I was eighteen. Barely. Old enough that the law said I could say yes. Old enough that the blackmail still worked.
I pulled on the clothes he had thrown at me, one of his old shirts and nothing underneath. His cum was still leaking down my thighs. My legs felt weak. My pulse was hammering in my throat.
Downstairs the front door opened.
Voices. His, calm and low. Another man’s, deeper, older, familiar in a way that made my stomach twist. I recognized it a second later. His best friend. The one who had been coming around since I was a kid. The one who had always looked at me a little too long once I started filling out.
My father called up the stairs.
“Come down.”
I hesitated. He did not raise his voice.
“Now.”
I walked down barefoot, the shirt barely covering the tops of my thighs. His cum had already left a faint wet mark on the fabric. Both men looked up when I appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
His friend stared. First at my face, then lower, at the way the shirt clung to my body, at the visible mess between my legs when I shifted my weight. His eyes darkened.
My father did not even glance at me like I was a person. He just reached out, hooked two fingers in the collar of the shirt, and tugged me closer until I was standing between them.
“Show him,” he said quietly.
My face burned. I did not move fast enough. His hand slid under the shirt, two thick fingers pushing between my legs and scooping up the cum still leaking out of me. He held his wet fingers up so his friend could see, then smeared them across my lower lip.
“She has been taking it all night,” he said, almost casual. “Still full. Still dripping. And she does not get to clean up until I say so.”
His friend’s voice was rough. “Jesus.”
“You can touch her if you want.” My father’s hand stayed on the back of my neck, steady and possessive. “She is not allowed to say no. Not to me. Not to anyone I give her to.”
I opened my mouth, whether to protest or beg, I did not even know, but my father’s fingers tightened warningly on my neck.
“Be good,” he murmured against my ear. “Or the videos go out. Every single one. Including the new ones we made last night.”
His friend stepped closer. His hand was heavier than my father’s when it slid under the shirt and cupped my bare ass, then lower, fingers dragging through the sticky mess between my thighs. He pushed two fingers inside me without asking. I whimpered. My father held me still while his friend fingered me open right there in the hallway, open and wet and already used.
“Tight,” the man muttered. “Even after you wrecked her.”
“She is young,” my father said. “Eighteen. Still learns fast.” He tilted my face up so I had to look at both of them. “Tell him what you are.”
My voice came out small and wrecked.
“His.”
“Louder.”
“I am his,” I whispered. “I am Daddy’s. He blackmailed me into it and I… I love it. I love him.”
His friend exhaled hard, like the words hit him. His fingers curled inside me, rubbing that sensitive spot until my knees almost gave out. My father kept me upright, watching my face the whole time.
“Good girl,” he said softly. Then, to his friend: “You can use her mouth first. Or her cunt. Or both. She is not going anywhere.”
The man looked at me like he was already deciding how he wanted to ruin me.
My father leaned down, lips brushing my ear one more time.
“And when he is done,” he whispered, “I am going to fuck you again while his cum is still inside you. So you will remember who you really belong to.”
His friend’s hand left me only long enough to start undoing his belt.
The sound of it was loud in the quiet house.
I was eighteen.
And I was about to learn exactly how far my father’s blackmail could go.
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