Daddys home, p.1
Daddy’s Home, page 1
Daddy’s Home
TATE MONROE
Copyright © 2022 by Tate Monroe
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For Stephanie my comma Queen!
Thank you for always checking my commas and the bane of my existence <— dialogue tags
Who’s against the Queen shall die.
LARISSA, 90 DAY FIANCÉ
Contents
Content Tropes & Tags
1. Ryan
2. Carter
3. Ryan
4. Carter
5. Ryan
6. Carter
7. Ryan
8. Carter
9. Ryan
10. Carter
11. Ryan
12. Carter
13. Ryan
Epilogue
Thanks for Reading!
Sneak Peek
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Tate Monroe
Content Tropes & Tags
Content Tropes and Tags can always be found at www.bannedbaddies.com/content
Content
Slight DubCon
Light Degradation
Blood Relations
Cheating (not between main characters)
Surprise Anal
Chapter 1
Ryan
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I pull up to my house late on a Friday night and sit in the driveway, leaning my forehead against my steering wheel, contemplating where the fuck it all went wrong. I give myself a few moments before I look up at my safe haven and notice all the lights are off, so Dad must be out somewhere. A wave of sadness hits me because while I know he wasn’t expecting me since Emilia and I are still supposed to be packing up our campus apartment, I really just want a hug from my dad.
In the middle of packing, I went on a coffee and snack run and when I got back, I saw my best friend blowing my boyfriend, Justin. I remember the look on both of their faces as I said, ‘What the fuck?’ before slamming the door and running to my car. I could hear them trying to spew excuses and I wanted none of it, the very thought of them together made me sick. How long had it been going on behind my back? I jumped in my car and silenced each call on my phone before I could finally pull over and block both of their numbers.
The drive home made me realize it wasn't even the fact that Justin was cheating on me, it’s the fact that the girl I’ve spent every moment with since freshman year betrayed me that caused the anger and hurt. What a shitty way to find out how fake that bitch is. I sigh before getting out of my car and heading toward the porch. All I want to do is go inside and fall into bed and deal with the snowball of bullshit that will follow.
One thing I know for sure is that I’m not moving into the new place. I’m just going to hang out here while figuring out my next move. Obviously moving from our campus apartment to sharing a new one in the city is no longer an option.
I just snagged an amazing internship at Harding and Lively and I know I can work remotely. Going into the office would be great for networking, but until I can get all my ducks in a row, this is the best option. I still think Dad had something to do with my job offer because there’s no way I should have gotten that entry-level position without a killer recommendation. Harding and Lively is a who-you-know type of business, where you have to rub elbows with people to get them to even look at you regardless of how impressive your resume is.
For as long as I can remember it's just been Dad and me, two peas in a pod. I’ve heard the stories of how I was dropped off on his doorstep, barely three-years-old and quiet as a mouse. A letter clutched in my hand and a small backpack with me. I don’t remember the woman who gave birth to me and raised me, if you can even call it that for my first couple of years. I remember the therapy sessions Dad made me attend in my adolescence and how my therapist said I experienced some sort of trauma that was repressed, and I may never remember. I’m perfectly content not to remember anything pre-dad as I like to call it. That man has been my rock even through my shitty teenage years when I felt the need to rebel against everything society says. I guess you could call me a bit of an anarchist in my beliefs.
After shaking the bitter childhood memories away, I head up the stairs to my teenage bedroom. I suppose the situation with Emilia and Justin triggered me more than I thought it would. Those pesky childhood abandonment issues rearing their ugly head. I haven’t spent much time at home since senior year was crunch time. Every spare moment was spent studying and making sure I finished my college career strong. Dad would actually come visit me on campus randomly throughout the year, I think I only really came home for holidays. I probably should have called or texted and let him know I was coming, but it’s not the end of the world. I’ll just see him tomorrow at some point. I need the night to deal with the mess in my head and figure out how the hell I’m going to deal with Emilia and break the lease we signed… and also explain shit to my dad without him blowing up.
I climb into bed and open up the sounds app on my phone and let the sounds of thunderstorms wash over me, releasing just enough tension in my body so I can relax. Finally, I feel myself start to be pulled under and the last thought in my head is, if nothing else, I’ll always have here.
“Shit.” I hear from downstairs and what sounds like the entrance table banging against the wall. Dad must be home and stumbling around after having a few drinks, if I had to guess. I ease out of bed before checking to make sure my tank top and sleep shorts are still on and fix the bun I had tied my hair in before bed. Shuffling down the hallway to reach the stairs so I can make sure he’s alright and doesn’t need help upstairs, I hear him mumble incoherently and then a giggle. What. The. Fuck. I know the giggle didn’t come from my dad, which means there’s a woman down there. Awkward. He must have taken a rideshare home and not noticed my car in the driveway. I think back and I don’t remember Dad ever bringing a woman home, at the very least, never when I’ve been here. I have to remind myself that he’s an adult and I’ve been at college for four years. What Dad has done since I moved out isn’t really any of my business. I subconsciously knew he hasn’t been living as a saint my entire life. He’s on the younger side of the scale as far as dads go at a whopping age of forty-five.
I pause when I’m halfway down the stairs and stoop to peer down to see Dad leaning against the wall with a redheaded woman on her knees undoing his belt. Holy Fuck. I know I should turn around and go back to my room and pretend I was never here and mind my own business, but I can’t turn away.
I feel something. It’s like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach and a tingling sensation moving throughout my body. This is wrong. Dirty. I should not be watching this. It’s something so natural and something I’ve done countless times before with a partner, but it’s my dad. I enjoy porn, I even have a bit of a voyeuristic streak to me and like seeing other couples in various acts but this… this is something I shouldn’t enjoy. What the hell am I doing? I question, but I can’t turn away and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to. I need the distraction.
I see his eyes are half closed, whether in ecstasy or drunkenness, I don’t know. It’s probably a combination of both. The woman on the ground has finally gotten his pants undone, and I hear the friction of his jeans sliding down until they sit straining against his thighs. Jesus, when did Dad’s legs get so jacked. I let my eyes linger on his thick muscles before dragging them slowly up where his gray boxer briefs are leaving nothing to the imagination. A prominent bulge is evident, and I see the material has darkened in spots and I know he’s leaking pre-come, anticipating what’s coming next. I wonder what he thinks about during sex. Does he think about the person he’s with? Does he fantasize about someone else?
“Oh yum!” An exuberant shriek comes out of the woman’s mouth and her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. She sounds like a total airhead and if this is Dad’s standard choice in women, then we need to have a heart-to-heart. Something tells me he chooses a woman that he won’t make any real connection with. Call it a hunch or sixth sense but considering there’s been no relationship I’ve ever known about, I think my dad is just a permanent bachelor. The annoying voice doesn’t stop me from looking at what made her exclaim and fuck me, I can see my dad’s cock. I can say without a doubt that Justin has nothing compared to this one. Justin’s dick was on average a solid six, but on the thinner side and his balls were lackluster. I can’t help but compare the two, despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t. I’m not even up close and personal and can see that this cock is at least eight inches and his ballsack looks heavy. My mouth waters imagining feeling a heavy sack on my tongue and in my mouth. I’ve always had a fascination with the smooth skin around the spherical shape and running my tongue right over the seam and watching men twitch and moan.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I’ve suspended my reality and forgotten to feel disgusted because this is my dad I’m seeing and fantasizing about. I want to shake myself out of it, turn around and tell myself this is because Justin and I clearly are through, and I feel horny. I don’t know when the last time I’ve had an orgasm I didn’t give myself. If I am being honest, I know that blame cannot solely lay with the Justin situation and my lack of great sex. Instead, I have to admit that the fact that I’ ve always had an unusual attraction to my dad plays a larger part. At six-five with dark brown hair and bright green eyes, he’s an imposing figure. He can both terrify you and protect you at any given moment. I just always felt like it was something all daughters may have felt about their dads before they grew out of it. I never had the courage to voice it to any of my friends and to gauge if they felt the same way on the off chance, it was just me all twisted up, and I didn’t need rumors going around about me and my dad. I couldn’t lose him, and I knew if rumors got around while I was younger, then Social Services would get involved. I didn’t want to hurt my dad or his business either, so I just kept everything bottled up and pushed deep down. My therapist would call that unhealthy coping mechanisms relating to your childhood.
“If you don’t quit fucking playing with it in those short little licks and suck my cock, I’m going to hold your head and skull fuck you until you gag like the fucking slut you are.” I hear my dad say in barely restrained anger mixed with lust. I should be offended at how he just spoke to a woman, but all I can think about is I want someone to call me their fucking slut and fuck my mouth. I feel my pussy tighten around nothing, clenching and unclenching with the need to be filled. My panties are damp, and I can feel my wetness seeping through my sleep shorts. I’m not sure where he picked her up from, but she’s lapping at his dick like a cat drinking water, and it’s no wonder he’s getting annoyed. I can’t help but imagine if it was me on my knees before my dad. I would look up at him through hooded eyes and beg him to fuck my throat as hard as he wanted, and then I’d ask for even more. It would be an honor to gag on his dick and be his plaything.
My thoughts are cut off as she finally starts sucking his cock and I watch as she decides to use her hands to make up for the fact she can’t fit as much of him into her mouth, and I wonder what he’s thinking and feeling. Even though her performance is lacking, I can’t help but feel my nipples pebble and my stomach muscles tighten as I softly brush my right hand down between my breasts leading straight to the waistband of my shorts. I try to restrain myself but fail as I dip one finger between the band and the soft skin underneath and just move that finger back and forth over my pubic area. I can’t tear my eyes away from his face, the tightening of his jaw, the way his eyelids flutter and the crinkle of skin at the corner of his eyes like he’s concentrating. Is it because he doesn’t want to come yet or because he’s trying to come and get this shitty blowjob over with?
I continue to tease myself as I watch for a few more minutes before he groans deeply, and I watch as his hips still and he grabs ahold of her hair to hold her in place as he comes. She grimaces and I assume it’s because she’s a spitter. He holds her until she’s forced to swallow and then pats her cheek before letting go and pulling his dick out of her mouth. I watch as strings of spit and come stretch between both of them until they finally dissolve the connection.
“Gosh Carter, your dick felt so good in my mouth. I can’t wait to feel it inside of me.” She squawks before trying to get up off the floor. Did she really just say gosh?
Holy shit, he’s still hard and the way his boxer briefs are pulled to just right underneath his balls has me actually drooling. The tight material has everything pushed up, begging to be handled. I just want to run my tongue over every visible piece of him and feel him shudder beneath me. This is my favorite thing to do. I watch as he slowly pulls the material back over his dick and slides his jeans up but leaves them unbuttoned and his belt undone.
“Sorry Kristen, I’m gonna have to take a rain check and get you a rideshare home but you were great. Top 10 in blowjobs I’ve had. You should be proud,” he says with a patronizing smirk, and she’s too fucking dumb to pick up on it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my dad is a fuck boy. He’s on his phone, so I know he’s already called for the rideshare and usually they are quick to arrive.
“Oh stop, Carter. I’d love to see you soon.”
“Of course, Red. I’ll be texting you so we can link up.” Any woman with a fraction of common sense knows this is code for you’ll never hear from me again.
I watch as he opens the front door after glancing back at his phone, presumably seeing the notification from the driver that they are here and guides her with his hand between her shoulder blades to the waiting car and opens the door. From the stairs I can see directly out of the open front door as she gazes at him with stars in her eyes. I chuckle at her naivete.
I watch as Dad walks back inside and heads for the wet bar, he has set up running alongside the living room wall. He pours himself two fingers worth of whatever expensive whiskey he’s got stocked currently. The man rotates his fine whiskey, I can never keep track of what his current flavor is, but one thing that never changes is that it’s expensive and he savors it on his tongue before swallowing. I should head back to my room before he comes upstairs, but I feel myself frozen and enamored with watching his every move. I’ve never felt this way about a man before and certainly never seen my dad in a sexual aspect as a grown woman.
He moves to sit on the couch, so I’m safe from being caught for at least a few more minutes as he leans his head back and closes his eyes. I see and hear the exhale that leaves his mouth as if he’s got a weight on his shoulders. I wish I could make myself known and help alleviate whatever is plaguing him. Minutes pass and I feel a bit like a creep just watching him and with the even breaths he’s exhibiting, I’m pretty sure he’s fallen asleep on the couch.
Should I creep down and take the lowball glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table? As this thought crosses my mind, I watch as he raises his hand and puts the glass on the end table instead. He’s definitely awake as I watch him drag the zipper back down on his jeans and palm his dick.
Oh fuck, is he about to jack off? If he does, I’m going to be so fucked.
He lifts his hips from the couch, and I watch as he drags both his jeans and underwear down until both are pooling at his feet. He toes off his shoes and shakes the material off both legs until he’s completely naked from the waist down, and the only thing left on him is his black t-shirt and his watch. Dad’s watch is one of my favorite things about him, it’s not a Rolex like many people would assume a man like him would wear but a Piaget Polo Skeleton watch and while an expensive piece, it’s unusual and not something commonly seen. He spreads his legs and I have a view of everything, and my eyes can’t decide what to focus on first. The choice is taken from me when his left hand with that damn watch I love cups his balls and he rolls the heavy sack across his palm back and forth. The watch rests on his inner thigh and all I can picture is feeling the cool metal on my skin with the crown, leaving an indentation. I feel my legs press together, hoping to relieve some of the ache coursing through my pussy, but I know it’s a lost cause. My need won’t just go away on its own.
Dad is still caressing his balls when he takes his shaft in the other hand and starts stroking the hard flesh with a harsh grip. I can see his knuckles turning white, so the amount of pressure he is exerting has to be intense. Up and down, over, and over at various speeds until he finally swipes his thumb across the top of his slit, gathering what pre-come is spilling out. The head is a reddish purple and engorged and I can just imagine having him smack me in the face with it. It feels like he’s punishing himself, but I am unable to look away as the next few minutes go by. I watch as his left hand dips down below his balls and he starts stroking the soft flesh between the sack and his asshole. I’ve never much looked at men’s assholes, but his looks soft and smooth and dusty rose in color. I know how sensitive I am there, so I imagine it’s the same for men.
