by Adrian Amos
He lowers me back to the ground, my feet meeting the hot sand again.
Daddy takes my hand and pulls me over to the cooler. He hands me the money and the hash the boys gave him in exchange for fucking me. I guess daddy wants me to keep it, as payment for a job well done. I look through the money, imagining what a poor girl like me could do with it. I can make this go a long way, that's for sure, and be fucking high while I do it.
“Give that back to them.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“That's not yours. It's theirs.” He waves me over to the boys. “Give it back to them.”
“I thought they were paying you?”
He shakes his head. “I'm not going to charge them for something you wanted in the first place.” He points over to them. “And when you give it to them, tell them 'thank you' again for fucking you.”
I blush, goosebumps popping up everywhere. Daddy's so naughty, making me submit and then fuck them, all so he could give them back their money.
He didn't sell me; he gave me away for free!
I squeeze my legs together, feeling the cum sloshing around inside my pussy and ass. I swallow and comply, walking over to the boys.
I hand them the money and the drugs. “Thank you for fucking me,” I coyly whisper.
They're surprised, but when they look at my father, he simply nods. “You're welcome. Did you enjoy it?”
I nod. “I loved it.”
Blondy pulls on my nipple, forcing it from its hiding place one last time. I squirm. “Maybe your dad will let us play with you one more time.”
I look back at daddy, who's waving his finger for me to come over.
“I'm sorry, but I think daddy's got other plans for me.”
I walk back to my keeper, excited to know what else my daddy thinks my body might need. I have a feeling he knows a lot more about my desires than I could ever hope to.
- - -
Daddy Makes Me His Midnight Snack
The fridge has never looked so empty in my life.
So many dang condiments, but no actual food. I can make a slurry of ketchup, mustard, and mayo, but rather than quell my rumbling stomach and put me to sleep, I'd probably vomit and stare dead-eyed into space.
Sorry, it's just insomnia makes me itchy and irritated.
For the past few days—maybe a week actually—I've been stuck in a rut of trying to go to sleep but getting so fidgety that I get up and walk the house for hours, finally draining myself around three or four in the morning.
It's something that's been happening on and off for the past year. I think it has to do with coming home every so often and the reoccurring stress of having to return to college looming over me. I come home to relax, but it's like a dread so subtle that it eats away at me silently during the day and screams me awake at night.
I'm not going to have a breakdown or anything like that, but I'd love to get some dang sleep once in a while, you know?
I've circled around to this fridge a half a dozen times in the past few hours, checking if the appliance has magically spawned some real food since the last time I looked. Of course, it hasn't, but my nervous nature wants me doing something to distract me from my anxiety.
I'm lucky my mom and stepdad are light sleepers. They haven't woken once since I've been home, and I can't say I haven't made a serious ruckus trying to keep myself busy. But they're like the dead in their bedroom. I guess when you get older, your body starts preparing for that eternal dirt nap...
Geez, my rattled mind is thinking some dark stuff. I have to focus sometimes when I'm up late at night to prevent myself from thinking of the weirdest shit at the most inappropriate times.
Finally, on the seventh look through the refrigerator, I discover some meats and cheese to make a sandwich.
I know, I know. How the heck did I miss that the other six times? I guess I just wasn't looking as hard as I should have been, enveloped in brain fog I'd been cultivating the past few days.
Grabbing the bread, I turn to the island counter top and go to work assembling my shoddily constructed sandwich, slapping some muenster cheese between salami and turkey, coated in a heavy spread of mayo. When I pick the sandwich up to my mouth, I notice my stepfather standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Oh my gosh!” I cry out, the fright of seeing someone up this late for the first time sends a shattering pulse through my body. My heart skips, causing my chest to ache for a few seconds.
I freeze in place as I stare at him: He's wearing a gray t-shirt and boxers, having just gotten up from bed. But his eyes are focused a little lower down on me. When I follow his gaze, my fright turns to surprise, having completely forgotten the way I'm dressed.
Or, barely dressed, that is.
Like I said, no one's gotten up one time while I've been wandering this house like a ghoul. So I took it upon myself to be a little more comfortable, ditching my shirt and shorts. Without them, I'm dressed in only my white cotton panties and bra, which hug my thin frame and leave nothing to the imagination.
I plop the sandwich down and place my hands over my chest, covering what ample cleavage I can.
“Uh, sorry, daddy,” I stutter, “I didn't think anyone would be up. Did I wake you?”
Daddy doesn't answer, his half-closed eyes fixated around my stomach, which is visible above the island. I'd probably be way more mortified of how I looked if the island wasn't offering me cover below my waist.
I wait a moment, but he doesn't move and doesn't answer. I swallow, my mouth becoming dry. “Daddy, will you stop staring,” I softly complain, “It makes me uncomfortable.”
But daddy doesn't really move, only swaying in place.
“Daddy?” I try to get his attention, but he doesn't respond.
And then it hits me, something I never thought I'd ever see in my life. I walk around the island and approach daddy. When I prod his muscular arm with my fingers, daddy only tilts backwards before rocking back to his feet.
“Are you sleepwalking?”
He doesn't respond, as I assumed he wouldn't. It was a question directed more to my own wonderment than anything else. I tilt my head to get a good look at his eyes, which aren't following me in the least bit. I wave my hand in front of him, and then I giggle to myself.
Daddy mumbles something, but it's so quiet that I can't make it out.
“What's that?”
He doesn't respond, but every so often he mumbles again, no clearer than before.
Even if I wasn't incredibly sleep deprived, this has to be the funniest thing I've seen. I poke him again for good measure, retreating quickly in case he springs awake.
He doesn't, seemingly frozen in time the moment he walked into the kitchen.
Why did he stop, anyway? Hmm, I do remember seeing something about not waking a sleepwalker. It could be dangerous, like it causes them to panic when they wake up and don't know where they are or their heart can stop or something. I don't know if that's actually true or not, but...
Maybe it's better if I don't mess with him, just in case.
But I don't move. I only watch as daddy's lifeless body teeters on his unstable balance. Something inside me is pulling me toward him when I just said I should walk away. I don't know what it is...
Is it the chance to do something naughty to him?
No, no. I shake my head. That's that darkness from brain fog talking again. Do something naughty? What's wrong with me? The man is experiencing something strange here. It'd be so wrong to do something to him now, when he's so defenseless.
And what if it makes his heart stop or whatever? That'd be incredibly messed up, even if it sounds physically impossible.
There is the one thing I like about my stepdad, though. It's not like I get to be around him a lot, what with being off at school, but when I am, I do take a peek every so often when he takes his shirt off.
It's totally innocent, I swear!
He just has a killer bod. Like, a six pack and smoking pecs. I've just nev
er seen a body like his before, and the reality is, I think it's really hot.
It's weird, I know, but I think it's kind of turned me on to the point where I think the next boyfriend I have has to have a killer body too.
And... well, I've never touched one before either. I've always wondered what solid muscle feels like.
As much as I should walk away, the urge to delve deeper is too strong to ignore.
I glance out of the kitchen and around the corner, just to make sure no one's following him around or wondering where he ran off to. If I'm going to be weird about this, the last thing I need is someone seeing me be weird.
When the coast is clear, I return to daddy, wringing my hands together. My motions are slow and delicate, until I remember that I was just poking him a minute ago and he didn't stir at all.
I reach down and pull daddy's shirt up, exposing his muscular frame. Daddy mumbles again and I freeze. Something incoherent, which dies down to silence once more.
His body looks even better this close up and in this dark lighting, giving it a stark and intimidating presence. I place my finger tips along the contours of his abs, digging in and touching the crevasses that separate them.
I've never felt something so hard in my life! I mean, I definitely have, but the fact that it's connected to a man's body gives it a sense of strength that I didn't think was possible.
Riding the waves of his muscles north, I make my way to his perfectly toned pecs. Daddy's not a hairy guy, so crossing his body is an oddly smooth experience, made all the stranger by his rippling physique.
I place my palm over his chest, feeling what it'd be like if I were on top of him...
Oh my gosh! I can't believe I just thought something so naughty! Geez, girl, keep it in your pants!
But just as I think that, and as my fingers curl into daddy's muscle, the bulge of his boxers moves, flexing as I caress his skin.
I suck in my breath. “Daddy,” I chastise him, “is this turning you on?”
He mumbles, and for the first time, I make out a word. “Shelly.”
That's my mom's name! He thinks I'm my mom! This is too funny.
When I let out a soft laugh, his bulge twitches again, and another dirty thought enters my dirty mind.
What if I just touch it? Like, for just a second?
I bite my lip and look up at daddy. His eyes haven't moved one bit since he came in here. When he wakes up in the morning, would he ever know what I was doing to him?
The possibilities there. I mean, touching is body is kind of creepy, but touching his junk? That's crossing a line.
Hmm. Maybe it's crossing a line so hard that it couldn't possibly be real. Not to daddy's sleepy brain. Even if he does remember it, there's no way he'd think it was anything but a dream. A super embarrassing dream at that, which he'd try his hardest to forget entirely.
I ponder it for a moment more before making my lusty decision.
My hand slides over the top of his shorts, pressing against his cock. I run underneath and cup his balls, massaging gently as I get a feel for his size. My small hand can barely contain him, and it's only getting more difficult, as each second my hand caresses him is another second his cock gets harder.
I guess what they say is true: a man's cock has a mind of its own. For a man who's reacted to very little up until now, his cock is rapidly approaching fullness. I squeeze lightly, not wanting to startle him. The hardness of his shaft is amazing, even harder than any of the muscles I just touched.
I had no idea that a man getting turned on could be so powerful.
I kind of want to see what it looks like.
I slide my hand under his waistband, pull it from his body, and lean forward...
Daddy moans, which immediately causes me to seize up and let go of his underwear. The elastic band slaps against his pelvis.
His groan is followed by silence, but daddy's hand lands on his crotch and he squeezes his bulge.
Oh, boy. I guess I need to stop now, because I have no idea if I'm going to wake him up. That's definitely the last thing I want.
I just got to grab my sandwich and get the heck out of here. I'm sure he'll wander back to his room eventually.
I grab my food and walk out of the kitchen, intent on letting daddy figure this thing out himself. I head to the living room and plunk my butt down on the sofa. I turn on the TV and start in on my sandwich.
I'm not a couple minutes into eating when I hear daddy walk in from the kitchen. My chewing stops, my shock leaving my mouth hanging open.
He's still stuck in slumberland, but this is the first time he's moved so far. His sleepy gaze it fixated on me again, as if I were the focal point of the room.
Wait. Did he just follow me in here?
I start chewing again, resolved to finish my food and run off to my room, in the hopes that he'll leave me be.
Just like before, he mumbles, but this time I can make out a single, clear word.
“Hungry.”
I look at my sandwich. Can he tell I'm eating right now? “Uh, it's mine, daddy. You can eat when you wake up.”
But daddy is no longer a passive player in all this. After a few seconds of standing insensate in the doorway, daddy takes a step toward me.
What the heck?
He closes in on me, his steps determined and in no way sleepy or uncontrolled. He stops directly in front of me, his half-closed eyes looking down on me. His presence is looming and dark, his face clouded in shadow. He lowers himself onto his knees.
He moves as if he's reading from a manual, concise and methodical, finishing one step and taking a moment before starting the next. After he lands on his knees, a moment passes before his hands land on my knees.
I cough, clearing the food from my throat. I swallow it and push the plate to the cushion next to me. “Daddy, what are you doing?”
As always, he's in his own world, completely unresponsive to anything I say. Instead, his response is a pause in action, just before his strong arms spread my legs apart.
I gasp, my heart a pitter patter of rapid beats. “Daddy!” I shout-whisper, glancing through the doorway for unexpected visitors. “Stop! You shouldn't be doing that.”
Daddy leans forward, his nose only an inch from my white panties. He inhales deeply, letting out a satisfying sigh as he breathes me in.
“Hungry,” he mumbles.
Hungry? I look over to the seat next to me. My food's right...
Daddy's open mouth lands on my panties. The shock to my system is instantaneous, causing my breath to catch as the situation throws me off guard.
His mouth is directly on my pussy!
I squirm in my seat, unconsciously trying to slide backwards, but caught against the back of the couch. Daddy's hands hold my legs in place so I can't close them, while he sloppily moves his mouth on top over the fabric of my panties.
Even though his motions are in no way expert, it still feels insanely good. The warmth of his breath, the opening and closing of his mouth, the tiny flicks of his wandering tongue.
It sends shivers up my spine. I'm still clenched, but every motion of his mouth melts me, until I turn into a puddle in my seat. No longer backing away, instead my body flowing into daddy, yearning for his touch. I can feel moisture building on my panties from the inside, my pussy aching to escape and feel his mouth on it.
I try to deny it; I try to push my mind away from him. But his mouth is not stopping, constantly pulling my attention to his lusting hunger, his ravenous mouth looking for its next meal. I want to tell him to stop, but I know he wouldn't hear me.
Instead, all I can think about is giving in, and experiencing daddy's mouth directly on my body.
My hand slides down my stomach, and though I hesitate for a long time, I eventually give it, sliding my panties over to the side, out of daddy's way.
The flick of his tongue forces a moan from my lips. Oh my gosh! It feels so good. I grip the cushion with my other hand, bracing against daddy's mindless mouth eat
ing me out.
“Oh shhhhhoot, daddy,” I groan. As if my panties were a barrier he was waiting to be pulled down, daddy's mouth finds what it was searching for and latches on. His lips suck in my labia, drawing out my lips as he tastes my salty flesh. His tongue cruises between the flaps before crossing my clit, dobbing it with the tip. He realizes what the little button is and places his lips on it, sucking it in and molding it with his lips. He sucks on it, drinking from my cunt like my clit was the straw.
I bite my lip, the sensation overwhelming. “Oh f-f-f-fuuuuccccckkkk!” I moan, trying my hardest to keep my voice down so I don't wake my mother, who's only a room away from us.
I'm such a pervert that I let my sleepwalking daddy lick my pussy, so caught up in my own pleasure that I don't think one second of what it might do to my mom if she walked out on us.
All I can think about is those sweet lips on my box.
“Yes, daddy, yes. Eat my pussy.”
Daddy groans. I don't know if it's because he's horny or because he thinks he's actually eating something. All daddy can do is suck my clit, tugging on it as my juices continue to gush from me.
He must know something is up beyond food, because daddy sits back on his knees and clumsily tries to pull his shirt over his head.
Almost unconsciously, I lean forward and like a good daughter, instinctively help him take his shirt off. But then daddy reaches inside his boxers, and even though I can't see it, I can tell he's playing with himself.
I feel the heat rise in my face. Is he really masturbating right now? How naive am I that I'm surprised my daddy would be touching himself right after eating a girl out? What did I expect, really?
It makes me feel strangely uncomfortable, though, watching a man pleasure himself who's completely unaware that he's being watched.
“No, daddy, stop that.”
He doesn't, his motions not slowing.
“Daddy,” I complain, grabbing his shoulders, “you can't do that here. It's not right.”
He continues. In an effort to stop him, I reach under his large arms and try to lift his hand out of his pants. Instead, daddy struggles off his knees to his feet, getting up but still keeping his hand where it is.
