Good Boy, Daddy Chapter 8
A young Female Supremacist decides her stepfather needs an attitude adjustment.
The rest of that day was a fever dream. I remember walking around my own house in a state of low-grade panic, unable to stand still, unable to be in the same room with either woman for more than a minute. Kila, when I caught glimpses of her, seemed perfectly at ease. Lounging on the couch, sprawling on the deck with her phone, snacking in the kitchen, always moving with a confident, predatory grace. Bryn spent most of her afternoon in the back yard, headphones on, pruning her container garden. I sometimes thought if I could just make it through one whole day without incident, without humiliation, I’d find the strength to call the bluff, to end this, to be the man I always pretended to be. But I wasn’t. And nothing changed.
It took me until midnight to work up the courage to act. I sat on the edge of our bed for the better part of an hour, listening to Bryn’s slow, measured breathing as she slept, letting the guilt pool and harden in my stomach like old coffee. When I finally stood, I nearly tripped over my own feet. My body was cold, but I sweated through the armpits of my shirt and left clammy prints on the door handle as I slipped into the hallway.
The old carpet muffled my footsteps, but each one felt like a little betrayal. A signal to the whole house, a broadcast of my shame. I stopped in front of Kila’s door, fist hovering for what felt like minutes, and glanced back at the master bedroom. No movement. The house was dark and silent except for the ticking of the wall clock and the occasional groan of old timbers settling. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my teeth.
I knocked, softly, two quick taps. The door opened so fast I knew Kila had been waiting. She stood there in nothing but a thin, sleeveless nightshirt, the fabric translucent with age and doing nothing to hide the dark brown nipples underneath. Her hair was unbrushed, tangled in a way that made her look more dangerous, less human. The sight of her hit me with a double shot of lust and fear, but I tried to push past it.
She didn’t say a word, just cocked her head and leaned against the jamb, waiting for me to start. Her arms were folded under her breasts, pinning them up and together, making sure I saw them even if I tried not to. I swallowed, and the taste was acid.
“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, not trusting my voice above that.
“About what?” she said, voice flat and sleepy.
“This… all of this. It has to stop.” I heard myself, the pathetic hopefulness in it. “I know you’re angry, and I know I deserve a lot of this, but… I can’t do it anymore. It’s wrong, Kila. It’s so fucking wrong.”
She rolled her eyes. “You keep saying that, Daddy, but it’s not like you ever try to stop. You show up at my door in the middle of the night, and you think you’re the one making rules?”
I felt myself shrink. My hands shook, so I stuffed them in the pockets of my pajamas. “I just… please, Kila. Please. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll buy you a car, I’ll pay for grad school, I’ll… whatever. Just stop this. Let me go back to being your dad. I can’t keep living like this. I can’t even look at myself. I can’t sleep, I can’t…”
She cut me off with a sharp flick of her hand. “You’re boring me.” She stepped aside, letting me see into her room, and jerked her chin at the edge of her bed. “Sit.”
I did. My legs didn’t want to hold me up anyway. My stomach squirreled as the last of my will and determination evaporated.
She closed the door quietly and walked to her nightstand. For a moment she rummaged, her ass pointed directly at me, the hem of her shirt rising to show nothing underneath. When she turned back, she held a small, folded square of cloth between two fingers.
She dropped the panties into my lap. They were the pair she’d worn the day before, the ones I’d so thoroughly ruined with my own cum.
Kila crossed her arms and stared me down. “You want to explain to Mom why you’re jerking off into my underwear?” she said. “Because if not, I suggest you stop pretending you’re in charge of anything.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I tried to swallow. coughed. Tried again.
Kila waited. “No? You don’t want Mom to see this?” She picked up the panties again and waved them gently, like a white flag. “Because I can leave them right on her pillow, if you’re having trouble finding your words.”
I managed a single, strangled “No.”
She put her underwear back into the drawer of her nightstand and sat next to me, close enough for her thigh to press against mine. “You’re lucky, Daddy. Most guys who want to fuck their daughters have to hide it. You get to say it. You get to do it. And all I ask in return is that you stop whining about how bad you feel afterward.” She leaned in, her voice lower, more dangerous. “You’re an animal. That’s what you are. And every time you make a big deal about it, it just makes me want to punish you harder.”
I was shaking. Cold sweat ran down my spine, collecting in the waistband of my pajamas. Tears burned in my eyes. I couldn’t keep my voice steady when I spoke.
“I’m not trying to fight you, Kila,” I said, barely more than a whisper. “I just want it to stop. Please.”
She smiled. It wasn’t nice. “Noted.”
I thought, for one insane moment, that she might let me go. That she would just pat my cheek and send me to bed like a child. I even stood, thinking I could just walk out, pretend this never happened.
Kila didn’t so much pull me into the hallway as drag me, her grip on my wrist unbreakable, her posture uncaring if she left bruises. She slammed her bedroom door behind us, the quiet of the sleeping house shattered. For a second, I panicked, afraid Bryn would wake, that I’d be caught and forced to explain why I was out here in the dark, half-dressed, with my stepdaughter pinning me to the wall.
But Kila had already anticipated the risk. She jammed her body against mine, flattening my back against the textured wallpaper, her forearm braced hard across my chest. Her hair was wild, a tangle of shadow and silk that spilled into my face as she leaned in. For a second, I thought she might hit me, but instead she just breathed, slow, deep, and deliberate. Her lips close enough to graze my cheek.
“You want to be a martyr, Daddy?” she whispered. “You want to cry about how you’re the victim here? Fine. Let’s see how long you last.”
Her left hand disappeared into the pocket of her nightshirt. When it emerged, she was holding a fresh pair of white cotton panties. The kind I remembered folding into her laundry basket when she was twelve. She balled them up and pressed them to my nose.
“Smell that,” Kila hissed. “Remember who owns you.” She didn’t wait for me to obey, just pressed harder, suffocating me with the fabric until I gasped for air. The second my mouth opened, her other hand was inside my pajama bottoms, cold fingers wrapping around my cock.
She stroked me, slow and clinical, never breaking eye contact. My knees nearly buckled from the shock of it. The pleasure, the terror, the stink of her sex flooding my sinuses. Every part of me tried to fight it, to clamp down or shrink away, but she squeezed harder until my cock betrayed me, rising to her touch, swelling against her palm.
Kila smiled, the satisfaction in it pure and savage. “See?” she said, voice low. “Your body knows better than your brain. You’re made for this. You’re made to be used.”
Her hand stroked faster, each movement of her hand a jolt of shame and bliss. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to muffle any sound. But Kila wasn’t satisfied. She pressed her mouth to my ear and whispered, “If you so much as grunt, I’ll let Mom watch the next time you’re on your knees for me.”
My head spun. I tried to say, “Please don’t,” but her fingers tightened around the head of my cock, twisting cruelly. The only thing that came out was a choked moan.
“Pathetic,” Kila spat. “That’s your word now. That’s what you are.”
She kissed my jaw, soft, almost sweet. Then her knee slammed upward, smashing directly into my balls.
The pain was nuclear. I folded in half, hands grabbing uselessly at her shoulders, gasping for breath. My cock wilted in her hand, but she didn’t let go. She massaged it, slow and gentle, until the agony faded to a white-hot pulse. Then she started stroking again, coaxing me back to hardness, every touch loaded with a promise: this won’t end until I say it ends.
Kila let me recover for a few seconds, my body trembling and slick with sweat, before she pulled my face level with hers. “You want to fight me?” she said, her words sharp as knives. “You want to make this hard?”
I shook my head, but she ignored it, already working my cock again. The pleasure came back, raw and needy, amplified by the memory of pain. My spine stiffened until it was as hard as the cock in my stepdaughter’s hand.
Kila’s hips pressed into mine, trapping me against the wall. Her hand jerked faster, the friction electric. “You’re going to come for me,” she hissed. “You’re going to make a mess all over yourself, like the dirty old man you are.”
Just as the heat crested, just as my body tensed for release, she kneed me again. Harder this time, a perfect shot that dropped me to the carpet. I wanted to puke, or cry, or black out, but Kila followed me down, kneeling astride my hips and pulling my face to her chest.
“Look at me,” she said. “Look at who owns you.”
Her nipple pressed against my mouth through the thin nightshirt. She rubbed my lips with it, her hand still working my cock, slow and punishing. The pleasure and pain collided, feeding each other, making every nerve in my body go haywire. She pulled her panties from my mouth and replaced them with her turgid nipple.
I whimpered, “Please,” but I didn’t know what I was begging for.
“Please what?” Kila asked. She stroked me, slow and mean. “Please finish? Please stop? Please let you crawl back to Mom’s bed and pretend you’re still a man?”
She let me wallow in the question, milking me with relentless, mechanical strokes. I understood the rules of the game now. If I even got close to coming, she’d hurt me. The problem was that I had no control over that. Kila’s hand pulled me towards ruin with quick strokes.
“You know what I want?” she said, her voice so soft it was almost loving. “I want you to admit it. Admit you need this. Admit you’re nothing without me.”
I shook, the fight gone from my limbs. My balls felt like they were on fire, my stomach twisted in knots, but my cock stood up anyway, desperate for whatever she would give it.
“Say it,” Kila whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “Say you need to come for me. Say you need your daughter to ruin you.”
Words wouldn’t come out. I could barely breathe. I nodded, pathetic and helpless.
She laughed, a gentle, almost pitying sound. “That’s right, Daddy. You’ll do anything, won’t you?”
“Yes,” I groaned. “I’ll do anything. Please. Please just—”
Her hand was on my cock, squeezing tighter, faster. Each stroke sent a shockwave through my body, the pain from my bruised balls amplifying the pleasure until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Kila reached down, wrapped the fresh panties around the head of my cock, and held it there, her fist a vice.
“Come for me,” she said, her voice absolute. “Now.”
There was no question of disobedience. I came so hard I thought I might black out. My vision went white, my lungs seized, and my body convulsed in a way that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with surrender. The fresh panties soaked up every jet, Kila’s fist squeezing every last drop into the fabric. My balls screamed in protest, but the rest of me floated on a sick, dizzying rush.
Kila held me there, her hand wrapped tight around my pulsing cock, until the spasms faded and I collapsed against her. She let me shudder and sweat in her arms for a full minute, not saying a word, just holding me in place and watching my face as the aftershocks rattled through me.
When she was satisfied, she peeled the panties from my cock, examined the wet spot with clinical interest, then folded them with crisp, deliberate movements. She opened her bedroom door just long enough to dart inside, then reemerged with a tiny plastic baggie, the kind you’d use for jewelry or pills. With practiced precision, she stuffed the panties inside, zipped it shut, and tossed it onto her nightstand.
“That’s two,” she said, her voice bright. “You want to see how many I can collect before you break?”
I didn’t answer. I was still on my knees, sweat pooling at the hollow of my throat, my balls throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
Kila lowered her body over mine, her knees pushing mine out wide. I whimpered, knowing what was about to happen. But I didn’t try to stop it. God, help me. I didn’t even ask for mercy.
“You’re mine,” she said. “If you ever try to talk your way out of this again, I’ll do it in front of Mom. Or in front of whoever’s around. Think about that.”
Both hands folded over my mouth. The tip of Kila’s nose touched mine. She chuckled softly.
“This is going to hurt, Daddy.” Her knee slammed into my balls. Then again. “Grab my ass, Daddy. Look at me.” Pain rocketed into my guts as her knee landed again. “I fucking own you. I will do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Your only choice is obedience. Or Mom finds out what a disgusting perv you are. Remember what she said in the car about my “friend’s” father?”
My stepdaughter’s knee pounded me again. Then again. Pain shot all the way to my throat, choking me. My body shook as I sobbed quietly.
“Want to see if I can get you hard again?” Kila whispered. Her thigh pressed against my cock, and I knew it would betray me in moments. “We can go through this again, Daddy. Would you like to come in my panties again so I can bust your balls and make you cry?”
She removed her hands, and as I opened my mouth to answer, she kissed me. Long and deep. Grinding her hips at me. My fingers dug into her ass and I kissed her back. Hungry for my stepdaughter in ways I never should feel.
“Say it,” she whispered between kisses. “Tell me the truth.”
“I want to fuck you,” I growled. “Kila, I want to fuck your goddamn brains out.”
Wet heat ground against the shaft of my cock. One finger on my lips kept me silent as Kila slid her pussy against my throbbing dick. All the way from the base to the tip. Hovering so I could feel her body open for me. Then denying me to slide down to the base again.
“Lay there and let me use you,” she whispered. “Your little girl wants to come on your dick.”
I didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared up at her with what must have been naked worship in my eyes. Her weight shifted as she rocked against me, her pussy leaving a slick, burning trail along my shaft. The humiliation of my position, on my back in the hallway outside my wife’s bedroom while my stepdaughter used me like a toy, should have crushed me. Instead, it made every nerve in my body sing with sick anticipation.
“That’s it,” Kila breathed, grinding harder. “Just a fuck-pole. That’s all you are.”
She moved with deliberate slowness, controlling the pace, teasing herself with the ridge of my cock. I could feel how wet she was, soaking through the thin fabric of her nightshirt, coating my skin with her arousal. My hands gripped her ass harder, pulling her down against me, desperate for more contact.
“Don’t you dare try to control this,” she hissed, slapping my hands away. “You get what I give you, nothing more.”
My arms fell limp at my sides. I was nothing but a spectator to my own ruin, watching as Kila positioned herself over me, her thighs clamping around my hips. She lifted her nightshirt just enough for me to see where we connected, my angry red cock trapped between her slick folds. Not inside her, just gliding along her slit, the head occasionally catching on her entrance before she’d pull away with a cruel smile.
“Look at your face,” she whispered, tracing my jawline with one finger. “So fucking pathetic. You’d do anything to be inside me right now, wouldn’t you?”
I nodded, beyond shame, beyond anything but the throbbing need that consumed me.
“Say it,” she demanded, grinding harder. “Tell me what you’d sacrifice.”
“Everything,” I gasped, the word tearing from my throat. “My job. My marriage. My soul. Anything, Kila. Just let me fuck you. Please.”
She threw her head back and laughed, the sound like broken glass in my ears. Her hips never stopped moving, working herself against me with practiced precision. I could feel her clit brushing the underside of my cock, the little bud hard and swollen.
“You’d give up Mom for this?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Your wife of twenty years? For one fuck with your stepdaughter?”
The truth burned in my chest. “Yes.”
Her rhythm quickened, her breathing growing shallow. “That’s why you’ll never have it,” she panted. “Because you want it too much. Because you’d throw away everything that makes you a man just to get inside me.”
My stepdaughter was using me for her own pleasure now, her movements becoming erratic, focused entirely on her own release. My cock throbbed painfully beneath her, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about me. It was about power. Her power, my submission.
“I’m going to come on your cock,” she whispered, her eyes half-lidded and glazed. “And you’re going to lie there and take it. And after I’m done, you’re going to crawl back to Mom’s bed with my scent all over you.”
I whimpered, torn between ecstasy and agony. My balls ached from her earlier assault, but my cock strained upward, desperate to be enveloped by the wet heat that teased it. Kila’s movements grew more frantic, her thighs trembling on either side of me.
“Remember this,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Remember what it feels like to be nothing but a tool for my pleasure.”
Her body tensed, her back arching as she pressed herself hard against me. I felt the pulse of her orgasm, the rhythmic contractions of her pussy against my shaft. She bit her lip to stifle her cry, her eyes locked on mine, making sure I witnessed every second of her triumph.
For one wild moment, I thought about flipping her over, pinning her down, and finally taking what I’d been denied. My hands twitched at my sides, my body tensed, but the threat in her eyes was clear. One wrong move and everything would come crashing down.
Kila collapsed forward, her forehead resting against mine, her breath hot on my face. For a moment, we stayed like that, both of us panting, her body still twitching with aftershocks. Then she smiled, a predator’s grin, and slid off me.
“Good boy,” she said, patting my cheek. “Now go back to bed and think about what just happened. Think about how close you got, and how you’ll never get any closer.”
My cock lay heavy on my stomach, still hard, still leaking. Kila looked down at it and smirked.
“Poor Daddy,” she cooed. “Do you need to come again?”
I nodded, helpless and desperate. Totally unprepared for Kila to smash her knee into my balls again. Her wicked laughter filled the hall while I fought for breath. I felt her knee move, her body tense. Knew what was about to happen. Barely managed not to cry out loud when her knee connected again.
“You’re pathetic,” she whispered. “A fuck-pole and a pain slut. If I told you to crawl to me so I could bust your balls tomorrow morning, you’d do it.” She let go, stood up, and wiped her hand on my pajama shirt. “Go to bed,” Kila said. “And tomorrow, when Mom gets in the shower? You knock on my door. We’ll see if you can behave.”
I managed a nod. My whole body felt empty, hollowed out by the violence of her control. Aching. Empty. But so hungry for more.
She didn’t say goodnight. Just closed her door behind her with a soft click, as if nothing had happened at all. I lay there for what felt like hours, my body aching, my mind shattered. Eventually, I managed to pull myself up, adjust my pajamas, and stumble back to the master bedroom.
Bryn was still asleep, her breathing deep and even. I slid under the covers, careful not to wake her, and stared at the ceiling. The scent of Kila’s arousal clung to my skin, a constant reminder of what had just happened. What I had allowed to happen. What I would continue to allow, because the alternative, stopping it, confessing, facing the consequences, was unthinkable.
I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. All I could see was Kila’s face, twisted in pleasure as she used me. All I could feel was the ghost of her body against mine, the wet heat that had been so close yet so impossibly far away. The wonderful hardness of my cock throbbing against her wet heat.
The horrible pain as she busted my balls. The glee in her face. The lust for power that rolled from her in waves.
The need to have it all happen again. Tomorrow, I knew, she’d find some new way to torment me. Tomorrow, she’d push me further, break me down more completely. And I would let her. Because in the sick, twisted logic that now governed my life, it was the only way I could have any part of her at all.
I rolled onto my side, facing away from Bryn, and curled into myself. The truth, the one I could barely admit even in the dark solitude of my own mind, was that I didn’t want it to stop. Not really. Not completely. The humiliation, the pain, the constant fear of discovery, all of it was worth those moments when Kila looked at me with desire in her eyes, even if that desire was cruel and mocking.
That was the real punishment. Not what she did to me, but what she made me realize about myself. I was exactly what she said I was: pathetic, weak, inferior.
And I had no one to blame but myself.
Bryn turned in her sleep. One hand reached for me. A soft, happy sound came from her throat as she pressed against my back. The most beautiful and torturous punishment of all.
I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. All I could think about was the soft click of Kila’s door, the baggie in her nightstand, and the impossible, permanent truth that I would never, ever be free of her. That I would never want to be.