Fucking Daddy

AUSTIN AND I FUCKED on the beach, then we came back to the villa and fucked again. We ate lunch, sprawled on the couch watching some spy TV show about a woman who was a double agent for the CIA and some off-the-books outfit that was pretending to be part of the CIA—then we fucked again. We ate dinner, went for a swim, took showers in the pool house, and we fucked in there too. It was like these raw primal urges that kept coming over us. He was a neodymium magnet and I was something metallic, and whenever we orbited too close together we crashed together in a flurry of kisses and we ended up fucking.

It was like we knew Daddy was coming home soon and we wanted to get as much alone time as we could. And I’m not exactly sure when or why it became such a big secret. I mean, the staff had to know—we weren’t exactly trying to be inconspicuous about it. Like when we were watching TV, Francesca came in to dust the drapes or something and Austin was using his foot to massage my dick over my briefs and I was just moaning like it was no big deal.

I wondered if they would tell Daddy what we’d been doing. That he’d been gone less than two days and we had defiled every square inch of this villa. Or is this the kind of staff that know how to keep secrets and mind their own business. And since Austin was verse too, we took turns fucking each other. But it still felt like we were breaking some unwritten commandment.

The next day, while eating breakfast, we both look up from our plates when our phones ping simultaneously. We were sitting at the bar in the kitchen, forks halfway to our mouths, and both look at our phones, then at each other’s screens. Daddy was coming back. His ETA: 45 minutes. The notification hung on both our screens like the ticking clock from 24, and we were Jack Bauer which meant we had to act fast. Austin and I look at each other and grin mischievously, a spark of excitement and urgency passing between us.

“We could do a lot in 45 minutes,” he says, his voice low and suggestive like he needed my permission before he would act.

“You read my mind,” I say, already pushing my chair back away from the bar.

We abandon the plates; eggs and toast half-eaten, coffee still steaming and run upstairs to Austin’s room, taking the steps two at a time. His room looks better than mine, like he actually lives in it as opposed to the aesthetic I was going for... un-lived in Airbnb. His space has personality: pictures on the walls, clothes draped over a chair, books stacked on the nightstand, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air. It feels real, lived-in, warm.

As soon as we get in the room, he shuts the door behind us and immediately wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. Our bodies press together, and I can already feel the heat from his body. We kiss all over each other’s bodies, hungry and desperate, knowing we don’t have all the time in the world and we’ve got to be judicious. I start at his neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there, and work my way down to his clavicle, tracing it with my tongue. Then to his pecs, firm and defined under my lips, his nipple which hardens as I lick over it slowly, like I want to savor the moment. I reach down and feel the bulge in his briefs, already growing.

Fuck. I love his cock. I love it even more when it’s inside my mouth or ass. A moan escapes his mouth and I go back to his nipple, wanting to hear more of those sounds. I suck on it harder this time and then lick over it a few times, circling it with my tongue.

“Mmhmm, fuck, fuck,” he moans, his voice thick with pleasure, his hands gripping my shoulders.

I keep massaging his cock through the fabric, feeling it pulse and grow under my palm until it’s nice and hard. The stiffness inside the fabric is undeniable, straining against the material. I can feel every ridge, every vein through the thin cotton.

“Someone’s excited,” I say.