Filed to story: Help! I’m Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend Novel Free
I’ve wanted to f**k him since I turned seventeen. Or rather, I’ve wanted him to f**k me since I turned seventeen.
But I became interested in him long before then, I guess…actually from the moment I learned about s*x and of all the neat little things I could do with my p**sy. Like having a cock shoved into it. Or fingers. Or a dildo.
I’ve always found creative ways to sate my raunchy curiosity. And now, at eighteen, I still want to do the nasty with Mr. Collins, my need rising higher every time he swings by the house.
Mr. Chris Collins is my dad’s best friend and an Army buddy from way back. My dad resigned his commission years ago, but Mr. Collins had stayed in, doing the whole special commando thing. He’s all macho, complete with black face paint and sneaking around in the middle of the night to kill bad guys. He’s able to survive solely on grass and insects or something.
He’s not handsome by today’s standard…not a lanky guy in skinny jeans and that whole androgynous thing going on. He’s manly and there’s just something about him that makes me wet each time he comes within an arm’s length, causing my body to quiver with need. Maybe it’s his toned, muscled body, his soul-melting eyes or his big dick (which I can easily spot when he wears his jogging suit). Either way, I want to jump his bones. Seriously. Hard core.
Of course Mr. Collins isn’t interested in me. Or at least pretends he isn’t.
To him, I’m just his best friend’s little girl. Even though in the past four years I’ve grown from a stick figure into a fully developed young woman. I have a pair of firm D-cup breasts that I love to stroke and fondle when I masturbate and a shapely ass that all of my friends envy. Boys always want to grab my behind, and older perverts can’t seem to keep their gazes off it when I walk by. I’m not a slut, but I like to tease. Okay, maybe that nudges me closer to being slutastic, but I’m very selective about who I sleep with. I don’t f**k losers and I’ve always been interested in older guys.
What can I say? They’re more experienced in bed. There’s more to s*x than just sticking your dick in the wet hole and jiggling it in and out. They know how to eat a woman properly, how to make a round of s*x last long into the night. Unlike some boys I’ve f**ked. A few jabs and they came all over me. Ugh. And Mr. Collins, the object of my desire, is the only one I can’t seem to lure into playing choo-choo into my panties.
But it doesn’t stop me from wanting him.
Mr. Collins got divorced a couple years ago. The gossip is his wife left him because she couldn’t take being alone all the time. Which is bull crap. Mr. Collins was often deployed to different countries at moment’s notice, but he’d never left his wife for longer than a few months.
I heard rumors that Amanda, cheated on him all the time. People talked. I caught my mom gabbing to her friends on the phone about the way Amanda would screw anything that had a cock. From the delivery guy, to the sleazy bar owner on King Street and a stripper with a strap-on. I couldn’t understand what kind of woman would want to divorce a man like Mr. Collins.
Dumb bitch, apparently.
I did a high-five in secret when I heard the news Amanda had served Mr. Collins with divorce papers. It had given me the edge I needed to seduce him. I didn’t know how and when, but I knew someday he would be mine.
For the last couple of months, I’ve sent him signals. Dad always invites him over for dinner every Sunday night if he is in the country, or when my dad and his friends play poker. Mr.
Collins always does his best to ignore me, but the guy is lonely. I know it. I can see it in his eyes, eating away at him. His cock seems to be fighting with his brain whenever I drop my hints, though. Twitching and filling when I lean too close.
He has to think I’m untouchable. Being his friend’s daughter and all.
My dad doesn’t approve of me dressing like a whore. (His words, not mine.) And I don’t need to. I can get any guy, even in my Sunday best and covered from head to toe. I just graduated from a good Catholic school and I used to wear the standard plaid uniform-a short skirt and a fitted, white blouse. When Mr. Collins would come over to the house during the day, I would exchange my white bra for a black one and undo the first three buttons of my shirt, so he could see the tanned line of my cleavage. He always averted his gaze as if he were being chastised by an invisible nun.
Or if he came at night, I would change into my tight jogging suit that outlined the shape of my body. Especially my firm little ass. I liked to wiggle it suggestively whenever he glanced in my direction. And he would always blush.
Kind of adorable. To see a grown man blush.
But what I like even more was to see a grown man cry. Whenever I ride a guy’s dick hard and have him under me, sobbing in pleasure, it makes me feel strong and powerful. Like a goddess.
Two weeks ago, my parents talked about sending me to Brown University. With my good grades and the credits I’d earned, my acceptance had been a slam dunk. My mom and dad attended the school way back when, meeting in their first year, and they’d decided they wanted me to follow in their footsteps.
I didn’t mind. But I had a little unfinished business.
Mr. Chris Collins. I wanted to have him before I left for college.
Since Mr. Collins had always ignored my hints, I’d decided I’m the one who was going to make the first move. I’d seduce him if I had to.
This afternoon, I have the house all to myself.
My dad and mom are at a charity event at the country club. Done with cleaning my room and fresh from the shower, I glance out the window and spot Mr. Collins’s car parked in front of the garage. Just my luck, the man of my smutty fantasies is here to return my dad’s lawnmower.
Within seconds, I pull a pink tank top over my head, no bra, white panties and cap off the outfit with a matching mini skirt. A quick brush of my hair and then I head down, barely able to contain my excitement, anticipation rising, p**sy growing heavy and aching with each step.
Mr. Collins hoisted the lawn mower into the garage when he saw me coming from the nearby kitchen door, taking one look at me before averting his gaze.
“Hey, Harper. Your dad at home?”
I saunter leisurely, putting an extra sway in my hips. “No. Dad and Mom went to Crown Point. They won’t be back until late.”
“Oh, okay. Then I’ll just put this here. Tell your dad I cleaned it up and changed the oil.
This mower was due for some maintenance.”
“Sure. Um, Mr. Collins,” I pout, nibble my lower lip and toy with the edge of my shirt. “I wonder if you could give me a hand.”
Now he looks at me, those deep brown eyes seem to be filled with concern and a little something else. “What’s the problem?”
“I did something stupid with my bathroom sink. It won’t drain, so I used a wire hanger to try and clean it up. The darn thing broke in the middle and I can’t use the sink at all. Dad told me to leave it alone so he could fix it tomorrow. But I was impatient and did the pokey thingy again.” I tangle my fingers together in front of me, which just manages to create more cleavage for Mr. Collins to ogle. “Now the pipe underneath is leaking all over. I thought, maybe, you could help fix it? Dad is going to have a fit when he finds out I made it worse.”
His eyebrow arches a fraction. “Kids,” he mutters. “When are they ever going to listen?”
He nods. “I’ll just grab a toolbox from my trunk and see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Mr. Collins. I appreciate it.” I flash him my biggest, most innocent-looking smile.