"Ohh! Fuck! Daddy! Harder!" I screamed as my stepdad kept thrusting hard into me. He had a tight grip on my hair, pulling it back so my spine was arched while he fucked me with everything he had.
"You love how Daddy fucks you, right?" he whispered into my ear. Then, he spanked my ass so hard I nearly cried from the sting.
"Yes, Daddy! Harder! Don't stop fucking me!" I screamed as I approached my orgasm. Just as I was about to lose it, my eyes snapped open.
Fuck. It was another wet dream. I could feel the dampness between my legs; I had soaked my panties, as usual.
I tried to get out of bed, and that was when it hit me: my whole body was wrecked. I felt as if I had been hit by a truck. For a moment, I was unsure whether the discomfort was from the rough sex I’d just had with my stepdad in the dream, or from the brutal, bumpy car ride we’d endured the night before.
My mom, my stepdad, and I had landed here in Thailand yesterday evening for a three-week vacation. After spending agonizing hours on the plane, the taxi my stepdad booked to bring us to our villa took a terrible, unpaved route for the three-hour journey. I’d been tossed around in the backseat the entire time. I hadn't felt it yesterday, but right now, my body was aching in places I didn't even know could hurt.
Every muscle felt like it had been stretched to its breaking point and then tied into tight knots. I’d never felt so drained in my life. Every time I tried to shift under the light sheets, a new, sharp pain flared up in my lower back or shot down my calves.
The soreness didn't seem like a big deal until I actually stood up. The moment my feet hit the floor, a groan escaped my lips. I could barely walk. We had tours booked and a lot of sights to see, so I knew I had to recover before doing anything else. I limped into the bathroom, splashed my face with cold water, and brushed my teeth while leaning heavily against the marble counter.
I walked back to my room and threw on a T-shirt—going braless—along with a skimpy skirt. It wasn't exactly modest, but I loved wearing it. I was beautiful and well-endowed in all the right places, and I’d always known how to use that to my advantage. The skirt barely covered my butt, and the neckline of my shirt left my cleavage on full display. I loved showing it off.
I’d previously caught my stepdad—a man whose handsome looks alone made him every woman’s dream—staring at my breasts, and it always sent a thrill through me. I couldn’t tell if I was just imagining things or reading too much into the way his gaze lingered, but deep down, I hoped it was exactly what I thought. So, whenever I had the chance, I deliberately showed myself off to him. Even though I wasn’t feeling well today, I wasn't going to miss an opportunity.
I limped into the living room and found him watching TV.
"Good morning, Dad," I greeted him, my voice weak and strained.
"How are you doing?" he asked, looking up. His eyes did that familiar sweep, starting at my face, smoothly drifting down to my chest, tracing my waistline to the hem of my skirt, and then slowly making their way back up. He immediately noticed something wasn't right; my expression gave it away. "Wait... are you alright?"
"Umm, I'm not feeling great. My body hurts," I replied, clutching the doorframe for support.
"Your body?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "Honestly, I was worried about you when the driver took that awful road. I knew it would be too rough on you. I'm so sorry. Come to Daddy."
I took a hesitant step toward him.
"Don't you think you need a massage?" he asked, genuine concern on his face.
"Maybe," I said, shuffling closer. I reached the couch and slumped down beside him, feeling the heavy ache in my limbs.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Where exactly does it hurt?" he asked, shifting closer to me.
"My legs, arms, shoulders, and neck. Everywhere, really. My whole body," I answered, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the cushions.
"You really do need a massage," he said softly. "Let me see your leg."
He lifted my right leg and rested it across his thigh. The contact was electric. As his warm, strong fingers began to knead my skin, my mind drifted back to when I was much younger.
He had always taken such good care of me. I would come home from sports or long days of playing outside with strained thighs and aching ankles, and he would sit me down just like this, massaging my legs while I babbled about my day. He was always gentle, careful, and attentive to my needs. He knew exactly where it hurt and how to make the pain vanish; whenever he massaged me, the relief was almost instant. Back then, it was innocent—just a father looking after his daughter.
But now, as his hands moved with that same familiarity, the feeling was entirely different. I was getting turned on. I knew it shouldn't be happening, but I couldn't control it. The way his thumb pressed deep into the arch of my foot made my toes curl.
Right in the middle of the massage, my mom walked into the room. "What happened? Did she hurt her leg?" she asked, looking between us.
"No. She said she's aching all over from the drive. I'm just seeing if I can help," he replied smoothly. He didn't stop his ministrations, nor did he look up at her for more than a second.
By now, his hands were casually moving up from my ankle to my calf, approaching my knee. I could feel my breath hitching, becoming shallow and jagged.
"She needs a professional massage. It's easy enough to find one around here," my mom said, reaching for her phone to look up a local therapist.
I wanted to tell her no, but I couldn't find my voice, nor could I think of a believable excuse. I loved what my stepdad was doing to me. He was rubbing my knees now, and I was feeling far more than I'd bargained for. He was as gentle as always, but his touch was sending waves of intense pleasure directly to my core.
As my mom started making calls, a spike of frustration hit me. I didn't want a stranger's hands on me; I wanted my stepdad to keep going. I wanted him to move even higher and finish what he’d started. I stayed silent, watching his hands as they continued to stoke a fire inside me I knew I shouldn't be feeling.
His hands slid upward, the heat of his palms seeping into my skin as his thumbs began to firmly knead the soft, sensitive flesh of my thighs.
His touch was growing brazen, tracing slow, deliberate arcs that pushed a tantalizing inch higher with every sweep. I shivered at the delicious friction, feeling the slight calluses of his palms gliding agonizingly slowly over the hypersensitive skin of my inner thighs. My pulse hammered wildly against my ribs.
Then, the pad of his finger brushed higher still, edging dangerously close to my center. The sensation didn't just double; it flared into a liquid heat that made my entire body clench.
A sudden, molten jolt of pleasure shot straight through my core, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I couldn’t help but moan out loud. “Ohhh! Yesss! Right there—please don’t stop…”
It was the first time we had ever crossed into something this intimate, and I couldn’t stop the syrupy sound that slipped from my lips, even with my mom standing right behind us.