It started innocently enough—a casual glance here, a suggestive comment there—but it quickly spiraled into something much more intense. My best friend’s dad was off-limits, or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. But the way his eyes lingered on me, the way he’d find any excuse to be close, made it impossible to resist.

One evening, when my friend was out, he cornered me in the hallway. There was no hesitation—he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. I let him. His hands wandered, gripping my waist as he whispered things I’d only fantasized about.

That night, we ended up in his bedroom. He was on his knees, his lips pressed against my thighs, working his way up. I told him he had to follow my rules—he wasn’t allowed to stop until I said so. The power was intoxicating, and for the first time, I realized I had complete control over him. I could tell how much he wanted me, how desperate he was to please.

It became our little secret. Every time I came over, I’d find an excuse to get him alone. Whether it was in the kitchen, the living room, or even in his office while my friend was out, he’d drop everything to kneel between my legs. It was thrilling, having him at my mercy, and I couldn’t get enough. He craved my attention, and I loved making him beg for it.

Now, I can’t stop thinking about the next time I’ll have him. The rush of power, the secret we share… it’s all too addictive.