Moon Struck Love

Chapter 1

Oak Table Trigger

He’s watched her bend over that oak table too many times. Now, with her bare feet on the tile and her shirt riding up, he takes her right there—hard, possessive, and relentless. She calls him Daddy, and he gives her everything, from the counter to the floor, until she’s begging for more.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d watched her lean across the kitchen counter, her hips shifting beneath that thin fabric she wore around the house, and imagined bending her flat over the table. The image had burned itself into him so many times that the edge of that oak table had become a trigger — he couldn’t sit at it for breakfast without his knuckles whitening around his coffee mug.

She was standing there now, bare feet on the cool tile, reaching for something in the cabinet above. The hem of her shirt rode up the curve of her lower back. He set his mug down. The ceramic hit the granite harder than he intended.

She glanced over her shoulder.

He crossed the distance in three strides. His hand found the small of her back and pressed her forward. Her palms caught the table’s surface, fingers splaying across the wood grain. His other hand gripped her hip, yanking her back against him in one firm pull. She gasped — a sharp, startled sound that melted into something lower when his palm came down on her ass. He struck her cheek again, watching the flesh ripple and redden under his hand. She moaned, her back arching, pushing herself toward him.

He yanked her shorts down. No underwear beneath — just her, wet already, her slick coating his fingers when he dragged two of them through her folds. She was gushing. Her sticky arousal ran down his knuckles and dripped onto the table leg beneath them. He spread her wider and pushed his cock against her entrance, the thick head parting her swollen lips. She was tight. He drove forward anyway, burying himself to the hilt in one long thrust that made her fingers claw the wood.

She squeezed around him. Her walls gripped his shaft like a fist, fluttering and clenching as she squirmed. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a rhythm that matched the hard, urgent beat of his own pulse. Each downstroke met her rolling hips — she was backing into him, taking him deeper, her wet pussy slurping around his dick with every thrust.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back. “Take it,” he said. Her moan cracked into a whimper. He felt her clench again, felt the sudden hot rush of her squirting around his cock, her cum splashing against his thighs and dripping down the table legs. She was covering him in her sticky love, and the wetter she got, the harder he drove into her.

He didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Every thrust buried him deeper, his cock throbbing against her cervix, her pussy fighting back — gripping and spasming, trying to push him out — while he refused to relent. He pounded harder, hitting her upstroke with his down, breaking through her resistance until she was shaking, her legs trembling, her moans dissolving into broken syllables.

He flipped her onto her back on the table. Her legs fell open. He grabbed her ankles and spread her wider, pushing her knees toward her shoulders. She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth open, her chest heaving. He watched his cock slide into her — inch by inch — until her pussy swallowed him to the base. She gripped him again. He pulled out slowly, feeling her walls drag along his shaft, then drove back in hard enough to scoot the table an inch across the tile.

Her breasts bounced with every thrust. He grabbed them, kneading the soft flesh, pinching her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She arched into his hands, her pussy clenching tighter. He pulled her down to meet his thrusts, yanking her hips against him so she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t escape the depth he was reaching. Each upstroke dragged her closer. She squirted again — a hot gush that soaked his cock and balls, running down between her ass cheeks and pooling on the wood beneath her.

He was cumming with her. His cock swelled inside her, pulsing as he emptied the first thick rope of his load deep in her pussy. She felt it — her eyes went wide, then rolled back — and she clenched hard, milking him, her spasming walls pulling every drop from him. He kept thrusting through his orgasm, pumping more cum into her, refusing to stop until she gripped him and begged.

“Daddy,” she gasped. “Daddy, please —”

He pulled out. His cock, slick with their combined cum, hung thick and heavy between them. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her off the table, guiding her to her knees. She opened her mouth without hesitation. He pushed his cock past her lips, over her tongue, and against the back of her throat. She gagged, her throat convulsing around his head, and he groaned at the tight, wet grip of her tonsils massaging his shaft.

He held her head and thrust deeper. Her chin pressed against his balls, her tongue dragging along the underside of his cock as he fucked her mouth. She slid her hands up his thighs, gripping his hips, and shoved her face forward, taking him deeper than he thought she could. Her throat bulged around his girth.

He came again. His cock pulsed against her tongue, shooting thick ropes of cum down her throat. She swallowed, her throat working around him, sucking more of it back out as she pulled back for air, then dove down again. She wanted him hard again. She wanted more.

He pulled her up and laid her on her back on the table again, this time hanging her head off the edge. He stood over her face and slid his cock down her throat from above, watching her throat stretch around him. His balls rested against her nose, her tongue flicking against his sac as he stroked into her mouth. She was upside down, her pussy glistening and clenching around nothing, and he reached down and shoved two fingers inside her while he fucked her throat.

She came. Her pussy clamped around his fingers, squirting onto his wrist and forearm, her moans vibrating through his cock and down into his balls. The sensation rippled through him. He came again, his cum flooding her throat, and she swallowed every pulse, her hands gripping his ass, pulling him deeper, gagging and moaning, her whole body shuddering.

He pulled out and lay back on the table, pulling her on top of him. She straddled him, her dripping pussy hovering over his cock. She grabbed him, positioned the head at her entrance, and sank down. Her weight drove him deep. She started to ride — slow at first, then harder, her hips slamming down, her pussy gripping and releasing, her slick coating his shaft and pooling at the base.

“Ride it harder,” he said. “Ride this dick.”

She obeyed. Her ass slapped against his thighs, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back. She was slipping and sliding on him, her wet pussy making obscene sounds with every impact. She came again mid-stroke, her body seizing, her pussy clenching so hard he couldn’t move inside her. Her cum ran down his cock, his balls, pooling on his stomach.

“Daddy, I can’t—” she gasped, trying to speak through the orgasm.

He pulled her down against his chest and thrust up into her, then pushed her off. She slid off his cock, her body sliding through the mess of cum on his stomach, and he grabbed his cock and stroked twice, shooting another load across her belly, her chest, her face. She caught it on her lips, her tongue darting out to taste him.

He reached for the vibrator on the counter. She watched him with wide eyes as he pressed it against her clit and slid it inside her pussy. The buzzing filled the kitchen. Her pussy throbbed around it, the vibration reverberating down through her body to her asshole, which clenched and relaxed, wanting something inside it.

He pulled the vibrator out and pushed two fingers into her ass instead. She gasped, her pussy clenching around nothing, and he shoved his cock back into her mouth. She sucked him while he fingered her ass, her throat working around his shaft, her asshole clenching around his knuckles. He came down her throat again, his balls tightening, his cock pulsing against her tonsils.

He pulled out and flipped her over. She bent over the table again, her ass in the air, her pussy still dripping. He pressed his cock against her asshole and pushed. She screamed — a raw, hoarse sound that echoed off the kitchen tile. He drove deep, feeling her ass grip him tighter than her pussy ever had, and fucked her hard from behind.

She came. Her pussy spasmed, gushing onto the table, while her ass clenched around his cock. He came inside her, his cum filling her ass, hot and thick. He kept thrusting, hitting her spot from behind, making her cum again, her whole body shaking.

He pulled out. She collapsed onto the table, her legs giving out. He grabbed a towel, wiped himself clean, then knelt and pressed his mouth to her pussy, sucking her clit, tasting her cum and cream. She shuddered, her hands gripping his hair.

He stood and slid back into her pussy. She was on her back again, her legs spread wide, her eyes locked on his. He drove deep, watching her face as he bottomed out. Her eyes rolled back. She went limp, her body surrendering, her pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses.

“Daddy,” she whispered. “Daddy, fuck me harder. Cum in me. Make me cum.”

He thrust deeper. Her breasts bounced with every stroke. He spread her legs wider, pushing them apart, and sank into her until his cock was pressed against her cervix, his balls tight against her ass.

“Make this pussy cum, daddy,” she gasped. “It’s your pussy. Keep fucking it. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.