**Elliot and Daddy’s Secret Night**

It started like any other night at home—just me, Dad, and the quiet hum of the TV filling the living room. But tonight was different. The air felt charged, thick with something unspoken between us. I was eighteen now, not a kid anymore, and Dad had been looking at me differently—longer, hungrier. I’d caught him staring at my body more than once, his eyes lingering on my chest, my lips. And I didn’t mind.

We were sitting close on the couch, his thigh pressed against mine. His hand, rough and warm, brushed over my knee—just a casual touch at first, but then his fingers slid higher, grazing my inner thigh. My breath hitched.

“You like that, don’t you, Eli?” His voice was low, rough, sending a shiver straight to my cock.

I swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

His hand cupped my crotch through my sweatpants, feeling me up, and I was already half-hard. Dad smirked, squeezing lightly. “Fuck, you’re eager.”

Before I could answer, he leaned in and kissed me—hungry, possessive. His tongue pushed past my lips, claiming my mouth while his fingers dug into my thigh. I moaned into the kiss, my cock swelling fully now, desperate for more.

Dad broke away, panting, and pulled my shirt up, his calloused hands skimming over my bare chest. My nipples were already stiff, sensitive, and when his thumb brushed over one, I gasped.

“Fuck, Dad—”

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he growled, rolling my nipple between his fingers until it ached. I arched into his touch, whimpering. Then he lowered his mouth, sucking my nipple hard, his tongue flicking over the tip. I cried out, my cock leaking in my pants.

But then he bit down—not too hard, just enough to make me jerk—and I felt it. A hot, wet sensation. Milk.

My eyes flew open. “D-Dad—?”

He pulled back, licking his lips, staring at the tiny beads of milk on my nipple. “You’re lactating, baby boy.” His voice was dark, thrilled.

My face burned. I hadn’t even realized, but my chest had been tender lately. Now, my nipples were swollen, wet, and Dad wasn’t letting up. He sucked again, harder, drawing the milk out in slow, deep pulls. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure and shame twisting together, my cock throbbing.

“Shit—Daddy, I—!” I grabbed his hair, holding him to my chest as he drank from me, his other hand yanking my sweatpants down, freeing my aching cock. He stroked me fast, rough, his mouth still working my nipple.

“Taste so fucking good,” he groaned between sucks.

I was losing it, my hips bucking into his fist, my chest on fire. “Gonna cum—fuck, Daddy, please—!”

He didn’t stop. He milked me with his mouth, his hand jerking me ruthlessly until I exploded, shooting thick ropes across my stomach, my back arching off the couch.

Dad finally pulled back, his lips wet, his own cock straining in his jeans. He licked his mouth clean, watching me pant beneath him.

“Good boy,” he murmured, stroking my cheek. “Now let’s get you cleaned up… so I can do it all over again.”