Chapter 2

Over the next few nights, a dangerous new routine settled over our house like a warm, forbidden blanket. Every evening at 8:30, just as the World Cup matches began, we gathered in the transformed living room. The projector cast its massive glow across the wall, turning our cozy space into a private stadium. Johan was always there first, shirtless in nothing but a pair of loose gray athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp V-line of his abs and the powerful muscles of his thighs. I couldn't stop stealing glances at him—the way the flickering light played across his broad chest and defined stomach, the casual confidence in every movement.

I started wearing his old national team jersey around the house. The oversized fabric fell to mid-thigh, soft and comforting against my skin, but dangerously short if I moved the wrong way. Underneath, I wore only a thin pair of white panties.

Tonight's match against England was intense from the opening whistle. The living room was dimly lit, the string lights twinkling softly like distant stadium bulbs. Johan patted the sofa beside him as usual, but halfway through the first half, his deep voice cut through the commentator's chatter.

"Come here, baby," he said, his tone warm yet commanding. He patted his thick, muscular thigh. "Sit on Daddy's lap. It'll be more fun this way. You can see the screen better."

My heart slammed against my ribs. I froze for a second, the words echoing in my mind. Sit on his lap? Like a little girl? But his eyes were gentle, expectant, and the pull was impossible to resist. I stood up on shaky legs and climbed onto him, sitting sideways at first. The moment my soft, barely-covered ass settled onto his lap, I felt it.

His cock was already half-hard beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. As my weight pressed down, it swelled rapidly—growing thicker, longer, hotter—until it formed a massive, burning rod nestled directly against the soft cleft of my ass. The heat was overwhelming, pulsing with his heartbeat. Even through my thin panties, I could feel every ridge and vein as it hardened fully against me.

Oh my God… that's Daddy's cock.

Johan wrapped one strong arm around my waist, pulling me tighter against his bare chest. His chin rested on my shoulder, and when he spoke, his warm breath brushed the sensitive skin of my neck and ear.

"Look at that pass, Miranda," he murmured, his voice low and vibrating through my body. "The midfield needs to be more aggressive tonight. Can you feel the tension building?"

Every word sent a wave of hot air across my skin, making me shiver. His muscular chest rose and fell steadily against my back, solid and reassuring. I should have shifted away. I should have made an excuse and gone back to my spot on the sofa. But instead, I subtly adjusted my hips, pressing my soft ass more firmly down onto that throbbing hardness. The thick shaft twitched in response, nestling deeper between my cheeks.

Johan's arm tightened around my waist. "Comfortable, baby?" he asked, his voice noticeably lower, rougher around the edges. His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, sending sparks straight down my spine.

"Yes, Daddy…" I whispered, my voice trembling. The word "Daddy" felt different now—heavier, charged with something I didn't want to name.

I stayed there for the entire second half, perched obediently on my stepfather's lap. His rock-hard cock throbbed steadily against me, the massive length trapped between my ass cheeks. Every time the game grew exciting, his hips would shift slightly under me, grinding that fat shaft along my cleft in small, almost imperceptible movements. My pussy ached with need. I could feel myself getting wetter by the minute, my juices soaking through the thin white panties and beginning to slick the front of his shorts.

The shame burned hot in my cheeks. This is wrong. He's your stepfather. You shouldn't be feeling this. But the shame only made the heat between my legs intensify. I bit my lip hard, trying to focus on the match, but all I could think about was the enormous cock pulsing against my most intimate place.

When the U.S. team scored the winning goal in stoppage time, Johan celebrated by holding me even tighter. His thick cock pressed upward with raw need, grinding firmly against me as he cheered. His hot breath poured against my neck in a deep groan of excitement.

By the time the final whistle blew, my panties were completely drenched. I lingered on his lap a few moments longer than necessary, reluctant to leave the burning heat beneath me. Finally, I slipped off, my legs shaky as I stood.

"I… I'm going to bed," I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

"Sleep well, babygirl," he replied softly, but I caught the slight huskiness in his voice.

The second I closed my bedroom door behind me, I leaned back against it, breathing hard. My hand slid under the oversized jersey, fingers trembling as they touched my ruined panties. They were soaked—sticky, dripping with my arousal. I had sat on my Daddy's lap for nearly two hours, his hard cock nestled between my ass cheeks the entire time.

And the scariest part? I had loved every single second of it.

I buried my face in my pillow, a whirlwind of shame and arousal twisting violently inside me. My fingers slipped inside my panties, finding my swollen, aching clit. As I touched myself, images of Johan's strong body and deep voice flooded my mind. I came quickly, biting down on the pillow to muffle my whimpers, his name a silent plea on my lips.

Tomorrow night, I already knew—I would sit on his lap again.