Miranda receives an oil massage from her dad

Kneading Tensions: A Father's Forbidden Massage

The Request

The dinner plates had been cleared, the wine glasses emptied, and the air in the dining room hung heavy with unspoken tension. Miranda stretched languidly in her chair, the thin fabric of her sundress riding up her thighs as she turned to Antonio with a practiced pout.

"Papà," she sighed, rolling her shoulders with exaggerated weariness, "my back is killing me. Stefano was kinda... Enthusiastic earlier."

The implication hung between them, thick as the summer humidity. Antonio's fingers tightened around his wine glass, the middle-aged man's knuckles whitening as images of his daughter tangled with that bastard flooded his mind unbidden.

"I could use a massage," Miranda continued, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief as she traced the rim of her glass with one fingertip. "You used to be good at that, didn't you? Before you became such a...disappointment."

Maria glanced up from her knitting, her brow furrowing. "It's late, Miranda."

"Oh, Mamma," Miranda laughed, the sound like wind chimes—light, airy, and utterly false. "It's just a massage. Unless you think Papà can't control himself?"

The challenge hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown. Antonio's throat worked soundlessly as his wife's gaze flickered between them.

"Of course not," Maria finally said, her needles clicking together sharply. "Just don't take too long."

Miranda's smile was a knife wrapped in silk.

The Preparation

The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, the lock engaging with a soft, damning snick. Miranda sauntered to the bed, her hips swaying with each step, the dress slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet in a whisper of fabric.

Antonio's breath caught.

She stood before him in nothing but a pair of lace panties, the slender vixen's pale skin gilded by the warm glow of the bedside lamp.

"F-Fuck... She looks just like her mom when we first dated."

Every curve, every dip, every inch of her was a masterpiece—a masterpiece that didn't belong to him. The sinful father's boner ached with unspent need.

"Well?" Miranda arched a brow, gesturing to the bottle of oil on the nightstand. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to earn your keep?"

Antonio's hands trembled as he reached for the bottle, the cap clicking open with a sound that seemed absurdly loud in the charged silence. The scent of jasmine filled the air, cloying and sweet, as he poured a generous amount into his palms.

Miranda stretched out on the bed, her back to him, her ass a perfect, round invitation. "Start with my shoulders," she commanded, her voice dripping with false innocence. "And don't dare get any ideas."

Antonio swallowed hard, the middle-age man's cock already straining against his slacks as he placed his oil-slick hands on the pale beauty's bare skin. His daughter's erotic contralto broke her horny dad's reverie,

"Ah, just like that daddy... I'm soooo sore."

What a fucking tease.

The Seductive ****

His fingers worked into the knots of her shoulders, the muscles yielding beneath his touch. Miranda moaned, the sound low and throaty, her body arching into his hands.

"Mmm, that's good," she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Stefano never takes his time like this. He's always in such a rush to get inside me."

Antonio's grip tightened involuntarily, his fingers digging into her flesh.

Miranda giggled, twisting to glance at him over her shoulder. "Does that bother you, Papà? Knowing how much better he fucks me than you ever could?"

Antonio's jaw clenched, his cock throbbing painfully in his pants.

"Lower," Miranda commanded, shifting so that his hands slid down her back, his thumbs pressing into the dimples at the base of her spine. "Right there."

His fingers skimmed the waistband of her panties, the lace damp beneath his touch.

"Oh, Papà," Miranda sighed, her hips lifting slightly, pressing her ass back against him. "Don't be shy."

Antonio's breath came in ragged gasps as he hooked his fingers into the fabric, peeling it down her thighs with agonizing slowness.

Miranda shivered, her skin pebbling with goosebumps as the cool air hit her exposed flesh. "That's it," she murmured, spreading her legs slightly. "Now really show me what you're good for."

The Release

Antonio's hands slid lower, his fingers slick with oil as they traced the curve of her ass, kneading the supple flesh with **** reverence.

Miranda pushed back against him, her body undulating beneath his touch. "Mmm, yes," she moaned, her voice a siren's call. "Just like that."

His cock ached, trapped in the confines of his slacks, his hips rocking forward of their own volition.

Miranda laughed, the sound dark and knowing. "Oh, Papà," she teased, reaching back to press his hand lower, guiding his fingers between her thighs. "Is this what you really want?"

Antonio groaned, his fingers brushing against her slick folds, the heat of her searing his skin.

"Pathetic," Miranda murmured, her voice dripping with disdain even as she ground against his hand. "You can't even touch me without coming in your pants, can you?"

Antonio's hips jerked, his cock twitching as the first hot pulse of his release spilled into his underwear.

Miranda twisted, her hand shooting out to grip his wrist, pushing his cum-smeared fingers to her lips. "Look at you," she mocked, the young beauty's tongue darting out to lick her dad's shame from his skin. "Couldn't even last long enough to fuck me."

Antonio shuddered, his body collapsing forward, the middle-aged man's forehead pressing against her bare back.

Miranda pushed him away with a laugh, rolling onto her side to study him with cruel amusement. "Clean yourself up, Papà," she ordered, her voice sweet as poison. "And next time, try to be less of a disappointment."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Antonio alone in the hallway—his pants ruined, his pride shattered, and his cock already stirring again.