Her Stepfather's Crush

All mine

Once I figured out how much Daddy liked them, I fell to my knees every chance I got.

I liked it because I could make him come so fast with my mouth. I saved blow jobs for quickies during the day. A few times, we almost got caught. Then again, that seemed to make Daddy come even harder.

I was in bed, almost asleep, when my bed shifted. I smiled into the darkness. The smell of Daddy's body wash had my p**sy throbbing. It was an automatic reflex at that point. When he came near, I knew I was going to get f*cked.

He slid under the covers, and his bare skin pressed against mine. He was so warm as he pressed his chest to my back and reached around to play with my n**ples.

"I wish I could fall asleep like this," I said.

"Me too, Baby. Me too."

We said things like this often, but I had a feeling the scales were going to tip in my favor very soon. Daddy rolls me onto my back and moves between my legs.

Because we f**k when we can and where we can, we don't often have s*x in a bed. So when Daddy sneaks into my room sometimes, we usually do the good old missionary position.

Though it's anything but boring.

He rubs the underside of his c*ck between the lips of my p**sy, catching my c**t with each pass. Daddy looks down into my eyes. We watch each other in the moonlight that filters in through my window.

When his d**k is wet from my cream, he enters me to the hilt in one long thrust. He stretches me, but doesn't give me time to adjust to the fullness before he pulls back, then does the same thing again.

Daddy slips his hands under my ass, grasping my hips and slamming me against him with each thrust. My headboard bangs against the wall, but he doesn't stop.

"Harder," I beg.

"F*ck. What are you doing to me?" he whispers. "All I can think of is getting back inside you."

"Yes," I hiss, because that's exactly how I feel, exactly what I want, him inside me all the time.

I'm addicted.

"When will it be enough?" he asks.

"Never," I tell him. "Please, Daddyyy..."

He groans when I call him that.

"Don't stop f*cking me," I beg.

"I want you all to myself."

His speed increases. I know he's getting close. So am I. The sound of flesh slapping flesh echoes against the walls. The beat of the headboard against the wall gets faster, louder.

"Daddy," I moan, my words punctuated and slightly cut off by his body slamming into mine. "I think I'm pregnant. I have not seen my circle lately."

"F*ck," he growls as he slams into me one last time and stills.

His c*ck jerks and flexes inside me as he shoots deep inside me. His reaction sets off my own orgasm.

When my body clamps down on him, his muscles shudder and shake. His orgasm goes on and on, drawing mine out as well.

When his body relaxes, he collapses on top of me. I rub up and down his back and wonder what his response is going to be.

"No more hiding," he said. "We'll get our own place before your mom realizes what's happened."

"I'm nineteen. She can't stop what we have."

"No, but I don't want to rub it in her face, either. You'll move out first.

Tell her you're going back to school early. I'd say I'll follow after a few weeks, but it'll probably be a matter of days. I won't be able to stay away from you any longer than that."

I smiled into the darkness. Daddy was going to be all mine after all.

***

The next morning, I started packing some of my things into my duffel bag to go back to school, just like we planned.

Daddy hovered in the doorway, watching me fold clothes. His eyes kept dropping to my stomach. He didn't say it, but I knew what he was thinking... what we were both thinking.

He came closer, held me from behind, kissed the back of my neck, and nuzzled my ear.

"You have to hurry, baby. Before your Mom comes back from the store."

I zipped the bag, heart pounding. We'd gotten away with so much already, but this, leaving together, felt heavier. Permanent.

We moved fast through the hallway, Daddy carrying one of my smaller boxes while I slung the bag over my shoulder. My pulse jumped at every creak of the floorboards.

Then the front door opened.

Mom's voice rang out, light but sharp. "I forgot the milk."

Daddy froze, eyes locking on mine. The box nearly slipped from his hands.

I forced a smile and stepped forward like nothing was wrong, praying my voice wouldn't shake. "Oh, hey, Mom. We were just..."

Her gaze flicked from me to the duffel bag... then to Daddy standing too close behind me, his chest rising and falling like he'd run a mile.

Her brow furrowed. "What are you two doing here... together?"

The weight of her stare pressed down on me, heavier than the duffel bag sliding off my shoulder. My throat went dry. Daddy shifted beside me, his knuckles whitening against the box he held.

I forced a laugh that sounded too thin, too nervous. "I was just, um... packing. Daddy was helping me carry my things upstairs."

Mom's eyes darted between us, slow and sharp, like she was peeling back layers we couldn't afford to expose. "Upstairs? At this hour?"

Heat crawled up my neck. Daddy stepped in before I could fumble again. His voice was calm, but I could hear the edge in it. "She said she wanted to get organized before school starts. I offered to help since I was around."

Mom's lips pressed into a line. She didn't look convinced.

The silence stretched, thick and dangerous. My heart hammered so hard I was sure she could hear it. Then, mercifully, her phone buzzed in her purse. She muttered something under her breath, turned slightly, and answered the call.

Daddy leaned close, his whisper brushing hot against my ear. "Go. Now."

I grabbed the bag, slipping past her toward the stairs. My legs felt like jelly, but adrenaline kept me moving. Daddy followed, close enough that his heat burned against my back.

When we reached my room, I shut the door, chest heaving. Daddy set the box down and ran a hand through his hair. His jaw clenched, eyes dark. "She's watching us too closely. One mistake and it's over."

I pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under my hand. "Then we don't make mistakes."

He kissed me hard, desperate, like the walls were closing in on us. And maybe they were.

Because just as his lips left mine, the floor creaked outside the door. A shadow passed under the crack of light.

"Why is the door locked?" Mom's voice floated through, curious, sharp, too close.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Daddy’s hand froze on my waist, his breath hot against my ear. For one endless second neither of us moved.

Then he stepped back, gave me a single nod—we face this together—and turned the knob.

Mom stood in the hallway, arms folded, eyes flicking from the duffel bag on the floor to the half-packed box, then to us: flushed, guilty, standing too close.

She didn’t yell. She didn’t cry. She just looked… tired.

“I forgot the milk,” she said again, softer this time, like the words were an excuse she no longer believed. “But that’s not why I came back upstairs.”

Daddy swallowed. “Sheila—”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Don’t lie to me. Not anymore.”

Silence stretched so thin I could hear the refrigerator humming downstairs.

Mom’s gaze dropped to my stomach—barely rounded yet, but she knew. “How far along?”

I opened my mouth, closed it. Daddy answered for me. “We’re not sure. A few weeks, maybe.”

She nodded once, slow. “I thought so. You’ve been… different. Glowing. Sick in the mornings when you thought I was asleep.” Her eyes moved to Mitch. “And you’ve barely looked at me in months. I kept telling myself it was work stress. Age. Anything but the truth staring me in the face.”

“Mom—” My voice cracked.

She shook her head. “I’m not angry. Not the way I should be.” She let out a small, broken laugh. “I’m relieved. This house has felt like a tomb for years. I stayed because it was easier. Because starting over at forty-something sounded exhausting. But watching the two of you…” She glanced between us. “You look at each other the way people are supposed to look. I don’t remember the last time he looked at me like that.”

Daddy’s throat worked. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t plan it. Neither did she.” Mom shrugged, almost casual. “But it happened. And now there’s a baby.”

I felt tears burn behind my eyes. “We were going to leave. Quietly. I didn’t want to—”

“I know.” She stepped inside, picked up the duffel bag like it weighed nothing, and handed it to me. “You’re nineteen. You don’t need my permission. But you have it anyway.”

Daddy blinked. “Sheila…”

“I already called my sister this morning,” she said. “I’m staying with her for a while. I’ll file quietly—no drama, no public mess. You two can have the house until you find your own place. Or sell it. I don’t care.” She looked at me, really looked. “Just take care of each other. And that baby.”

I started crying then—quiet, ugly sobs. Mom pulled me into a hug, awkward at first, then tight. “You’re still my daughter,” she whispered. “Always.”

When she let go, she gave Daddy one last look. Not hate. Not even blame. Just… goodbye.

“Be happy,” she said. Then she walked out, footsteps fading down the stairs. The front door clicked shut behind her.

We stood there, stunned, until Daddy pulled me against his chest. “It’s real,” he murmured into my hair. “We’re free.”