Afternoon Delights: A Daddy’s Pickup
by redrumI pull up to the university's east lot in my old black pickup, the engine rumbling like it's got a grudge against the afternoon traffic. The lot's half-empty, dotted with bikes chained to racks and a
about 2 hours ago
•long read•intense intensityI pull up to the university's east lot in my old black pickup, the engine rumbling like it's got a grudge against the afternoon traffic. The lot's half-empty, dotted with bikes chained to racks and a few professors' hybrids humming away on electric. You've texted me you're done with your shift at the office, so I scan the crowd spilling out from the staff building. There you are, my Kitten, weaving through the students with your backpack slung over one shoulder, that short skirt hugging your thighs and your hair catching the late sun like it's on fire. At 23, you move like you own the place, but the second you spot my truck, your face lights up, and you quicken your step, hips swaying just enough to make my grip tighten on the wheel.
You slide into the passenger seat, dumping your bag at your feet, and lean over to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. "Hey, Daddy," you say, voice all soft and teasing, like you've been plotting this all day. I catch the faint scent of books and your vanilla lotion, and it hits me how much I need this—picking you up after your grind, bringing you back to our space. "Rough day stacking shelves?" I ask, pulling out of the lot, my hand already drifting to rest on your knee.
You laugh, kicking off your shoes and propping your feet on the dash. "Not rough, just endless. Some kid tried to check out a comic book disguised as a textbook. I almost let him." Your fingers trace lazy circles on my thigh as we merge onto the highway, the city blurring past—warehouses giving way to strip malls, then quieter suburbs. I keep one eye on the road, the other on you, the way your skirt rides up when you shift, exposing the edge of your lace panties. "You look like you need to unwind," I say, squeezing your leg. "I've got plans for you."
The drive home takes twenty minutes, but it feels longer with you fidgeting beside me, your hand inching higher until it's brushing my crotch through my jeans. I swat it away lightly. "Patience, Kitten. We're almost there." Our place is a modest ranch house on the edge of town, backed by a scruffy woods that scratches at the windows in winter. I park in the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, and you hop out before I can even kill the engine, grabbing your bag and sauntering to the door like you're daring me to chase you.
Inside, the air's cool and still, sunlight slanting through the blinds in dusty beams. I lock up behind us and turn to find you already in the kitchen, raiding the fridge for water. "Bath first," I tell you, stepping close enough to feel the heat off your body. "You're all tense. Let Daddy take care of that." You tilt your head, eyes sparkling with that mix of mischief and surrender. "Yes, sir," you murmur, setting the bottle down and following me to the bathroom.
The tub's an old clawfoot monster, big enough for two if we squeeze. I twist the faucets, hot water gushing out, steam rising fast. I grab the bubble bath from the shelf—some lavender shit you like—and dump in a generous squirt, watching the foam build like a slow-motion explosion. "Strip," I say, not looking at you yet, testing the water with my elbow. You don't hesitate; I hear the rustle of fabric, your skirt hitting the tile, then your top. When I glance over, you're naked, skin flushed from the day's warmth, nipples already perking in the humid air. Your body's a goddamn work of art—curves that fit my hands perfect, that tight ass I can't get enough of. At 52, I've got the experience to appreciate it, and you know it.
You step in first, sinking into the bubbles with a sigh that goes straight to my dick. "Fuck, this feels good," you say, leaning back, water lapping at your breasts. I undress quick—shirt, jeans, boxers pooling at my feet—and join you, the tub groaning under my weight. I settle behind you, pulling you against my chest, my legs bracketing yours. The water's hot, bordering on too much, and the bubbles cling to your skin like they're reluctant to let go. My hands start at your shoulders, kneading the knots from hours hunched over returns. "Tell me what you want, Kitten," I murmur into your ear, thumbs digging into your traps.
You arch back, your head lolling onto my shoulder, wet hair sticking to my skin. "Your hands everywhere. Make me forget about work." I oblige, sliding down to your arms, then your sides, fingers grazing the undersides of your tits. The water sloshes as I cup them, thumbs circling your nipples until they're hard peaks. You moan softly, grinding your ass against my growing erection. "That's it," I say, pinching lightly, feeling you shiver. "Let go."
The bath turns into foreplay without me even trying. I lather my hands with soap, working it over your belly, down to your thighs. You spread your legs, inviting, and I don't hold back—fingers slipping between your folds, finding you slick even under the water. "So wet already," I growl, circling your clit slow, deliberate. You buck against my hand, gasping. "Daddy, please... more." I slide two fingers inside you, curling them just right, the bubbles popping around us as you ride my palm. Your breaths come quick, tits heaving, and I kiss your neck, biting the spot that makes you whimper.
But I pull back before you tip over, not wanting you to come yet. "Not here," I say, voice rough. "Bed's waiting." You pout, but there's fire in your eyes as we climb out, water cascading off us like a private waterfall. I towel you dry roughly, paying extra attention to your pussy, rubbing until you're squirming. "On the bed, Kitten. Now."
Our bedroom's simple—king bed with rumpled sheets from this morning, a fan whirring lazily overhead. You crawl onto the mattress on all fours, ass up, giving me a view that makes my cock throb. I follow, naked and hard, grabbing lube and a silk scarf from the nightstand. "Hands," I command, and you offer your wrists, letting me bind them loosely to the headboard. Not tight enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel owned. "You like that?" I ask, trailing a finger down your spine.
"Yes, Daddy. Fuck me like this." Your voice is breathy, needy, and it snaps something in me. I kneel between your legs, spreading you wide, and bury my face in your pussy. No teasing now—tongue flat against your clit, lapping hard while my hands grip your hips. You taste like salt and want, your moans filling the room as I suck and flick, feeling you clench around nothing. "Oh god, right there," you cry, tugging at the scarf. I add fingers, three now, stretching you, pumping in time with my mouth until you're shaking, on the edge again.
I rise up, wiping my mouth, and position myself at your entrance. My dick's rock-hard, veins pulsing, and I rub the head along your slit, coating it in your wetness. "You ready for me?" I ask, though I know the answer. "Please, fuck me," you beg, pushing back. I thrust in slow, inch by inch, groaning at how tight you are, how you grip me like a vice. The bed creaks as I bottom out, balls against your ass, and I hold there, letting you adjust. Then I start moving—deep, steady strokes that make your bound hands yank the scarf.
We find a rhythm quick, your pussy clenching with every plunge, my hips slapping against you. Sweat beads on my back, the fan doing fuck-all to cool us. I lean over, biting your shoulder, one hand snaking around to rub your clit. "Come for me, Kitten," I grunt, pace picking up, the pressure building in my balls. You shatter first—body convulsing, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you squirt around my cock, soaking the sheets. It's messy, hot as hell, and it pushes me over. I pull out just in time, stroking myself to finish on your ass, ropes of cum painting your skin white.
We collapse, breathing hard, me untying you quick so I can pull you into my arms. "That was... intense," you pant, nuzzling my chest. I kiss your forehead, still buzzing. "Stay put. I'll get the snacks."
The kitchen's a short trip, and I move fast—fresh oranges from the fridge, squeezing them into glasses with a hiss of juice. A bottle of red wine from the rack, two strawberries rinsed and sliced. Back in the bedroom, you're lounging against the pillows, sheets tangled around your waist, looking every bit the satisfied kitten. I hand you a glass of juice first, cold and pulpy. "Hydrate," I say, smirking. Then the wine, deep crimson, and the plate of strawberries, their red matching the flush on your cheeks.
You sip the juice, licking your lips. "Mmm, perfect after that." I settle beside you, feeding you a strawberry, watching your mouth close around it, juice dribbling down your chin. I wipe it with my thumb, then kiss you, tasting the tart sweetness mixed with the salt of us. The wine goes down smooth, warming us from the inside as we talk shit about your day—the annoying coworker, the weird book requests—our bodies pressed close, legs entwined.
But the snacks don't last; your hand finds my cock again, half-hard and stirring under your touch. "Round two?" you whisper, eyes gleaming. I chuckle, setting the glasses aside. "Always, Kitten." This time, it's slower—no bonds, just us exploring. I lay you back, kissing down your body, lingering on each curve. My mouth finds your pussy again, gentler now, tongue delving deep as you thread fingers through my hair. "Daddy, you're gonna make me come again," you warn, but I don't stop, sucking until you do, thighs clamping my head.
You flip us, straddling me, guiding my dick inside you with a sigh. Riding me like that—tits jiggling, head thrown back—it's pure fucking bliss. I grip your ass, helping the rhythm, thumb circling your tight hole. "Want more?" I ask, pressing lightly. You nod, biting your lip. "Yes, there." I lube up quick, easing a finger in as you grind down, the dual sensation making you gasp. It's filthy, intimate, your pussy fluttering around me while I work you open.
We switch to doggy again, my cock sliding into your ass slow, careful, until you're taking me full. "Fuck, so tight," I groan, one hand on your hip, the other reaching for your clit. You push back, meeting every thrust, moans turning to pleas. "Harder, Daddy—make me yours." I do, pounding until the room echoes with skin on skin, until you come again, ass clenching around me like a fist. I follow, filling you deep, a cream pie that drips out when I pull away.
Exhausted, we curl up, wine forgotten, strawberries half-eaten. Your head on my chest, my arm around you, the world outside fading. "I love this," you murmur, tracing patterns on my skin. "Coming home to you."
I kiss your hair, feeling that rare peace settle in. "Me too, Kitten. Every damn time." And as the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the bed, I know this is it—our messy, perfect routine, no end in sight. But hey, if life's just one long pickup ride, at least mine ends with you, sticky and smiling.
You slide into the passenger seat, dumping your bag at your feet, and lean over to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. "Hey, Daddy," you say, voice all soft and teasing, like you've been plotting this all day. I catch the faint scent of books and your vanilla lotion, and it hits me how much I need this—picking you up after your grind, bringing you back to our space. "Rough day stacking shelves?" I ask, pulling out of the lot, my hand already drifting to rest on your knee.
You laugh, kicking off your shoes and propping your feet on the dash. "Not rough, just endless. Some kid tried to check out a comic book disguised as a textbook. I almost let him." Your fingers trace lazy circles on my thigh as we merge onto the highway, the city blurring past—warehouses giving way to strip malls, then quieter suburbs. I keep one eye on the road, the other on you, the way your skirt rides up when you shift, exposing the edge of your lace panties. "You look like you need to unwind," I say, squeezing your leg. "I've got plans for you."
The drive home takes twenty minutes, but it feels longer with you fidgeting beside me, your hand inching higher until it's brushing my crotch through my jeans. I swat it away lightly. "Patience, Kitten. We're almost there." Our place is a modest ranch house on the edge of town, backed by a scruffy woods that scratches at the windows in winter. I park in the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, and you hop out before I can even kill the engine, grabbing your bag and sauntering to the door like you're daring me to chase you.
Inside, the air's cool and still, sunlight slanting through the blinds in dusty beams. I lock up behind us and turn to find you already in the kitchen, raiding the fridge for water. "Bath first," I tell you, stepping close enough to feel the heat off your body. "You're all tense. Let Daddy take care of that." You tilt your head, eyes sparkling with that mix of mischief and surrender. "Yes, sir," you murmur, setting the bottle down and following me to the bathroom.
The tub's an old clawfoot monster, big enough for two if we squeeze. I twist the faucets, hot water gushing out, steam rising fast. I grab the bubble bath from the shelf—some lavender shit you like—and dump in a generous squirt, watching the foam build like a slow-motion explosion. "Strip," I say, not looking at you yet, testing the water with my elbow. You don't hesitate; I hear the rustle of fabric, your skirt hitting the tile, then your top. When I glance over, you're naked, skin flushed from the day's warmth, nipples already perking in the humid air. Your body's a goddamn work of art—curves that fit my hands perfect, that tight ass I can't get enough of. At 52, I've got the experience to appreciate it, and you know it.
You step in first, sinking into the bubbles with a sigh that goes straight to my dick. "Fuck, this feels good," you say, leaning back, water lapping at your breasts. I undress quick—shirt, jeans, boxers pooling at my feet—and join you, the tub groaning under my weight. I settle behind you, pulling you against my chest, my legs bracketing yours. The water's hot, bordering on too much, and the bubbles cling to your skin like they're reluctant to let go. My hands start at your shoulders, kneading the knots from hours hunched over returns. "Tell me what you want, Kitten," I murmur into your ear, thumbs digging into your traps.
You arch back, your head lolling onto my shoulder, wet hair sticking to my skin. "Your hands everywhere. Make me forget about work." I oblige, sliding down to your arms, then your sides, fingers grazing the undersides of your tits. The water sloshes as I cup them, thumbs circling your nipples until they're hard peaks. You moan softly, grinding your ass against my growing erection. "That's it," I say, pinching lightly, feeling you shiver. "Let go."
The bath turns into foreplay without me even trying. I lather my hands with soap, working it over your belly, down to your thighs. You spread your legs, inviting, and I don't hold back—fingers slipping between your folds, finding you slick even under the water. "So wet already," I growl, circling your clit slow, deliberate. You buck against my hand, gasping. "Daddy, please... more." I slide two fingers inside you, curling them just right, the bubbles popping around us as you ride my palm. Your breaths come quick, tits heaving, and I kiss your neck, biting the spot that makes you whimper.
But I pull back before you tip over, not wanting you to come yet. "Not here," I say, voice rough. "Bed's waiting." You pout, but there's fire in your eyes as we climb out, water cascading off us like a private waterfall. I towel you dry roughly, paying extra attention to your pussy, rubbing until you're squirming. "On the bed, Kitten. Now."
Our bedroom's simple—king bed with rumpled sheets from this morning, a fan whirring lazily overhead. You crawl onto the mattress on all fours, ass up, giving me a view that makes my cock throb. I follow, naked and hard, grabbing lube and a silk scarf from the nightstand. "Hands," I command, and you offer your wrists, letting me bind them loosely to the headboard. Not tight enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel owned. "You like that?" I ask, trailing a finger down your spine.
"Yes, Daddy. Fuck me like this." Your voice is breathy, needy, and it snaps something in me. I kneel between your legs, spreading you wide, and bury my face in your pussy. No teasing now—tongue flat against your clit, lapping hard while my hands grip your hips. You taste like salt and want, your moans filling the room as I suck and flick, feeling you clench around nothing. "Oh god, right there," you cry, tugging at the scarf. I add fingers, three now, stretching you, pumping in time with my mouth until you're shaking, on the edge again.
I rise up, wiping my mouth, and position myself at your entrance. My dick's rock-hard, veins pulsing, and I rub the head along your slit, coating it in your wetness. "You ready for me?" I ask, though I know the answer. "Please, fuck me," you beg, pushing back. I thrust in slow, inch by inch, groaning at how tight you are, how you grip me like a vice. The bed creaks as I bottom out, balls against your ass, and I hold there, letting you adjust. Then I start moving—deep, steady strokes that make your bound hands yank the scarf.
We find a rhythm quick, your pussy clenching with every plunge, my hips slapping against you. Sweat beads on my back, the fan doing fuck-all to cool us. I lean over, biting your shoulder, one hand snaking around to rub your clit. "Come for me, Kitten," I grunt, pace picking up, the pressure building in my balls. You shatter first—body convulsing, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you squirt around my cock, soaking the sheets. It's messy, hot as hell, and it pushes me over. I pull out just in time, stroking myself to finish on your ass, ropes of cum painting your skin white.
We collapse, breathing hard, me untying you quick so I can pull you into my arms. "That was... intense," you pant, nuzzling my chest. I kiss your forehead, still buzzing. "Stay put. I'll get the snacks."
The kitchen's a short trip, and I move fast—fresh oranges from the fridge, squeezing them into glasses with a hiss of juice. A bottle of red wine from the rack, two strawberries rinsed and sliced. Back in the bedroom, you're lounging against the pillows, sheets tangled around your waist, looking every bit the satisfied kitten. I hand you a glass of juice first, cold and pulpy. "Hydrate," I say, smirking. Then the wine, deep crimson, and the plate of strawberries, their red matching the flush on your cheeks.
You sip the juice, licking your lips. "Mmm, perfect after that." I settle beside you, feeding you a strawberry, watching your mouth close around it, juice dribbling down your chin. I wipe it with my thumb, then kiss you, tasting the tart sweetness mixed with the salt of us. The wine goes down smooth, warming us from the inside as we talk shit about your day—the annoying coworker, the weird book requests—our bodies pressed close, legs entwined.
But the snacks don't last; your hand finds my cock again, half-hard and stirring under your touch. "Round two?" you whisper, eyes gleaming. I chuckle, setting the glasses aside. "Always, Kitten." This time, it's slower—no bonds, just us exploring. I lay you back, kissing down your body, lingering on each curve. My mouth finds your pussy again, gentler now, tongue delving deep as you thread fingers through my hair. "Daddy, you're gonna make me come again," you warn, but I don't stop, sucking until you do, thighs clamping my head.
You flip us, straddling me, guiding my dick inside you with a sigh. Riding me like that—tits jiggling, head thrown back—it's pure fucking bliss. I grip your ass, helping the rhythm, thumb circling your tight hole. "Want more?" I ask, pressing lightly. You nod, biting your lip. "Yes, there." I lube up quick, easing a finger in as you grind down, the dual sensation making you gasp. It's filthy, intimate, your pussy fluttering around me while I work you open.
We switch to doggy again, my cock sliding into your ass slow, careful, until you're taking me full. "Fuck, so tight," I groan, one hand on your hip, the other reaching for your clit. You push back, meeting every thrust, moans turning to pleas. "Harder, Daddy—make me yours." I do, pounding until the room echoes with skin on skin, until you come again, ass clenching around me like a fist. I follow, filling you deep, a cream pie that drips out when I pull away.
Exhausted, we curl up, wine forgotten, strawberries half-eaten. Your head on my chest, my arm around you, the world outside fading. "I love this," you murmur, tracing patterns on my skin. "Coming home to you."
I kiss your hair, feeling that rare peace settle in. "Me too, Kitten. Every damn time." And as the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the bed, I know this is it—our messy, perfect routine, no end in sight. But hey, if life's just one long pickup ride, at least mine ends with you, sticky and smiling.