001. The Dirty Ache.

Kristi.

I’ve wanted to fuck Troy since I was seventeen.

That dirty, forbidden ache started the summer he came over for Dad’s birthday barbecue, shirtless in the backyard, sweat glistening on his broad chest and those powerful arms that looked like they could pin me down without effort.

He was my father’s best friend completely off-limits, married at the time and twice my age—but none of that stopped the filthy thoughts from flooding my mind every time he was near.

I’d sneak glances at the bulge in his jeans, imagining how thick and heavy his cock would feel stretching me open, how he’d growl my name while he ruined me for anyone else.

Even back then, I’d lock myself in my room after he left, fingers slipping under my panties, rubbing my swollen clit to the fantasy of Troy bending me over the kitchen counter while Dad was in the next room.

Now, at twenty-three, fresh out of college with a degree that felt almost useless in this job market, the obsession hadn’t faded.

It had only grown darker, wetter, more desperate.

I still lived at home, job-hunting during the day and touching myself at night to the same man who’d haunted my teenage dreams.

Troy.

Tall, rugged, with that deep voice that made my pussy clench just hearing it.

His marriage had ended years ago—something about his wife not being able to keep up with his appetite, or so the rumors went.

I hoped it was true. I hoped he was as filthy as I imagined.

Last night had been no different.

My boyfriend, Peter, had come over while my parents were out.

He was sweet, reliable, decent in bed on a good day.

But as soon as he pushed inside me, my mind betrayed me like always.

We were in my childhood bedroom, the same one where I’d first fingered myself thinking of Troy.

Peter kissed my neck, murmuring how tight I felt, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm.

I wrapped my legs around him, moaning softly, but my eyes were closed and it wasn’t his face I saw.

It was Troy’s—his strong jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his temples as he fucked me harder, deeper, one hand gripping my throat while the other slapped my ass.

“Fuck, Kristi… you’re so wet,” Peter groaned, picking up speed.

In my head, Troy’s voice replaced his: “That’s it, baby girl. Take Daddy’s cock like the little slut you are. Your dad has no idea how bad you want me to fill this tight cunt.”

I came hard, biting my lip to keep from screaming Troy’s name instead of Peter’s.

My pussy spasmed around Peter’s dick as waves of guilty pleasure crashed through me.

He finished shortly after, collapsing beside me with a satisfied sigh, oblivious to the fact that I’d just fucked his memory away with fantasies of a man old enough to be my father.

This morning, the guilt mixed with fresh excitement as I sat at the kitchen table scrolling through job listings.

My phone buzzed.

It was Dad.

“Morning, kiddo,” he said when I answered, his voice warm like always. “Listen, I talked to Troy yesterday. There’s an internship opening at his company—marketing department, perfect for what you studied. He said he’d take a look at your résumé if you send it over. All you have to do is email him your credentials. He owes me a favor anyway, and he thinks you’d be a good fit.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Troy.

Working under Troy.

The words sent a rush of heat straight between my legs.

I crossed my thighs, feeling myself grow slick just from the thought.

“Really?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice came out breathy. “That’s… amazing, Dad. Thank you. I’ll send it.”

“Good girl. Troy’s a straight shooter. Just be professional. He’s not one for slackers, but he knows talent when he sees it.”

Professional.

Right.

If only Dad knew the kind of “talent” I wanted to show his best friend.

I hung up, my mind already spiraling into filthy territory.

I pictured walking into Troy’s office for a follow-up interview, wearing a short skirt and no panties, bending over his desk to “pick up a pen” while he stared at my bare, dripping pussy.

Would he finally snap? Would he lock the door, shove me face-down, and fuck me hard while growling about how long he’d wanted this too?

“Love you Dad!” I added.

“Love you too. Your mother and I will be home later.”

I didn’t care about that.

I hopped off the kitchen stool and hurried to my room.

My laptop was already open and my fingers trembling as I attached my résumé and cover letter.

The email subject: “Internship Opportunity – Kristi Thompson.” In the body, I kept it polite:

‘Dear Mr. Reynolds, My father mentioned the opening in your marketing department. I’ve attached my credentials and would be grateful for the opportunity to intern under your guidance.’

Under your guidance.

God, even typing that made me throb.

And to be safe, I decided to text it to him as well.

His number had been saved in my phone for years now but I never worked up the courage to do anything with it.

I’d stolen it off Dad’s phone, having delusions that I would hit him up and he would invite me to his house and spread me on his bed and fuck me to ruin.

But that never happened, trying to explain to Troy how I’d gotten his number had killed all those thoughts.

But now I finally had the perfect excuse.

I could always lie that Dad gave it to me.

I arranged everything on the email and text but before I could hit send, I chickened out, then flopped back on my bed, pulse racing.

Was working for Troy a wise decision?

It was clear I wasn’t able to think clearly around the man.

How was I supposed to work for him and be professional?

Would I be able to hold back? To not do anything to jeopardize his long term friendship with my father?

Fuck me.

I rubbed my face, wondering what his reply would be.

I was sure it would be something like:

Kristi,

Good to hear from you.

Your father speaks highly of you.

Come by the office tomorrow at 10 AM for an informal interview.

We’ll discuss the role and see if it’s a fit. Dress appropriately.

Troy Reynolds.

Dress appropriately, words he had thrown my way over the years when he gave me advice.

The words should have been professional, something a father would tell his daughter or an uncle would tell his niece but my perverted brain twisted them instantly.

I imagined Troy saying that because he was looking at me, because he was stroking his thick cock, remembering the way my tits had filled out since I was seventeen, the way my ass swayed when I walked past him at family gatherings, the way my lips parted when I talked to him.

God, my hand slipped under my shorts before I could stop myself, the fantasy taking over like it always did.

My fingers found my already soaked panties.

I pushed them aside and circled my clit, eyes closed, replaying every dirty fantasy I’d ever had about him.

In my mind, the interview wouldn’t be in an office. It would be right here, in my room.

Troy would show up unannounced, saying Dad sent him to check on me.

And, he’d push me against the wall, one big hand sliding up my thigh.

“You’ve been teasing me for years, haven’t you, Kristi?” He’d rasp, voice low and dangerous. “Walking around in those tiny shorts, bending over when you know I’m watching. You think I didn’t notice how you look at me?”

I’d whimper, nodding, as his fingers found my pussy, sliding through my wetness. “Yes… I’ve wanted you so bad, Troy. Even when I’m with my boyfriend, I pretend it’s you fucking me.”

He’d chuckle darkly, unzipping his pants to free that massive cock I’d only ever imagined. “Then show me how much you want it, baby. Get on your knees.”

In reality, I was moaning softly on my bed, two fingers pumping in and out of my dripping cunt while my thumb worked my clit.

I imagined dropping to my knees for him, taking him into my mouth, gagging as he hit the back of my throat.

He’d fist my hair, fucking my face while telling me what a dirty little whore I was for lusting after my dad’s best friend.

My hips bucked against my hand, pussy clenching hard as the fantasy intensified.

Troy would pull me up, spin me around, and bend me over the bed—the same bed where Peter had fucked me last night.

He’d slap my ass hard, leaving a red mark, then thrust inside me in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck, you’re tighter than I dreamed,” He’d groan, pounding into me. “This pussy was made for me. Not for that boy you call a boyfriend.”

I’d cry out, pushing back to meet every thrust, my tits bouncing as he railed me. “Harder, Troy… please. I’ve waited so long. Fill me up. Cum inside me.”

The thought of him breeding me—his hot load spilling deep while he claimed what wasn’t his—sent me over the edge.

My orgasm hit like a freight train, thighs shaking, a gush of wetness coating my fingers as I rode the waves, whispering his name like a prayer.

“Troy… oh fuck, Troy…”

I lay there panting, fingers still buried inside me, savoring the aftershocks.

I pulled my fingers out, glistening with my juices, and brought them to my lips, tasting myself while imagining it was his cum.