Chapter 1- The Executor

~Katherine Moncler

I drove my Porsche into the Moncler estate surprised I even got home in one piece. I had finished my shift at the bar where I got a break up text from my shitty boyfriend Marcus.

He said and I quote, "I'm tired of being starved. Keep your virginity for your husband, I don't want it anymore." What a jerk!

I stumbled into the house, adjusting my vision to the darkness. Mum wasn't at home, I could tell that much by the lack of whipping sounds or loud moaning.

Every since dad died, mum chose a weird coping mechanism, male domination. I tried my best not to judge her, but her bad choice in men f****d with my head thoroughly. Not having a constant father figure does that to you.

I staggered up the stairs thanks to the bottle of Don Julio I had emptied earlier.

I heard the sound of running water coming from my dad’s old room. My heart did a weird flutter—that room hadn't been touched, let alone occupied, since the day he passed away.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, and standing right there in the middle of the room was a man. I stopped dead in my tracks, my jaw practically hitting the floor.

He was bare-chested, with a towel hanging so dangerously low on his hips it looked like it was about to fall off any second.

My eyes instinctively landed below his waist line. I saw the the thick outline of his c**k, and a subtle jerk right beneath the fabric.

I felt n*****s perk up, hardening straight against the thin material of the uniform shirt the bar had given me. I still had my work apron tied around my waist, and I wasn't even wearing a bra.

I swallowed hard, sizing him up. This guy was huge. He had these beautiful, piercing hazel eyes, a razor-sharp jawline, and I could see bits of grey hair peeking through his dark strands. He was just built different.

Unlike Marcus, who was practically a stick, this man was incredibly muscular, with broad shoulders and a chest that looked like it was carved out of rock.

He stared right back at me, his gaze dropping straight to my breasts. His eyes rested there for way more than a second.

He slowly licked his lips, and I watched his chest muscles flex with the movement.

I felt liquid pool between my legs. It shocked me. For someone who had never gotten wet ever since they hit puberty, it was alarming. Not even with Marcus, the guy I thought was the love of my life and the one I’d been saving my virginity for.

I crossed my arms and choked out, "Uh, you're not supposed to be in here." I leaned against the doorframe. "I don't like it when Gwen doesn't brief her boy toys."

The man gasped, completely taken aback. His brows furrowed, and he looked genuinely insulted. He sized me up, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone that made my p***y twitch.

"Boy toy?" he asked.

"Yes. Boy toy," I responded. My voice was shaky, and I hated it. I was getting wetter by the second, my p***y literally clamping down just from hearing the hoarse, commanding sound of his Greek God voice.

"Listen, kid," he growled, stepping closer. "I'm no boy toy."

I rolled my eyes, trying to play it cool, but before I could even blink, his hand flashed down. He tore the towel right off his body.

"This is the c**k of a God," he said confidently. He reached down, grabbing his huge, veiny length that was already half-erect.

My eyes went totally wild. I knew my face was on fire—a mix of pure embarrassment and intense excitement.

"Eww!" I yelled, quickly looking away. "That's nasty, put it away!"

The next thing I knew, a massive shadow fell over me. I felt his calloused, muscular hand wrap around my arm, his grip like iron as he pulled my hand straight down toward his c**k.

"What the f**k are you doing? Let me go!" I screamed, turning my head.

But he wasn't having it. He grabbed my cheek, his fingers firm against my skin, forcing me to look right at him. I stared straight into those beautiful, lust-filled hazel eyes, completely trapped. My underwear was already soaked through.

"Stroke my c**k," he ordered, his voice vibrating right through me.

My p***y twitched again at the authority in his tone. My mother had never brought home an Alpha—her men were always weak, pathetic parasites. But this man? This man was a real Alpha. I, Katherine, never liked to be told what to do. I hated orders.

But for some crazy, intoxicating reason, I found my small hand involuntarily opening up, trying to wrap itself around this stranger's massive length.

He grabbed my face tighter, forcing my eyes to stay locked with his.

"Open your mouth!" he ordered.

My mind was a fog of alcohol and lust, and I did exactly what he said. I parted my lips, leaving my mouth open for him. He leaned in, using his fingers to take the wet spit straight from my mouth, and then he slowly rubbed it all over his thick c**k, coating it.

"Get on your knees," he said, his voice dropping into a low, dark command.

I didn't even argue. I went down on my knees slowly.

"You're such an obedient little slut," he murmured, looking down at me.

I just nodded my head, completely helpless to the way my p***y was getting wetter by the second.

"Stroke my c**k faster," he ordered.

I reached out, wrapping both of my small hands around his thick length, and began to stroke it up and down, speeding up my pace.

"You still think I'm a little boy toy?" he asked, his eyes burning into mine.

I shook my head quickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. "No," I breathed out.

Suddenly, he gripped my chin, forcing my head up so I had to look at him. "No who? Who the f**k are you talking to?"

I went totally blank for a second. My chest was heaving, and my voice was incredibly shaky.

"No, daddy," I said.

A dark, satisfied smirk crossed his face. "That's more like it. Stroke daddy's c**k, princess."

I never, ever thought a man degrading me would turn me on this much.