Oops! I Sexted My Boyfriend's Daddy

Three months of absolute drought will make a woman do things she’d normally consider beneath her.

I laid back on the sheets, completely naked, staring up at the ceiling fan while my hand worked lazily between my thighs.

My skin was slick with coconut oil, glowing under the hue of my bedside lamp. Beside me, my phone propped up against a stack of hardcover books, the camera angled straight down at the wet slit parted wide.

I had been dating Tristan for over two years, and somewhere along the line, the fire had turned to damp ashes. He was always tired, always buried in junior exec tasks for his father’s empire, and whenever we actually ended up under the covers, it was three minutes of clumsy pumping before he rolled over and snored.

Tonight, I was determined to fix it. Or at least force some life into him.

I took a high-angle shot capturing my flushed cheeks, my oiled breasts, and my glistening center. I sent it straight to Tristan’s private chat.

Iris: Look what’s waiting for you. I’m so fucking wet, Tristan. Talk dirty to me.

Two gray checkmarks turned blue. Seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.

Tristan: damn babe. looks good.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Looks good? A dog looked good. A pizza looked good.

I had my legs spread wide enough to invite a wrecking ball and all he could muster was four words without a single capital letter.

I pressed the microphone icon, recording breathy whimpers as I rubbed two fingers over my hood.

"Tristan, please... I need to hear you. Tell me what you'd do if you were here right now. My hands aren't enough… I'm literally leaking all over the bed for you..."

The message delivered. I watched the screen, letting out a soft gasp as two knuckles slid into my pussy. I was so aroused it ached.

Tristan: id touch it. yeah.

Tristan: so hot.

Five minutes later, more replies.

Tristan: wrking late on dck... tired as hell.

Tristan: sjut wait till tmrw bb.

Tristan: zzz...

My jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. He had fallen asleep???

In the middle of me stripping naked, begging him for some masculine attention??

The humiliation hit first, followed immediately by a wave of furious adrenaline.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I didn't care if it made me look crazy. I spammed his call button, but all calls went to voicemail. I sent three furious texts in rapid succession:

Iris: Are you serious right now?!

Iris: You fell asleep while I’m lying here begging for you?

Iris: Pick up the goddamn phone, Tristan!

I dialed a fourteenth time, ready to scream the house down the second he picked up. It rang out to the very end and cut off.

I threw my head back against the pillows, tears of pure sexual frustration burning behind my eyelids. My lower belly was tied in violent, aching knots. I couldn't even enjoy touching myself anymore; the anger had completely poisoned the mood.

Then, my phone screen flashed.

An incoming video call from Tristan.

"Oh, now you're awake," I hissed under my breath.

Aggressively I swiped the green icon and propped the phone again so he'd see exactly what he had neglected.

"Do you have any idea how pathetic it is that I have to—" The words died in my throat.

The room on the other end wasn't Tristan's bedroom nor his office I was familiar with. The backdrop was framed in mahogany, leather armchairs, and the glow of a floor-to-ceiling study.

And the man holding the phone wasn't Tristan.

The camera was angled from the chest down, showing a broad-shouldered silhouette clad in an unbuttoned charcoal dress shirt. A dusting of silver and dark hair peppered a hard muscled chest.

But what made the air leave my lungs completely was what his large hand was wrapped around; a cock.

Thick and definitely heavy, dark with bulging veins, stretching an impossible length.

Right through the thickest part of the head glinted a barbell piercing. Pre-cum was already beading at the tip, smearing across the steel as his hand stroked slowly.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I couldn't draw breath. I scrambled to pull the sheets over my body—

"Don't you dare cover up, little girl." The gravelly baritone tore through the speaker, sending vibrations straight down my spine that struck a match between my thighs.

"W-Who... who is this?" I stammered, tiny, terrified, and utterly exposed. "Where's Tristan?"

The camera shifted slightly as the man leaned forward in his leather chair. The face remained completely cast in shadow, but his heavy breathing was loud through the speaker.

"My idiot son passed out across his desk and left his phone buzzing," the hand on the screen never stopped pumping that pierced shaft as it spoke. "And when I picked it up to shut it off... what do I find?"

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, making the hairs on my arms stand up.

"A gorgeous, desperate little thing with her legs wide open, whimpering into voice notes because a weak boy doesn't know what to do with a real woman.

I listened to every single sound you made, princess. I saw every line of that dripping slit."

My face burned with a wildfire of shame, but my pussy betrayed me instantly, clenching down hard and sending a warm gush of slickness down my inner thighs.

"Put your hands where I can see them," he commanded.

“I… T-The… but Tristan… I don't know…” I knew I wanted to say something, but nothing coherent was forming.

"Right now. Show Daddy where it aches."

I should hang up. This was sick, twisted, and dangerously forbidden.

But looking at that cock on the screen, listening to that commanding voice strip away every ounce of my control, my hands moved entirely on their own. I let go of the sheets, parting my knees wider until the camera had an unobstructed view of my folds.

"Good girl," his tone softened with rich, possessive praise that hit me harder than a physical touch. "Now take two fingers and slide them through that juice. Let me see how hungry you are..."

I dipped my fingers into my slickness, whimpering softly as I rubbed my swollen clit.

"No, princess…" his breaths hitched as he pumped his shaft faster. "That’s not how I want you to move your hands.

Slow it down. Rub circles right on the tip... just like that..."

My fingers circled exactly the way he’d ordered, while my other hand fisted the sheets. Every pass of my fingertips sent fresh pulses of wetness down my ass. The camera caught all of it.

Meanwhile, his hand slowed on his cock to squeeze just beneath the piercing until a clear bead slid down the shaft.

“Slide two fingers in. Now.”

I obeyed. The stretch burned for half a second before pleasure drowned it.

“Fuck—yes. Just like that. Keep those legs open for me. Wider. I want to see that pretty cunt swallowing your fingers while you think about this cock.”

The words landed like a hand around my throat. My walls fluttered hard me. I was so close already it hurt.

“That’s my girl,” this time, less commanding and almost conversational, as if he weren’t stroking himself with the same ruthless control he used on me. “Now fuck yourself the way you wish I was fucking you. Harder… I can't hear how wet you are...”

I gave him exactly that. The wet, shameless noises of my fingers driving into my pussy filled the quiet room. My free hand slid up to pinch one oiled nipple, then the other, the sting sharpening every pulse between my legs.

His breathing stuttered once, then his voice dropped even lower.

“Come for me, princess. Right fucking now. Let me see it.”

And I did. A broken cry tore out of me as my walls clamped down in rhythmic spasms, soaking my fingers, the sheets, everything. I kept my legs spread the entire time so he could watch every tremor, every gush.

I collapsed back, and the aftershocks rolled through me in lazy waves while I watched the screen, waiting for him to paint it white.

With the way he was stroking that thing now, I knew it was a matter of seconds before he burst out.

His hips shifted restlessly in the leather chair, thighs flexing hard. Another rough breath hissed through his teeth. “Shit… look at you… still dripping for me—”

His fist sped up even more. The camera shook slightly with the force of his movements. I could see the muscles in his forearm jumping, the way his whole body tensed like he was fighting not to tip over the edge.

“Don’t… don’t you fucking clean up,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Leave it—messy. Leave that pretty cunt open and wet for me—ahh, fuck—”

The screen went black.

Dude literally hung up on me at the best moment!