Filthy Daddy Collection

Lyla had been obsessed with Mr. Alex Moore since the first day of her senior literature seminar. At twenty-one, she was a college senior finishing her degree early, but the way the other students still called him "Professor" or "Mr. Moore" made the power dynamic feel deliciously forbidden.

He was thirty-eight, tall and broad-shouldered, with neatly trimmed dark hair streaked by a few silver threads at the temples, sharp hazel eyes that seemed to see straight through every excuse, and a deep, measured voice that made her thighs clench under her desk whenever he read aloud from a poem. She spent far too many nights touching herself to fantasies of him bending her over his desk, calling her his good girl while he ruined her.

Today, she decided to stop hiding it.

The lecture hall was packed for the discussion on erotic subtext in Victorian poetry. Lyla sat in the front row, wearing a short plaid skirt that barely reached mid-thigh, thigh-high stockings with little bows at the top, and a white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show the lace edge of her bra. When Mr. Moore turned to write a quote on the board, she leaned forward, heart hammering.

"...and that brings us to the theme of forbidden desire," he said, his voice smooth.

Lyla raised her hand, but didn't wait to be called on. "So, Daddy, would you say the narrator is projecting his own repressed lust onto the subject?"

The word "Daddy" dropped like a bomb. Silence fell for half a second, then the entire class erupted in whispers, giggles, and outright laughter. Someone in the back wolf-whistled. A girl two rows behind her stage-whispered, "Oh my god, she did it."

Mr. Moore's hand froze on the whiteboard. He turned slowly, expression unreadable except for the slight flare of his nostrils and the way his jaw tightened. His eyes locked on hers, dark and intense. "Miss Reyes," he said, voice low and controlled, "see me after class."

The teasing only got worse as the period ended. "Lyla's got a crush on Daddy Moore!" someone sang. Her cheeks burned, but the heat between her legs was far stronger. She packed her bag slowly, pulse racing, and approached his desk once the room emptied.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, not looking up from the papers he was stacking. "One I won't entertain."

But his voice had a rough edge that told her otherwise.

At lunch, her friends were merciless. They crowded around her table in the campus cafe, eyes wide with glee.

"You actually called him Daddy in front of everyone?" Mia cackled. "I thought he was going to combust."

Sara leaned in. "You have to follow through now. Corner him. Make him want you so bad he can't think straight. You've been drooling over him for months. Today's the day, Lyla. Live your slutty dreams."

Lyla bit her lip, heat pooling low in her belly. "What if he rejects me?"

"Then at least you tried," Mia said, shoving her gently. "But the way he looked at you? He's not rejecting shit. Go get your Daddy, girl."

The rest of the afternoon dragged. By the time the final bell rang and students spilled into the halls, Lyla's nerves had twisted into pure, aching need. She knew his schedule - he usually stayed late grading in his office, but today she'd seen him duck into the maintenance corridor near the east wing. Perfect.

She followed quietly, heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. The janitor's closet door was slightly ajar. She slipped inside and closed it behind her with a soft click.

Mr. Moore turned sharply, a box of supplies in his hands. "Lyla - what the hell are you doing?"

The small space was dim, lit only by a single overhead bulb. Shelves of cleaning products lined the walls, leaving barely enough room for two people to stand. The scent of pine cleaner and something faintly masculine - his cologne - filled the air. She stepped closer, backing him against the shelves.

"I meant it," she whispered. "Daddy."

His breath hitched. The box slipped from his fingers and thudded to the floor. "This is inappropriate. You're my student."

"Only for a few more weeks," she breathed, rising onto her toes. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath the crisp button-down. "And I know you want me too. I see how you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."

Before he could protest again, she kissed him.

His lips were firm at first, resistant, but the moment she moaned softly into his mouth and pressed her body flush against his, he broke. One large hand came up to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair as he took control of the kiss. It was hungry, deep, his tongue sliding against hers with a groan that vibrated through her chest. He tasted like coffee and mint, and she melted against him, grinding her hips forward so her skirt rode up her thighs.

"Fuck, Lyla," he growled against her lips when they broke for air. "You have no idea what you're starting."

She smiled, wicked and sweet, and slid one hand down his stomach until she cupped the growing bulge in his slacks. He was already hard, thick and straining against the fabric. "I think I do, Daddy."

He cursed again, low and filthy, as she stroked him through his pants. She kissed him harder, nipping at his lower lip while her fingers worked his belt open. The closet was hot, the air thick. She freed his cock, wrapping her small hand around the heavy length. He was bigger than she'd imagined - velvety skin over steel, the head already leaking precum. She smeared it with her thumb and pumped him slowly, teasing.

Mr. Moore's head fell back against the shelf with a thud. His hands roamed down her back, gripping her ass and pulling her tighter against him. She rocked her hips, grinding her soaked panties against his bare thigh as she continued stroking him. The friction on her clit made her whimper.

"You're so hard for me," she purred, kissing along his jaw, down his neck. "All those times you told me to stay after class... were you thinking about bending me over your desk?"

His grip tightened on her ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You're going to get us both in trouble."

"I don't care." She sped up her hand, twisting her wrist just right at the head, then slowing again to edge him. His cock throbbed in her palm, veins pulsing. She dropped to her knees on the tiled floor, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes as she licked a long stripe up the underside of his shaft.

"Jesus Christ," he hissed, one hand fisting in her hair.

She took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head before sinking down as far as she could. The taste of him - salty, masculine - made her moan around his length. She bobbed her head, hollowing her cheeks, using her hand on what she couldn't fit. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, fucking her mouth in shallow thrusts.

Just as his breathing grew ragged and his thighs started to tremble, she pulled off with a wet pop. Strings of saliva connected her lips to his glistening cock. She stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and pressed one last teasing kiss to his lips while stroking him slowly.

"Not yet, Daddy," she whispered. "I want you to think about me all night. How wet I am for you. How badly I need this cock inside me. But not today."

She stepped back, adjusting her skirt. His eyes were wild, chest heaving, cock standing rigid and angry-red, twitching in the cool air.

"Lyla," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You can't just -"

She blew him a kiss, unlocked the door, and slipped out before he could grab her. The hallway was empty. She walked away on shaky legs, her own arousal soaking through her panties, a triumphant smile on her face.

That night, alone in her dorm, she replayed every second - his groan, the way his cock had throbbed in her hand, the desperate look in his eyes. She came twice with her fingers buried deep inside herself, moaning "Daddy" into her pillow.

She knew this was only the beginning. Mr. Alex Moore was going to break eventually, and when he did, she'd let him fuck her until she couldn't walk.