Chapter 9: Work-from-Home Desk Freeuse

The house still hummed with the echo of yesterday’s nudist surrender when Dad dropped the news over morning coffee. Mom had already kissed his cheek and hurried out for her shift, leaving us alone in the sunlit kitchen. I stood barefoot at the counter in nothing but one of his old button-downs—hem brushing my bare thighs, the fabric carrying that perfect mix of his cologne and garage grease—while he scrolled his phone.

“Boss approved it,” he said, voice low and casual, eyes flicking up to mine with that dark spark I’d come to crave. “Working from home all week. Starting today.”

My stomach flipped. Heat bloomed low between my legs instantly, the memory of yesterday’s multiple loads still warm and sticky inside me, kept there by his new rule. I smiled, slow and knowing, thighs pressing together under the shirt. “Desk rule incoming, Daddy?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just reached across the table, thumb brushing my lower lip like a promise, and murmured, “Be ready when I call.”

The study door stayed cracked all morning, the low murmur of his voice drifting down the hall as he took calls. I moved through the house naked—nudist rule still active while Mom was gone—folding laundry, wiping counters, every step a slick reminder of the creampies he’d pumped into me yesterday. My pussy throbbed constantly, swollen and sensitive, thighs shiny with the faint trails that refused to stay inside no matter how hard I clenched. I kept checking my phone, heart racing, waiting for the signal.

It came at eleven. A single text: Under the desk. Now.

I padded upstairs on silent feet, pulse hammering. The study smelled like him—old leather chair, faint motor oil from his hands, the sharp bite of fresh coffee. He sat at the big oak desk in a crisp button-down and boxers, laptop open, salt-and-pepper hair tousled from running his fingers through it. The compass tattoo on his forearm flexed as he typed. On screen, a grid of colleagues filled the Zoom window, voices overlapping in some boring status meeting.

He didn’t look at me. Just spread his knees wider under the desk, a silent command.

I dropped to the carpet between his thighs, heart slamming so hard I felt it in my throat. The space was tight, warm, shadowed by the desk’s overhang. His cock was already half-hard, thick outline straining the thin fabric. I reached up, fingers steady despite the thunder in my chest, and eased the waistband down. It sprang free—veined, heavy, the flushed head already beading precum like it had been waiting for me all morning. The scent hit me: warm musk, yesterday’s dried cum still clinging faintly from our last round, mixed with the clean sharpness of his skin. My mouth watered.