All Chapters of DADDY'S NAUGHTY PET : Chapter 91 - Chapter 97

I sat in the waiting room of Dr. Thorne's clinic, my thighs pressed together under my short sundress, trying to ignore the insistent throb between my legs. God, I was such a slut for this. It had started innocently enough—a routine check-up for what I called "irregular cycles," but really, it was an excuse to feel those strong, probing hands on me again. I'd been fantasizing about him all week, picturing his fingers sliding into my wet cunt, stretching me open like he owned it. I could already feel the dampness soaking through my panties, the fabric clinging to my swollen lips. Why did I even bother wearing them? I should've just gone commando, let him see how ready I was the second he spread me wide.The receptionist had left early, just like last time, leaving the place dimly lit and eerily quiet. My nipples hardened against the thin cotton of my dress, poking out like they were begging for attention. I crossed my legs, squeezing my thighs to rub my clit subtly, but it only made the

I couldn’t stop touching myself in the days leading up to the follow-up. Every night, every morning, I’d lie in bed with my legs spread, fingers circling my clit while I replayed the last appointment in my head: the stretch of his fingers, the hot swipe of his tongue, the thick weight of his cock sliding over my tongue until I gagged. I’d edge myself for hours, bringing myself right to the brink and then stopping, whimpering into my pillow because I wanted to save it all for him. By the time the day arrived, my pussy was already swollen, hypersensitive, leaking steadily down my inner thighs just from walking to the car.I dressed like a slut who knew exactly what she was doing: a tight black pencil skirt that hugged my ass and barely reached mid-thigh, no panties—of course no panties—the fabric rubbing against my bare, slick lips with every step. A thin white blouse, unbuttoned low enough that the lace edges of my push-up bra peeked out, nipples already hard and visible through everyt

I walked into the clinic that afternoon feeling like a live wire—every nerve ending buzzing, my pussy already slick and swollen from the drive over. I’d spent the morning edging myself again, fingers dipping in and out while I whispered his name like a prayer, stopping every time I got close because I wanted to arrive dripping, desperate, ready to finally break. I wore a simple black dress this time—thin straps, low neckline, short enough that bending over would flash everything. No bra, no panties, just skin and need. My nipples were already tight peaks rubbing against the fabric with every step.The receptionist was gone again. Dr. Thorne met me at the inner door, but something was different. His usual calm mask was thinner—jaw clenched, eyes darker, pupils blown wide like he’d been holding back too long. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at me, then turned and led me down a hallway I’d never seen before, past the regular exam rooms, to a door marked PRIVATE PROCEDURE SUITE. He

AVA;**I wanna fuck my father-in-law***I married my husband , Alex because he was safe. He was the boy who remembered anniversaries, who texted good morning every day at 7:15, who never raised his voice. At 23 he still looked like the college kid I met in the library—soft brown hair, gentle eyes, hands that touched me like I might break. Sex was always soft too. Lights off. Missionary. Quick kisses on my forehead afterward. He came inside me sometimes, but he never asked if I wanted more. I never told him I did. I loved him. I really did. But love doesn’t always fill the hollow space that opens up at three a.m. when you’re staring at the ceiling, fingers between your legs, imagining rougher hands, a deeper voice, a man who knows exactly how hard you want to be taken.Victor was that man in my head for over a year before I ever admitted it to myself. Alex’s father. Forty-eight. Widowed. Built like he still spent half his days hauling lumber instead of running a construction compan