Claiming Daddy, part 7

Waiting for Dad’s return was the worst two hours of my life. It was the only point in my plan where Dad wasn’t in my complete control. I was sure Mom held no real affection for Dad, but I didn’t think she’d give him up without a fight. If nothing else, he was a meal-ticket. If Dad left her, her old, wrinkled ass would be alone and destitute.

My heart leapt with joy as Dad pulled into the driveway again. Heat spread through my belly, as I was glad I hadn’t cleaned myself after Dad fucked me. I wanted him again. And often. I ran to meet him at the door, flinging the door open and wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him down to a deep, open-mouth kiss.

Dad’s hands found my ass. Dug deep. Pulled me against him. I moaned and ground my hips at him. He barely had time to close the front door before I pulled him down to the floor, spreading my legs for my father’s cock.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” I panted. “I need my father inside me again.”