On My Knees, Daddy: A Steamy Compilation of Erotic Stories
What if your next filthy favorite story started with a moan... and ended with "Yes, Daddy"?
Then take a deep breath... •ON MY KNEES, DADDY• is ready to leave you soaked, breathless, and aching for more.
This is a raw, erotic collection of dominant men who don't ask-they take. And their submissives? Oh, they beg. They kneel. They come apart, over and over.
Inside, you'll find stories that cross every line: hotel-room threesomes, forbidden stepdaddy fantasies, one-night stands, rough office sex, taboo roleplay, and the kind of dirty stories that will have your thighs clenched and your fingers wandering.
Warning: These pages drip with sin. Read in private, or get caught dripping. 18+ only.
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Chapter 1
A Slút For My Professor (Part 1)
SUMMARY: A young lady gets initiated into the world of BD'SM and meets her college professor who is more than ready to make her beg for more.
•KRISTEN•
I was twenty-two when I first had séx, barely three months ago. I thought I was waiting for the right person, someone who'd make my first time matter, but it didn't. It meant nothing to Edward, my ex-boyfriend.
To him, my virginity was a prize. A fúcking milestone.
When he finally got me in bed, there was no tenderness, no slow build, no care. Just rough, clumsy thrusting that barely lasted thirty seconds. The pain came fast before I even had a chance to feel the pleasure. Afterwards, he didn't ask if I was okay. Hell, he didn't even look me in the eye.
Days passed, and I sent text after text, yet he never replied to any. It felt like he had cut me off completely, and that's when it hit me: none of it mattered to him.
I was a name, more like a box checked off on his list of girls he'd fúcked, nothing more.
But here's the truth: I didn't want sweet romance, neither did I want gentle.
I craved more. I fantasized about surrender. I secretly desired to be broken open and owned. I dreamed of being collared, silenced, bent over and fúcked until I forgot who I was. I wanted to be devoured, and taken like an animal in heat. I wanted to surrender and go on my knees to please a man who could make me beg for more.
A few weeks after my ex-boyfriend dumped me, I decided to explore an anonymous online BD'SM community. The moderator of the website reached out to me shortly after I had filed out the application form.
The next day, I received an invitation to meet him in person at a local restaurant in the middle of the city. He refused to tell me his name or give me any information about himself. Instead, he told me he'd be in a white suit that had a pink square pocket.
---
NOW.
It's 6 p.m., and I'm standing at the entrance of The Velvet Fork, the restaurant, as my heart pounds in my chest.
"Phew. Are you ready for this, Kristen?" I mutter to myself, smoothing the front of my dress. I scan the restaurant, discreetly trying to identify my "initiation guide."
My gaze lands on a man in a white suit leaning against the wall in the corner. There's no pink square pocket on his jacket, but the face?
Oh fúck. I gasp.
I know exactly who he is. Cassian.
Professor Cassian Ashbourne, my psychology professor. He's staring at me too, but quickly looks away.
I freeze. This is seriously messed up.
I'm rooted to the spot just by the entrance, torn between turning around and walking out. I watch as Professor Cassian pulls out his phone and scrolls for a second before lifting it to his ear.
Is he about to call me? Before I can think too hard, my feet move on their own. I walk toward him, eyes locked on his face, silently convincing myself this is just a coincidence.
But as I get closer, my denial starts to crack. His jawline is clean, sharp, and ridiculously sexy. What the actual fúck? He still avoids my gaze, looking straight ahead.
When I finally reach him, I do the only thing that makes sense in the moment..I walk right past him and into the restroom behind him.
I slam the door shut and lock it, gripping the edge of the sink. My reflection stares back at me, eyes wide with panic. And something else.
A thrill.
He's not just any professor. He's the sinfully hot Professor Cassian Ashbourne and I've nursed a stupid little crush on him for months, fantasized about what he'd look like shirtless, what his voice would sound like against my neck.
And now he's supposed to be my Initiation Guide? Into BD'SM?
What the hell do I do?
"Leave," I mumble to myself. "Run. Pretend this never happened."
But my body betrays me, and as I watch my reflection in the stained bathroom mirror, my nípplés are hard, aching against the soft fabric of my dress. I went braless tonight because I wanted to feel séxy. And now... I'm wet.
Shit. I shouldn't be turned on by this, but I am.
I have two options here. I could walk out of the restaurant and forget about this or I could walk up to my hot professor and submit to him. For almost two years, he had been the subject of my dark séxual fantasies, and right now, he is only a short distance away from me, probably waiting for me. I am his student and if I follow through with this, he's probably going to fúck me before midnight.
I draw in a deep breath. My panties are soaked now as I rub my thighs against each other.
What is the worst that could happen if I went on my knees and let Prof. Cassian do anything he desires with me?
I do not wait to think of an answer. Instead, I push open the door and step out of the restroom.
He's right there, waiting for me. A faint smile plays on his lips as he watches me, his suit jacket now draped over the back of a chair. He's left in a crisp white shirt that hugs his broad shoulders in a way that should be illegal. He gives me a small nod, gesturing for me to follow him.
He walks over to a quiet corner and takes a seat at a table. I hesitate for a second before sitting across from him.
"Good evening, Ms. Thorne," he says smoothly.
I swallow hard. "Good morning, I mean, evening... Professor Ashbourne." My words come out a little rushed. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Especially not as the BD'SM moderator."
A wave of nervous heat floods my body. My palms are damp, and I can barely control my breathing. What is he thinking? Is he judging me? Is he going to shut this down completely?
When I meet his eyes again, he smiles and leans in slightly, "No... not here. Outside school, I'm not your professor. Just call me Cassian."
I nod. His gaze searches mine. "If having me as your guide makes you uncomfortable, I can ask someone else to step in."
God, no. Please don't. My heart jumps, and I force a tight smile.
"I...um... no, profe-" I catch myself.
"Cassian," he gently corrects.
"Right. Cassian," I murmur, placing a hand over my chest to steady the anxious fluttering. "Will this... affect anything back at college?"
He raises a brow. "No, Kristen. It won't. And is it alright if I call you by your first name?"
I give a small nod.
"Kristen," he says again, his voice lowering just a bit. "Everything that happens here stays here. It's completely confidential. You have nothing to worry about. Do you have any questions for me?"
I nod again, this time more slowly. "Yes... I do."
He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing with interest. "Then go ahead. Ask."
That look he gives me...it's intense and focused, like I'm already stripped bare beneath it. The way he stares at me makes my mouth dry. And then a filthy thought hits me: I was just about to discuss BD'SM with my college professor, and all I could think about was dropping to my knees under this damn restaurant table... and tasting him..
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7.7
For two years, I played the role of the "Midwestern mistake," the mousey wife Julian Ford-Sterling IV kept hidden like a shameful secret. I hid my true self behind thick glasses and ashen foundation, acting as the perfect, cowed charity case while he lived a life of marble and indifference.
The day our marriage contract ended, the headlines were already screaming about his affair with Hollywood’s sweetheart, Lana Vane. Julian didn't even grant me a final conversation; he simply sent his legal team to hand me divorce papers that gave me nothing—no alimony, no shares, just a non-disclosure agreement and a one-way ticket out of his life.
I signed the papers and walked away, but a drugged encounter in a dark club that same night led me back into his arms. We collided in the shadows, two strangers stripped of their titles, but I fled before dawn, accidentally leaving behind my vintage silver locket. By the time I reached my secret design studio the next morning, I discovered Julian had executed a hostile takeover of my entire life’s work.
To my horror, Lana Vane was already there, clutching my stolen locket and shamelessly claiming she was the woman Julian had spent the night with. Julian stood before me in his charcoal suit, looking at me with total lack of recognition. To him, I was just a "gold-digging" architect he had bought along with the furniture.
I watched them together, the man who had discarded me and the woman who had stolen my identity, realizing that Julian was obsessed with the genius of "Rose" while despising the woman who stood right in front of him. He had no idea that the wife he’d just divorced was the very person he was now desperate to control.
I straightened my spine, my violet-blue eyes cold and lethal behind my new designer frames.
"Mr. Ford-Sterling, you wanted the best designer in the city? You’ve got her. But you should know—I don't just build empires. I know exactly how to tear them down."
7.3
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."
9.1
I stood at the altar in a fifty-thousand-dollar custom lace gown, waiting to marry the boy I had loved since I was five.
But Silas didn't say "I do."
He answered a phone call, turned pale, and bolted toward the exit as if the gates of hell had opened, leaving me to face five hundred of New York's most dangerous criminals alone.
He left me for a waitress named Lola.
The humiliation was suffocating. The elite of the Five Families looked at me with pity, a Genovese princess rejected for trash.
When Silas finally returned, he didn't apologize.
He showed up with hickeys on his neck, clinging to Lola, and had the audacity to suggest I become his mistress.
He even demanded I hand over my dowry—millions in weapons and cash—so he could fund their lifestyle and "redecorate" with her.
He thought I was still the innocent girl who would beg for his scraps.
He didn't realize that in the moment he ran, a shadow had stepped forward to fill the void.
Dante Moretti. The Don. Silas's uncle.
The most feared man in the city looked at me with dark, predatory eyes and offered me a choice: be a victim, or be a Queen.
"Since you are to marry a Moretti," Dante said, extending his scarred hand, "why not marry the head of the table?"
I looked at the door where Silas had disappeared, then at the Reaper standing before me.
"I do," I whispered.
Silas thought he had ruined my life, but he only cleared the way for me to marry the monster who would burn the world down for me.
7.8
A visceral, survival-focused expedition. The title itself is a location-a treacherous, living mountain range-promising a battle against a brutal, awe-inspiring natural world
9.6
A billionaire art collector purchases a mysterious 19th-century portrait and begins having vivid dreams about the woman in it. After a near-fatal accident, he realizes the portrait is connected to a tragic past that mirrors his present life. As he grows close to a woman who looks exactly like the one in the painting, he must uncover the truth behind the portrait before history repeats itself.
Can love survive centuries of secrets and mistakes? And will he finally find the courage to fight for the woman in front of him, or will the past destroy them both?
#mystery
#lovetriangle
#hero
#betrayal
8.8
"Fuck...please..."
He risks a nibble, sending shockwaves to my core. My back arches off the wall with a sharp moan.
His hand slides between my legs, cupping my soaking panties.
"Look how wet you are," he whispers, "...shaking, and I haven't even fucked you yet."
He strokes my clit gently first, then harder. My toes curl, hair spilling into my sweaty face.
He's breaking me, ruining me with just his tongue and fingers. I can't speak. I can't think. I just tremble in his arms.
*********
The night I caught my fiancé cheating, something in me broke.
I cried.
I screamed.
I drove - into the rain, into nowhere, into him.
Cassian Cross.
A stranger with gray eyes, a sinful mouth, and hands that made me forget my name.
One night was all it took. One reckless mistake to burn away my heartbreak.
Until he showed up at my mom's wedding...
As my new stepbrother.
Now, Cassian won't stop.
He corners me in hallways, whispers filth at the altar, and looks at me like he still owns my body.
But there's one thing he didn't tell me-
He already belongs to someone else.
A fiancée bound to him by a contract... and a secret that could destroy us both.
He's dangerous.
He's forbidden.
He's promised to another.
And God help me, I still can't stop wanting him.