Chapter 17: Daddy’s Jealous Claim

Mid-week sunlight streamed through the laundry room window, warm and golden, as I stood completely naked folding Dad’s work shirts the way he liked—neat stacks, sleeves tucked just so. Mom had left for her office hours ago, the house empty except for the low hum of the dryer and the constant, delicious ache between my thighs. His loads from the morning still leaked slowly down my inner legs, warm and sticky, a reminder of the new rule we’d locked in after the pregnancy scare: keep Daddy’s cum inside me as long as possible. The nudist days when she was gone had become our normal now—skin against skin, no barriers, just his ownership every hour he wanted it.

My phone buzzed on the folding table. I glanced at the screen, expecting another filthy text from Dad at work. Instead, the name flashed: Jake. My college ex. “Hey Emma, missed you over summer. Coffee sometime when you’re back? Been thinking about you.” A casual little heart emoji. My stomach flipped—not from want, but from the sheer stupidity of it. I hadn’t answered him in months. I deleted the notification fast, heart racing.

Too late. Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, one calloused hand clamping over my mouth while the other snatched the phone from my fingers. Dad’s breath was hot against my ear, his bare chest pressed to my back, salt-and-pepper stubble scraping my neck. He must have come home early from the construction site—jeans still dusty, compass tattoo flexing on his forearm as he scrolled.

“Jake?” His voice was low, dangerous, that gravel-rough tone he only used when something was his and someone else dared to reach for it. “The ex who couldn’t even make you cum? He’s texting my babygirl?”

His free hand slid down my stomach, thick fingers dipping between my slick folds without warning, spreading the mess of his earlier creampie. I whimpered into his palm, already soaking again. He growled, eyes locked on the screen over my shoulder. “Read it out loud. Every fucking word. While I remind you who this pussy belongs to.”

I barely got the first sentence out—”Hey Emma, missed you”—before he bent me forward over the warm dryer, my tits flattening against the vibrating metal. The scent of fresh laundry mixed with his familiar cologne and garage grease flooded my nose. His belt clinked open; his thick cock—already rock-hard, veined and heavy—slammed into me in one brutal thrust, balls-deep, stretching me wide around the slick mess he’d left earlier.