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cbeargyu · 3 days ago

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daddy's babygirl

summary: your childhood teacher jake is now your stepdad, and when you’re alone, you share a secret, forbidden, intense affair filled with domination and desire.

pairing: stepdad!jake x stepdaughter!fem reader

genre: smut, explicit adult content, forbidden stepfamily relationship, teacher/student past dynamic, dom/sub with daddy kink, slow burn, secret affair, angst, drama, heavy sexual themes, multiple positions, oral, creampie, emotional manipulation.

warnings: explicit sexual content, incestuous stepfamily relationship, non-consensual power dynamics implied, age gap, dirty talk, degradation, strong language, exhibitionism, oral sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, emotional manipulation, secrecy, potential triggering themes.

STRONG WARNING!! this content contains sensitive themes such as forbidden family relationships, power dynamics, and explicit sexual material. if these topics make you uncomfortable or aren’t your preference, please do not read or leave hateful comments. respect and understanding appreciated. thank you.

wc: 5k

notes: don’t ask me where i got the inspiration for this lol 🤣 ok no for real i hope you like it, i’ve had this idea for a while but hesitated bc of how sensitive the topic is??? even tho i’ve read a lot of similar stuff here, i know it’s kinda taboo or frowned upon. but it’s all fiction and i write it for those who enjoy my content :) thank you all!! please leave your thoughts!

taglist: @hrtsformark @matchacake2 @sea-moon-star @itaehynz @mymayaship @reep04 @lexieisyourbestie @princesspeachicedtea @partyinthebackroom

it had been years since you’d last seen jake sim, and yet the memory of him had never really faded. back in primary school, he had been the teacher everyone liked—young, effortlessly charming, patient in a way that made you look forward to every day you had him. he never raised his voice, he always smelled like cedar and something faintly sweet, and his soft smiles lingered in your mind much longer than they should’ve for a little girl with a secret crush on her homeroom teacher. he was your first real fantasy, tucked away in the back of your mind like a guilty treasure you never planned to admit to anyone. but time passed, as it always does, and he was filed into that distant, unreachable place where childhood dreams went to quietly die.

until now.

your mother had been glowing the day she called you home, her voice light and airy as she said she had someone special she wanted you to meet. you hadn’t expected much—just another name to eventually forget, just another dinner to get through with a polite smile. you certainly hadn’t expected her to walk into the living room with jake fucking sim at her side, his arm loosely wrapped around her waist, that same smile on his lips that had once haunted your preteen daydreams. he looked even better now, age only sharpening the edges of his jaw, filling out his frame with something more solid, more commanding. his hair was darker, styled a little differently, but his eyes were still the same—warm, brown, and gently unreadable.

“you remember jake, don’t you?” your mother had asked, her voice chipper, oblivious. “he used to be your teacher. small world, right?”

you tried to play it off, tried to force a surprised smile that didn’t look as stunned as you felt, but the blood had drained from your face too quickly and your lips parted before you could control them. of course you remembered. he had been the blueprint of every silly romantic fantasy you’d ever had, the reason you started liking older men in the first place, the quiet storm that awakened something hot and confusing in you when you were barely old enough to understand it. and now—now he was your stepfather. your fucking stepfather.

the wedding had been small and quick, not even a year after they’d started dating. you smiled in photos, clinked glasses during toasts, hugged jake when it was appropriate. you kept your distance when it wasn’t. you’d convinced yourself you were being dramatic, that your feelings were just nostalgia and hormones, that he was just a man, and your mom was happy now, so you should be too. and for the most part, you managed. you were in university now, busy with exams and essays, and you didn’t even live in the same house. you only came back on weekends or for holidays—short bursts of time where you could avoid being alone with him, where you could keep yourself sane.

but then came the weekend your mom had to visit your grandmother, three cities away. she left on a thursday afternoon, bags packed and cheerful goodbyes tossed over her shoulder, her voice echoing from the hallway that she’d be back sunday evening, and to take care of each other. jake had offered to drive her, but she insisted he stay—he had grading to finish, classes to prepare. you had exams to study for, so you hadn’t planned on going either. it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. a few quiet days at home. easy.

except it wasn’t.

the house felt too quiet with just the two of you. every sound was louder, every interaction thicker with something unspoken. he was kind, attentive in that same subtle way that had always undone you—asking how your studying was going, offering to help if you needed a break, his voice low and calm whenever it caught you off guard in the kitchen or the hallway. he smiled at you like he always had, except now it lingered just a little too long. he didn’t look away as quickly anymore. and maybe you were imagining it, maybe you were projecting every filthy thought you’d buried deep down onto every glance and gesture—but something in the air was shifting, slowly, maddeningly, and you could feel it.

you didn’t plan to have dinner together, but jake insisted that night. it was saturday. he leaned against the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in his hand and said it made no sense to eat separately when it was just the two of you. “besides,” he said, tilting his head slightly, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read it. “i haven’t had a real conversation with you in weeks. feels like you’re avoiding me.”

you laughed too quickly, denying it without really denying it, trying not to focus on the way his voice sounded thicker when he spoke softly like that. you ended up sitting across from him, legs brushing under the table, wine warming your veins more than it should’ve. the food was good—he’d cooked, of course he had, because jake sim was perfect like that—and the conversation was easy, almost too easy. you talked about classes, books, music, and when your hand reached for your glass at the same time his did, your fingers touched and stayed there, barely, just long enough for the world to tilt a little.

you didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he. your eyes lifted slowly, caught in his gaze before you could pretend to be unaffected. something in the way he looked at you made your stomach twist—not fatherly, not polite, not innocent. it was too still, too focused, like he’d been waiting. the silence stretched between you, heavy and intimate, until he finally leaned in just a little closer and said your name—low, drawn-out, like a question and an answer all at once.

“do you think i haven’t noticed?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like it wasn’t meant for anyone but you. “the way you look at me? like you used to when you were too young to understand it.”

your breath caught in your throat. the wine had made you reckless, or maybe it was just the years of keeping everything bottled up, the months of pretending this house wasn’t suffocating you every time he was near. you didn’t deny it. you couldn’t. and maybe that was all he needed, because the next thing you knew, his hand was under your chin, tilting your face up, thumb grazing your bottom lip.

“you’ve grown up so much,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “beautiful. all this time i thought i was imagining it, but you want this, don’t you?”

you didn’t answer with words. you didn’t need to. your lips parted under his thumb, your thighs pressing together under the table, and when he leaned in the rest of the way and kissed you, it was nothing like your first kiss was supposed to be. it was desperate, hungry, years of suppressed want spilling over in the heat of his mouth. he kissed you like he was claiming you, and you let him. you kissed him back like you’d been waiting your whole life to be kissed like that—by him.

his hands were on your waist, pulling you out of the chair and up against him before you could think. your back bumped against the counter as he pushed between your thighs, his fingers trailing under the hem of your shirt, dragging up your spine and leaving your skin tingling in his wake. the kiss broke only when he had to pull your top off, lips returning to your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, biting and sucking like he couldn’t decide which part of you he wanted most.

“fuck, you taste the same as i imagined,” he muttered, voice ragged as his mouth found your chest, tongue swirling over one nipple before he sucked it into his mouth, making you gasp and arch into him. “i used to jerk off thinking about what you’d sound like. now i get to hear it.”

his words went straight to your core, shameless and raw, and it made your knees weak. you tried to speak, tried to say his name, but all that came out was a breathy whimper as his hand slid between your thighs, palming you over your shorts, feeling how wet you already were for him. you should’ve felt embarrassed—he was your mother’s husband now, a man you were supposed to call family—but all you felt was heat, like every nerve in your body was pulsing in time with his fingers.

“you’re soaked,” he growled, pushing your shorts down roughly, dropping to his knees like he was worshipping you, like this was something he’d been craving for years. he spread your legs open, hooking them over his shoulders, and dragged his tongue over your slit with a low groan. “this pussy’s been waiting for me, hasn’t it? fuck, i knew you wanted it. you were always such a good little girl in class… never thought you’d be such a needy thing underneath.”

you cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, the other tangled in his hair as he devoured you like it was his last meal. he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, just kept licking, circling, fucking you with his tongue until your legs were shaking and your stomach was tightening with an orgasm that was already starting to hit.

“j-jake—” you gasped, broken and breathless, but he didn’t stop.

“that’s it,” he whispered against you, wet mouth hot and sinful. “cum on my tongue, baby. show me how much you missed me.”

and you did—your body tensed and trembled as the orgasm ripped through you, your moans filling the kitchen, your thighs squeezing around his head. he groaned into you, drinking every drop, only pulling back when you were twitching and weak, your hands clutching at him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. he stood, licking his lips like a man starved, and turned you around with firm hands, bending you over the counter before you could speak. his cock was hard against your ass, straining through his pants, and when he finally freed it, the weight of it rested hot and heavy between your cheeks.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” he hissed, lining himself up without warning. “how many nights i thought about bending you over like this, fucking you until you couldn’t think straight.”

you whined at the stretch when he pushed inside—no teasing, no patience, just the thick slide of his cock sinking into your already dripping cunt. the pain was brief, eclipsed by the overwhelming fullness, the way he groaned like he was losing his mind inside you.

“tight fucking pussy,” he muttered, gripping your hips and thrusting in deeper, sharper. “so good. fuck—i’m not pulling out.”

you whimpered, back arching, pushing into every stroke. “d-don’t. i don’t want you to.”

that broke something in him. his hands grabbed your waist harder, slamming into you now with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the walls. he was grunting behind you, dirty praise falling from his lips with every snap of his hips.

“you want me to fill you up, huh? want your stepdaddy’s cum inside you?” he groaned. “fuck, i’m gonna give it to you. you deserve it. all of it.”

you were crying now, overwhelmed with the pace, the filth of his words, the way he was fucking you like he owned you. you didn’t care that it was wrong. you didn’t care about anything except how deep he was, how hot his body felt against yours, how much you wanted to be ruined by him.

“say it,” he growled, pulling your hair to lift your face. “tell me whose pussy this is.”

“y-yours,” you choked out, lips trembling, eyes rolling back as your second orgasm built fast, relentless. “it’s yours, jake—fuck—it’s always been yours.”

and with a loud groan, he slammed in to the hilt and spilled inside you, thick, hot, and endless, painting your insides with everything he’d been holding back. the feeling of it sent you spiraling again, another wave crashing over you, leaving you both breathless, sweaty, and trembling against the counter.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed buried inside you, his hand smoothing down your back, mouth pressed to your shoulder as you both caught your breath. the silence returned, but now it was different—sated, sticky, full of everything you couldn’t say out loud.

“we’re fucked, aren’t we?” you whispered, half-laughing, half-crying.

he chuckled against your skin, still inside you. “yeah,” he said. “but you were worth every second of it.”

you didn’t sleep that night—not really. after the first time on the kitchen counter, jake had pulled you into his arms like he couldn’t get enough of you, kissing you slow and filthy before carrying you to the living room couch and fucking you there too, bent over the backrest while his fingers dug into your hips. then the stairs—he stopped halfway to kiss you again, to press you against the railing and take you standing up, slow and deep, like he wanted to feel every inch of you clenching around him.

he didn’t stop until you were crying—raw and overstimulated, his cum dripping from between your thighs, lips bruised from how hard he kissed you when you called him “daddy.” you said it the first time barely above a whisper, unsure if it would cross a line, but the way his breath hitched, the way he looked at you like you were his undoing, told you everything you needed to know.

“say it again,” he had groaned, thrusting harder, his hand gripping your throat as he fucked you on his bed—your mother’s bed. “say it while i’m deep inside this sweet little pussy.”

and you had, over and over, until your voice was hoarse and your body collapsed under the weight of everything you’d held in for so long. you lost count of how many times he came inside you, how many times he kissed your tears away, how many times he praised you for being his good girl, his sweet baby, his filthy little secret.

by morning, you were sore, bruised, and still trembling from the ghost of his touch. you showered in silence, pretending like your body didn’t still ache for him, like you hadn’t screamed his name against a wall just hours ago. when your mom finally returned, cheerful and none the wiser, you met jake’s gaze across the kitchen with heat still burning in your cheeks.

from that day on, everything changed—but nothing did.

he never touched you in front of her. never said a word that might give you away. but the looks were enough. the glances that lingered, the faint smirk he wore when you bit your lip across the room. the way he’d let his fingers brush your waist when he walked behind you, or how his hand would rest a second too long on your shoulder when he passed by. it became a routine—a dangerous, delicious secret that only the two of you shared.

on the nights your mom worked late or left town again, he’d knock softly on your door like he was asking permission, and you’d always let him in. sometimes he’d take his time, laying you down gently, whispering how much he missed being inside you. other nights he’d flip you over and fuck you face-down into the mattress, hand tangled in your hair as you begged for more, crying into the sheets as he told you what a perfect little slut you were for him.

you were submissive in ways you hadn’t even known you could be—so eager to please, so needy when he praised you. you melted every time he called you baby, whimpered every time he held your face and said you were his. and calling him daddy—it wasn’t just part of the game. it was instinct. it felt right. natural. like it had always belonged to him.

but of course, that didn’t go unnoticed.

one evening, your mom smiled casually as she stirred a pot on the stove, glancing over her shoulder when she heard you call out for jake from across the hall.

“you’ve really taken a liking to him,” she laughed. “never thought i’d hear you call anyone daddy again. thought you were too old for that kind of thing.”

you froze, your heart thudding so hard you thought it might explode. jake was behind her, and you felt his eyes on you instantly, hot and sharp like a warning—but his face didn’t change. he was good at this. calm. unreadable. he just sipped from his glass of wine and smiled like the comment didn’t mean anything.

“she’s just affectionate,” he said smoothly, like it was the most innocent thing in the world. “i don’t mind.”

your mom hummed, turning back to the stove with a shrug. “still,” she muttered, half to herself, “doesn’t really suit her anymore. that’s a little girl’s nickname, don’t you think?”

you almost laughed. if only she knew how many times you’d sobbed it into his neck, how many times he’d made you say it while you came all over his cock, how many times he whispered back, “good girl. daddy’s so proud of you.”

but she didn’t know. she’d never know.

the rain had started sometime past midnight, loud against the windows, steady and relentless. the thunder rolled deep, shaking the walls of the house with each distant rumble, and it was that sound—more than anything else—that stirred you from your light sleep. you blinked up at the ceiling, your room dimly lit by the occasional flash of lightning, heart fluttering with something that wasn’t quite fear… more like anticipation.

you bit your lip, glancing toward the hallway.

you shouldn’t.

but you wanted to.

moments before bed, jake had visited you in your room like he sometimes did—just to check in, to say goodnight. he’d kissed your forehead, then your cheek, and then, like always, your lips. it was soft at first, but you’d reached up and pulled him closer, whispering “more,” against his mouth. he pulled back, breath shaky, eyes flicking toward the door as if he expected someone to walk in.

“baby,” he had murmured, brushing your hair back. “your mom’s waiting for me in bed.”

you’d pouted, lips still tingling from his kiss, and tilted your head as you asked, “do you love me more than her?”

he’d hesitated—just for a second—but then he smiled, small and fond, like he was embarrassed by how quickly the truth came out.

“yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “i love you more.”

then he left, walking down the hall to the master bedroom where your mother waited—dressed in a short satin nightgown, her skin dewy from moisturizer and sleepiness. you knew the routine. she was always tired. she always took her pills, the kind that knocked her out cold. jake had told you once, in passing, that nothing ever woke her up when she took them.

so when you heard the storm rolling outside, something bold stirred in your chest. the house was silent except for the rain, the soft ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs, and your own heartbeat in your ears. you slipped out of bed, your cotton shorts riding up your thighs, the hem of your camisole brushing your navel. no bra, no panties. you tiptoed barefoot through the hallway, every creak in the floorboard echoing like a gunshot, but you didn’t stop. your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the doorknob to their room, slowly turning it and pushing the door open just wide enough to slip inside.

the room was dark, heavy with the scent of lavender and cologne. lightning lit the walls for a split second, revealing the silhouette of your mother fast asleep, turned away from the center of the bed, blanket drawn up loosely around her hips. jake was on the other side, shirtless, lying flat on his back with one arm resting above his head, chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. the space beside him was wide—just enough for you, if you were careful.

you held your breath as you padded closer and crawled in beside him, inching your body down into the mattress as slowly as possible. you curled on your side, your back pressed lightly to his hip, trying not to smile as you settled in. the heat of his body seeped into yours. you could feel him—barely—against the curve of your ass, and the moment you shifted just slightly, you felt the swell of his cock, half-hard, thick and heavy against you even in sleep.

you arched your back a little more, grinding slowly, gently, testing.

a soft inhale escaped him.

then a hand touched your waist.

“baby,” he whispered groggily, voice husky from sleep, “what are you doing here?”

you turned your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder, eyes wide, pouty. “the storm woke me up,” you murmured, still rolling your hips back against him, “and i got scared.”

his breath hitched when your ass pressed more firmly to his length, now fully hard and twitching against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. “fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, one hand sliding down to grip your hip tightly. “you’re gonna drive me insane.”

you reached down without answering and pulled at the waistband of his pants, lifting the fabric just enough to free his cock, already thick and leaking at the tip. you heard the sharp breath he took when your fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly. he pushed his hips forward into your hand, biting down a groan.

then, still without a word, he hooked a finger into the waistband of your pink shorts and dragged them down over your ass. the air was cool against your bare skin, and you felt his hand pause when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

“naughty little thing,” he whispered, dragging two fingers along your slit, feeling how wet you were. “you planned this.”

you didn’t deny it. you just moaned quietly when he rubbed circles against your clit, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, his other hand reaching to squeeze your breast through your thin top.

he didn’t waste time. he positioned himself behind you, pulling your leg back over his thigh, and eased his cock into you slowly, the tip splitting you open as you tried to keep your moans muffled. he hissed through his teeth as he bottomed out, his fingers digging into your hips.

“so fucking tight,” he whispered, moving in slow, deep strokes. “you feel too good, baby.”

you rocked back into him, eyes fluttering shut, the sheets rustling beneath you as your bodies moved together. his hand came up to your mouth, covering your lips as he fucked you from behind, spooned up against you, every thrust making your ass slap against his hips.

“quiet,” he breathed, “she’s right there.”

your eyes opened in the dark, and you saw her—still asleep, facing away, barely moving. the thrill of it made your pussy clamp down tighter, made jake curse softly and fuck you harder.

he turned you over slowly, gently, until you were on your back and he was above you, lifting your shirt to expose your chest. he leaned down to suck your nipple into his mouth, his cock never leaving you, just grinding deeper as he kissed down your stomach, whispering filthy things about how good you felt, how beautiful you looked stretched out for him in their bed.

“i love you,” he muttered into your skin, voice cracked and breathless. “you’re mine.”

you wrapped your legs around him, pulled him in closer, and whispered, “fuck me, daddy. please. make me yours.”

that broke him. his hips snapped harder, deeper, hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head as he pounded into you in the missionary position, the bed creaking ever so slightly. he fucked you like he owned you, kissing you hard, letting you moan into his mouth when you came all over him again.

afterward, he didn’t stop—he flipped you onto your knees and took you from behind, gripping your hair, his balls slapping your soaked pussy with each brutal thrust. you were delirious, dripping, sobbing into the pillows while your mom snored on just feet away. it wasn’t enough for him—he pulled out and turned you over again, sitting back on his knees and tapping his cock against your lips.

“suck it, baby,” he whispered, “you can do it.”

you obeyed, eyes glassy, tongue out, taking him into your mouth until your jaw ached and your throat was raw. he watched you the whole time, stroking your cheek, whispering that you were his good girl, his sweet baby, his favorite thing in the world.

you climbed on top of him after that, straddling his hips, riding him slowly, hands on his chest, tits bouncing with each movement. his hands slid up your thighs, gripping your ass, his cock deep inside you as you rocked back and forth, whispering his name over and over like a prayer.

you lost track of the thunder outside, of the minutes slipping past, of everything except the way jake’s cock kept hitting that perfect spot inside you—like he knew your body better than anyone ever could.

his hands gripped your thighs tight, eyes locked on your face as he fucked you harder now, his body pressing yours deeper into the bed. the headboard tapped lightly against the wall, not loud enough to wake her, but enough to make your heart race with the risk.

you opened your mouth to moan, but his palm flew to your lips, muffling the cry that broke out when he bottomed out again, his cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat.

“shhh, baby,” he whispered, sweat dripping down his neck, chest heaving, “you wanna wake her up?”

you shook your head, pupils blown wide, legs trembling.

“then be good,” he murmured, lowering himself until his forehead pressed to yours, his cock still slamming into you slow and thick and hard. “be a good girl and take it.”

you nodded, tears in your eyes from how much you needed it. needed him.

“you feel how this pussy sucks me in?” he breathed, lifting one of your legs higher, fucking you deeper. “so fucking tight. so warm. it’s perfect, baby. this is mine.”

your voice cracked under his palm as you whimpered, grinding up into him. and then you whispered it—low, dangerous, full of wicked curiosity.

“does it feel better than hers?”

he paused.

then he looked you dead in the eyes, smirked, and answered without hesitation.

“yours is better,” he growled, grabbing your jaw, pulling your face close, “your pussy’s the only one i think about. the only one i wanna cum in. you hear me?”

you moaned again, too loud, and his hand came back over your mouth, his thrusts speeding up as you clenched around him from the filthy confession.

then he pulled out suddenly, panting, and sat back against the headboard, his cock glistening, twitching. “ride me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “come sit on daddy’s cock.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. you climbed over him, straddling his lap slowly, lowering yourself onto his length with a desperate gasp. the stretch made your back arch, his hands coming up to hold your waist as you started to move—slow at first, rolling your hips in circles, grinding your clit against him with every pass.

he leaned in and sucked your nipple into his mouth, then kissed down to your chest, whispering, “that’s it, baby. let daddy see how much you love this dick.”

you bounced harder, faster, the mattress shifting beneath you, and jake grabbed your ass, slapping it once as you rode him.

“look at you,” he moaned, “bouncing like a desperate little slut while your mommy sleeps next to us. if only she knew how many times i’ve filled this pussy.”

you clenched again at that, and your body shook as another orgasm crashed through you, your cunt milking his cock with messy wet sounds as he held you down and let you grind through the aftershocks.

but you still weren’t done.

he pulled out, spun you around, pushed your chest into the mattress and lifted your hips high—doggy. his favorite. he slammed back into you without warning, and you screamed into the pillow, his fingers digging into your hips, his cock slamming into you over and over until you were crying.

“say it,” he groaned behind you, “say you’re daddy’s girl.”

“i’m your girl,” you sobbed into the sheets, barely able to breathe. “i’m your good girl, daddy.”

“that’s fucking right.”

his balls slapped your clit, your pussy gushed around him, and he was grunting, fucking you with long, brutal strokes as his pace grew erratic.

“gonna cum again,” he warned, grabbing your hair, arching your back. “gonna fill you up. again.”

“please,” you begged, “please, daddy, cum in me. fill me up.”

he slammed into you one last time, as deep as he could go, and his whole body tensed as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, his cock twitching as he emptied himself into your already ruined pussy. you could feel it dripping out around his cock before he even pulled out, and when he finally did, it made a wet sound—your cum and his, mixed and leaking down your thighs.

he collapsed beside you, panting, pulling you into his arms, your bodies completely naked, sticky, tangled in sweat and sin and everything you weren’t supposed to be.

you curled into his chest, heart still pounding, and whispered, barely audible—

“i love you, daddy.”

he kissed your temple, still inside the bed where his wife slept a foot away, and whispered it back without hesitation.

“i love you too, baby. more than anything.”