Daddy pushes into me from behind while I am face-down on the dining table. The wood is cool against my cheek and breasts. My legs hang off the edge. He holds my hips tight and starts with long, deep strokes that push his earlier cum back inside me. Every thrust makes a wet sound. I can feel how open and used I already am.
“Arch your back,” he says.
I do. The new angle lets him go even deeper. He groans and picks up speed. One of his hands slides up my spine and grips the back of my neck, holding me down against the table. The other reaches under me and finds my clit. He rubs it in fast circles while he fucks me hard.
I come quickly. My whole body shakes on the table. I moan into the wood, too loud, but there is no one to hear. He keeps thrusting through my orgasm until my legs are trembling. Then he pulls out, turns me over onto my back, and sinks back in face-to-face.
This time he goes slower. He watches my face while he moves inside me. One hand stays in my hair. The other holds my thigh open. It feels intimate and filthy at the same time. I wrap my legs around him and pull him deeper.
“You’re going to remember this table every time we eat here,” he says. “Every time your mother passes you the salt, you’re going to think about how I filled this cunt right here.”
I nod, already close again. He leans down and kisses me while he fucks me. The kiss is deep and hungry. When I come this time it is quieter, a long shudder that makes me cling to him. He follows soon after, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing inside me with a low groan.
He stays there for a while, still hard, still inside, forehead pressed to mine. When he finally pulls out, a thick mix of cum spills onto the table. He looks at it, then at me.
“Lick it clean.”
I sit up, lean forward, and drag my tongue through the mess on the polished wood. The taste is strong and salty. He watches with dark eyes while I clean every drop. When I finish he pulls me off the table and into a hard kiss, tasting himself on my tongue.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of rooms and positions.
He takes me on the living-room carpet again, this time with my knees under me and my face in a pillow. He fucks me from behind until I am dripping onto the floor. Then he carries me to the guest bathroom and bends me over the sink so I can watch in the mirror while he does it. Seeing his thick cock disappear inside me over and over makes me come harder than before.
In the afternoon he sits on the couch and has me ride him slowly for almost an hour. He does not let me go fast. Every time I try to speed up he grips my hips and forces me back to a deep, grinding rhythm. By the time he finally lets me come I am shaking and begging.
Later he takes me upstairs to Mom’s and his bedroom. The bed is neat and smells faintly of her perfume. He lays me down in the center of it and fucks me there for a long time, slow and deep, like he wants to leave a permanent mark on the sheets. When he comes he stays inside me and whispers, “Next time she sleeps here, my cum will already have been in this bed.”
By evening my body is sore and sensitive. Every step makes me feel how used I am. Cum has dried on my inner thighs. My lips feel swollen. Daddy does not let me put clothes on even when the sun goes down. He keeps me naked while we eat leftover food at the kitchen island. He sits me on his lap again and feeds me with one hand while the other stays between my legs, two fingers moving lazily inside me the whole time.
When we finally go upstairs for the night he pulls me into the shower once more and cleans me carefully. Then he takes me to my own bed, climbs in behind me, and pushes into me from behind under the covers. He fucks me slow and quiet in the dark until we both come. Afterward he stays inside me while we fall asleep, his arm heavy across my waist, his cock still half-hard and buried deep.
I wake up the next morning to his mouth between my legs.
It is Sunday. Mom is coming home in the evening.
Daddy spends the entire day making sure I will not forget a single second.
He fucks me in the laundry room while the washing machine runs, the vibration adding to every thrust. He bends me over the washing machine and fills me again. Later he takes me against the wall in the hallway, one of my legs hooked over his arm. In the early afternoon he lays me on the living-room floor in front of the big window (the curtains are closed) and eats me for so long that I lose count of how many times I come on his tongue.
By late afternoon I am a mess—sweaty, sticky, marked with faint bruises on my hips and thighs from his hands. He has come inside me so many times that I feel permanently full. Every time I walk, a little more slips out.
Around five o’clock he finally lets me shower alone. When I come out he is waiting with a set of my normal clothes—simple panties, soft shorts, and a loose T-shirt. He dresses me himself, sliding the panties up my legs slowly, then the shorts. Before he lets me pull the T-shirt on he leans down and sucks each of my nipples once, hard enough to make me gasp.
“You’re going to sit at dinner tonight with my cum still inside you,” he says quietly. “You’re not going to clean it out. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He kisses me one last time, deep and slow, then steps back.
Mom’s car pulls into the driveway twenty minutes later.
I am in the kitchen when she walks in, smiling, suitcase in hand. Daddy is right behind her, looking completely normal. He takes her bag and kisses her cheek like nothing has happened.
“How was the trip?” he asks.
“Tiring,” she says. “I’m starving. Something smells good.”
I have been heating leftover pasta. My hands shake a little as I serve it. Mom sits across from me at the dining table—the same table Daddy fucked me on yesterday. He sits at the head. Every time I shift in my chair I feel the wetness between my legs. His cum is still inside me, slowly leaking into my panties.
Mom talks about her weekend. Daddy nods and asks questions. Under the table his foot finds mine and presses lightly. I keep my face calm. I pass the salt when she asks. I smile when she looks at me. Inside I am still full of him.
After dinner Mom goes upstairs to unpack and shower. The moment we hear the bathroom door close, Daddy walks over to me, pulls me against the kitchen counter, and slides his hand straight into my shorts. His fingers find the wetness immediately.
“Still full of me,” he murmurs against my ear. “Good girl.”
He rubs my clit through the soaked panties for a few seconds, just enough to make my knees weak, then pulls his hand away and licks his fingers clean.
“Go upstairs,” he says quietly. “Act normal. Tomorrow when she leaves for work, we start again.”
I walk upstairs on unsteady legs. In my room I close the door and lean against it, breathing hard. My panties are a mess. My body is sore in the best way. I can still feel him everywhere.
Later that night, after the house is quiet, my door opens softly. Daddy steps inside, closes it behind him, and walks to my bed. He does not say anything. He just pulls the covers back, slides in behind me, and pushes my shorts and panties down.
I am already wet when he enters me from behind. He fucks me slow and silent in the dark, one hand over my mouth so I do not make a sound. When he comes he stays deep inside me, filling me one more time.
He pulls out carefully, fixes my clothes, and kisses the back of my neck.
“Sleep,” he whispers. “Daddy will take care of this cunt again tomorrow.”
Then he is gone, leaving me in the dark with his cum dripping out of me and the taste of the last two days still thick in my mouth.
Mom is home.
But Daddy and I both know the truth.
This is only the beginning.