Fucked face down on your schoolgirl bed

You walk ahead of him up the path, bag still clutched in front of you. Every step makes the ruined tights drag between your thighs. The wet nylon has gone cold again in the evening air; it sticks and peels with each movement, the soaked crotch of the panties clinging to your still-swollen lips. You can feel the mess he left on the seat cooling against the backs of your thighs where it transferred when you stood. Your hands are shaking so badly you fumble the key in the lock.

The house is quiet. Your mother’s shift doesn’t end for another two hours. The front door closes behind you and the sound is too loud. He doesn’t speak. His hand finds the small of your back and steers you toward the stairs. Your room is at the end of the hallway—pale pink walls, fairy lights still tangled around the mirror, the single bed with its rumpled white duvet and the faded posters you never took down. You push the door open and the smell of your own perfume and laundry hits you. It feels obscene that you’re about to do this here.

He shuts the door with his foot. The click of the latch makes your stomach drop.

“Skirt up. Now.”

You drop the bag. Your fingers hook under the hem again and bunch the skirt at your waist. The tights are still on, the dark wet patch at the crotch even more obvious in the soft light from the window. He steps in close, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other between your legs. He doesn’t bother pulling anything down this time. His fingers find the seam of the pantyhose and hook into it. There’s a sharp, tearing sound as he rips the nylon open right over your cunt—ragged edges of black mesh peeling away from the soaked panties underneath.

“Fuck,” he mutters, staring down. “Still fucking dripping.”

He yanks the torn nylon wider, then hooks two fingers under the gusset of the panties and pulls them roughly to the side. Cool air hits bare skin for a second before his cock is there, thick and already hard, the head dragging through the mess of his earlier cum and your own slick. He doesn’t ease in. He shoves the whole length into you in one brutal thrust.

The stretch burns. Your back hits the wall beside the bed and a broken sound tears out of your throat—half gasp, half moan. He’s deep, the head of his cock grinding against your cervix, and the ruined tights are stretched tight around his hips where he hasn’t bothered to pull them further down. The torn nylon scrapes against your inner thighs every time he moves. The panties are twisted aside, the wet fabric digging into the side of your clit.

“On the bed,” he growls against your ear. “Face down.”

You stumble the two steps and drop onto the mattress. The duvet is soft under your cheek. Your school blazer is still on. He doesn’t undress you. He just climbs up behind you, knees forcing your thighs wider, and drives back in. The angle is deeper. You cry out, loud, the sound muffled only a little by the pillow. He grabs a handful of your hair and yanks your head back so the next moan comes out clear and high.

“Listen to you,” he says, voice rough. His hips slam forward hard enough to rock the whole bed. The headboard knocks once against the wall. “Little schoolgirl cunt taking her stepdaddy’s cock in her own bed. You want the neighbours to hear?”

You do. The thought makes your pussy clench around him so hard he groans. Every thrust forces more wetness out of you; it runs down over the torn nylon and the displaced panties, soaking into the white duvet beneath your hips. The sound is filthy—wet, rhythmic, the sharp slap of his skin against the backs of your thighs where the tights are still stretched. You can hear yourself. High, desperate little noises every time he bottoms out. You can’t stop them. Your inner voice is a frantic loop of oh god oh god he’s fucking me on my bed, he’s going to make me come again, everyone will hear, I don’t care, I don’t care—

He reaches around and finds your clit through the mess of torn nylon and twisted lace. His fingers are rough, rubbing hard circles right over the swollen nub while he fucks you in short, punishing strokes. The dual sensation makes your thighs shake. You’re already close again. The orgasm from the car hasn’t fully left you; your cunt is still fluttering, oversensitive, and every thrust drags another broken sound out of your throat.

“Say it,” he grunts, hips snapping. “Tell me whose cunt this is while I fuck it in your little pink room.”

“Yours,” you gasp, voice cracking. “It’s yours, Daddy—fuck—it’s your cunt, I’m your cum slut, please—”

He fucks you harder. The bed is loud now, the headboard hitting the wall in a steady, unmistakable rhythm. Your moans are louder than the knocking. You can hear the wet sounds of him moving inside you, the scrape of the torn tights, the way your own voice keeps rising. Your face is burning against the pillow. You know how you look—skirt bunched at your waist, blazer still on, school tights ripped open and panties pulled aside while your stepfather’s cock drives into you on the bed you sleep in every night. The thought makes you clench so hard he curses and fucks deeper.

“Coming,” you sob, the word half-swallowed. “Daddy—I’m coming—oh god—”

It hits while he’s buried to the hilt. Your whole body locks, pussy spasming around his cock in hard, rhythmic pulses that force more slick out around the base. You moan into the pillow, then louder when he doesn’t stop, dragging the orgasm out with deep, grinding thrusts. Your hips jerk back against him without permission. The wet sounds get messier. You’re dripping down his balls, soaking the front of his trousers and the duvet. He keeps his fingers on your clit the whole time, rubbing you through it until you’re shaking and oversensitive and still pushing back for more.

He doesn’t pull out. He stays deep, cock throbbing inside you, and leans over your back. His breath is hot against your ear.

“Not done,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “You’re going to keep making those noises until I’m finished with you.”

His hips start moving again—slower now, but just as deep—and the wet, filthy sound of it fills your pink bedroom. You bury your face in the pillow and moan his name anyway.