Book 3: Caught By Step-Daddy

I’m still on the couch with my shirt shoved up under my armpits and my bra yanked under my tits when the front door opens. Jake’s two fingers are buried inside me, curling, the wet sound of it the only noise in the room until Nathan’s voice cuts straight through.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

Jake freezes like he’s been shot. I shove him so hard he almost tips off the couch. My face is on fire. Nathan stands in the doorway in his work shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, keys still dangling from one finger. He doesn’t look shocked. He looks calm. That calm is worse than yelling.

Jake scrambles for his jeans and sneakers. Obviously terrified. Nathan never even glances at him. He just points at the door with the keys.

“Now. Don’t come back.”

Jake’s gone in under a minute. The door slams.

The deadbolt turns with a slow, deliberate click. Nathan sets his keys on the side table and looks AT me. I’m still half-naked—shirt bunched, bra useless, skirt around my waist, panties twisted to the side and soaked. I yank the shirt down and try to pull the skirt over my hips, but it’s too late. He’s already seen everythingg.

“Nathan, please, I can explain—”

“Don’t.” His voice is quiet, almost soft. He walks over, picks my phone up from where it fell on the rug, and places it on the mantel out of reach. “You brought some kid into my house. On my couch. With your cunt already open for him.”

My mouth opens again and he just points at the arm of the couch.

“Bend over. Now.”

My legs feel like they belong to someone else. I do it anyway. The cushion is still warm from my back and Jake’s weight. Nathan steps behind me. I hear the soft rustle of his clothes, then his hands are on me, hooking into the waistband of my skirt and panties and dragging both of them down in one rough motion until they’re stretched between my knees. Cool air hits my bare ass and the slick mess coating my thighs.

His hand comes down hard.

The crack is loud in the quiet house. White-hot pain explodes across my right cheek. I jolt forward with a sharp cry and my hands fist in the cushion. He doesn’t give me a second. The next spank lands on the left cheek, even harder, rocking me against the arm of the couch. Then he settles into a steady, merciless rhythm—left, right, left, right—each one landing with a full-palm crack that leaves heat sinking deep into the muscle.

“You don’t bring men into my house,” he says between strikes, voice still even. “You don’t let them put their fingers in you on my furniture. You don’t get wet for them under my roof.”

I’m biting the cushion to stay quiet, but every impact forces a small, broken sound out of me. My ass is burning, skin tightening and stinging, and the worst part is the way my cunt reacts.

Each spank makes my cheeks jiggle and my pussy clench around nothing. I can feel myself getting wetter, slick leaking down the inside of one thigh in a thin, unmistakable line. He can see it. I know he can.

He stops after what feels like twenty-five or thirty and just rests his heavy palm on the scorched skin, feeling the heat he put there. Then two thick fingers slide between my legs from behind, part my sticky folds, and push inside without any warning.

I’m drenched. The wet sound is filthy and immediate. He curls his fingers and strokes slow and deep while his other hand delivers another hard spank that makes me clench around him.

“Christ,” he mutters. “Soaking. You were about to let him fuck you right here on my couch, weren’t you?”

I don’t answer, do he spanks me again, sharper, right where the skin is already hot, and thrusts his fingers in to the knuckles.

“Answer me, Sydney.”

“Yes,” I choke out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I was going to let him fuck me.”

He adds a third finger and starts pumping them in earnest—long, deliberate strokes that stretch me open while his open hand keeps landing on my ass in between. The dual sensation is overwhelming: the sharp sting on the outside, the thick fill on the inside, the shame of how wet and loud I am. My hips start moving against his hand even though I try to hold still. I can’t. Every time his fingers drag over that spot inside me my body pushes back for more.

“Look at you,” he says, almost conversational. “Getting off on it. My hand turning your ass red and my fingers in your cunt and you’re grinding like you need it. Is this what you wanted from that kid? Or is this better?”

I’m already close. The pressure builds fast and ugly low in my belly. It feels good. He feels the way I tighten. He angles his fingers up and rubs firmly against the front wall while his thumb finds my swollen clit and presses in tight circles.

“You’re going to come just from this,” he tells me. “From getting spanked and finger-fucked for sneaking some guy into my house. Come on, Sydney. Make a mess on my hand. Show me how sorry you are.”

I break with a broken cry.

The orgasm rips through me so hard my knees buckle. I collapse forward onto the couch arm, cunt clamping down on his fingers in hard, rhythmic pulses, ass still burning under his palm. He keeps working me through it—rubbing my clit, stroking that spot inside—until I’m shaking and whimpering and trying to twist away from how intense it is. Only then does he pull his fingers out. They’re shiny. He wipes them slowly across my hot right cheek, spreading my own wetness over the red skin, then steps around in front of me.

His cock is already out of his pants—thick, heavy, the head flushed and wet at the tip. He fists a hand in my hair and lifts my head so I have to look at it.

“Open.”

I do. He pushes into my mouth in one steady stroke, not stopping until the head bumps the back of my throat and my eyes water. I gag around him and he holds me there for a long second, feeling my throat work, then starts fucking my face in short, controlled thrusts. Not sucking, fucking..

Tears spill over. Spit runs down my chin and drips onto the cushion. He doesn’t ease up. He uses my mouth like it’s just another part of the punishment, it was deep, steady, and fucking relentless.

“This is the first part,” he says, voice still calm even while he’s sliding over my tongue. “You don’t get to come in my house for some other man and then walk away clean. You take what I give you. Every inch. And every drop.”

He keeps the pace until my jaw aches and my eyes are streaming and my nose is running. When he finishes it’s with a low, rough sound, flooding my mouth with thick pulses. He holds my head still until I swallow all of it, then pulls out slowly, dragging the head across my tongue one last time.

I’m left bent over the couch arm, skirt and panties stretched between my knees, ass bright red and throbbing, cunt still twitching and leaking down my thighs, chin wet with spit and cum.

Nathan tucks himself away and zips up like he just finished a normal conversation. He points down the hall.

“Room. Now. Door stays open. You don’t touch yourself. You don’t close your legs. And Sydney—” he waits until my watery eyes meet his—“this isn’t finished, and not even close.

Next time I come through that door I take more.”

I pull my clothes up with shaking hands. The fabric drags over my scorched ass and makes me hiss .

I walk to my room on unsteady legs, every step sending a fresh pulse through my cunt and the hot skin of my backside.

I leave the door wide open like he ordered.

I can still feel the shape of his fingers inside me.

I can still taste him on my tongue.

And I I knew he’s going to come through that open door again before the night is over.