Want some candy? @hi-im-pez - Tumblr Blog

your dad does it better

Rating: M

Paring: ex's dad!Boba x fem!Reader

Warnings: oh. my. god. this is a doozy. uh, fuck where do I even start? cheating ex, revenge fucking (does it count as a revenge fuck when you fuck your ex's dad?), dirty talk (c'mon people it's boba), pet names (princess, little one, sweetheart, good girl, little girl, good little girl, you get the gist), heavy on the daddy kink, older!man x younger!woman (though reader has completed university. that's all I'll say about age, aside from the fact that this is written with the explicit intent of reader being over the age of 21. boba is in his 50's-60's. do with that what you will), very possessive behavior, choking, overstim, unprotected sex (wrap it uuuuuup), oral (f. receiving), minor exhibitionism (boba makes reader watch through a mirror as he fucks her), enthusiastic consent (reader is fucking thirsty for boba), voice kink, the inherent taboo of fucking your son's ex-girlfriend/your ex-boyfriend's dad

Word Count: 7k

A/N: this... this came together in roughly 8-9 hours. from the conception of the idea to posting the fic, not including the time I spent sleeping. I am.... exhausted, but so, so pleased with how this turned out. I do want to make it absolutely clear, because there are certain parts of the fic where it could maybe be called into question whether or not there is some dub-con: reader 100% enthusiastically consents to every single thing, even if certain kinks/acts are not discussed before hand. reader and boba do not discuss using a safeword, which is bad etiquette, but I want to make it very very clear, that this is absolutely in no way non-con or dub-con. everything is 100% consensual between two adults.

tagging all the enablers who commented/reblogged my ex's dad!boba post/some moots ehehe: @maybege, @onfiretakemehigher, @saveatruckrideoptimusprime, @kimiheartblade, @thechesiremistress, @tailorvizsla, @thefact0rygirl, @firstofficerwiggles, @mina2000alex, @mysticalgalaxysalad, @lilhawkeye3, @catsnkooks

You thunk your head against the steering wheel of your car, groaning as yet another text from your ex-boyfriend flashes on the screen of your phone. You don’t even bother looking at it, sure it was just more of the same.

He’d been alternating between begging you to take him back, pathetically apologizing for cheating, or blaming you for the fact that he’d got caught with his dick down some random girl’s throat, never mind the fact that it was his own father that caught him cheating and was man enough to actually tell you what he’d caught his son doing.

You weren’t sure where you’d be if not for Mr. Fett. You’ve only met him once or twice, but you’re eternally grateful that he’d told you what your stupid ex had been doing behind your back. You’d been oblivious, unfortunately. There you were, planning your four-year anniversary trip to the beach, and your ex had been sleeping with random women he met online multiple times a week, all while he claimed to be working a second job to help save up for a house.

It was sheer luck and by the grace of Mr. Fett’s kindness that you were able to cut ties without having to worry about shared expenses or a house, or Maker forbid children. All you had to do was pick up the few personal belongings at your ex’s house, and then he could be out of your life for good.

Another text flashes across your phone screen, but this one doesn’t make you want to let out a scream of frustration.

Mr. Fett: Denaar left. He’ll be gone all weekend. You’ll have plenty of time to grab your things.

You sigh in relief. Checking the light and seeing it’s still red, you quickly type out a response.

You: Thank you Mr. Fett. I really appreciate you letting me come over to grab my stuff. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.

You put your phone down, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel as you wait for the light to cycle. Another text pops up, and your eyes dart down to check it.

Mr. Fett: Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’m happy to help.

The heat rising in your cheeks has absolutely nothing to do with what you’d just read on your phone. Nope. Not at all. It’s just warm in your car, that’s it.

Mercifully, the light finally turns green, and you focused back on the road, following the familiar route to the Fett household. Soon, you won’t have any reason to drive these streets, not that you did it a whole lot to begin with. Denaar had usually come to your apartment, claiming he wanted privacy. You’d always speculated that he was embarrassed to still be living with his dad, but it wasn’t a fight worth picking, so you’d never brought it up.

The drive was quick, and before you knew it, you were pulling into Mr. Fett’s driveway, next to his 2006 Toyota Tundra. You’d ridden in it once or twice, when Denaar had to be the one to drive you somewhere, but that was a rarity. It had been another sore spot, that Denaar hadn’t had his own car, so you’d had to use your’s the vast majority of your relationship.

You suck in a deep breath, letting the air rush out between your lips as you steel yourself. It’s a little nerve-wracking, the thought of being alone with Mr. Fett in his house, but you rationalize that it’s just because you barely know the man.

Getting out of your car, you grab your purse and the few reusable shopping bags you’d brought to haul back all your shit to your apartment. The walk up the driveway felt like it took forever, but in reality was only a few seconds.

As you approach, you see the front door is open, and you catch sight of Mr. Fett. It’d been over a year since you’d last seen him, and it takes everything you have not to gawk.

He’s wearing a cream henley tucked into a pair of light-wash jeans, and black combat boots on his feet. You can see the silver ball-chain of his dog tags around his neck, though the tags themselves were tucked out of sight. He has his sleeves pushed up, showing off heavily tattooed forearms that were crossed over his broad chest. He had a scowl on his face, but brightened when his eyes landed on you. He uncrosses his arms, standing to the side and gesturing for you to come in.

You smile shyly, suddenly feeling a little warm under his gaze. You step over the threshold, toeing off your shoes out of habit next to the coat rack.

“Thanks again Mr. Fett,” you say, forcing your voice steady. “I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

He shut the door behind you, flicking the lock. He turns, and you’re immediately drawn to his dark eyes. He smiles in return, a little quirk of his lips that make you want to drop to your knees right there in the foyer.

No. Fuck. You could not be thinking about your ex’s dad like this. Absolutely not.

“Not a problem, sweetheart. Like I said, Denaar will be gone all weekend, so you can take your time. Can I get you anything?”

You had to physically bite down on the urge to say something extremely inappropriate. Still, it felt rude to say no, so after agreeing a glass of water would be nice, you follow Mr. Fett into the kitchen.

He takes your purse and bags from you, setting them down on the counter and gestures for you to take a seat at one of the barstools on the far side of the island. You do, pushing yourself up onto the seat and letting your feet dangle, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re only wearing a pair of spandex exercise shorts and a worn tee-shirt from uni. You hadn’t really thought about it when you’d gotten dressed this morning, but now you were absolutely regretting your decision.

Mr. Fett grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with ice and water from the fridge, and you try (and then pathetically fail) at not looking at how damn good his ass looks in his jeans. You keep trying to tell yourself it was just because you were still reeling from your break up, but deep down you know you’re a fucking liar.

He holds the glass out, waiting until you take it from him before he leans back against the opposite counter, once more crossing his arms.

“How have you been doin’, sweetheart?”

You take a big gulp of water, in an effort to cool yourself off. Obviously, it doesn’t fucking work.

“I’ve been better, Mr. Fett.” You figure honesty is the best route here. “I had no idea, none at all.”

He sighs, rubbing one hand over his face, the silver cuban-link bracelet fastened around his wrist catching your eye as he did so.

“I didn’t either, I swear. I told you the same day I found out. I don’t know where his mother and I went wrong with that boy. This is not how we raised him.”

The sadness in his voice breaks your heart, and you rush to reassure him.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with you or Mrs. Fett, sir. Some people just…” You trail off, words dying on your tongue. There really was no excuse.

Mr. Fett nods. “My wife would’ve been heartbroken. I suppose it’s a mercy she’s not here to see what became of him, thank the ka’ra.”

You look down at your fingers wrapped around the glass. Mrs. Fett had died years and years before you’d ever met Denaar, or Mr. Fett. She’d gotten sick, and unfortunately the doctors hadn’t been able to do anything to save her. Mr. Fett had never re-married.

Biting your lip, you decide to voice one of the thoughts that had been plaguing you. “I don’t even know how long it’s been going on for. How didn’t I see it?”

Calloused fingers gently grip your chin, raising your head to meet Mr. Fett’s eyes. You didn’t know how he managed to move so silently across the room, and you hoped to the Maker he couldn’t see how nervous you were with him this close.

He holds your face firmly, not letting you look away from him.

“I’m only gonna say this once, princess. It’s not your fault my son decided to throw away the best thing that ever happened to him. Nothing about his actions reflect poorly on you. It is not your fault he cheated. Do you understand me?”

Instinctively, you went to nod, but Mr. Fett held firm.

“Use your words.”

Your mouth goes dry, and it takes you a few tries to speak successfully.

“Yes sir, I understand.”

His eyes searched yours, and you felt like he could see past every wall, every barrier you’d put up, down to your basest self. You wonder what he sees, when he looked at you.

Finally, he nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good girl. I don’t want you blaming yourself for the actions of others.”

He lets go of your face, leaning his hip against the island counter as he continues to watch you. You’re absolutely positive that you’re about 0.2 seconds from combusting from the heat that’s rising within you. You haven’t spent enough time around Mr. Fett to realize just how much his voice affects you, and it was an oversight you wished you’d thought to correct earlier. Then you might not constantly be seconds away from making a fool out of yourself.

“Um, Mr. Fett?” He hums to indicate he’s listening. “I wanted to thank you. You know, for reaching out and letting me know about Denaar. I-” You sigh. “I appreciate it, more than I can say.”

He scoffs, the sound low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine. “That’s not something you’ve gotta thank me for, sweetheart. It’s the bare fucking minimum. I wasn’t gonna keep letting him disrespect you like that.”

“Still,” you insist, daring to reach out and place a hand on his forearm. “Not many would’ve done that. So, thank you.”

He covers your hand with his own, and you try not to oogle at how much bigger his hands are than yours.

“If you say so, princess.” He holds on for a moment longer, before letting you go. You pull your hand back, tucking it back around the glass of water, ice slowly melting, the condensation making your palms feel clammy. He studies you, and you can’t help fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “If you don’t mind my prying, you seem worried.”

You nibble anxiously on your lower lip. You really didn’t want to talk about it, but you hated the thought of lying to Mr. Fett more.

“I know you said it’s not my fault, and I get that, I do!” You rush to reassure him as a dark look crosses his face as you begin to speak. “But, I just… I guess I just feel a little silly.”

He slowly raises one eyebrow, silently waiting for you to continue. You fidget some more, abandoning your glass and standing up before speaking again, needing to move around. “I’ve only ever… been with Denaar. He always said I still had a lot to learn, you know? A-And I get it, it’s not as easy for women as it is for men, but I guess I’m just nervous about the thought of having to start all over again, that I’m somehow behind everyone else.”

For a moment, Mr. Fett was silent. You can’t decipher the look on his face. Just as you’re beginning to berate yourself for oversharing and being completely inappropriate, uneasily shifting on your feet, he speaks. His voice is dark, a promise and a threat of punishment if he doesn’t get the answers he wanted.

“I am going to be blunt, princess. I’m going to ask you only once, and don’t you dare lie. Did my son make you come when he fucked you?”

Your jaw drops at the vulgar words that left his mouth, and you can feel your entire face heating up with a mix of embarrassment and shame. You have no idea how to even begin to answer that question, and you’re absolutely positive that this is not a conversation you want to be having right now.

But Mr. Fett is ex-military, and you know damn well you aren’t getting out of this without giving him an honest answer.

Swallowing harshly, you can’t stop the slight waver in your voice as you begin to speak. “W-Well I, I guess technically…? I h-had to, um. I-It’s not as easy, obviously, s-so I would touch, um… as he was, you know-”

You’re cut off by Mr. Fett’s hand griping your jaw, fingers tight but not painful as he steps closer.

“If you didn’t touch your clit when he fucked you, did. you. come?”

Eyes wide, you stare up at him, at a complete loss for words.

“Answer me.”

Your words are barely above a whisper.

“No sir.”

His lips twist into a grimace, the expression on his face thunderous. “You were with him for four years.”

You have absolutely no idea what to say to that.

“You were with the idiot I call son for four fucking years, and he never once made you come?”

All you can do is repeat yourself.

“No sir.”

He steps even closer, crowding you back against the marble counter top, grip still tight on your jaw, keeping your focus entirely on him.

“You’ve never had someone make you come?”

You’re beginning to feel a bit like a droid that could only say one thing.

“No sir.”

Mr. Fett is so close, you can smell his cologne, a heady smell of cedarwood and something slightly smoky and earthy. You wonder if the scent of him is making you stupid.

“So, let me see if I understand,” he growls, and you can practically feel the vibration of his chest, he’s so close. “My di’kut of a son somehow managed to get a perfect, pretty little girl like you to date him, and he had the audacity to neglect you so badly he never once made you come? Is that correct?”

Your head is spinning, a haze has fallen over your senses, clouding everything except for the man in front of you, the scent of him, the feel of him, the sound of him. Surely you can be forgiven for your mouth moving before your brain has a chance to catch up.

“You think I’m pretty?”

The quirk of his lips can’t be called a smile, it’s far too predatory for that.

“Princess, I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Oh.” A small, quiet gasp escapes you.

His eyes darken perceptibly, and you swallow at the downright dangerous look that you see there. “You like it when I tell you how pretty you are, don’t you?”

You try to nod, but he tsk’s in disapproval. “Words, princess.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl,” he says, so low you almost don’t hear it. But even if your brain doesn’t fully register the words, your body does. You physically tremble in his grasp, and your knees go weak.

He holds your jaw firm with one hand, not letting you squirm away as he trails one finger over your cheek, down the column of your throat, tugging lightly at the neckline of your shirt. His fingers dance over the lettering emblazzoned across your chest, proudly declaring the name of your alma mater.

“You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?”

You can feel your face twisting in confusion at the non-sequitur, but you answer nonetheless.

“I- I think so, Mr. Fett.”

He hums in approval.

“You know how to follow orders, isn’t that right?”

You know the answer he wants. “Yes sir.”

He hums in approval again, the noise making your mind fuzzy at having pleased him.

“Hold onto the countertop, princess.”

Your body was moving before your mind catches up, fingers wrapping around the marble edge as you stare up at him. He waits until you’ve done as he’s ordered, before he finally lets go of your face. You watch dumbly as he slowly goes to his knees, not taking a step back so you can feel the drag of his chest against yours as he kneels before you.

He has to tilt his head back to look at you, but you still feel very much the prey in this situation, the rabbit caught in the underbrush as the wolf slowly stalked ever closer.

“Do you like these pants, sweetheart?”

Again, the non-sequitur catches you off guard.

“Um, I-I guess? I have a lot of them, so-”

“I’ll buy you more.”

Before you can fucking blink, he has your leg hitched over one broad shoulder as his hands find the seam on your shorts, ripping the fabric with surprising ease. You let out a startled yelp, fingers tightening on the counter as you’re suddenly supported by one leg and Mr. Fett’s hands, your shorts completely torn, exposing the fact that you aren’t wearing anything underneath them.

You think you might spontaneously combust then and there, beyond embarrassed to have your pussy on display in front of your cheating ex’s dad of all people, but he doesn’t give you any time to ponder over how utterly mortifying this situation is.

His thick fingers spread your lower lips apart, and you whimper at the absolutely predatory way he looks up at you as he does. You’re practically dripping with arousal, more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life.

“Did my son ever eat out this pretty pussy?”

“N-No sir.”

“Hmph. His loss.”

With that remark, Mr. Fett buries his face between your thighs, his lips immediately sealing around your clit and sucking.

Your jaw drops, eyes rolling back at the sudden and unexpected sensation, fingers tightening on the countertop to a near painful degree. His mouth is warm, and the suction on your clit is thousands of times better than anything you’ve ever been able to do to yourself. His fingers keep you spread apart, making it easy for Mr. Fett to find the most sensitive parts of you, and torture them relentlessly as you try desperately not to pass out.

His mouth is fucking nirvana, and he eats you out like it’s his goddamn profession, skilled in a way you didn’t think was possible outside of raunchy novels or your imagination. He alternates between sucking on your clit and letting his tongue dip inside your fluttering cunt, teasing you to tears as he fucking devours you.

A brief thought flits through your mind, the excuse your ex had used the one time you’d dared ask if he’d be willing to put his mouth on you. What if Mr. Fett doesn’t like the way you taste?

But it’s like he can read your damn mind, and the filthy way he moans against your pussy immediately banish all notions that he isn’t absolutely obsessed with the way you taste, the vibrations making you whimper.

You try to close your legs, more of a reflex than anything, but his broad shoulders keep you spread open and on display for him. He’s practically fucking you with his tongue, and it leaves you breathless and gasping for air.

“So sweet, little one,” Mr. Fett murmurs, pulling back just slightly, just enough to flick the tip of his tongue repeatedly over your poor clit. “Could eat you for fucking hours.”

The needy little whine that leaves your lips is downright pathetic, your heart jumping at the way he sounds like he actually means it.

You have to fight the urge to grind your hips against his face, a lingering self-consciousness holds you back, comments Denaar had made over the years still floating through your mind, even as Mr. Fett treats you better than his son ever had.

“Don’t hold back,” Mr. Fett growls into your core, and the timbre of his voice sends shockwaves through your body. “Let me see just how pretty your pussy looks when you come.”

“Fuck-” you whimper, throwing your head back, unable to watch him any longer, the stunning visual of Mr. Fett on his knees with his face buried in your cunt too much to bare.

You’re practically dripping, probably leaking all over Mr. Fett’s nice kitchen floors. Your thighs are fucking trembling, pleasure tightening in your gut, the slick sounds of Mr. Fett’s tongue fucking you are obscene, messy and wet.

Your mind is spinning, quickly loosing all sense of reality, the pleasure building fast, building deep. You’re desperate for it, you can feel it approaching like a runaway spaceship, faster, faster, faster.

Fuck, you’re gonna come.

It hits without warning, a snap! of something deep inside you, something you thought had broken long ago. It burns through your nerves like a shot of bacta, instantly making you feel as though you’re fucking flying.

It’s pleasure like you’ve never felt it before. Your muscles lock, your body seizes, and then you’re coming.

It’s almost too much. Your vision whites out, back arching over the counter, gasps escaping as your orgasm drags you under the thrashing waves of bliss. You’re shattering to pieces, tiny shards of glass splintering and breaking as the pleasure reaches a peak.

But Mr. Fett doesn’t stop. He’s had his mouth fucking sealed over your pussy as you fly apart in his grasp, just letting you vibrate out of existence, but then he starts to suck again, flicking his tongue against that abused bundle of nerves. He’s dragging you deeper, deeper, deeper, until you can’t even breathe, the pressure is too much, too intense, you’re gonna go insane-

All you can do is try to warn him, breathlessly calling out his name, but he doesn’t stop, oblivious, or maybe just uncaring of the fact that you’re seconds away from utter ruination.

It’s so much, it’s too much, fuck, please, you can’t-

Your scream echoes throughout the house, but you can’t even hear yourself over the blood rushing in your ears as you gush, slick arousal absolutely pouring from your fluttering pussy, completely drenching Mr. Fett’s face as he grips your hips and holds you there against his face.

You’re babbling apologies, trying to squirm away, but he is relentless. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t stop.

His mouth stays sealed over your pussy, lapping up every single drop, tongue easily coaxing another trembling aftershock from your fluttering cunt.

Mr. Fett’s grip is the only thing that’s keeping you standing, you’re absolutely boneless. He soothes you, gentle but still intense as he presses soft kisses to your puffy clit, pupils dark as he watches you twitch in his grasp.

When he finally pulls away, you can see that the lower half of his face is absolutely covered in your slick, glistening wetly on his skin. With one hand, he grips the bottom of his henley, carelessly wiping at his face before he’s carefully moving your thigh off his shoulder, standing up and cupping your jaw as he presses his lips against yours.

He takes his time kissing you, gently coaxing your lips apart as he lets you taste yourself on his tongue. You can’t help but compare him to his son, and you find your ex sorely lacking. When Denaar kissed you, it often felt like he was slobering into your mouth, like he wanted to shove his tongue down your throat.

Mr. Fett doesn’t kiss anything like his son. He’s possessive, but in a way that makes you feel utterly cherished. He teases, drawing things out, easily coaxing you into practically begging him for more, before he does just that, kissing you hard and deep, like he’s staking a claim.

You’re trembling like a newborn fawn, still gripping the countertop with sweaty fingers as you try to keep up under the onslaught of sensation.

Finally Mr. Fett lets you breathe. You’re absolutely sure that you look like a hot mess, but the dark look in his eyes tells you that Mr. Fett certainly doesn’t mind.

“You’re so pretty when you squirt, princess.”

Your cheeks are aflame with heat, stomach twisting with both embarrassment and pleasure at his words. You really aren’t sure how to respond, so you end up going with your default.

“Thank you, sir.”

The dark smirk on his face tells you that was the correct answer. He then spies your hands, still tightly gripping the countertop, and his smirk turns unspeakably smug.

“And you followed my orders like such a good little girl. I think that deserves a reward.”

He kisses you again, hard and fast.

“Turn around.”

A whimper escapes your lips at his words, wondering what exactly constitutes a reward, and if you’ll even survive it. But, you follow his orders, slowly turning around. It’s a little difficult, what on shaky legs, plus the fact that Mr. Fett stays right where he is, meaning it’s impossible to move without rubbing up against him, but somehow you manage.

“Hands flat on the counter, sweetheart.”

You obey without question, somehow more nervous than before, now that you can’t see him. You feel his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the ruined tatters of your shorts, slowly dragging them down your thighs. You look down at the marble counter, the surface so shiny you can almost see your reflection, the distorted image looking just as debauched as you feel.

He coaxes you into stepping out of the shorts, and then suddenly you’re standing in your ex’s dad’s kitchen wearing only a ratty old tee-shirt, slick dripping down your thighs. You don’t even have time to feel shame before he’s gripping the hem of your shirt and slowly dragging it up your torso, the backs of his knuckles brushing against sensitive skin and making you twitch.

“Hands up, princess.”

Again, there’s no hesitation as you obey. He pulls the shirt all the way off, tossing it somewhere behind you, presumably the same place he tossed your ruined shorts. He grips your wrists, bringing your arms back down by your sides.

“I need you to answer me honestly. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Oh.

“Y-Yes sir.”

You feel his lips press against your neck, a soft, barely there kiss that somehow feels more intimate than anything the two of you have done so far.

“Bend over, baby. Hands on the counter.”

You let out a shaky exhale, slowly bending over so your chest brushes the counter top, arching your back almost subconsciously as you do so.

Mr. Fett lets out a groan of appreciation from behind you, and you feel him smooth a rough hand over the swell of your ass, squeezing the flesh for a brief moment.

There’s the sound of rustling, a zipper being lowered, and then suddenly his fingers are back between your thighs, sliding through your folds and making you yelp.

He lets your slick coat his hand, teasing you before he withdraws, and then the only thing you can focus on is the unmistakable sound of him stroking his cock.

Mr. Fett nudges your feet even further apart, and your mind is immediately dominated by the fact that he stands there, fully clothed, with just his cock out, while you’re completely naked and bent over his kitchen counter. The image in your mind is so lewd, you can’t help the way your pussy clenches, desperate need beginning to rise in you once again.

He doesn’t say anything, but before you can start to second guess everything, you feel something blunt and round press against your entrance.

Fuck, he feels huge.

Your mind can’t help the way it draws another comparison between father and son. Denaar hadn’t been particularly well-endowed, but being the only person you’d ever been with, you hadn’t had anything to measure against.

But clearly, Mr. Fett doesn’t have the same issue as his son, and you faintly wonder if you’re going to be able to even take him.

He doesn’t seem to share in your hesitation, however. With a muffled curse, he slowly begins to push inside, slow and deliberate, like he’s physically having to hold himself back from snapping his hips against yours.

Your mouth falls open as your pussy stretches around him, walls sucking him in as you take inch after inch. It’s a slow, steady pace, but a relentless one, and every time you think he’s surely gotten as far as he can, he pushes in a little more.

He’s splitting you open, moulding your pussy to the shape of him. You know, deep down, that you’re never going to be able to fuck anyone else after him. He’s absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

Finally, finally, he’s fully sheathed inside you, buried to the fucking hilt. You’re so full you can’t help the noise that escapes your throat, somewhere between a pathetic whimper and a desperate whine. He’s pressed up against places you didn’t even fucking know existed, and you’re not sure how the fuck you’re going to survive this.

You brace yourself, preparing for him to start fucking you, but he doesn’t move. There’s just heavy breathing from behind you, and all you can do is lay there and wait for him to do something.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink, thrown by the request.

“W-What?”

He chuckles, dark and almost cruel.

“You’re gonna play with your clit until you come, just like you had to do with my di’kut son. Then, and only then, will I fuck you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, absolutely mortified, but also incredibly turned on. Slowly, you pick up one hand and bring it between your legs, your fingers finding your clit, the bud still swollen from the attention Mr. Fett had lavished on it earlier.

It’s nerve wracking, trying to get yourself off in this position. Mr. Fett is so big inside you, you can’t help the way you clench around his cock, walls fluttering as you try to make yourself come. The shame and embarrassment are almost overwhelming, nearly overtaking the arousal.

Then, large hands cup your tits, kneading and squeezing in rhythmic patterns, making you gasp.

“C’mon princess, you can do it. Don’t you wanna follow my orders?”

You nod desperately, your hand on the counter the only thing keeping you from face-planting onto the cool marble as you desperately play with your clit. Meanwhile, the fingers kneading your tits begin to play with your nipples, pinching slightly as you pant.

“Don’t you wanna be my good little girl?”

A broken cry leaves your lips.

“Please!”

He leans down, the soft fabric of his shirt pressing against your bare back, pressing you further against the counter. His lips brush against your ear.

“Please what?”

You’re so damn close you could scream. Everything is a haze of desperation and pleasure, and you can’t be held accountable for the words that leave your mouth.

“Please daddy!”

There’s a stunned silence behind you, but before you can take it back, there’s a low growl at your ear.

“Then be a good fucking girl and come.”

The sound of his voice is the final push you need, and you come with a startled cry. It’s intense, happening so close to your last release that the line between pleasure and pain has blurred drastically. You’re fucking throbbing, clenching down around his cock, still hard as beskar and buried so deep inside you there’s no fucking room left.

Mr. Fett rips your hand from your pussy, pressing your palm to the counter before he plants both hands beside your head, drawing his hips back as you clench around him, before surging forward with a grunt and slamming back home.

The feeling of him fucking into you as you’re in the middle of coming is so fucking exquisite that you might actually start to cry.

He doesn’t hold back, doesn’t give you any time to brace yourself, using your come as lubricant to ease the slide as he begins to pump in and out of your fluttering hole. Every single time his hips slam into yours it makes you cry out, and he’s quick to praise.

“You take me so fucking good little girl. Doing such a good job for me, letting me fuck this tight little cunt.”

You can’t even breathe, it feels like he’s fucking your throat he’s so deep. You’ve never felt this stuffed full, even with your own toys. They say like father, like son, but that is so not the case here.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the kitchen, the lewd and obscene squelch as Mr. Fett takes you is all you can hear.

He uses the leverage he has on the counter to add more momentum to his thrusts, and soon the only sound you can make are pathetic little squeaks, because there isn’t enough air in your lungs to scream.

You’re dizzy, mind rapidly clearing of all higher consciousness as Mr. Fett quite literally fucks you stupid. He keeps somehow fucking you harder and deeper, and you’re damn sure to have bruises for days after this, but you can’t muster up the energy to care.

The only thing swirling through your head are the dirty things he keeps whispering in your ear.

“You’re makin’ such a mess, baby,” he coos, voice sugary sweet and in direct contrast to the brutal way he’s fucking you. “You like being daddy’s messy little girl, huh?”

There are tears rolling down your cheeks, it’s too much and somehow not enough. Of course, Mr. Fett notices.

“Oh, is it too much for my princess?” His tone suddenly darkens, the abrupt switch nearly giving you whiplash. “Maybe I should stop, hmm? Don’t wanna upset you, baby.”

That sounds like the absolutely worst idea in the fucking galaxy.

“No, daddy, please!”

He chuckles, the sound dark and foreboding.

“As my princess commands.”

Suddenly, he hooks a hand under one knee, bringing your right leg up to rest on the counter top, forcing you to rise up on your tip toes. He holds your leg down against the counter, curving his body against yours, bending you over further.

His thrusts get even more brutal, absolutely pounding into you, suddenly much deeper at this angle. His free hand wraps around your throat, thumb and forefinger pressed tight to your jaw as he pulls your head up.

To your shock, you realize you can see the mirror that’s on the opposite wall across the dining room, and you have a perfect view of watching yourself be fucked within an inch of your life by your ex-boyfriend’s dad.

“See that?” He murmurs, cheek pressed to yours as his dark eyes meet yours through the mirror. “Who’s that fucking you, baby?”

You’re so far gone, the voice that slips out doesn’t even sound like your own.

“You, daddy.”

He kisses you on the cheek, ignoring the tear tracks running down your face.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this. I’m the only one who gets to see those pretty eyes roll back in your head when you come. Your pleasure belongs to me.”

“Daddy-”

He must feel the way you begin to tighten around him, a signal of your oncoming release. It honestly wouldn’t surprise you if you passed out, you feel so dizzy and lightheaded, one orgasm blurring into the next.

“Is my princess gonna let me come inside, hmm? Gonna be a good little girl and let me fill you up like you deserve?”

Oh, you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

“Daddy, please, I want it,” you sob, not above begging to get your way. “Pleasepleaseplease daddy I’ll be good, I-”

He shushes you gently, lips pressed to your temple, even as he fucks you so hard your brains are melting out of your ears.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give my baby what she wants. You’ve been so good for me, princess, letting me fuck you stupid. You’ve just gotta promise me one little thing, that’s it.”

You nod frantically, desperate to agree to anything that’ll get you what you want.

His hand abruptly tightens on your throat, cutting off your air and making you choke. His voice has gone dark and cruel, the threat evident in his words.

“You’re fucking mine. I’m the only one who gets to fuck this pretty pussy. I’m the only one who gets to see what you look like when you fall apart. I’m the only one. Promise me.”

Your vision is starting to go dark from the combined pleasure and lack of air. Even without that, you’d promise Mr. Fett anything he wanted in a heartbeat.

“I promise, daddy!” You wail, barely audible as you run out of air.

He immediately releases your throat, instead gripping your shoulder to pull you back onto his cock as he thrusts even faster. The increased speed combined with the rush of air into your screaming lungs immediately pushes you off the cliff and into oblivion.

You’re about ninety-percent positive you black out, ears ringing as you absolutely explode, soaking his cock as your legs tremble so violently if he wasn’t holding you down you’d collapse. You’re practically strangling his cock as you clench hard, muscles spasming and body shaking as you go through the most intense orgasm of your life.

Your release washes over you like a tidal wave, but Mr. Fett doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting even as your walls try desperately to milk his cock, his hand finding your sore, swollen, abused clit as he forces you higher and higher instead of letting you come down.

“That’s it,” he hisses in your ear, voice strained as he pushes you from one climax straight into the next, never once stopping or slowing down. “That’s how a fucking man does it, baby, that’s it.”

You’re gushing, liquid being forced out of you with every thrust, mind going blank as you squirt all over his cock, the counter, the fucking floor. You’re so far gone embarrassment doesn’t even cross your mind.

You’ve been completely wrecked, body limp and pliable, trembling and whimpering, still somehow fucking coming. But he keeps going. He keeps fucking you through it, uncaring, chasing his high, refusing to let you catch your damn breath.

“Fuck,” he snarls, hips stuttering as he finally reaches that peak. You’re sobbing, the overstimulation pushing you past the point of insanity and into nothingness, leaving you a creature of nothing more than desperate need.

He buries himself to the hilt one last time, pressing you harder against the marble as he finally comes, cock twitching and pulsing inside of you as he floods your womb.

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you.

It feels as though he won’t ever stop coming. He’s throbbing inside you, and it makes your sobs take on a keening edge. He keeps rubbing at your clit, making you twitch and shudder around him, and he groans in appreciation.

You’re so full, you can feel his seed leaking out and dripping down your thighs, and you whimper at the thought of any of it going to waste.

He gently begins to stand up straight, bringing your leg down off the counter. He’s still half-hard inside you, and you whimper quietly as he withdraws, leaving you pathetically empty.

His hands are careful as he pulls you up from where you’ve been plastered against the counter. He slowly turns you to face him.

“Can you hold onto me, sweetheart?”

Brow furrowed in fuzzy confusion, you do as he asks, lazily locking your fingers behind his neck. You don’t even get a warning before he suddenly grabs your thigh and lifts, making you squeak as he hauls you up against his body, his free hand easily sliding his cock back inside your throbbing pussy. Your mouth drops open at suddenly being filled again.

He grabs your other leg and hooks them up around his waist, so he’s carrying you, completely suspended in the air. It would almost seem causal, if he wasn’t balls deep inside you, rapidly hardening once again.

Mr. Fett meets your wide eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips as he begins to stride out of the kitchen, each step making you bounch on his cock and sending sparks down your spine.

“Did you think we were done, little one?” He asks as he begins to slowly climb the stairs, exaggerating the movements of his steps and his arms so you’re slammed back down on his cock with each and every step. “Denaar’s gone all weekend. We’re not done until I’ve fucked you in every room of my house.”

It’s too much, your mind completely overwhelmed. You tuck your face into his neck and wrap your arms tighter around him as you try not to cry from the pleasure of having him back insie you.

He takes you down the hall, past Denaar’s room, and into the master bedroom. He doesn’t waste time, keeping you cradled against him as he crawls onto the bed. The mattress against your back and the pillow under your head feel so good, but you know based on the look in Mr. Fett’s eyes, that sleep is not what he has in mind.

“Do you want me to fuck you again, princess?”

You nod eagerly, already feeling the pleasure tingling through your veins as he shifts inside you.

His smirk is dark, but smug. “Use your words.”

“Yes please, daddy.”

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Want some candy?