Daddies In My Holes

ANGEL

Everyone has a dark secret. The filthiest, dirtiest, corrupted fantasies that we imagine just before sleep take us to oblivion.

That innate desire our judgmental world silences, it lingers in the pit of your stomach, spreading like a virus, an incurable, rotten disease to your throat, an abomination never to be whispered.

Do you have a secret like that?

Think hard. . .

You can tell me.

Don't you have one like that?

Think again. . . Harder. Go deeper. Take me in—all of me. I want to be inside. . . of your mind.

You still don't?

‘Fine, I will tell you. If only you promise not to judge.’ I bit my bottom lip in contemplation, my fingers hovering on my keyboard for a brief moment before I clicked on the send button.

This was a complete stranger anyway, what did I have to be afraid of? So what if he wanted to know my deepest secrets and desires?

We'd been chatting for about two months on this anonymous messaging app.

I only knew that he was a male, I'd never asked about personal details like his age or where he was chatting from , the anonymity of it made everything so much more exciting.

My secret? I had a lot. Like lots of it.

‘We listen, we don't judge. Now, give it to me doll, this is a safe zone,’ The stranger's words floated on my phone screen.

I began to type again, the thoughts that always lived in the back of my mind forming into words.

‘My secret is that I want Daddy to stuff my holes. I love his thick muscles that look like they could engulf me, I love his nine-inch còck, the two thick veins that run crisscrossed each side of his penís. I love my daddy's balls, how heavy they look, the way they bounce when he thrusts. I love Daddy's face when he cúms, the primal grunt he makes and the way his brows twitch with pleasure. I love how thick his cúm is and wish it could get me pregnant. I love everything about daddy, I want to be daddy’s breeding slut’

I hit the send button, before I could second-guess myself. My mind was racing now, this was the wildest confession I'd ever made, no doubt, the stranger was definitely trying to process the depravity of my mind.

Each passing second without a response made my anxiety worse. My breath was coming out in short pants, and I could almost feel the judgmental stare burning into my skin from my phone screen.

As much as I was nervous, I also felt hot and relieved, confessing my darkest secret to a stranger. It was exhilarating, like taking a full rush of fresh air into my lungs after being submerged underwater for so long.

Just letting another person know was already making my pússy throb in my shorts. I love Daddy so so so much.

I clasped my legs together, adjusting my position on my bed, rubbing my thighs just slightly together to send an electric jolt of pleasure through me.

Another message popped up on my phone twenty seconds later, ‘You're such a naughty little girl, I will add you to my slave collection, you'd serve me just fine, a true whóre you are’

A small giggle left my mouth, so he wasn't judging me? From our previous chats so far, it was evident this stranger was a dom, and I didn’t know if it was true, but he told me that he owned sèx slaves, true whóres who were only born to worship his supreme cóck. I bet he was lying, that had to be his darkest fantasy he was claiming to be true.

I didn’t mind it though, this app was created to confess the darkest things about us that no one knew about. And while our chats excite me and sometimes I even stroked myself to orgasm to his words, the only person I want to have sex with is daddy.

I wanted Daddy to take my vírginity, to own me completely, I wanted to be his little slút exclusively. I couldn't imagine doing these fantasies with anyone but Daddy.

‘What are the things you hate about your daddy?’ A second message notification appeared on my phone. I frowned slightly, this kind of felt a little bit personal. He didn't know my dad, so why did the things daddy hated matter?

Was I thinking too much about it?

Hate?

I didn't hate Daddy at all, but I loathed Mommy Jillian.

Hate wasn’t even a strong enough word to describe what I felt towards that bítch and that mysterious quiet older brother of hers that always made me feel uneasy each time he was around.

I’d never been able to express my resentment towards them, but now this stranger was giving me an outlet.

‘I hate that daddy had to get married to Mommy Jillian, I hate the way his daddy's còck comes out shiny in her dripping dirty cúnt, the way her heavy títties bounce as she rides on daddy’s díck, when daddy eats her pússy and makes her scream, I hate all of it because it should have been me. I hate when mommy sucks daddy’s còck and swallows his cúm like it's the tastiest thing in the world, I hate that I don’t know what daddy’s cúm tastes like, and have to settle for the remnant of his precúm in his underwear”

But what I absolutely detested the most, was how hard Mommy Jillian was trying to replace my position in Daddy’s heart. I loved Daddy, but I absolutely despise her.

‘I hate mommy’s older brother too, he’s always broodingly quiet, but I caught him looking at my àss one time, even though he tries to hide it, I know he wants to fúck me.’

The stranger didn't reply after this, I sighed and slammed my phone against the pillow. My uncle, while I didn’t exactly hate him, I despised how he always made me feel uneasy, like he could see the facade of my good little girl act. I didn’t usually wear a bra at home, because I wanted Daddy’s attention, but one time I’d caught Uncle staring closely at my títs. Too bad he wasn’t going to get a sniff of me, I belonged to Daddy alone.

I pushed the thought aside, why was I even thinking about him in the first place?

I was fúcking bored, dinner was still in about thirty minutes. I needed to play.

That was when I saw it, peeking from beneath my pillow was a black piece of cloth.

Daddy’s boxers. The Calvin Klein brand Jillian had bought last week.

I had sneaked into the laundry room this morning after she dumped it there for washing.

It had a whitish slightly hard crust now from a mix of both our juices. When I had stolen it just this morning, it had been wet, the taste had been a little bit salty, and rubbing his dampness against my clít had given me one of the most mind-blowing órgasms of my entire life.

Even after cúmming three times and screaming daddy’s name this morning, I still wasn't satisfied.

Something was lacking, I craved the real thing, I didn't know how long until I went crazy from wanting Daddy to fúck the brains out of his little girl.

I brought daddy’s scent to my nostrils and inhaled deeply. The sweet musk, faint smell of his cologne vibrated a soft móan from my lips.

fúck, I was growing wet again, a juice cracked down my slít, running down my thigh from the space between my shorts.

Fine, one more time before Mrs Martha will call me down for dinner.

My hand moved to the waistband of my shorts, and I yanked them down, kicking them all the way down to my ankles.

My fingers were slick, plunging inside myself, curling just the way I liked—but it wasn’t enough. I needed him. I craved Daddy’s thick còck splitting me open, stretching me until I whimpered.

The crust of Daddy’s boxers scratched against my clít just right as I ground my hips into my hand, my breath hitching.

The scent of us, his musk, my slick—filled my nose, making my thighs tremble.

I dragged the damp fabric harder over my swollen clít, imagining it was his tongue instead, lapping at me like I was his last meal. I móaned into the mattress, my hips jerking.

Fúck.

The way he’d look at me sometimes—like he knew what I did when I was alone.

Like he wanted to pin me down and ruin me for anyone else. I could almost feel his hands on me now, those rough palms squeezing my títs before sliding down to my waist, holding me still while he fúcked into me with slow, filthy thrusts.

My fingers sped up, fúcking myself deeper. Daddy wouldn’t go slow. He’d shove inside me with one brutal stroke, make me scream, then drag me back onto his còck over and over until I was sobbing, begging,

I rubbed faster. And faster.

Daddy was milking me, I'd always been his good little girl, and I deserved to cúm.

‘Mmm mmm mmm’

“Daddy, daddy, I'm cúmming, your little whóre is cúmming!” The cry slipped from my mouth.

I was close. One more rub, another twist of my fingers inside me. . .

A sharp noise greeted my ears. I froze. My fingers stilled.

It was the sound of a throat clearing. My eyes flew open in shock as I stared at the door which I’d apparently forgotten to lock.

The person standing there was none other than Daniel Ricci. Uncle Daniel.

Daddy's best friend. . .

Mommy’s brother.