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It was directly after a game, and I was still streaked with dirt, sweat dripping all over her back. Millie and I had fucked around before, and I knew she liked it down and dirty. I grabbed coach's discarded tie and wrapped it around her pretty throat, pulling her head back and forcing her to look into the camera when I shoved my dick into her so hard, she let out an animalistic grunt as the breath pushed out of her. She was always down for some kinky shit.
"Yeah, you like that, don't you Millie? You like taking my fat dick while you're bent over your daddy's desk?"
"Yeah," she moaned, her pussy tightening. "Yeah!" she mewled, her voice going up an octave every time I slammed my cock into her dripping pussy. “Oh God, yes!”
"Too bad your daddy is such a fucking pussy, isn't it, little girl?" I didn't wait for an answer, driving into her at a faster pace. This video could only last so long, and I needed to cram as much disrespect into it as possible before I made Millie scream and come all over my cock.
"I think you need a better daddy, baby. What do you think?" Millie was moaning so loudly, I was worried the coach might walk in and find us before we were done with our little performance. Not that she was faking. I could tell by the way her pussy walls were rippling around my cock that every moan and cry was real.
Just when I felt her clenching down on me, ready to come, I slammed her face down onto the desk, making sure she was facing the camera, and fucked her savagely. Her whole body lurched with every thrust.
"Come for me, little girl. And tell everybody who your daddy is now."
"Jack!"
"Louder baby," I growled, licking my finger before shoving it in her ass and making her scream.
As she clamped down hard around me, she sobbed, "Jack Perry is my daddy!"
Then I pulled out and forced her to her knees in front of me before I blew my load all over her face.
I grin at the memory. God, that was a good fuck.
I’ll never forget the way his expression morphed from confusion to mortified rage when the game footage cut out and the pornographic noises started. Watching his little princess taking my dick like a fucking porn star was a shock to his system, and he looked like he might have a heart attack when she shouted that I was her daddy now.
That’s what you get when you’re a shitty-ass father.
Fuck, I'm almost hard just thinking about it. If I thought that Millie would ever be let out without supervision again, I'd call and see if she wanted to suck me off. She's the only person I'm going to miss at this shithole. This so-called Christian college is full of nothing but preppy assholes and posers. Millie is the only one here that isn't a fake bitch just living off their rich parent's success, waiting for shit to be handed to them on a silver platter. She's already applied to law school at Columbia, and plans to transfer there next year. Otherwise, I'd be worried about leaving her to the wolves. Now that her cousin has been put down, she can take care of herself. We parted on good terms, helping each other out one last time. We made a fool out of her idiot father and showed him just how much respect he was owed.
Fuck this school. Fuck this team. And fuck their chances for a championship. They can't play worth shit now, especially without their first-string quarterback or a decent wide receiver.
I don't need them to achieve my goals. I'll find a rec league to play on, send some tapes to scouts, and find an agent. There's more than one way to the NFL. I've only got one more year before I'm eligible to be drafted. That's plenty of time to come up with a game plan.
My bags are already packed. Pretty much everything I own is inside my large, army-style duffel bag. I pull the strap over my shoulder and grab the small box of books and other crap I'm taking with me, and I leave without saying goodbye to even one person. I wasn't here to make friends, and I'm not crying on my way out.
The cab home hurts my wallet, but I've got a job lined up starting Monday. As long as I have enough to pitch in for bills and feed myself, Mom won't mind that I'm home earlier than expected.
When I walk in our single-wide trailer, I see her passed out on the couch, still in her stained uniform from the diner. There's a bottle of cheap whiskey next to her that I grab and take a deep swig, wincing at the burn. This is the shittiest booze I've had since I left home, and that's saying something, considering most college parties are fueled by warm beer and cheap liquor. Fortunately, there were enough spoiled rich kids on the football team that I drank the good stuff most of the time.
I consider if I should wake Mom and tell her I'm here so she doesn't worry someone's broken in, but I figure I should let her sleep it off. She works hard and means well, but she can be a mean drunk. I leave my shoes within eyesight so she knows I'm here, and head to take a shower. The small trailer is dingy and old, but it's clean enough, if a little dusty. Mom isn't here very often, and when she is, she's usually passed out drunk. It's been like this as far back as I can remember.
The water is cold when I step into the spray, but I welcome the jolt to my system. What's that quote? I've got miles to go before I rest.
CHAPTER 2
BRYANT
Jack Perry is a work of art. His strong back muscles ripple through his thin t-shirt as he picks up boxes that easily weigh more than he does, carrying them across the floor and arranging them on the proper shelves. His sun-tanned skin is glistening with a layer of sweat, and his closely buzzed dark hair and strong jaw make him look tough and weathered. I get the impression that his shitty habits and attitude were hard earned by a rough life. Football was probably all this kid had to raise him out of this shithole Alabama town, but now look where he's landed himself.
I watch him from the shadows as he unloads boxes in the old warehouse, and briefly wonder if this place is a legit operation or if they're hocking stolen goods, but I shrug it off. It doesn't really matter either way, and sometimes those shady jobs pay more. I've been there.
At least he's keeping himself strong. All of this lifting is certainly helping him maintain all that lean muscle.
Just as I'm considering what his body fat percentage might be, he speaks.
"You gonna stand there and stare at me all night, or are you going to get on with it?" His southern drawl is more subtle than the Texas twang I've become accustomed to.
I can't help but chuckle a little. "On with what?" My voice feels too loud after standing here quietly for so long. How long have I been watching him? And how long has he been aware of me?
