It was Sunday evening, and tomorrow morning my mom would be home.

Doug set his coffee down and looked at me, steady and quiet. “One last night. Let’s make it count.”

I nodded, throat tight. He kissed my forehead, grabbed his keys, and left. The second the truck rumbled away, I ran upstairs.

I locked the bathroom door and shaved until my skin tingled—legs, chest, the faint trail below my navel. In Mom’s drawer I found the set she’d bought for their anniversary and never worn: black lace corset, sheer panties, stockings with tiny satin bows. The corset cinched my waist; the panties framed my ass. In the mirror I looked like someone else—smooth, flushed, cock already straining.

I arranged myself on the couch: one leg hooked over the back, the other stretched along the cushions, corset half-laced so my chest spilled over the top. My heart hammered.

Keys rattled. The door opened.

“Honey, I’m home!”

The words made my pulse leap. “In here, baby.”

Groceries hit the floor with soft thuds. Doug stepped into the living room and froze. His jaw dropped; his eyes went dark.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed. “You trying to kill me?”

The bulge in his jeans answered. I crooked a finger. “Knees.”

He crossed the room and sank without hesitation. I cupped his chin, tilted his face up, and kissed him—slow, deep, tongue sliding against his. When I pulled back he was trembling.

“You’re mine tonight,” I whispered.

“Always.”

I spread my legs wider. “Suck.”

His hands reached for the lace; I smacked them away. “Teeth.”

He grinned, leaned in, and dragged the panties down with his teeth. My cock sprang free. He licked a slow stripe from base to tip, teasing the slit until I whimpered, then swallowed me to the root. His throat fluttered; I moaned, fingers knotting in his hair as he bobbed—deep, messy, relentless. He pulled off with a wet pop, tongue swirling the head, then took me again, nose pressed to my pelvis. I felt him gag, felt the vibration, and nearly came.

His hands hooked under my thighs, folding me back until my knees touched my shoulders. My dominance melted. He dragged his tongue down my balls, over my taint, and speared my hole with a hot, wet thrust. I squealed, back arching. He licked inside me like he was starving—slow circles, fast flicks, long, filthy drags that curled my toes.

“God, I love the way you taste, honey,” he growled.

He stood, scooped me up like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his waist; we kissed all the way upstairs, teeth clacking, tongues sloppy. He tossed me onto the bed. I scrambled to my knees, yanked his pants down. His cock slapped heavy against his abs—thick, veined, leaking. I stroked once, twice, then flipped onto my back, head hanging off the edge.

“Use me.”

He gripped my hair and slid deep. The angle let him bottom out; I gagged, tears pricking, but took every inch. He fucked my throat in long, filthy strokes—slow at first, letting me feel every ridge, then faster, hips snapping. Spit dripped down my chin, onto my chest. My cock leaked against my stomach, untouched. He pulled out, rubbed the slick head across my lips, my cheeks, painting me with precum.

“After dinner,” he panted, tucking himself away. “You’re keeping that on.”

I giggled, breathless. “It’s Mom’s.”

He groaned. “You’re so fucking bad.”

He offered his hand. I took it. Downstairs, he cooked in black boxer briefs—ass flexing, cock bouncing with every step. I sat at the island, legs swinging, trying to focus.

“Pepper,” he said, stepping behind me. His hands slid over the corset, cock pressing against my ass. I ground the pepper while he pinched my nipples through lace, rolling them until I whimpered. The pan sizzled. Steaks went in. He set a timer and kept stroking me through the panties—slow, then fast, thumb circling the wet spot at the tip.

The timer beeped. I flipped the steaks and dropped to my knees, pulling him free. I licked a stripe up his shaft, swirled the head, then took him deep. He tasted like salt and need. I bobbed fast, hollowing my cheeks, one hand cupping his balls. He groaned, hips rocking. The second timer went off. He checked the temp—130, perfect—while my lips were still stretched around him. I pulled off with a pop, strings of spit connecting us.

We managed three bites at the table before I climbed into his lap. Plates clattered. He carried me to the couch, flipped me ass-up, and buried his face between my cheeks. His tongue speared me again—slow, then fast, then slow, until I was babbling.

“Please,” I gasped.

He grabbed the lube, slicked himself, then pressed the head of his cock against my hole. The stretch burned, perfect. He went slow, letting me adjust, then deeper, until his hips met my ass. He paused, buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he gritted.

I pushed back. “Move, Daddy.”

He did—hard, relentless. The slap of skin filled the room. He spanked me with every thrust—sharp, stinging, perfect. My cock leaked onto the couch, untouched. He reached around, jerked me in time with his hips. I was close—

He pulled out, sat back, cock glistening. “Ride me.”

I straddled him, sank down inch by inch. We both shook. He gripped my hips, guiding me as I bounced—slow, then fast, grinding on every downstroke. He jerked me, thumb swiping the head. I leaned back, hands on his thighs, riding hard.

“Cum on me, honey.”

I did—shooting across his chest, his chin, his lips. He licked it off, eyes rolling back, then gripped my hips bruisingly tight and filled me with a broken groan. Pulse after pulse, hot and thick. I kept riding, milking him dry.

After, I collapsed against him, his cum leaking down my thighs. His fingers traced lazy circles on my back.

“Mom’s home tomorrow,” I whispered.

“I know, son.” His arms tightened. “But tonight—”

“Tonight I’m yours,” I finished.

He kissed my temple. “Always, baby. Always.”

The clock read 11:47 p.m. The house was quiet except for our slowing breaths. Doug shifted beneath me, still half-hard inside, and I felt the familiar stir. I lifted my head, met his eyes—soft now, almost tender.

“One more,” I said, voice small. “Slow this time. Please.”

He smiled, the kind that crinkled his eyes, and carried me upstairs. He laid me on my back in the center of their bed, the corset still clinging to my sweat-damp skin. He peeled the stockings down inch by inch, kissing every newly bared strip of thigh. When he reached my feet he sucked each toe into his mouth, tongue swirling, until I squirmed.

He crawled up my body, kissing a path—ankles, knees, the crease where thigh meets hip. He lingered at my cock, already hard again, but only blew cool air across the tip until I whimpered. Then he kept going: belly, ribs, the lace edge of the corset. He unlaced it slowly, reverently, until my chest was free. He mouthed each nipple, gentle bites and soft licks that made me arch.

When he settled between my legs, he didn’t rush. He slicked himself again—slow, deliberate strokes that had me mesmerized—then pressed in with one long, smooth glide. No burn this time, just fullness, perfect and overwhelming. He stayed buried, forehead against mine, breathing me in.

“Love you,” he whispered, so low I almost missed it.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. “Show me.”

He did. Long, deep strokes—pulling almost all the way out, then sliding home until our hips met. Every thrust nudged that spot inside that made my vision blur. His hand found mine, fingers laced, pinning it beside my head. The other cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. We kissed through every roll of his hips—lazy, open-mouthed, tasting steak and salt and each other.

Minutes stretched. The room filled with soft sounds: the wet slide of him inside me, my breathy moans, his low groans muffled against my neck. He shifted angles until I gasped, then stayed there, grinding slow circles that had me trembling.

“Look at me,” he said.

I opened my eyes. His were dark, endless. He sped up just enough—still gentle, still deep—until I felt the coil tighten low in my belly.

“Together,” he murmured.

I nodded, frantic. He slipped a hand between us, stroked me in time with his thrusts. Three, four strokes and I was coming—quiet, shuddering, spilling over his fist and my stomach. He followed a heartbeat later, burying his face in my neck, pulsing hot and deep inside me.

We stayed locked like that, breathing syncing, hearts hammering against each other. When he finally slipped out, he didn’t move far—just rolled us so I was tucked against his chest, his cum and mine sticky between us.