Good Boy, Daddy - Chapter 17

Daddy learns the depths of his worship for his stepdaughter.

Work, or whatever work meant after you’d been humiliated into submission by your stepdaughter, had become a game of diminishing returns. For the first hour I attempted to focus on spreadsheets, a little self-soothing in the menial rows and columns, but each cell I filled became an echo chamber for Kila’s voice. The word “inferior” ghosted in the formulas, infected my keystrokes. I triple-checked the lock on my office door and tried to convince myself that if I pretended hard enough, the world outside that thin pine barrier didn’t exist.

By 9:38, the caffeine in my blood had peaked and I was hunched over my monitor, squinting at a line item that might as well have been written in Sanskrit, when I heard it: the unmistakable scuff of bare feet on the hallway carpet. I didn’t turn; I’d already resigned myself to the idea that resistance was a currency I no longer owned. The door didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate. The knob twisted, and Kila stepped inside with all the ceremony of a sledgehammer through glass.

She shut the door, locked it with a deliberate click, and leaned back against the jamb like she’d just conquered a small nation and wanted to savor the afterglow. The pink of her tank top was the exact shade of a cartoon heart; it was translucent enough that her nipples were not only visible but seemed to dare the viewer to try and look away. The shorts she wore were no more than a memory of fabric, a threadbare echo of childhood sleepovers. Her thighs shone with the smoothness of premeditated display, and the Artemis tattoo on her right leg had been touched up recently, the colors vivid as if she’d had it needled in only yesterday.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, the words floating out in a lazy coil. She didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t even look for one. Instead, she drifted across the room with a practiced sway, glancing at my monitor and then back at my face. “You’re not actually working, are you?” She perched herself on the edge of the desk, one foot dangling, the other bent so her knee rose above the desk’s surface.

I scrambled to minimize the spreadsheet, hands trembling a little more than I liked. “I… what are you doing in here?” I tried to sound paternal, but even to my own ears it came out like the question of a man who had misplaced his backbone and was now seeking replacement parts. “I mean… Yes, I’m working. I have projects that are due.” I cleared my throat. “Was there… I mean, is there something you need?”

“Some privacy,” Kila replied with a careless shrug and a sigh. “Besides, you know I like watching you squirm.”

I tried to move my chair back, but she’d anticipated it and already swung one leg around so I was caged between her calves. Her bare foot brushed against my shin, cool and startling. She nudged me forward with it, forcing me closer to her, until my chest nearly touched her knee.

She leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, and her tank top gaped, giving me an unfiltered shot down the center of her cleavage. I fought to keep my gaze at eye level, but she noticed and smiled. “You missed a spot,” she said, and used two fingers to drag the fabric tighter against her chest, so her nipples tented the shirt even more obscenely.

“Kila—” I tried, but she cut me off by dropping from the desk to my lap with a liquid ease. Her thighs bracketed my hips, her core settling down against the very obvious bulge in my pants. She ground against me, slow and deliberate, and I felt the instant, humiliating surge as my cock went from half-mast to flagpole.

“Is this what you were thinking about?” she whispered, rocking forward so the heat of her pressed through two thin layers of cloth. “Or were you remembering the way I fucked your face this morning? I saw you, Daddy, after you left. Saw how you couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror.”

“I’m trying to work,” I managed, the lie brittle as spun sugar.

She snorted, and her hands slid up my sides, under my shirt, fingertips cold enough that I jolted. “You don’t want to work,” Kila said, her voice pure contempt laced with amusement. “You want to be used. That’s why you didn’t lock the door. To make it exciting. Dangerous. So, you can pretend you don’t love being my little bitch but still not stop me from exercising my right to use you however I want.”

I opened my mouth, but no words arrived. Kila arched her back, and the grind of her hips was slow, agonizing. Every movement forced the plug deeper into my ass; I’d left it in as instructed, and now, with Kila’s weight pinning me, I felt every millimeter of it.

She leaned in, mouth close to my ear, and whispered, “Can you feel how wet I am through these shorts, Daddy? I’ve been thinking about you all morning.” She punctuated it by grinding harder, letting the seam of her shorts dig into the ridge of my cock.

My hands floated upward, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer. Kila made the decision for me by grabbing my wrists and pinning them to the armrests. Her face hovered inches from mine; I could see the sheen of sweat on her upper lip, the dark ring of her pupils.

“You want to touch me?” she asked, voice feather-soft but barbed. “Beg for it.”

I shook my head, tried to wrench free, but her grip only tightened. “You’re stronger than you look,” I gasped.

“Say it,” Kila insisted. “Say what you want. You’re not allowed to touch unless you beg for it like the inferior man you are.”

The word “inferior” hit me with a physical jolt. I wanted to resist, to be the man of the house, but the ache in my cock and the flood of heat in my cheeks made a liar of every thought I’d had about self-control. Any willpower I had drained away with my dignity.

“Please, Kila,” I whispered, so quiet I doubted she’d even heard it.

She licked her lips, amused. “Please, what, Daddy?” Her lips hovered above mine, eyes staring into my soul. “I’m your stepdaughter, Daddy. Remember? What is it that you’re begging for? Is it something you aren’t supposed to want?”

“You.” My voice was a ragged, wounded thing. “I’m not supposed to want any part of you, but I can’t help it.” My chest shook when I inhaled. “Everything you’ve said is right. I’m inferior. I can’t help wanting you. You’re so beautiful. So powerful. Superior to me in every way.” My eyes burned as I blinked. “I’m weak, Kila. Please. Do whatever you want, but please do it to me. Please.”

“Good boy, Daddy. You’re learning.” The tip of her tongue traced my lips. “Would you like a kiss? Beg me for a kiss, Daddy. Beg me for a kiss that will make you come in your pants again.”

I tried to look away, but Kila’s fingers gripped my jaw, turning my face until I was forced to stare into her eyes. “Do you want to be kissed, or do you want to be humiliated?” she whispered, her breath a warning. “Because I can make you come either way, Daddy. But only one is a reward.” She held my gaze with the cold patience of a vivisectionist. “Say it, or I leave right now and text your wife about what a disgusting little cocksucker you are.” She gave a wicked chuckle. “I have video…”

The terror that stabbed through my gut was immediate and total. I knew she was bluffing. Or at least, I thought I knew she was bluffing. But the hard edge in her voice cut right past whatever vestiges of dignity I had left.

“Please, Kila,” I begged, voice ruined and wet. “Please kiss me. I want you to kiss me so bad I can’t think.”

She released my chin with an abrupt snap, the tips of her fingers pirouetting over my cheek as if she’d just finished inspecting a slab of meat. There was a wicked little smile on her lips, one of those flourishes of cruelty that belonged to the predator, the unrepentant bully, the girl who’d learned from day one that the world would always bend to her will if only she pressed hard enough, long enough, and with exactly the right tone. “That’s better,” she purred, and with no warning she climbed onto my lap, knees bracketing my thighs, her bare legs running hot along the inside of my own.

Her hands found the back of my head, fists tangling in my hair, and she yanked my mouth up to hers like she was jerking a dog’s leash. The first contact was not so much a kiss as an incursion: her tongue forced the seam of my lips, driving in with the merciless press of a con artist’s crowbar, scouring my mouth for any trace of resistance. I barely managed to inhale before she sealed my lips with hers, a vacuum so complete it felt like she was siphoning the breath straight from my lungs.

Kila tasted like Red Bull and peppermint, but the feral intensity of her tongue overwhelmed everything else. She kissed like she intended to leave marks, and after two seconds my mouth felt abraded, every nerve ending lighting up with raw voltage. Her pelvis ground down on me, hard, her shorts so thin I felt the heat and wetness of her through both layers, and the humiliating bulge in my pants was instantly, painfully obvious. Each roll of her hips brought the plug deeper inside me, amplifying the pressure in my ass and sending a hot, whorish spike of pleasure through my abdomen.

She didn’t stop to see if I could keep up. Kila rendered me inert, a ragdoll: she had all the momentum, all the gravity, and she drove it home with a single-mindedness that bordered on cruel. Her tongue stabbed past my teeth, found the softest spots and scraped them with calculated violence. When I tried to move, tried to pull back, her thighs locked around my hips and her hands clamped tighter at the base of my skull, refusing to cede even a millimeter. I couldn’t breathe. For a moment, I thought I might blackout, but then Kila pulled away just long enough to suck a deep breath through her nose before slamming her lips back onto mine, a turbocharged CPR performed by a dominatrix on a dying man.

I moaned, the sound pitiful, but it was all I could manage. The pleasure was overwhelming, not just the insistent pulse in my cock but the sensation of being totally, absolutely at her mercy. I was reduced to a vessel for her appetite, and for the first time in my life, the totality of submission did not fill me with dread but with a sick, exultant sense of belonging. I realized Kila was right: this is why I hadn’t locked the door, why I hadn’t fought back. I wanted her to do this to me, and I wanted to want it. I needed her to take control, because I no longer trusted myself with the keys to my own body.

Her mouth battering-rammed mine, lips splitting and bruising, and still she ground harder, slower, each roll of her hips a calculated piston. I felt myself sliding toward orgasm with a speed that was both embarrassing and, at this point, inevitable. I tried to think about work, about spreadsheets, about literally anything but the feeling of my stepdaughter riding my lap and tongue-fucking me into submission, but every neuron in my brain was co-opted by sensation.

At some point, I realized I was clutching the armrests of my chair so hard my knuckles had gone numb. Kila broke the kiss with a wet slurp, stared down at me with those dark, bottomless eyes, and then, with a single snap of her hips, crushed her pussy down on my dick with just enough force that I nearly lost it. She hovered there, panting, every hairline muscle in her body tense and electric. Her hands slid down from my head and found my wrists, pinning them to the chair arms with a casual brutality that made it clear she’d been planning this move since the moment she walked in.

“Is that how you wanted me to kiss you, Daddy?” she whispered, her breath warm against my lips. “Go ahead, Daddy. Grab my ass and kiss me the way you want. I want to feel like you’re actually man enough to fuck me right here on your desk.” Her eyes sparkled as she snickered. “Unless you’re so pussy-whipped you can’t imagine doing that without my command.”

I felt my hands tremble where she’d pinned them, like my own body resented me for ever having tried to fight her. But I didn’t reach for her; I just stared up, tongue-tied, knowing with a sick certainty she would punish me for hesitating. Which, of course, she did by peeling herself off my lap, with a disgusted sigh, and standing over me as if I were a dog that had rolled in shit.

“Still can’t do it, huh?” Her smile was pure contempt, but with a twist of something almost tender behind it. “I’m literally give you permission to man up and fuck me, and you still can’t do it.” She shook her head, then bent at the waist so her face hung inches from mine. I could see the freckles across her nose, the sheen of sweat at her temples. “Tell me what you think is going to happen if you take what you want, Daddy. Just say it. Out loud.” Her palm was warm and soft against my cheek. “Tell me why you won’t give me your cock the way you want.”

My throat was dry as sawdust, but the words fell out anyway: “It’s wrong. I’m supposed to be in control, not… not like this.” I trembled, fighting to breathe. “I want to fuck you, Kila. I want to fuck you so hard you can’t fucking walk when I’m done. I want to hold you down and slam my cock into you until you fucking choke on it.” I closed my eyes. “I’m a fucking animal, Kila.”

Kila considered my answer, her eyes flicking side to side. “So, you’re scared of hurting me?” At my nod, she shrugged. “That’s not going to happen,” she said. “That’s not how this works. The only person you’re going to hurt by holding back is yourself.” Her hand trailed down my torso, fingernails catching on the buttons of my shirt, and she grabbed my cock through my jeans, squeezing until I gasped.

“Look at you,” she laughed. “You’re fucking desperate. You’re pathetic. You’re not even a person anymore, just a toy for whatever woman feels like using you. You belong to me, Daddy.”
She popped the button on my jeans and yanked the zipper down so fast I thought she might draw blood. My cock slopped out, standing rigid and angry-red above the pale blue cotton of her old panties. She eyed the panties and grinned. “You wore them like I told you to. How does it feel?” she asked, rolling the elastic around her finger.

“Wet,” I muttered. “It’s wet.” I didn’t mean only the fabric, but she understood, smiled even wider.

“Yeah, it is.” Kila dropped to her knees before my chair and, with both hands splayed on my thighs, lowered her mouth to the head of my cock, licking a stripe up the shaft until my entire body arched with the shock.

She didn’t tease, didn’t go slow; she opened, enveloping the head and half the shaft in one long, hungry suck. I heard myself moan, the sound alien and embarrassing, but Kila hummed approval, her eyes flicking up to watch me fall apart. She sucked with an intensity that bordered on violent, twisting her hand at the base, milking my cock with the practiced rhythm of someone who had decided her only mission in life was to empty me completely. I stayed silent, afraid that if I spoke, the world itself would collapse. The only thing I could do was grip the armrests and let her work.

“Do you want to come in my mouth?” she whispered, staring up at me with enormous and innocent eyes. “Daddy, is that what you want to do to me? Do you want to make me swallow your cock? To eat your cum?” My stepdaughter ran her wet lips over the head of my cock as she waited for my answer. “Say it, Daddy.”

“I want to come in your mouth,” I whispered, almost whimpered. “Kila, baby, I can’t take this.”

“Then beg for it.” The eyes dug into my soul. “Or man up and tell me to do it. Tell me what a filthy whore I am for sucking my stepfather’s cock. Go ahead. Tell me I’m a cocksucker and a dirty slut. I’m a cunt. I’m a whore. Whatever you want to call me. Grab me by the head and make me eat your cum.”

A flicker of the man I used to be rose in my chest. Roared for action. Demanded I show my stepdaughter exactly what kind of man she was dealing with. But… she already knew. My fingers slid through her hair as I slumped in my chair with my eyes closed.

“I can’t.”

“What’s the First Principle?”

“All life begins as female until inferior chromosomes turn it male. I am biologically inferior to women.” I opened my eyes. “I’m inferior to you, Kila. Please, don’t make me act like that isn’t true.”

Her teeth grazed my cock as she took my full length. Kila’s lips tightened around the root of my cock as she swirled her head in my lap, working me with her throat. Staring up again, she slurped loudly as she drew back.

“I would have let you do it,” she whispered. “If there was enough of you left, you would have already filled my mouth with cum.” She wrapped her hand around my cock and pumped it as she stood. “And I would have ruined you for it,” she whispered against my lips. “Instead, I’m going to reward you for knowing your place, for accepting your inferior existence.” She licked my lips. “What’s the Second Principle?”

“Men are inferior in all ways. Our only purpose is to serve female pleasure—” I gasped as the words ran together, chased by the ache between my legs. “And ensure a stronger next generation.”

“Good boy, Daddy,” Kila soothed. She’d barely taken her hand off my cock, fingers still curled around the shaft, the bright lacquer of her nails an applied humiliation. “You remembered. Not bad for a defective chromosome.”

The shift in her expression was subtle, but it sent a sick rush of longing through my chest. I wanted to make her proud. I needed it. She saw this, bitter genius that she was, and left me hanging there, half-dressed, ruined, mouth open for the next command.
Instead of giving it, she dropped to her knees again and took my pantless hips in both hands, her thumbs digging into my iliac crests as if testing the meat for ripeness. My cock was purple with blood, every vein a pulse against the air, and still she teased it apart, her lips parting so slowly I thought I would die in the last second before contact. But this time, instead of swallowing the head, she blew a cold breath across it. A thread of fluid hung from the slit to her tongue for one obscene heartbeat before she licked it up, eyes never leaving mine.

“Does it feel good to be used, Daddy?” she whispered.

I nodded, unable to muster even a single word.

“Tell me. Say exactly what you are.”

“I’m just an inferior man who wants very badly to make his stepdaughter happy in whatever way she wishes.” The word tasted like battery acid and left me trembling. But they were true. “I love you, Kila. I love what you turned me into.”

“I didn’t turn you into anything,” she replied. “I just introduced you to the man who already lived inside you.” Her lips sealed around the crown, cinching them so tight my vision blurred. Her tongue fluttered in a spiral, stroking every nerve as the pressure of her mouth increased. I felt my hips jerk forward, and she used the heel of her hand to pin me flat to the seat, refusing even the smallest act of autonomy.

The tightness of the grip, the relentless work of her mouth, the frictionless slide of her palm at the shaft’s base, her every movement was calculated to vaporize all resistance. She set a slow rhythm, withdrawing just far enough for the head to pop free, then engulfing it with a slurp that shot a spike of pleasure down the length of my cock. Feral and electric, the ache in my balls grew until I knew, with an engineer’s certainty, that I was going to flood her mouth with cum.

“Daddy, what do you think about the Second Principle?” Kila ran her tongue down the shaft of my cock as she stared up at me. “You aren’t going to give me a baby if I let you come in my mouth. And… it won’t actually give me much pleasure. So, as an inferior man, bound by the principles of Female Supremacy, do you think I should allow you to come at all?”

Kila must have read it in my eyes. She slowed, stilling the motion, then withdrew, leaving my cock upright and desperate. Her tongue snaked over the slickness from her lips. One palm shoved against my chest, hard, so the office chair’s casters rattled for a moment against the wood. I teetered and caught myself, but the violence of the movement left my cock bobbing and leaking against my shirt. Kila climbed up into the seat, astride me again.

“No,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t be allowed to come. I shouldn’t even be allowed to ask for it.”

My stepdaughter rested her forearms on my shoulders. Met my gaze with a half-interested look. Smirked.

“Why?”

“I don’t deserve it,” I said, unable to maintain eye contact with her. “I’m weak. Inferior in every way. I should just be thankful that you’re willing to toy with me.”

“Are you?” Her fingers along my jaw turned my eyes up to meet hers. “Are you thankful that I toy with you?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “Kila, I hate that this is true, but I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you to keep toying with me.”

“Anything?” Her fingers closed around my throat possessively. “More than you want to be married to my mother?”

My pulse pounded in my throat. Sand filled my mouth. As tears ran down my cheeks, I pleaded with Kila. “Don’t make me betray her,” I whispered. “Please, don’t make me hurt her.”

“I’m not asking you to hurt her. I’m asking if you want to continue living as an inferior being, completely controlled by a superior woman. I’m asking if the new life stretching in front of you is worth giving up the old life.”

Instead of another demand, Kila moved in on me, sudden and close, and pressed her lips to mine. This time, her kiss was a contradiction. No less inescapable, no less encompassing, but gone was the earlier violence. She kissed me not with the intent to devour, but to wrap her will around me and cradle it, sweet and possessive. Her tongue, so sharp seconds ago, now coaxed gently at the seam of my lips. The pressure of her hands on my neck was not a threat, but a reassurance, firm and warm; she told me without words that I would not, could not, leave her gravity.

It was the kind of kiss that rearranged the joints in my body. My shoulders dropped, my fists opened, my jaw unclenched. I let her tongue slide over my teeth and flick at the roof of my mouth, tasting me, deciding on my worth, and I shuddered with a relief so deep it pricked at the backs of my eyes. Her chest pressed to mine, the softness of her breasts and the heat of her body flooding through the thin tank. She nipped at my lower lip, then kissed it better, her breath hot and nasal and right there, so close I could feel her lungs fill and empty against my own.

Her hands found mine. Pulled them to her body. My arms tightened around her as I returned her kiss with the deep, soulful need her presence always awakened within me. And Kila’s soul met mine, tender and sweet. When she pulled at me, I lifted her and laid her back on my desk.

“Turn on the camera,” she whispered. “I want to make you watch this.”

My hands scrambled, shaking so hard that I could barely work the mouse. Then the unwinking camera blinked red as my stepdaughter opened her mouth and pulled my face down to kiss her. Hot and wet and filled with hunger, my tongue stroked against hers. Kila’s legs wrapped around my waist and ground her body up at me.

“Tell me what you want to do,” she whispered. “Say it. Let me hear my Daddy’s love.”

“I want to be inside you,” I replied. I didn’t care about the camera. If Kila wanted to ruin me, she had more than enough evidence. What was one more scrap? “I want to undress you and kiss every inch of your beautiful, superior body. I want to lap between your legs until you cry with pleasure. Then I want to bury my cock inside you and make love to you.” I swallowed dryness. “I want to be your lover.”

Dark eyes stared into mine. One eyebrow lifted. She arched slowly. Her eyes flicked downward at her body before lifting to meet my hunger.

“I love you,” I whispered, watching my hands peel the hem of her shirt up. My lips worshipped every inch of skin as it was revealed, until my mouth surrounded one of her stiff nipples. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Good boy, Daddy,” Kila purred, running her fingers through my hair. “You don’t want to just fuck me, do you, Daddy? You want to love me. Isn’t that right?”

“I want to love you so hard you forget that anyone else exists,” I whispered, the words clawing their way out of me before I could think them through. “I want to worship you.” The confession tasted like sacrilege, but Kila’s smile turned radiant, her eyes molten and unguarded.

She tugged my head down, guiding my mouth to her throat, and as I trailed kisses along the hot, salt-sweet skin, she arched her back with a shivering sigh. My hands memorized the rise and fall of her body, every flex and jitter, and the memory of her pulse thudded through my lips as I tasted her. When I drifted lower, to her collarbone and then to the swells of her chest, Kila’s nails scored my scalp and the back of my neck, wordless encouragement through violence. Her tank top peeled off her shoulders in a single motion, and suddenly her breasts were bare, the nipples taut and brown, near enough to eclipse my entire horizon.

I closed my mouth over one, sucking with helpless devotion, rolling it gently on my tongue as Kila’s head lolled back, lips parted, a hush of awe escaping her. She gripped my hair and ground my face harder into her. The heat of her skin and the humbling perfection of her body snapped the last tethers of resistance in me. I wept as I licked and kissed her, tears hot and shameless on my cheeks, and without a trace of irony, I said it again: “I love you.”

She cradled my cheek, thumbs mopping up the tears, and forced my face up so I had no choice but to return her gaze. “I know, Daddy,” she said, and for the first time all morning her voice was stripped of scorn. “I love you too, but you’re still a silly, inferior man and you will never stop needing a woman to control you.”

“Yes,” I gasped, wishing I could crawl inside her and hide there forever. “I need you.”

“Then prove it.” Her hands dove into her waistband and slid her shorts down her thighs, the fabric bunching at her knees. She splayed her legs, an invocation and a dare. “Show me how much you love me. Eat me,” she said, voice lowered to a steady purr. “Leave nothing for yourself.”

Obedience was a reflex by now, but I toppled into her with a hunger that forced the word “Daddy” from her lips in a trembling, almost choked gasp. The taste of her was sharp and alive, the texture familiar and yet always new. My tongue mapped every crease, every warm slickness, every shiver of muscle until she squeezed my head between her thighs, a vise that threatened to annihilate me. There were no commands now, because none were needed: the tremor in her hips, the buckling of her knees, the ragged chant of “yes Daddy, yes Daddy, fuck, fuck, fuck” was all the direction I could want.
She let me up for air only when she was glassy-eyed and shining with sweat, her chest heaving as if we’d run a marathon together.

“You want more,” she said, not questioning. “Beg like you’re inferior. You don’t deserve me, but you can’t live without me. Prove it.”

My words refused to come. My entire mouth was sand and salt and worship, so I just pressed my forehead to the inside of her knee and let shame be my language. Kila didn’t need the sound; she read the devotion from the tremor of my touch, the way my hands shook when I stroked the sweat off her thigh. Without mercy, she hooked a finger under my chin and pulled my face to hers. Her eyes were soft, a shock of mercy in them, but her voice was a knife: “I want to hear you say it.” She turned and looked into the camera. “I want you to hear you say it.” Her eyes turned back to me. “Say it, Daddy.”

“I want to fuck you,” I said. “But not just fuck you. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you surround me and know that I’m helpless because you control my every move. I want to feel your pleasure pulse and your body writhe and know that I’m never going to be allowed to find that release within you.”

I saw it in her face. For a slim instant, I changed her mind. Her hand went down between her legs and pulled the length of my cock against the slick slit of her pussy.

“You aren’t ready for me,” she whispered. “I don’t know if you ever will be.”

“I need you,” I whispered, the words so frail I doubted even she heard. “Please. Just once.”

The slit between her thighs was a living brand, burning a mark onto my soul that no higher brain function could efface. A slow grin spread over her face and she held one finger between us, shaking it from side to side. Then she pointed at the floor between her thighs.

I knew my place. Welcomed it. Kneeling, I licked, sucked, buried my tongue as far as the gates of my stepdaughter’s body would let me, all the while breathing the animal sweat of her, the red salt of her need. Kila arched, bearing down, grinding the bone of her pelvis to my cheek. Her fingers wrenched hold of my hair, jerking my face up so my nose crashed her clit. The sound she made sang down my spine like a starquake.

“Yes, Daddy. Oh my god, yes,” she sobbed, voice ragged. “Eat it. Eat that pussy. Eat that pussy because it fucking owns you.”

The taste of her was familiar but sharpened by the way she wanted it. Not just pleasure but proof, a study in humiliation. She wanted her stepfather tongue-deep, gasping, ruined, socked in the jaw by her scent and left dizzy by the honey-thick stream that ran from her. She wanted a record, a ledger of every moan, every shudder, every sobbed “please” that made me lesser than her.

And I wanted to give it. I wanted to give her everything.
I flicked and circled, easing the tip of my nose just beneath her hood, and her thighs snapped tight, caging my face, her body rippling with the impact. The plug in my ass pulsed in harmony with my tongue, every movement echoed in the heat of her cunt. I licked until my jaw ached, until my whole chin was glazed and my face was baby-smooth from the friction, and still she wanted more.

“You love this,” Kila choked out, gaze glassy and faraway. “You love being used by me. You love being my little bitch. Admit it, Daddy. Tell the camera. Tell the fucking world.”

“I love being yours,” I gasped, mouth smothered but not silent. “I’m nothing without you. I exist to serve you.” I licked her again, deeper, and looked into the camera. “I love being your bitch, Kila. I hope you never get tired of using me.”