Married to My Fiance's Father

CAMILLA.

“Oh… fuck me, Daddy…”

I moaned as he thrust into my pussy pagain, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

Julian’s hips snapped forward hard, driving his cock deep enough that the head of it nudged against that sweet spot I almost never got to feel. 

My fingers dug into the sheets, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as if I could force him to stay there, to keep moving, to finally fucking finish me for once.

The hotel room smelled like sex, I didn’t even remember the name of the place. All I knew was that we had one more night before he flew out again, and I was determined to make it count.

He pulled out without warning.

I felt the sudden emptiness like a slap. Then the warm, sticky ropes of his cum painted across my stomach, some of it landing just above my navel, a few drops sliding down toward the neat strip of hair I kept trimmed for him. 

He groaned low in his throat, the sound of a man who had gotten exactly what he came for, and rolled off me onto his back.

I lay there panting, thighs still trembling, clit throbbing so hard it almost hurt. My pussy clenched around nothing, aching, dripping onto the sheets.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already,” I said, voice rough. I turned my head to look at him. My body was still humming, still hungry, still so far from finished that it made me want to scream.

Julian gave me that lazy half-smile he always used when he was already done. “I am, baby. You know I’ve got a flight to catch.”

It was true, he did have a flight but blaming the three-minute performance on a boarding time was just another one of his convenient little lies. 

Three years together and I could count on one hand the number of times he had lasted longer than it took me to get properly wet. Our wedding was in three weeks. Three weeks, and I was still the woman who had to finish herself after he rolled away satisfied. 

All he ever cared about was his own orgasm. He came, he cleaned up, he left me aching and half-mad with need.

He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and walked into the bathroom without another word. 

The door clicked shut and the water ran. I stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, and slowly squeezed my thighs together. 

My fingers slipped between them. I circled my swollen clit with the pad of two fingers, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.

I rubbed faster, chasing the edge he had denied me, hips rocking in tiny, desperate circles against my hand.

The bathroom door opened again before I could get there. I froze, fingers still pressed against myself under the sheet. 

Julian stepped out, towel around his waist, hair damp. He dressed quickly just as he always used to.

He leaned over the bed, brushed a kiss against my mouth, and murmured, “I love you.”

I caught his wrist. “Do you really have to leave today?”

“Yes, the meeting is compulsory. You know that.”

He climbed back onto the mattress for a second, longer kiss. My hand slid up his chest, found a nipple through the shirt, and pinched lightly the way that used to make him hard again. He caught my wrist mid-motion and gently but firmly pushed it away.

“No. No more, baby.”

He kissed the top of my head the way you kiss a child, stood up, and walked to the door.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, and then he was gone. The hotel room door shut with a soft, final click.

I waited exactly ten seconds before I sat up, grabbed my laptop from the nightstand, and opened it. 

The screen lit the dark room in cold blue light. My fingers flew across the keyboard before the browser even fully loaded. I typed the words I always typed when the frustration got too sharp to ignore.

Fucked by my father.

I had always loved older men. It was a quiet, private thing I never told Julian. Something about the weight of experience, the way a man past forty moved like he already knew every way a body could break open and still ask for more. 

The search results filled the screen. I clicked the first video without reading the title. A woman on all fours, face pressed into a pillow, an older man behind her with silver at his temples and a thick cock that disappeared into her with deep, relentless strokes. 

The camera caught the wet slap of skin, the way her ass jiggled every time he bottomed out.

I shoved the earbuds in and the moans flooded my head. I slipped my hand back between my legs. 

My fingers sank into the mess he had left me in, two of them curling upward the way I needed. I fucked myself in time with the man on the screen, eyes locked on his cock. 

Heat built fast and my thighs shook. I was so close, closer than Julian had ever gotten me, when—

Knock. Knock.

I flinched so hard the earbuds yanked free. The pleasure died like someone had thrown a switch. My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Who is it?” I called, voice uneven.

“Room service, ma’am. You were scheduled to check out today.”

I stared at the door. “Definitely not. It’s tomorrow.”

“There seems to have been a mix-up with the reservation, but according to our records you need to vacate the room by eleven.”

I hissed under my breath. “Fine. Whatever.”

Footsteps retreated down the hallway. I looked down at myself. The ache between my legs had gone cold. My fingers were still wet, but the urgency was gone, replaced by a flat, empty irritation. 

I closed the laptop, stood up, and walked into the shower. I scrubbed Julian’s cum off my stomach until my skin turned pink, washed between my legs and stepped out feeling cleaner but somehow more hollow.

Packing took twenty minutes. I left the hotel, hailed a cab at the curb, and rode in silence to the airport. 

The flight to New York was two hours of staring at the seat in front of me and replaying the way Julian’s face had looked when he came.  

I kept telling myself it would be different once we were married. That living in the same house every day would force him to slow down, to notice me. Three weeks, I only had to wait three weeks.

The house was quiet when the cab dropped me off. Our house, the one we had chosen together, the one with the big kitchen windows and the bedroom that already had the new bed frame waiting under plastic. 

I pulled the spare key from my bag, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside.

Julian’s clothes were on the floor.

I recognised the shirt immediately, and the same pants he had put on in the hotel that morning. 

My stomach dropped.

Had he come home first? Made a stop before whatever meeting he claimed was so important?

I walked farther in. A bra hung from the stair railing and it was definitely not mine. A trail of women’s clothing led upward.

I climbed the stairs two at a time, heart hammering so loud I could hear it in my ears.

“Yeah… Julian…” Vivienne—his bestfriend's voice carried through the hallway. 

I reached the top of the stairs and stopped in the doorway of our bedroom.

Julian was behind her, pants around his thighs, driving into her with long, deep strokes that made the bed frame creak. 

Vivienne was on her hands and knees, face turned toward the side of the mattress, moaning the way I had never once heard her speak. 

Her dark hair spilled across the sheets as his hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks. He was fucking her, the way he had never, not once, fucked me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

Both of them froze. Julian’s head snapped up and Vivienne’s eyes went wide.