Daddy’s Plaything

Sweet Darkness…

Marina.

I jerked backward with a gasp, my breath catching in my throat as reality slammed into me with a cold slap.

I pushed away.

What the actual f**k was I doing?

Staring at my uncle like some hungry dog, with my eyes glued to the way his hand pumped his thick c**k, his low groans echoing in my ears.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” I stammered, a fresh wave of scorching heat flooding my cheeks and driving lower, much lower.

My p***y throbbed insistently, slick with arousal that had pooled between my thighs from the mere sight of him.

I stumbled back blindly, slamming the door shut behind me before turning on my heel and running down the hallway. My heart pounded in my throat, threatening to choke me, but it wasn't fear driving me—it was shame mixed with a dark, twisted hunger.

What kind of sick b***h openly ogled her uncle like a starving animal eyeing its prey?

My chest heaved with ragged breaths, each one doing nothing to calm the pulsing ache between my legs. Somewhere in the dark corners of my mind, his deep, gravelly voice replayed on an endless loop.

It sent shivers racing down my spine, igniting fantasies I hadn't even thought were possible. I imagined him in that same commanding voice, ordering me to drop to my knees, to spread my legs wide, to open my mouth and take every inch of him until I gagged.

A sick thrill twisted through me, making my n*****s harden painfully against my shirt.

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, reaching the stairs in a daze. “Get a grip, Marina. This is f****d up.”

But f*****g myself was exactly what I wanted at that moment. The arousal spreading through my body like poisoned ink, staining every thought, every nerve.

I needed release badly.

My fingers itched to plunge into my soaking wet p***y, to rub my swollen c**t until I shattered. I took the stairs two at a time, my legs wobbling like jelly, praying I could make it to the downstairs bathroom before my knees buckled entirely.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found Gina standing in her hot red bikini. The thing was a complicated web of straps that left little to the imagination, covering just her pert n*****s and the smooth, shaved dip of her p***y.

The sight should have been innocent, I’d seen her naked countless time but in my horny rattled state, it only made me hotter in all the wrong ways.

I lingered on the way the bikini clung to her wet skin, imagining for a split second what it would feel like to trace those straps with my fingers and my teeth.

Fuck, no!

We’re not doing that.

I swallowed a groan, forcing my eyes away, but the dark desire ripped through me like a knife.

Gina blocked my path, her hand gently touching my elbow. The contact sent an electric jolt straight to my core, my body too wired to tell the difference between touches. I physically jolted, a whimper escaping before I could clamp it down.

She frowned, her brow furrowing in concern. “Are you okay, Mari? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

If only it were a ghost. That would be preferable to seeing her father stroking his massive c**k, his muscles tensed, his mouth moaning my name.

My f*****g name. The memory made my p***y clench emptily, whining for fingers—mine, his, anyone's—to bury deep inside me and f**k the tension away.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, stepping back from her touch.

My skin was too hot, too sensitive, and I was too damn horny to deal with her worry.

I tried to sidestep her, but Gina shifted, blocking me again. “Are you sure? You really look sick. Like, flushed and sweaty.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated through gritted teeth. Just get the f**k out of my way, I wanted to scream. My thighs were slick now, arousal dripping down my legs.

“Okay. Well, the maid just told me that Daddy is home already. I wanted us to go say hello before he thinks we don’t love him anymore.”

Oh, I loved James more than she could ever know. I loved the way his body looked, the way his voice rumbled, the forbidden promise of what he could do to me.

“I’ll be right behind you, but I just have to go pee right now.” I finally got past her and dashed for the bathroom.

“I thought you’d peed already!” She shouted after me, but I ignored her, reaching the door, bursting in and slamming it shut. I twisted the lock with trembling fingers.

Leaning against the sink, I yanked down my shorts and panties in one frantic motion. My p***y was aching, drenched, lips swollen.

I sank two fingers inside myself without hesitation, and gasped sharply, almost collapsing at how good it felt.

The memory of James replayed vividly as I closed my eyes. His hand fisting his c**k, the veins bulging, the head glistening with pre-c*m.

I f****d myself hard, curling my fingers to hit that spot deep inside, my thumb circling my c**t in rough, desperate strokes.

“Fuck... James...” I whispered, biting my lip to stifle moans. “Just like that.”

My orgasm built fast. The tension coiling inside me until it was so tight that I had no choice but to explode.

I came with a hard moan and clamped my free hand over my mouth. My walls clenched around my fingers, juices gushing over my hand.

But it wasn't enough. I spread my legs even wider and kept going, imagining his c**k instead, thick and unrelenting, stretching me wide, punishing me for being such a bad girl.

A second orgasm ripped through me, leaving me panting and slumped against the wall.

After catching my breath, I finally became somewhat functional, and I cleaned up and left the bathroom.

I said my hello, planted a polite kiss on James's cheek—ignoring the fresh throb in my p***y at his scent—and acted like a normal girl. He also acted as if nothing had happened and I laughed at their jokes, ate dinner, and avoided his gaze at all costs.

That was a few hours ago.

Now, as the digital clock on my bedside table glowed 11:45pm, I was a f*****g mess under my covers. The sheets twisted around my legs, my body feverish and restless. I'd tried everything—rubbing my c**t furiously, even pulling up porn on my phone, the screen filled with videos of rough f***s and dominant men.

But nothing clicked. My dissatisfaction left me aching, my mind wandering in distracted loops about the man two doors away from me.

My body was too hot, too tight, my p***y aching for something more than fingers—a deep, brutal penetration that only nine inches of James's c**k could provide.

I couldn't have that, so I settled for tossing and turning, slipping my fingers over my slick folds again and again, chasing a release that wouldn't come.

When the heat became unbearable, a slick sheen of sweat coating my skin, I threw off the covers and got out of bed.

Maybe some water would cool me down. I slipped on my shorts—no panties, because why bother?—and padded silently out of the room.

The house was quiet, and dark. Nobody would be awake at this time. Not even James.

But tell me why, as I reached his door, hoping to tiptoe past without incident, I saw it open.

Not wide open, just a crack. Enough to tempt the curious devil inside me to go have a look.

A sliver of warm light spilled into the hallway, calling out to me like a siren's call.

My feet stopped dead on the hardwood floor.

Don’t do it, Marina. Walk away.

I glanced down the dark hallway, then back to that inviting glow and decided: f**k it.

As quietly as a shadow, I crossed the space and peeked in.

His room was quiet, illuminated only by a bedside lamp casting warm light. James was nowhere in sight, and disappointment twisted in my gut. I was stepping back when I heard a door creak open from within.

I pressed closer, my breath shallow, eyes scanning for movement.

A second later, James strode into view, fresh from the shower.

A towel hung loosely around his waist, so low that it showed the strong V of his hips and the trail of dark, wet hair leading down to his groin.

My core gave a sharp, sinful squeeze.