45. Ruined By My Father’s Best Friend II
45. Ruined By My Father’s Best Friend II
To the rest of the world, Rex Norman was the ice king himself.
He didn’t laugh at jokes unless they were dark, didn’t raise his voice unless someone needed reminding who was in charge, and never, ever let anyone see him lose control.
But deep down in his heart there was one thing on this earth that could strip away every ounce of control he had, and her name was Cherry Thompson… his best friend’s daughter.
It’s been three years now.
Three years of skipping barbecues at his best friend’s house because Cherry would be there in cut-off shorts and a bikini top, bending over to pick something up and giving him a flash of smooth thigh or the soft underside of her tits.
Three years of jerking off in the shower after every accidental glimpse, and hating himself the whole time.
He kept telling himself she was still a kid, and off-limits in every way that mattered.
But she wasn’t a kid anymore.
She was twenty, all woman, and the video burning a hole in his phone proved it.
Every time Cherry’s fingers slid out of that perfect, pink cunt, glistening with her own wetness, his cock jerked so hard it hurt.
The video was only ten minutes long, but he’d watched it twenty-three times now, thumb dragging the progress bar back to the start the second her back arched and she came with that broken little cry.
He hated himself for it.
Hated the way his mouth watered when her tits bounced.
Hated the way his balls ached like he hadn’t come in years.
Hated that the little girl he used to carry on his shoulders was now twenty and spreading herself open on his phone like a goddamn invitation.
His hand shook as he saved the video to a hidden folder (just in case she tried to delete it remotely).
Then he turned the screen off, stared at the black reflection of his own face, and told himself to stop.
He lasted four seconds.
The screen lit up again.
Cherry’s moan filled the bedroom, low and fucking slutty.
“Fuck,” he rasped, voice cracked and raw.
He stood up fast, jeans already strangling his cock.
With one swipe he mirrored the phone to the 65-inch TV on the wall opposite the bed.
The video exploded across the screen and Cherry filled the wall in crystal-clear 4K. She was naked except for a scrap of red lace barely covering the prettiest, pinkest, and wettest pussy he’d ever seen in his life.
“Fucking hell,” he growled, cock throbbing hard and tenting his jeans like a pole.
He dropped back onto the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, feet planted on the floor.
“This is so fucking depraved of me,” he muttered, but his cock was out before he could talk himself out of it—thick, ten hard inches, veins standing out angry and purple.
He shoved his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, kicked them off, spread his thighs wide like he was settling in for a long fucking war.
Grabbed the lube from the nightstand, he poured a thick stream over his shaft, and hissed the second the cool slick hit his burning skin.
He wrapped one big, tattooed hand around himself and started with slow, long pulls from root to tip, twisting at the head, letting the lube squelch loud between his fingers.
On screen, Cherry pinched her nipples, moaning soft and needy.
Rex’s breath caught in his throat.
“Fuck, look at those perfect tits,” he muttered, cock leaking as he stroked slowly.
His other hand slid up his bare chest, pinched one flat nipple hard, and rolled it until it hurt, imagining it was Cherry’s soft little mouth instead.
On the screen, Cherry spread her pussy lips wide, showed the camera every inch of that soaked, shaved heaven.
Rex’s hips jerked off the bed.
“Yes, Cherry… fuck yes… spread that pretty little cunt for me, baby.”