Good Boy, Daddy Chapter 2

Dinner passed in a haze. Bryn had the whole thing pre-ordered: spring rolls, panang curry, pad thai, and three plastic containers labeled “not spicy” for me, “mom level” for Bryn, and “stupid hot” for Kila. She shoveled in forkfuls of blazing red curry without flinching, while I reached for my water glass after each bite of my mild portion.

“So, tell me,” Bryn leaned forward, chin propped on her hand. Since Kila was attending her mother’s alma mater, they had information I didn’t. “Professor Wilkins. Still making you write those ridiculous papers?”

Kila launched into a story about midnight pizza deliveries during finals week, a prank war involving shaving cream and doorknobs. I nodded, laughed at appropriate moments, stared at my plate. My chopsticks fumbled a spring roll. With deliberate slowness, Kila picked it up and bit it.

“Want a taste?” she asked. “I don’t mind sharing.”

I knew it was more teasing. Knew I’d have to endure it. As Bryn laughed, I agreed and Kila leaned over to feed me. Just as I bit into the spring roll, the palm of her hand pressed against my cock. I choked and Kila squeezed before she sat back.

“Careful, Daddy,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You might get more than you bargained for.”

Under the table, her knee pressed against mine, lingered. My mouth went dry. The room tilted. All I could see was the upstairs hallway, feel phantom sensations: her breath hot against my throat, her fingers wrapped around… I shifted in my chair, napkin in my lap. The curry burned twice going down. When her mother looked away, Kila winked at me.

That wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. Kila hadn’t just teased me to prove she could. She was getting me ready for the next step. And like a mouse drawn towards the cheese, it didn’t matter if I saw the trap or not.

“I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” Kila said dramatically. Laughing, she stood up from the table. “Let’s watch a movie tonight. It’s been forever since we did that as a family.”

“I pick the movie,” Bryn said. “The last one your Dad picked was a complete dud.”

“Historically accurate dud,” I corrected, and made my standard after-dinner offer. “I’ll clear the table.” My wife fluttered a hand at the old joke and left me to it, disappearing into the living room. I looked up to find Kila hadn’t moved. Staring at me.

“Say it,” she whispered. And I knew what she meant. I looked over at the door her mother had disappeared through no more than five seconds earlier. “I’ll call her back and tell her.”

I gulped. Yes. Definitely a trap. And I was already caught in its jaws.

“Kila…”

“Mom!”

“I want to fuck you,” I whispered. Watched a victory grin spread over my stepdaughter’s face. “This isn’t fair,” I protested.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “But you’ll do what I want anyway.” Raising her voice, she called, “Never mind. Found it.” She met my eyes with a grin. “I own you now, Daddy. You do what I say, or you’ll be out on your ass. Mom won’t like hearing that you told me you want to fuck me.”

Unable to defend myself, I nodded. Kila stopped on her way by to pat me on the cheek.

“Good boy, Daddy,” she said softly.

I was in such deep shit. Leftovers went in the fridge. Empty boxes in the trash. I trudged into the living room like a man on death row. Except that I forced a look of domestic content on my face.

Bryn was laid back in her favorite recliner, looking at her tablet with the remote in one hand. The living room looked as it always did: two battered armchairs flanking a floral-patterned sofa, shelves crammed with books, TV hung crookedly above the fireplace. I settled into the familiar embrace of my chair, remembering when Bryn and I had sat arm-in-arm while we watched mindless sit-coms. For a moment, I missed those days.

Then Kila appeared at the foot of the stairs. She grinned at me as she flounced across the living room. Plopped down on her belly on the sofa. It took me a second to process what she was wearing.

Her top was some kind of oversized men’s dress shirt, powder-blue, with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and the first four buttons undone. There was no bra underneath; when she shifted her weight, the fabric clung to her back and billowed around her sides, showing slivers of bare skin and the shadow of her breasts. Below that: yoga pants, charcoal-gray, high-waisted, and so thin they left nothing to the imagination. She might as well have painted them on with a spray gun. She lay stretched out on the couch with her arms pillowed under her cheek, ass slightly raised, long legs folded at the ankle. The entire back half of the pants was translucent, two perfect, round shapes divided by a seam so thin it looked illegal.

My cock twitched, and I felt a bolt of panic. Bryn was right there, less than three feet away, and there was no universe in which she wouldn’t notice her stepdaughter’s new wardrobe. But Bryn didn’t look up from her book, even when Kila made a show of stretching catlike, arching her back until the shirt rode up and a naked strip of skin flashed above the waistband. She flashed a mischievous smile at me over her shoulder before she laid down again.

After a few minutes, Kila broke the silence. “Hey Mom, is it cool if I put on something? I know a couple of movies I think you’ll like.”

Bryn smiled over her tablet. “It’s your home too, honey. Pick what you want.”

Kila rolled off the couch and stood, shirt gaping open enough to show the inner curve of one breast, then ambled to her mother’s chair. Leaning across my legs, she turned towards me slightly as the shirt fell open. The soft curve of her breasts held my gaze. Another step and her ass was inches from my face. My cock throbbed.

“What do you think, Mom, is Dad up for a girly romance?” She shifted her hips slowly, making the light glitter across her backside. Kila bent over the arm of her mother’s chair. “Is that Glitter Glue you’re playing?”

“Can’t beat level sixty-five,” Bryn said distractedly. “I’m out of power-ups.”

Kila’s feet moved apart and her back arched downwards. The outline of her pussy was clearly visible, and I was unable to look away. I never wanted anything more in my life and never felt guiltier about it. My cock ached for her touch.

As if she wasn’t sure that I was staring, my stepdaughter’s fingers appeared between her legs. I watched as she traced the delicate flesh barely hidden by her yoga pants. The television beeped as she flipped channels.

“See anything good, Daddy?” she called over her shoulder.

“Everything looks good from here,” I said, wondering how Bryn could possibly not hear the lust in my voice. “I’m good for whatever you want.”

Kila stood and turned to face me. A slow smile made her eyes twinkle. Her eyes went to my crotch. She lifted an eyebrow. I nodded.

“Good boy, Daddy,” she mouthed silently. She pulled open another button until I could see the chocolate brown tinge of her nipple. “Is he always this easy to please?” she asked.

“Your Dad?” Bryn looked over at me fondly as I stared at her daughter’s tits. “He’s a good man. Pick whatever you want, sweetheart.”

My wife’s praise burned like a thousand fires in my soul. Kila leaned over and placed a very loud smooch on my cheek. Her hand pressed against my cock.

“Be a good boy, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’ll make you say it in front of Mom.”

Settled on the couch cross-legged, Kila flipped through the menu. A series of half-words passed her lips as she considered and discarded several choices. I tried to focus on the words but they passed too quickly. My eyes slid to Kila and my cock throbbed.

“Competitive glass blowing,” she said with a nod of her head. “It’s got drama, but nobody dies,” she said. Then, turning to me with a perfectly innocent smile, “You like hot stuff, right, Dad?”

My throat closed up. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Bryn snorted. “He can barely handle black pepper, sweetie. Don’t tease him.”

Kila shot me a look that could have meant anything, then stretched again, arms above her head, chest rising until the shirt nearly parted in the middle. I saw a flash of dark brown areola before she settled, folding her arms loosely across her knees. Leaning forward so her breasts fell heavy against her blouse.

For the next hour, Kila made herself the center of gravity. She laughed loud at every dumb joke, made snarky comments about the contestants’ hair, and threw her head back whenever she disagreed with the judges. Each time she moved, the shirt rode higher, and the pants clung closer. I tried desperately not to look, but every time I glanced down, she seemed to catch me in the act, her lips curving up at the corners in a secret, knowing smile.

At one point, she scooted backwards to lean against my recliner, so close that I could smell the coconut of her shampoo. She turned her face up to mine, voice so low that only I could hear: “You falling asleep on me, old man? Or are you just bored?”

“I’m good,” I managed, feeling the pulse in my temples. I shifted in my seat, the movement threatening to break the straining zipper. “It’s kind of interesting. I didn’t know glassblowing could be so… intense.”

Kila glanced at my lap, then back at my face. Her voice dropped even lower. “I like when you get all flustered. It’s cute.” Her hand came up and, under cover of the armrest, brushed my thigh with her knuckles. “Makes me feel powerful.”

I choked on nothing and coughed, drawing Bryn’s attention for the first time. “Everything okay?” she asked, looking over the rim of her glasses.

“Yeah,” I said, but my voice came out squeaky. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Fine. Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Bryn went back to her book. Kila grinned, satisfied. Her hand left my thigh, but not before tracing a slow circle just above my knee, sending tremors up my leg.

The show ended, and Bryn set aside her tablet. “The problem with these streaming shows is you get no time for a bathroom break.” She stood and stretched, rubbing her neck. “Go on to the next one, I want to see who beats that Carl guy. I hate him.”

Kila smiled sweetly. “I’ll keep him in line, Mom.”

I watched Bryn disappear down the hall, her robe swishing around her ankles. The second she was gone, Kila turned in place so that she sat facing me, knees together and hands folded on top. She cocked her head and regarded me in silence, letting the tension stretch.

“Did you like the show?” she asked, voice suddenly syrupy and soft.

“Yeah, it was fun,” I said, not trusting myself with more words.

She shifted, parting her knees just enough that the shirt hung open over her lap. She caught me looking and smiled wider.

“You know you can say no to me, right?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You can tell me to stop.”

I couldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to… hurt your feelings.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “My feelings? Daddy, I’m trying to hurt yours.” She leaned forward, elbows on knees, cleavage a canyon between two pale slopes. “You’ve never said no to me. Not once. Not when I was seven and I wanted a puppy. Not when I was twelve and I wanted my own laptop. Not when I was sixteen and I wanted to go to that concert in the city. Not tonight.” She drew the last word out, her tongue flicking over her bottom lip. “Are you going to start now?”

I shook my head, and she leaned back, satisfied. “Good boy.”

She undid the last button of the shirt. It slipped from her shoulders and landed in a heap at her feet, leaving her topless in the glow of the TV. Her breasts were round and heavy, the nipples dark and puffy, each a perfect target for the gaze she knew I couldn’t control. She stood slowly, deliberately, stepping out of the puddle of fabric and picking it up, draping it over the arm of the couch. Then she turned and bent over to retrieve her phone from the coffee table, giving me an unimpeded view of her ass, the pants so sheer now that I could see the delicate shadow of her cunt lips pressed against the seam.

A low, animalistic sound came from my throat, and she looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Something wrong, Daddy?”

“Jesus,” I said, and she laughed again.

She slung the shirt back on, not bothering to button it, then stalked over to me and perched on the arm of my chair. Her thigh pressed into my shoulder, skin hot and alive. She leaned down, her hair brushing my cheek, and whispered, “You still want to fuck me?”

I felt a fresh rush of blood to my cock, and the answer was written on my face. She giggled, kissed my cheek. Soft, chaste, almost sisterly. Then ruffled my hair.

“Good. I want you to want me. That’s the whole point.” She kissed me again, then wiggled onto my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. My arms caught at her knees and shoulders. Just in time for Bryn to come back from the bathroom.

Bryn took in the scene as my heart pounded. Her grown daughter in my lap, me with a dumb, dazed look. A gentle smile came to her lips. “Look at you two,” she said. “I swear, you’re still Daddy’s little girl.”

Kila leaned into me, put her head on my shoulder, and smiled back. “Always,” she said, and her fingers snaked between us, cupping my cock and squeezing, just for a second. “I love my Daddy.

Bryn sat down, picked up her tablet, and went right back to reading, humming softly.

Kila nuzzled into my chest, and in a tiny, private voice, whispered, “You belong to me now, Daddy.” Dark eyes searched mine. “You know that, right?”

I had never felt so helpless in my life, or so hard. I nodded. Kila’s eyes danced with glee.

“I didn’t know it would be so easy to ruin you,” she said, pulling my fingers between her knees. “God, Daddy. One word to Mom would be the end of you, wouldn’t it?”

The next hour crawled by, but it wasn’t slow. Not in the way I remembered, back when Kila was a teenager and Bryn and I would sit together, wineglasses in hand, and marvel at how quickly the days passed. This was different. Every minute stretched out, pulled taut by the invisible wire that bound me to the girl curled against my side. Every second, I waited for her to do something, anything, that would give me an excuse to make it stop or make it worse.

Kila let her head rest on my shoulder, her breathing slow and even. To Bryn, it looked sweet, a rare moment of paternal intimacy. But her body told a different story. She pressed her breasts into my arm, so soft that I could feel the heat of her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her thigh was flush against mine, and every time I shifted, she moved to match me, as if daring me to flinch away.

I tried to lose myself in the television. Bryn put on a British baking show, something gentle and brainless, the kind of program that usually dissolved my stress and left me warm and dozy. But tonight, I couldn’t follow a single plotline. Every time I blinked, the image of Kila in those yoga pants flashed behind my eyelids, her pussy lips framed by the cling of the fabric, her ass so perfectly rounded that I could trace the curve from memory.

Bryn laughed at a joke on TV and reached over to stroke my hand, her touch feather-light. I jerked at the touch, and Kila clenched her thighs to keep my other hand from moving. I managed a smile and looked over at my wife’s loving eyes, but even that felt like a lie. The guilt should have been overwhelming, but all I felt was hunger, sharpened by the girl beside me.

“Just be a good boy, Daddy,” Kila whispered. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

That was the problem. I was certain that she knew what she was doing. She brought my hand up under her shirt. Touched one finger against her rigid nipple. Circled it slowly.

“See? Good things happen to good boys.” She snuggled tighter against me, pressing her ass cheek against my cock. “I’ve missed being your little girl,” she said aloud. “I hope you don’t mind sharing him, Mom.”

“Not at all, baby,” Bryn said.

Kila’s hand rested between us. I felt her ease my zipper down one notch at a time. Slender fingers traced my length as the host on television talked about developing the gluten. She watched the TV, never looking at me, but the corners of her mouth curled up. She leaned over, whispered in my ear, “Is this for me? Are you hard for me, Daddy?”

The word shivered down my neck. I tried to shake my head, but she squeezed my thigh, just once, and I nodded instead.

She grinned and tugged my cock out of my shorts. Pulled it lazily as she stared over her shoulder at the screen. I quivered. A lot of things could possibly be explained. Having my raw cock in my stepdaughter’s hands could not.

“Everything okay?” she asked, voice gentle.

“Please,” I whispered. “Not now. I’m begging.”

“No, you aren’t,” she said. Her hand moved a little faster. “You will.”

“Everything okay?” Bryn asked when I moaned.

Panic seized my chest. But Kila just kept pumping my cock. As if her mother wasn’t sitting behind her.

“Cramp,” I lied. Shifted. Gasped as my stepdaughter squeezed my balls.

Bryn’s eyes softened. “You need to stretch more, honey. You’re getting old.”

“I told you to be still,” Kila whispered. Kila laughed, too loud, then buried her face in my neck, her breath warm against my skin. She squeezed my cock again, harder, then let go. She waited until Bryn was focused on the screen, then whispered, “You have to say it.”

“Say what?”

She grinned, eyes black and greedy. “Tell me you want to fuck me.”

“Now?” She nodded. I looked over at her mother. Kila moved to put her head in the way of my gaze. She raised an eyebrow. I swallowed, a hard lump in my throat. “I want to fuck you,” I whispered, barely audible.

Kila made a purring sound. “Again.”

I repeated it, a little louder. “I want to fuck you.”

She looked up, eyes shining. “That’s my good boy.”

Bryn turned at the tail end of the exchange, saw Kila nuzzling my jaw, and gave a little “aww” noise. “You two are ridiculous,” she said. “You act like she’s still six years old.”

“She’s always your baby,” I said, voice unsteady.

Bryn smiled, then stood and stretched. “I’m beat. I think I’ll turn in early. You coming?”

“Not yet.” Kila spoke before I could answer, and for a moment I was afraid her mother would know what she meant. She shifted in my lap, pressing my cock against her ass. Hiding me from her mother’s view. “Can I steal Dad for a little bit? I want to show him the weirdest thing I saw on TikTok today.”

Bryn shook her head, amused. “Don’t keep him up too late. He needs his beauty sleep.”

She kissed my cheek, then Kila’s, and left for the bedroom.

The second Bryn’s door clicked shut, Kila pounced. She straddled my lap, knees squeezing my hips, her whole body pressed against me. The loose shirt slipped off one shoulder, baring the top of her breast.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, then reached behind her to pull my hand up, planting it squarely on her ass. The yoga pants were slick and hot, and I could feel the meat of her flesh beneath. She rocked her hips in tiny circles, grinding her cunt against my thigh, breathing hard.

She kissed my ear. “You don’t get to come again until you say it three times.”

“Say what?”

“You know,” she purred.

My stepdaughter ground her pussy against me, the friction intoxicating. I felt the pressure building, my cock so hard it hurt. Both hands gripped her ass now, pulling her against me.

“I want to fuck you,” I said.

Grinding, she shook her head, a mock pout. “That’s only one.”

“I want to fuck you,” I repeated, this time louder, the words burning in my mouth.

She moaned, softly, then bit my earlobe. “Again.”

I was panting now, sweat prickling my forehead. “I want to fuck you, Kila. I want to fuck you so bad.”

Her hips rocked faster, her breath catching. “That’s my Daddy,” she gasped. “Now, beg for it.”

My body trembled. I wanted to rip her yoga pants right down the seam and take her. Shove my cock into her to the hilt and pound her until I blew my stack. It took all my willpower to give her what she wanted.

“Please, let me fuck you, Kali,” I whispered. “Please.”

“That’s a good boy,” she panted against my face, eyes blown wide with pleasure. “Beg for me while I come on you.”

I felt her body shudder against me as she ground herself harder into my thigh, her breath coming in sharp little gasps. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, using me as leverage while she chased her release. The thin fabric of her yoga pants was soaked now, and I could feel the heat of her pussy through the material as she rode me.

“Please,” I whispered. “Kila, please. I’m begging. Daddy’s begging.”

“Fuck, yeah,” she whispered, voice thick with need. “Feel what you do to me. Feel how wet I get when you beg.” Her eyes held mine. “When I let you fuck me, Daddy, I’m going to make you beg for permission to come inside me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To fill your little girl up with hot cum?”

“Yes! Yes!” My whisper was savage. “I’ll beg for it, Kila I’ll beg to come inside you!”

My cock throbbed painfully, trapped between our bodies, smearing precum across her hip as she moved. I wanted to touch myself, to stroke the length that was screaming for attention, but my hands were locked on her ass, helping her grind against me while she used my body for her pleasure. I nuzzled at her breasts, and one hand cupped the back of my head, pulling my mouth to her nipple.

Her eyes rolled back, and she bit down on her lower lip to stifle a moan. “Say it again,” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Tell me you want to fuck me while I come on you.”

“I want to fuck you,” I whispered desperately. “God, I want to fuck you so bad, Kila.” Before I could stop myself, I promised, “I will do anything you want, baby girl. I’ll be your fucking slave if you want me. Just let me fuck you once. Please.”

That pushed her over the edge. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against my chest as her whole body went rigid. I felt her pussy pulse against my thigh, hot and wet, while she trembled through her orgasm. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, and for a moment she looked so young, so vulnerable, that my heart clenched with something more complicated than lust. Dark eyes caught mine. Stared deep into my soul.

This was the woman I’d called my daughter nearly her entire life. My precious Kila. And this was what I was doing to her now. I hated myself as I’d never hated anyone. Despair welled inside me. I was broken. Humiliated.

Kila panted happily against my face. Giggled.

“You are so fucking hot when you beg,” she said. Her eyes were dark and predatory. “If Mom isn’t fucking you ragged, she’s an idiot. Speaking of which…”

My stepdaughter’s arms slid around my shoulders as her mouth sought and found mine. Soft and tender, hot and wet, her tongue filled my mouth. Sucked at my mouth. Sighed and moaned happily as an aftershock rattled her spine.

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered against my lips. “Whenever you start doubting things, remember that. I’m a grown woman. I love you. I choose to do this with you because I love you.”

Her eyes held mine. Hot tears dripped down my cheeks and I nodded. Kila cupped one hand at my throat and kissed me again.

“She isn’t fucking you, is she?” Kila said. Not a question. Not a judgment. Just a statement of fact. I flinched, mouth open, but she didn’t give me space to answer. Her hands were at my face, framing my cheeks, her dark eyes burning into mine like a predator’s. “Then you belong to me. Only me. Got it?” She ground her hips down, her soaked yoga pants squelching against the dampness she’d left on my thigh.

I tried to nod but she dug her nails into my jawline, pinning me to the couch, her grip a leash of shame and ecstasy. “You can eat her pussy if she’s desperate or whatever, but nothing else. She doesn’t get you. She doesn’t suck your cock. She doesn’t ride your cock. And you…” She bared her teeth, a flash of savage delight “You don’t fuck her. Ever. Only me.” Her breath smelled like sour cherry vodka and faintly like my own skin, and it made me dizzy. “Say it,” she hissed.

Some primitive part of me fought to rebel; the rest of me melted under her certainty. “I want to fuck you,” I managed, the words so shameful and wrong that they felt like a kind of relief to say.

“Not that,” she snapped, then smiled a slow, cruel smile that reminded me, impossibly, of every time I’d spoiled her as a little girl and she’d pressed her advantage. “Say you’re mine. Say you won’t fuck Mom.” Her voice turned velvet smooth and dangerous. Say you’ll do anything for my pussy, and you don’t want any other pussy in the world.”

My throat closed tight. It took a few painful seconds before I could manage, “As long as you want me, I’m yours. Only yours.” The words sounded like a binding. “I won’t touch your mother.”

She worked her jaw, assessing, then kissed me hard, her lips sealing the promise. It was a kiss of ownership; when she pulled away, her teeth tugged at my lower lip, leaving it stinging and wet. For a moment, neither of us spoke. There was nothing in the room but our ragged breathing and the impossible weight of what we’d just said.

Kila brushed her tongue over my cheek, tasting the sweat. “You’re a good boy, Daddy,” she murmured, the edge of mockery in her voice now softened into something almost affectionate. “I bet you never thought you’d be begging your little girl to own you, huh?”

I made a wounded noise, but she didn’t want me to answer. She slid off my lap, her hands ghosting down my chest, over my belly, lingering at the waistband of my shorts. She tucked my cock away with a brisk, almost businesslike motion, then palmed the outline of it through the fabric, as if to reassure herself that it would still be there later. The air was thick with the smell of her: sweat, sex, and body heat, a remembered animal scent that clung to my skin.

The shirt hung off her shoulder, framing the gentle curve of her breast, her nipple just visible beneath the sheer cotton. She didn’t bother to cover herself as she stood, hips cocked, chin lifted in a way that dared me to look away. Wild. Free. Untamed. Powerful.

“Midnight,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Be horny and be ready to beg.” Her voice was calm, almost bored, as she ran her fingers through her short hair, tucking stray strands behind her ear. Her eyes never left mine. “If you back out, I’ll tell Mom.”

The threat, real or not, landed like a slap. The implication that Kila held every advantage, every secret, every possible outcome, was oddly comforting. I could let go. There was no escape, no decision to make. The rails were fixed and I was already racing along them, powerless.

She smiled at my expression: stricken, humiliated, and hungry all at once. “Maybe I’ll let you worship me,” she said, dragging a finger slowly down her breast, over her stomach, pausing just at the waistband of her pants. “If you’re good enough.” I tried to protest, to say this had to stop, that I’d lost all control, but she pressed a single finger to my lips. “Shhh,” she said. “You already told me what you want, Daddy. Three times tonight.”

She bent over and kissed my forehead, a benediction both loving and mocking. So like the kisses I’d given her as a child, but with so much more behind them. Kila pressed her lips against mine again before turning and padding up the stairs to her bedroom. She made no attempt to pull the shirt closed or hide the dark wet patch between her legs. She wanted me to look, wanted me to remember, wanted me to want.

I sat frozen, cock throbbing under the thin mesh of my shorts, the taste of her still on my lips, my thigh sticky and cooling where she’d ridden me. My mind spun with images: the flush of her cheeks, the raw hunger in her eyes, the way she’d pressed her mouth to my ear and told me exactly what I was, what I was going to do. The certainty of it made me want to weep.

My wife found me staring at the muted television. “Everything okay?” she asked, her voice soft, the edge of sleepiness already in it. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” I croaked. “Just… tired.”

“Come to bed soon?” Bryn’s smile was gentle, and for the first time in months she looked truly happy, contented in a way I’d almost forgotten. I felt another pulse of guilt, this one sharper for how little it stung compared to the hunger Kila had left behind.

“Of course,” I said.

She bent over to kiss my temple, her hand resting at the back of my neck. “Love you,” she whispered, then padded back to bed, humming softly as she went.

I sat for a long time in the dark, staring at the blue glow of the TV, the sound turned low, my head throbbing with the enormity of what lay ahead. Every nerve was alive with anticipation and dread. Salt touched my lips, surprising me. I wiped at my eyes and laughed a little, bitterly, at my own weakness. I knew I would go to Kila at midnight. I knew I would kneel, beg, do anything she asked. The only thing I didn’t know was how she’d destroy me next.

But first, I had to do the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. I had to climb into bed next to my wife and pretend I wasn’t thinking about fucking her daughter. I stared at the clock on the TV and saw midnight was still two hours away. Facing the gallows of my shame, I climbed the stairs, each step taking me closer to the doom I couldn’t find it in me to deny myself.