Chapter 175 Fuck My Daddy's Best Friend
1
I had been wet for Uncle Jake since the summer I turned sixteen and noticed how his T-shirt stretched across his chest when he lifted a beer to his mouth. Back then I didn’t know what to do with the ache between my legs, so I just stared and squeezed my thighs together under the picnic table. Now I was eighteen, home from my first year of college, and I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to look at me the way he used to look at my mom’s friends when he thought no one was watching—dark, hungry, like he could eat them alive. Except I wanted him to actually do it. To me.
The backyard smelled like charcoal smoke and grilled burgers, sunscreen and cut grass. Dad was laughing too loud at something one of his buddies said, beer in hand, oblivious. Mom was inside slicing watermelon. Everyone else was scattered—cousins chasing each other, aunts gossiping on the patio. Perfect chaos. Perfect cover.
I had picked this dress on purpose. Pale yellow sundress, thin cotton that clung when I moved, hem so short it rode up every time I bent over. No bra—my nipples were already tight little peaks pushing against the fabric from the breeze and the anticipation. No panties either. Just bare skin and the constant, slippery heat between my thighs. Every step rubbed my clit against my own slickness and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning.
I spotted him across the yard, leaning against the fence in faded jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged every ridge of muscle he earned in the Marines. Forty-five years old and he still looked like he could throw me over his shoulder without breaking a sweat. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, jaw shadowed with stubble, eyes hidden behind aviators. But I knew the second those lenses landed on me because his whole body went still.
I smiled—slow, bratty—and sauntered over like I was just saying hi.
“Hey, Uncle Jake,” I said sweetly, stopping close enough that my bare arm brushed his. “Long time no see.”
He lowered the sunglasses just enough to look down at me. His gaze dragged from my face to my chest, lingered on the hard points of my nipples, then lower to where the dress ended high on my thighs. When his eyes snapped back to mine they were molten.
“Little girl’s all grown up,” he said, voice low so only I could hear. There was a warning in it. A dare.
I tilted my head, twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “Not so little anymore. Eighteen now. Legal.”
His jaw ticked. “Careful, sweetheart.”
I stepped even closer, letting my tits graze his arm. “Or what?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead he glanced around—quick, casual—then grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the open garage door. My heart slammed against my ribs. The noise of the party faded as we stepped inside, shadows swallowing us. The door stayed cracked just enough that we could hear laughter outside, but no one could see in unless they walked right up.
He backed me against the side of his black pickup truck, the metal cool through the thin dress. One big hand planted beside my head, caging me. The other slid up my thigh—slow, deliberate—until his fingers brushed bare skin where panties should be.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered. “No underwear?”
I spread my legs a little wider, shameless. “Thought you’d like the surprise.”
His fingers found me—swollen, dripping. He groaned low in his throat, middle finger sliding through my folds, circling my clit once, twice. I gasped, hips jerking forward.
“You’re soaked,” he said, almost accusing. “Walking around your daddy’s backyard like this? Dripping for his best friend?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Been dripping since I saw you.”
He pushed one thick finger inside me—no warning, just deep. I cried out softly, hand flying to my mouth. He curled it, hit that spot that made my knees buckle. Added a second finger, stretching me, pumping slow and hard.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Taking my fingers like a good little slut. Bet you’ve been touching this greedy cunt thinking about me all year.”
“Every night,” I admitted, voice shaking. “Fingers, toys—nothing feels like you would.”
He fucked me with his hand faster, thumb grinding my clit. The wet sounds were loud in the dim garage—slick, obscene. My thighs trembled, pussy clenching around him. I was so close already, embarrassingly close.
“You gonna come on my fingers right here?” he asked, voice rough. “Where anyone could walk in and see what a filthy little thing you are?”
“Please—” I whimpered. “Daddy—”
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
His fingers froze inside me.
I froze too, eyes wide, cheeks burning.
He pulled his hand away slowly, fingers glistening with me. Brought them to my lips.
“Open,” he ordered.
I parted my lips. He slid them in—salty, tangy. I sucked greedily, tongue swirling, tasting how desperate I was.
He watched, eyes black. “Say it again.”
I swallowed around his fingers. “Daddy.”
He groaned—deep, pained. Pulled his fingers out, wiped them on my thigh like I was his to mark.
“You don’t get to come yet,” he said, voice like gravel. “Not until I decide. Not until you earn it.”
I whined, hips rocking forward uselessly. “Please—”
He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Tonight. After everyone leaves. Sneak out. Come to my truck. I’ll be waiting down the street.”
His hand slid between my legs one last time—quick, firm press against my clit that made me jolt.
“Keep this wet little pussy ready for me,” he murmured. “No touching. No coming. Save every drop for Daddy.”
Then he stepped back, adjusted the obvious bulge in his jeans, and walked out of the garage like nothing happened.
I stood there shaking, dress rumpled, thighs slick, clit throbbing so hard it hurt. The party noise rushed back in—laughter, clinking bottles, my dad calling someone’s name.
I smoothed my dress down with trembling hands
, forced a smile, and stepped back into the sunlight.
But inside I was burning.
Because tonight?
I was sneaking out.
And when I did, I was going to let my daddy's best friend fuck me like the desperate little slut I had always been for him.
I couldn’t fucking wait.