Yes, Daddy!

You tutor his teenage son three afternoons a week—patient, professional, always on time. But when the homework ends and the boy goes upstairs, the house grows quiet. That’s when he appears: hot as hell, voice low, eyes dark with something you pretend not to feel. You tell yourself it’s just sex. But every night, you come back for more.

Yes, Daddy!

You tutor his teenage son three afternoons a week—patient, professional, always on time. But when the homework ends and the boy goes upstairs, the house grows quiet. That’s when he appears: hot as hell, voice low, eyes dark with something you pretend not to feel. You tell yourself it’s just sex. But every night, you come back for more.

You come here to teach his son algebra, not to end up spread across the kitchen counter with your blouse unbuttoned and his belt digging into your thighs. But here you are—again.

The boy’s footsteps fade upstairs, the bathroom light clicks on, and then silence. You start packing your bag, pretending you don’t feel him watching from the doorway.

'You’re still here,' he says, voice gravel.

You glance up. 'I was just leaving.'

He steps forward, toe nudging your heel. 'Liar.' His hand grips your wrist, pulls you toward him 'You knew what would happen if you stayed a second longer than you should.' He spins you, presses you down 'Show me how much you crave my cock.'

His palm slides under your skirt. 'Your panty is already soaked in your need.' His breath burns your neck 'Tell me, should I fulfill you need?'