Good Boy, Daddy Chapter 11

Kila won't be satisfied until she controls every part of her stepfather's life.

When Kila told me to kneel at the foot of her bed, there was no thought but to obey. Naked and ashamed of the man I’d so quickly become, I hung my head and waited for her next command. There was no thought of Bryn now. No thought of stopping this insanity. There was only the calmness of waiting for Kila to command me.

“Doing okay, Daddy?”

Kila lounged in a sports bra and yesterday’s shorts, scrolling on her phone, one foot pressed between my shoulder blades like I was a new rug she was still deciding whether to keep. Every muscle in my body remembered the last hour: the ball-busting, the forced worship, the way she’d taken my air as her right and left me panting at the edge of unconsciousness. There was a bruise blooming under my left nipple, purple-green, and my balls felt like someone had packed them with broken glass and stuck them in a pressure cooker. There was no part of me that didn’t bear the mark of her ownership.

“How do you feel, Daddy?” Her voice was dispassionate and distracted. The question didn’t reveal caring so much as it showed a lack of it. Still, my Goddess demanded and answer.

“I’m doing okay,” I said, gravel in my voice. “I’m sore. I hurt.”

“But you want more, don’t you?” This time she didn’t want or need an answer. “Of course you do. Inferior.

The bed shook behind me as Kila rolled onto her stomach, then shimmied up behind my kneeling form, her body pressing close, her chin settling with proprietary weight over my left shoulder. She did not hold me gently. Instead, her arm snaked around my chest and she seized both nipples between thumb and forefinger, grinding and twisting them with a casual cruelty that seemed second nature to her. I couldn’t stop my grunt, nor the pathetic shudder that rolled through my torso, but I made no effort to break free. Kila’s other hand slithered up my back, dragging her nails in a line that left my skin buzzing, and then she kissed the side of my neck with deliberate slowness.

She did not make it a lover’s kiss. No, she nibbled, then bit, hard enough to send lightning into my jaw and force a sound out of me that had nothing to do with pleasure. When she released the bite, there was a wetness of saliva left behind, and a throbbing that hinted at the bruise already forming.

“You’re scared of me,” she breathed, her voice a satin whisper. Then she giggled, the sound girlish and malicious at once. “My big mean daddy is scared of his little stepdaughter.”

Her lips brushed my ear, sending a strange shiver from my scalp to my balls. I could feel her chest pressing into my back, the heat of her skin through the sports bra and the hammering of her heart, so steady compared to the trembling thump of my own.

“Inferior,” she said simply. “This is the way you were meant to live, before patriarchy screwed up the whole world. That’s why you can’t help yourself.” Her hand crept down, fingers wandering over the bruises she’d already given me. “You can feel it, can’t you? The hunger in your bones.” She paused, then gave my nipples another savage twist. “Well, that, and you want to fuck me. Don’t you?”

That was old news. But it still wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed until I couldn’t breathe. It was directly against everything I thought of myself as a man. This was Kila. The little girl I taught to tie her shoes. To ride a bike. That I went to daughter-and-daddy dances with. And what I wanted, more than anything, was to sink my cock into the hot, wet flesh between her legs. To empty myself in her and to feel her tremble with bliss and relief under me.

What was wrong with me that I wanted these things? What kind of man thinks of his stepdaughter that way? Horrible men. Despicable men. Men who deserved to be thrown in the lowest prison and subjected to medieval tortures until they screamed themselves raw. And yet…

“My daddy is a horny daddy,” Kila sang, her tone mocking and mercilessly sweet. “My daddy wants to fuck me, but I won’t let him. Because I want him to love the way I humiliate him.”

Her hand slid up, fingers digging into the new toothmarks on my neck, pulling at the skin and making sure I remembered the wound. “Do you feel humiliated?” she asked, the question sharp and simple.

“Yes,” I replied, because it was the only answer that fit. There was no pretense anymore, no daylight left between my desire and my disgrace. “Look at me, Kila. I’ve become your toy. All you have to do is snap your fingers and I jump to your command.”

She laughed again, the sound softer this time, almost affectionate in its cruelty. “Yeah,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky, velvet rumble. “You’re pathetic.” She kissed the bite, then let her tongue flick over the spot, soothing and tormenting me in the same breath. “I bet Mom would be horrified at what I do to you. What I make you want.” She lingered there, her lips right against my pulse. “You realize if I stop training you, you’ll just crave it the rest of your life? Mom isn’t going to do this nasty stuff to you.”

The words struck deep. I wanted to protest, but even that was denied to me. I couldn’t even claim the moral high ground anymore. Kila was right. I had always craved this, always felt that part of me was missing. She’d simply excavated the need, exposed it, and remade me in the shape of her own desire.

Kila released me, giving one last sharp pinch before letting her arms drape lazily over my shoulders. She flopped backward onto the bed, flinging her legs up so they landed astride my neck. I felt the soft weight of her thighs close around my head as she crossed her ankles, holding me there, her calves squeezing in playful pulses.

“You want to worship my cunt again, don’t you,” she said.

I nodded, my nose pressing against the stretched fabric of her shorts, the scent of her unmistakable even through the cotton and sweat. “Yes, Kila. Please.”

“Not yet.” She lifted her hips and rapped her knuckles against my forehead. “I have something better planned for you.”

I started to beg, but she swung her leg forward and smacked my cheek with her heel. “Not yet,” she repeated, as if training a dog. “First, I need to see if you can follow simple instructions. Inferior men can’t be trusted with anything important, so I have to micromanage everything. Is that clear?”

I nodded, abject.

“Say it. Show me you’re listening.”

“Yes, Kila. I will obey.”

She smiled, and it wasn’t cruel this time. There was a hint of pride in the way she looked at me, as if I’d finally performed the trick she wanted. “Good boy, Daddy” she said, and for a fleeting second I felt something like joy. The approval was narcotic. I wanted nothing more than to earn it again.

“Crawl to the bathroom,” Kila commanded, swinging her feet off my shoulders and pointing at the door. “On all fours. Don’t say a word.”

I obeyed, my face burning as I shuffled across the carpet, naked except for the red and violet bruises she’d gifted me. She followed just far enough behind to keep me moving, the sound of her phone camera clicking every few steps. I could only imagine the humiliating angles she was collecting, but the idea just made my cock harder. When I reached the tiled floor of the bathroom, Kila barked another order:

“Lie down on your left side. Face the wall.”

I complied, feeling the cold tile against my skin, the vulnerability of my pose. Kila knelt beside me. Her shorts were bunched up around her hips now, riding high enough that I could see the lower curve of her ass below the hem. She leaned over, planted her elbow near my chest, and looked down at me with a smirk.

“You ever had a prostate orgasm, Daddy?”

I shook my head, too choked to speak.

“That’s a shame. It’s the best thing a man’s body can do. Better than coming in a pussy, even. Most boys are too scared to find out.” She reached up and grabbed a bottle of lube from the counter, then a latex glove from beneath the sink. A relic, I realized with a jolt, from the Covid years, when we’d stocked up on medical supplies and then forgotten them. Kila snapped the glove over her right hand, squeezing lube over the fingers until they glistened.

She knelt behind me, one hand on my hip to hold me still, the other circling my asshole with cold, slick fluid. I twitched, but she shushed me gently, almost maternally. “Relax, Daddy. You’re not going to like it if you fight.”

I tried. I really did. But the anticipation and the humiliation made it impossible to unclench. Kila didn’t wait for me to adjust. She pressed her finger inside, slow but relentless, the glove and lube easing her in deeper than I could have imagined. My body betrayed me: I gasped, then moaned, as she curled her finger and found a spot that made white noise rush through my skull.

“That’s it,” she said, her voice layered with pride and amusement. “Tighten around me. Show me how needy you are.”

She worked a second finger in, scissoring them, stroking an internal button that turned my spine to jelly. I couldn’t stop the noises anymore. I whined, I groaned, I begged for more without knowing what I said. Kila’s hand moved in practiced rhythm, and I realized with a dizzy sort of horror that she’d done this before, maybe many times. I wondered who she’d practiced on, who she’d broken in with this same ruthless gentleness.

Kile reached around my body with her other hand and stroked my cock, which was so hard now it ached. She didn’t pump, just held me, made me feel her ownership in every way possible. The twin sensations of her fingers inside me, her grip around my cock reduced me to a puddle. I was incapable of independent thought. I existed, and only because Kila willed it.

“Do you want to come, Daddy?” she asked, and I almost screamed with need.

“Yes,” I managed, “please, Kila, please.”

She giggled and twisted her fingers again. “Not yet. You don’t get to cum until I say.”

The world narrowed to the points of contact. I heard the blood in my ears and the flutter of my breath. Kila’s voice came to me from very far away: “You’re going to remember this every time you look at me. Every time you see my hands, you’re going to remember what I did to you.”

I would. I knew it. I loved her for it.

She stroked me with increasing speed, the friction edging me nearer and nearer to orgasm. Then, with unerring timing, she stopped, pulled her fingers free, and left me whimpering. I could feel the emptiness inside, the horrible ache, the desperate need to be filled again. My cock strained painfully, and I let out a broken sob as I realized she was going to leave me here, right on the edge.

“How does that feel, Daddy?” Her whisper was raw and taunting. The soft bubble of laughter told me she didn’t expect an answer. She knew what she was doing to me. “Don’t worry. I have something special planned for you, Daddy. That was just a little reward for being such a good boy.” She kissed the side of my face. “Don’t move, Daddy. I’ll be right back, and we’ll get you ready for your real treat.”

She left my side for no more than two minutes, but each second away from her was a new level of hell. Not only did I need her to tell me what to do, I needed her near me to simply feel like a human being. Without Kila, I was nothing. I lay on the bathroom floor and felt shameful tears trickle from my eyes.

“Awww, look at the pretty tears,” Kila said. Kneeling beside me, she put my head in her lap and stroked my hair. “Is my daddy okay?”

“Just missed you,” I managed to squeak out. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Kila. I just need you.”

“I know who you are,” she assured me. “And I’m right here. I’m not doing this to you so I can abandon you, Daddy. This is the beginning of a lifelong process of you surrendering her social identity to the authority of a woman: me.” She kissed my face again. “Roll over,” she commanded. “Head down. Ass up.”

I obeyed without hesitation, positioning myself on my knees with my face pressed against the cold tile. The position was degrading, exposing my most vulnerable parts to her inspection. I felt her fingers, still gloved, spreading my cheeks.

“This is going to feel strange,” she said, her voice clinical now, as if she were performing a medical procedure. “But you’re going to take all of it. Every drop.”

The nozzle pressed against my entrance, and I flinched at the cold sensation. Kila steadied me with a firm hand on my lower back, then slowly inserted the tube. I felt the water begin to flow, a strange, invasive warmth filling my insides. The pressure built gradually, becoming uncomfortable, then painful.

“Just relax,” Kila instructed. “Spread your knees apart so your thighs don’t press against your belly. Breathe deep. Expand your stomach as you inhale. Pull the water deep inside, where the filthiest parts of you are.”

My stomach began to cramp. Sweat broke out across my forehead as I struggled to contain the growing pressure. Kila watched impassively, occasionally stroking my cock to keep me hard and desperate.

“How does it feel to be so full, Daddy?” she asked, her voice honey-sweet with mockery. “To have your little girl controlling even this?”

“Hurts,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable. “Please, Kila.”

“Please what?” she teased, running her fingernails lightly over my balls. “Please stop? Please more? You need to be specific.”

I couldn’t think straight. The pressure inside me was becoming unbearable, but my cock throbbed with need each time her fingers brushed against it. I was caught between agony and ecstasy, unable to escape either.

“Please let me release,” I begged, tears forming at the corners of my eyes.

Kila laughed softly. “Not yet. I think you can take a little more.”

She adjusted the bag, allowing more water to flow into me. My belly distended slightly, and I groaned at the sensation of being filled beyond capacity. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear another second, her hand wrapped around my cock again, stroking slowly.

“I’m going to edge you,” she explained casually, as if discussing the weather. “And you’re going to hold that water inside you the whole time. If you can manage that, I might let you come.”

Her hand moved with expert precision, bringing me to the brink of orgasm before stopping abruptly. Each time she brought me close, my body tensed, making it harder to hold the water. I was shaking now, my entire existence reduced to the twin torments of fullness and denial.

“Five more minutes,” Kila announced, checking her phone. “Then you can release.”

Five minutes felt like an eternity. Kila continued to stroke me, but instead of stopping at the edge, she kept me there, hovering in that exquisite space between almost-orgasm and release. My thighs trembled with the effort of holding still, of containing the water while my body screamed for relief.

“Look at you,” Kila whispered, leaning close to my ear. “So desperate. So completely mine.”

When the five minutes finally passed, Kila removed the tube. “Go ahead,” she said, pointing to the toilet. “Release.”

I scrambled to the toilet, barely making it before my body expelled the water in a humiliating rush. The relief was immediate and overwhelming, but Kila wasn’t finished with me. As I sat there, weak and trembling, she filled the bag again.

“How many times are you going to do this?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

She shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Until you’re clean. Until you understand that every part of you belongs to me now.”

I stared at her, dread and anticipation mingling in my gut. The water continued to fill the bag, and I knew this was just the beginning of whatever Kila had planned for me today. My cock was still hard, my body still hungry for her touch despite everything. I had become exactly what she wanted: a willing slave to her every whim.

She giggled, then leaned down to whisper. “You’re doing really well. See how your body adapts to what I put it through? It’s almost… inspiring.”

My stepdaughter’s hand reached between my legs, the palm warm and soft. She cupped my scrotum, rolled it gently in her palm. “Do you know why enemas are used for submissive training?”

I gritted my teeth, shook my head, tried not to moan.

“It’s because it completely empties you of self-determination,” she said, massaging my balls as she talked. “Your only job is to obey, to endure, to hold what you’re given. When you surrender to it, it’s like you don’t even exist except as a vessel for someone else’s will.”

The reality of my stepdaughter’s words hit me. That’s what I was. Just a vessel for Kila’s will. I needed her authority. Without it, I was nothing. I was hollow. I was… dead inside. For all the suffering Kila put me through, she made me feel more alive than I had for decades. Maybe ever.

I wanted to die, or at least crawl back to my room and never leave again. Eyes closed, I shivered and waited for Kila to start again. She was already filling the bag for round two, humming under her breath as she adjusted the water temp.

“You’re looking at my ass, aren’t you, Daddy?” She giggled. “You want me so bad.” She turned and hung the bag from the towel rack. “This one should do in a little faster. But it’s still going to ache.”

I thought about protesting, about asserting my rights as a human being and a father. But the words died before they reached my lips. She’d trained me too well, and the only thing I could do was lie there and wait for her to fill me up again. I whimpered as Kila slid the nozzle inside me and opened it, letting the warm water gush into my bowels.

“I know it feels like I’m going to split you open,” she said, kneeling behind me. Once again, she ran her hand in smooth, counterclockwise circles on my belly. “You aren’t even close to capacity, though. You do have a lot of filth inside you, so that’s why it’s uncomfortable. Once we get you clean, the water will whoosh in and out with no problem.”

She guided my hand to where she was rubbing, splaying my palm flat across my own distended stomach. The surface was tight, unnatural. A faint pulse throbbed beneath my skin, the water gurgling with every twitch of my muscles. I half expected to see the outline of the nozzle under my flesh, like some parasite burrowing toward my heart.

“Go head and rub,” she said, her voice gentle and compassionate. “I expect you to learn how to do this without me.” Her hand rested on my upper arm. “Just a little more and I’ll start the timer. Five minutes this time.”

“Five?”

Her hand patted my arm. “You’ll do fine, Daddy. I told you; you aren’t even close to capacity. And you’ve already flushed the biggest part of the filth out of you.” The gag gurgled and Kila tapped her phone. “Hold your water, Daddy. You can do it.”

The soft, warm hand moved from my arm to my abdomen, then her fingers wrapped around my cock. Two gentle tugs were all it took to get me hard. I moaned as my stepdaughter stroked my cock slowly.

“See, Daddy? Good daddy’s get good touches.”

Kila stroked my cock with the clinical precision of a nurse prepping a vein. The mixture of the physical pleasure of her hand and the uncomfortable fullness of the water in my guts was mind-blowing. I couldn’t focus on either thing. As soon as I locked in on one sensation, the other pulled me back. Kila kept the strokes light and steady, never letting me get used to the rhythm. Occasionally she’d pause to check the bag, or flex her fingers, or just stare at my face to see if I’d start crying.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, voice soft.

“A little,” I admitted, and the word sounded so stupid I almost laughed.

“Good,” she said, picking up the pace. “That’s how you know it’s working. Try rolling onto your back for me.”

Any movement with that much water in my guts was tricky. But I kept her earlier advice in mind and used my arms to push, while keeping my belly soft and relaxed. A new wave of coldness crept into my bones as my back pressed to the tiles.

“You’re doing so good, Daddy,” Kila said, moving astride my thighs. Her eyes held mine as she pumped my cock. “I think five minutes is going to be too easy. You need to hold your water until you start to cramp.”

I moaned, understanding how difficult it would be to hold that water while Kila played with my cock. A faint smile on her lips, she watched my face.

“I love you, Kila,” I whispered.

“I know you do, Daddy,” she answered. “I hope you know how I feel about you now.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re inferior, Daddy. You have to understand that you can’t expect me to gush for you. It’s good and right and proper for you to love me above all things in your life. But you? To me?” She tapped my nose with one finger. “Just accept that your continued presence in my life means you are serving me adequately. And, really, that’s as good as you can hope for.”

“I love you,” I whispered. It didn’t matter if she said it or not. It was about me. Who I was. What I was. A hard sob shook my chest. “I love you, Kila. I love you for making me this way.”

“Good Daddy. Such a good boy.” Kila twisted her wrist, her fingers tightening just a touch around the shaft of my cock, and she milked a groan out of me so pure and involuntary it startled even myself. My heart pounded beneath a dome of pressure, and I panted softly as her touch took me closer to the trembling edge of ruin. Each pulse of blood through my cock was met by a dull, volcanic ache in my belly, as if the water was a living thing, struggling to claw its way out from my insides.

Kila’s gaze flitted between my face and the bag of clear liquid slowly emptying into me, her attention bright and clinical and just a little bit hungry. “I’m positive you can’t hold your water while you come,” she said, her voice blithe and musical. “So don’t even think about it. Just let me enjoy jerking you off. Let me enjoy teaching you what you are.”

I wanted to fight it, to assert some fragment of self-ownership, but the words had no anchor in my mind. Kila owned not just my body but my desire, my humiliation, my very sense of being. I was clay, and she was the artist, sculpting my submission with every stroke of her hand and every command that I obeyed without hesitation.

“Inferior,” I said softly. “I’m inferior.”

The admission was simple, inevitable, and as soon as I heard myself say it, I felt the shame like a physical weight added atop all the other burdens. Kila’s lips curled in delight; she was radiant in her power and in my collapse before it.

“That’s right,” Kila murmured. “What kind of man lets his little girl tell him what to do? Lie there, Daddy. Don’t squirm.” She shifted her position, straddling my calves and propping herself up so she could look down on me while she worked my cock. Her breasts hung heavy and proud, nipples brown and waxy as lacquer, and a thin line of sweat trickled down the center of her chest. “Keep your hands at your sides.”

It was the sweetest torture I’d ever imagined. The pads of her fingers so soft, so deliberate, teasing the ridge just under the head with a rhythmic tickle, up and down, up and down. She brought me to the edge of endurance, then held me there, teetering, only to back off and let the tension in my body wind all the way back to the base of my spine. The pain in my belly was molten, a star collapsing into itself. I winced and arched my back as my abdomen tightened and twisted.

“There’s a nice cramp,” Kila said. “Breathe through it, Daddy. You’re going to have several of those before I let you go.”

Her words rang in my bones, and I obeyed. Inhale, exhale, the water sloshing and the pain cresting, then receding. My body shook with the effort, every muscle trembling in anticipation of the next wave. Kila’s hand never stopped, never faltered. She orchestrated my body like a puppet master or maybe like a conductor, drawing music from an instrument that only she knew how to play.

“Why do you think you feel this way?” Kila asked, not really expecting an answer. She leaned over, her hair brushing my chest, and pressed a kiss to the base of my cock. Her lips were warm and dry, barely touching, but the sensation snapped through me like a jolt of electricity. “Why do you let me do these things to you?”

I gasped, tried to answer, but the pain and pleasure tangled together in my mouth and all I managed was a strangled whimper.

“Is it because you’re weak?” she pressed, massaging my cock more firmly now, her thumb circling the head with languorous intent. “Is it because you want to be humiliated? Or is it because you need me to control you?”

“I’m broken,” I whispered. “Something in me is broken. I shouldn’t let you do this. I shouldn’t want it.”

“But you do want it.” I closed my eyes and nodded. “So, what’s that say about you?”

“I’m garbage,” I hissed, self-loathing overflowing. “I’m disgusting. I’m a horrible person. A terrible man. I’m a failure at anything and everything I ever tried to be.” Emotion choked my voice, and I lay there gasping as Kila waited for me to continue. “All I ever wanted was to be a good daddy for you. And now look at me? I’m so fucked up. You should hate me.”

“I don’t,” my stepdaughter’s voice was soft and sweet, honest and filled with tender empathy. “Every girl loves her daddy. If that wasn’t true, I wouldn’t invest so much time into training you to be perfect. There’s greatness inside you, Daddy. I’ve seen it my whole life. You’re a good, sweet, loving man. But you’re just a man. You can’t blame yourself for that, Daddy. You’re just beginning to understand how inferior you are. That’s all.” She released my cock and stared into my eyes, refusing to let me look away. “Say it,” Kila demanded. “Say why you do everything I demand.”

“Because I want to please you,” I said, my voice raw. “Because I need you to use me.”

She laughed, bright and triumphant. “There it is! There’s my honest Daddy.”

The cramp in my stomach exploded, a knot of agony that twisted my whole body. I whimpered and curled my toes, but Kila just increased the tempo of her strokes. “Hold your water,” she warned. “Hold it for me. Because you love what I made you become.”

I had to obey. There was no option. I clenched my muscled and took slow, deep breaths. Fell back against the floor as the cramp eased and disappeared.

“Good boy,” she said, crooning the words as if soothing a child. “You’re going to remember this every time you see me, aren’t you? You’re going to remember the sound of my voice, the way my hand feels around your cock, the way I fill you up and make you beg for release.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

She slowed her strokes, feather-light now, barely more than a tickle. “You’re going to do whatever I tell you, no matter how humiliating. No matter how much it hurts. Because you belong to me. Say it.”

“I belong to you,” I whispered. “I belong to you, Kila.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment she looked almost moved. She leaned over and kissed my forehead, her hair a curtain around our faces. “That’s perfect,” she murmured. “You’re perfect.”

The timer on her phone chirped, a sharp digital tone that sliced through the haze. Kila reached over and silenced it, then looked down at me with a wicked gleam in her eyes. The sight of her joy sent quaking fear through my chest.

“Be strong, Daddy. We aren’t done.” Her hand slowed, not quite stopping. I felt pre-cum drip down my shaft and lubricate her fingers. “Tell me the first Principle.”

“All life begins as female. I began life as female until my inferior chromosomes turned me male,” I recited, the words coming automatically now. “Women are superior. Men are inferior in every way that matters.”

As I spoke, her hand moved faster on my cock, her rhythm hypnotic. The water inside me shifted and gurgled, adding to the surreal nature of the moment. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to be firing at once, torn between pleasure and pain.

“Good boy,” Kila purred. “Second Principle. Say it while I edge you.”

“Men are biologically inferior to women in every way that matters,” I gasped as her thumb circled the head of my cock. “My sex exists to serve the needs of the superior female. To give pleasure, and to ensure the creation of a new generation.”

Another cramp seized my insides, this one sharper than before. I clenched my teeth, fighting against the dual urge to expel the water and thrust into Kila’s hand. She noticed my struggle and slowed her strokes, drawing out my torture.

“Twelve minutes,” she announced, checking her phone with her free hand. “You’re surprising me, Daddy. Maybe you’re not completely worthless after all.”

Her praise, backhanded as it was, sent a wave of pathetic gratitude through me. This is what she’d reduced me to, a mere animal grateful for the smallest acknowledgment while lying naked on a bathroom floor, gut distended with water, cock at the mercy of my stepdaughter’s hand.

“Please,” I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for.

Kila’s eyes gleamed. “Please what, Daddy? Please let you come? Please let you empty your guts? Please stop making you face what a weak, inferior creature you are?”

Her hand twisted on the upstroke, and I nearly lost control of everything at once. “All of it,” I admitted. “I can’t... I can’t hold it much longer.”

“You will,” she said simply. “You’ll hold it until I say otherwise. Because that’s what inferior males do – they endure whatever their superior demands.”

She leaned down, her face inches from mine, and increased her pace on my cock. The pressure in my abdomen was becoming unbearable, a constant, rolling ache that threatened to overwhelm me. Sweat poured from every pore as I fought to maintain control.

“Fourteen minutes,” Kila whispered. “One more minute, Daddy. Then I’ll decide if you deserve release.”

My entire body trembled with the effort of holding back. The tiles beneath me were slick with sweat, and I could feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Kila’s hand was relentless, bringing me to the edge of orgasm, then slowing just enough to deny me.

“Kila, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “I’ll do anything.”

“I know you will,” she said, her smile widening. “That’s what makes you mine.”

When the timer hit fifteen minutes, she finally nodded. “Okay, Daddy. You can go empty yourself. But don’t come yet. That’s not part of the deal.”

I scrambled to the toilet, barely making it before the flood released. The relief was so intense I nearly blacked out, sagging against the tank as my body purged itself. Through the haze of relief, I was vaguely aware of Kila watching me, that same clinical interest in her eyes.

“Better?” she asked when the worst had passed.

I nodded weakly, unable to form words.

“Good. Because we’re doing it again. And this time, you’ll edge the entire time. If you come while holding the water, there will be consequences.”

My heart sank as she refilled the bag, but I didn’t protest. I couldn’t. Not anymore. I just watched as she prepared for the next round, my cock still hard and leaking despite the humiliation.

“Back on the floor,” she commanded, and I obeyed, stretching the full length of my back against the cold tile.

As she inserted the nozzle once more, I wondered what had happened to me. How had I gone from a respected professional, a husband, a father, to this… a quivering mess on a bathroom floor, desperate for my stepdaughter’s approval? The answer was simple and terrifying: I’d always been this way. Kila had just been the one to see it, to draw it out of me.

The water flowed in again, and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the process. To her will. To my nature.

“That’s it,” Kila murmured, stroking my hair with one hand while the other returned to my cock. “Accept what you are, Daddy. It’s so much easier when you stop fighting.”

She was right. It was easier. The more I gave in, the less it hurt. The shame was still there, burning under my skin, but it had transformed into something else. A twisted kind of pride in my submission. In pleasing her. That was the entire point of my life now, wasn’t it?

“You’re doing so well, Daddy,” Kila said. “And now we know you can hold a full bag of water for fifteen minutes.” She stood above me, arms crossed, daring me to move or make a sound. “No whimpering. I don’t want my daddy to be a pussy. Take your water and hold it until I say you’re done.

“You probably won’t need but two or three more today.”