Hard-To-Get Sub II: F*ck Me Daddy

My new stepdad was Professor Darius Vale.

The same man who had bent me over his desk and f*cked me like an animal only hours earlier. The same fingers that had been buried inside me in his office were now resting innocently on the dinner table while my mother beamed at us like she’d won the lottery.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to climb across the table and slap him. I wanted him to bend me over this dining table and s*x me senseless in front of her.

Instead, I smiled sweetly and said, “It’s so nice to finally meet you… Dad.”

The word tasted filthy on my tongue and wrong. Darius’s jaw muscle ticked hard. His knuckles turned white around his wine glass, but his voice stayed deep and perfectly controlled when he replied, “Pleasure to meet you too, Katie. Your mother has told me so much about you.”

That professor tone — the same one that made my thighs clench in class — now sounded obscenely sexual. My n*pples hardened painfully against my thin top and I was still soaked from earlier, my p*ssy throbbing with every heartbeat.

The dining room felt like a stage, and we were all terrible actors.

I sat across from Professor Darius, I mean..*my new stepdad*—forcing the brightest, fakest smile I’d ever worn while Mom chattered happily about how perfect this all was. My p*ssy was still throbbing from earlier, aching and w*t, and every time I shifted in my seat, I felt the ghost of his thick fingers.

“Katie, honey, isn’t this wonderful?” Mom beamed, squeezing Darius’s hand on top of the table. “We’re finally a real family.”

“Absolutely,” I replied sweetly, my voice dripping with sugar. I even reached over and gave Darius a quick, innocent hug when Mom insisted. My hard n*pples brushed against his arm through my thin top. I felt him stiffen.

Under the table, my bare foot slid up his calf.

Darius looked every bit the composed professor: deep, authoritative voice discussing literature and future family trips—but I saw the cracks. The muscle ticking in his sharp jaw. His knuckles white around his wine glass. And those steel-gray eyes… when Mom wasn’t looking, they burned with dark, dangerous heat.

God, it made me so wet.

We were halfway through dinner when I decided to push him over the edge.

While Mom told some story about her day, I reached under the table, grabbed his wrist, and slowly guided his large hand between my thighs. I wasn’t wearing panties. As earlier. His fingers brushed my soaked folds, and his entire body jolted.

His eyes snapped to mine. A silent warning.

I just smiled prettily at Mom and spread my legs wider under the table.

Darius’s jaw clenched so hard I thought it might crack, but he didn’t pull away. Not immediately. His fingers slid through my slickness, teasing my entrance before two thick digits pushed inside me, knuckle-deep.

I bit my lip to stop a moan.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Mom asked, tilting her head.

“Mm-hmm,” I managed, voice breathy. “The food’s just… really good.”

Under the table, Darius began fingering me. Slowly at first, like he was fighting himself, but the more my pu*sy clenched around him, the deeper he went. He curled his fingers, stroking that sensitive spot inside me with expert precision. The wet, obscene sounds were barely masked by the clink of silverware.

My juices coated his hand and I rocked my hips subtly, riding his fingers while smiling at my mother like the perfect daughter.

Darius’s breathing grew heavier. He kept his face neutral, nodding along to Mom’s light jokes about “union” and blending families, but his fingers f*cked me harder—three now, stretching me, pumping in and out with a nasty rhythm. His thumb found my swollen cl*t and rubbed tight, relentless circles.

I was dripping down his wrist.

Heat pooled low in my belly. My thighs trembled and I wanted to moan so badly, but I forced myself to laugh at one of Mom’s silly stories, the sound shaky and high.

Darius’s eyes met mine across the table—furious, lust-drunk, desperate. The muscle in his jaw jumped violently. He was knuckle-deep in his wife’s daughter, fingering her cunt while she sat there pretending nothing was happening. The taboo of it made me clench harder around him.

I was so close.

Just when I thought I might come right there at the family dinner table, Mom stood up. “I’ll grab dessert from the kitchen!”

The second she left, Darius ripped his hand away, breathing hard. His fingers glistened with my arousal. He looked like he wanted to murder me and fu*k me at the same time.

I wasn’t done.

“Mom,” I called sweetly, standing up on shaky legs, “I’ll help you. Darius, come with me? We should bond, right?”

Mom’s face lit up. “What a great idea! Go on, you two. Get to know each other.”

Darius shot me a lethal glare, but he followed me into the kitchen.

The moment we were alone, I turned on him, backing him against the counter. My hand boldly palmed the massive bulge straining in his pants.

“Does Mom know how you finger your students, Daddy?” I whispered, voice low and venomous, my lips brushing his ear and palming his massive erection. “How you had your fingers buried in my p*ssy all through dinner? How you made me so f*cking wet I’m dripping down my thighs? Should I tell her her my new stepdaddy makes me wet? can I explain it?”

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist hard. “Katie, stop this. Right now.” His voice was rough and broken. The moral conflict was carved into every line of his face; loyalty to his new wife, his career, his sanity. “You’re my student. And now… f*ck, you’re my fuckin stepdaughter. This ends tonight. TONIGHT”

I laughed softly, pressing my body against his. I could feel how hard he was. “One condition, Professor.” I reached down with my other hand to double palm his hard on.

His stormy eyes darkened with fury and raw need.

I leaned in, lips grazing his, and whispered the demand that would change everything:

“F*ck me Daddy.”