Left helpless, spread, and already full of her boyfriend’s cum, Sarah can only watch as his father enters the room, and violates her.
This story contains explicit non-consensual sex, bondage, forced penetration, breeding kink, forced orgasms. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
My sneakers crunched on the gravel path leading up to the two-story house. Paint peeling from the window frames. One porch slat warped upward, a tripping hazard in the dark. I’d walked this path three, maybe four times before. Never alone. Daniel was always waiting at the door, pulling me in, shielding me from his father’s eyes. It was the same tonight.
The train ride had been an hour of rattling cars and stale air. A week of text messages. None of it enough. So I came. My bag was light, just a toothbrush and a change of shirt for tomorrow.
I knocked. Waited. The porch light flickered, casting a sick yellow glow on my hand. I knocked again, harder.
The door swung open. Daniel. His hair was a mess, he had a smear of something on his cheek. He didn’t give me a chance to say hello. Just grabbed my arm and yanked me inside, the door thudding shut behind me. His mouth was on mine, tasting of coffee and something sweet. A week of distance erased in a single, bruising kiss.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed, his hands already sliding under my jacket, palming my ribs.
“Me too,” I managed, my voice catching. I could feel the week melting off me.
Then a voice from the living room. Rough, like gravel. “Daniel.”
Daniel pulled back, his hands dropping from my sides. He turned his head. “Yeah, Dad?”
Harlan sat in the big armchair, the one that always faced the door. The TV was on, some cop show, but the sound was muted. He held the remote like it was a weapon. His eyes weren’t on the screen. They were on me. On my chest, where my breath had tightened. On my legs, exposed between my boots and the hem of my skirt. It was a slow, deliberate sweep. A cataloging.
“Sarah,” he said.
“Hi, Harlan,” I said.
He grunted. A sound of acknowledgement, or dismissal. Hard to tell. He looked back at the TV, but the weight of his gaze lingered on my skin. “Got an early one tomorrow.” He pushed himself up from the chair. “Don’t burn the house down.” His footsteps were heavy on the stairs. The bathroom door closed upstairs. The shower started a moment later.
Daniel let out a breath he’d been holding. “He’s in a mood.” He grinned. “Forget him. You’re hungry? I got us Thai.”
He led me into the kitchen. The takeout containers were already on the table, steam fogging the plastic lids. It was all so normal. So domestic. My heart was still beating too fast. He forked a piece of chicken into his mouth, talking about his week, about a project at work, about some idiot named Greg who couldn’t read a blueprint. I nodded and ate. The noodles were good. Spicy.
When we were done, he stacked the containers and tossed them in the bin. “Come on,” he said, taking my hand. His palm was warm, slightly damp. He pulled me toward his bedroom, down the short hall, past the closed bathroom door where the water was still running.
He didn’t bother with the light. The room was dim, lit only by the streetlight outside the window. He kicked the door shut behind us. The click of the latch was loud in the small space.
His hands were back on me, urgent. Unbuttoning my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders. My bra followed. His mouth found my nipple, teeth scraping lightly. I gasped, arching into him. My own hands fumbled with his belt, his jeans. We fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths. This was what I’d wanted. This was the cure for the week-long ache.
He kissed his way down my stomach, his tongue tracing patterns on my skin. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my skirt, tugging it down. My panties too. Then he was between my legs, his breath hot against me. “God, I missed how you taste,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on me, his tongue doing that thing he did, the one that made my toes curl. I was already so wet. So ready. My hands twisted in his hair, pulling him closer.
He brought me to the edge, then pulled back. “Not yet,” he said, his voice husky. He reached over me, his body stretching across mine, and fumbled in the drawer of his bedside table. Not a condom. Something else. A coil of soft rope.
“Daniel.”
He grinned, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Yeah?” He sat back on his heels, unwinding the rope. “You know you want to.”
I did. I did want to. The thought of it sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I nodded, my tongue suddenly thick in my mouth.
He took my wrist, wrapped the rope around it, then looped it through the headboard slats. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t gentle either. He was efficient. Methodical. He did the other wrist, pulling them taut above my head. I tested the knots. They held.
“How’s that?” he asked, his voice low.
“Good,” I breathed.
Then he moved down to my ankles. I bent my knees, letting him secure them to the footboard. I was spread open, exposed. Completely at his mercy. The air felt cool on my wet skin. He looked at me, his eyes dark and intense. He ran a finger down my inner thigh, and I shuddered.
“Perfect,” he said.
He leaned over me again, reached back into the drawer. This time he pulled out a red ball gag. He held it up. “Last chance.”
I shook my head. “Do it.”
He fastened the strap behind my head. The ball filled my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. It was strange. Uncomfortable. And hot. So fucking hot. I made a small sound, a muffled moan.
He smiled. “That’s my girl.” He knelt between my legs, stroking himself. I watched him, my eyes wide. He was hard. So hard. I wanted him inside me. Now.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of my head. “Ready?”
I nodded frantically.
He pushed into me. Slow. So slow. I felt every inch. The stretch, the burn, the fullness. It was exquisite. I groaned around the gag. He bottomed out, his hips pressed against mine. He stayed there for a moment, just breathing. Letting me get used to him.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispered, his voice strained. “So tight. So wet for me.”
He started to move. A slow, deep rhythm. In and out. In and out. I met him as best I could, my body straining against the ropes. The bed creaked. The sound of our breathing filled the room. I could hear the shower still running upstairs. A thin, steady hiss.
“You like that?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “You like being tied up like this? Helpless?”
I moaned again. Yes. Yes, I liked it. I liked it a lot.
He picked up the pace. His thrusts became harder, faster. The headboard slammed against the wall. I cried out, the sound muffled by the gag. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed everything.
His thumb found my clit, rubbing tight, hard circles. I bucked against him, the pleasure almost unbearable. It was building, coiling in my stomach, hot and tight.
“Cum for me, Sarah,” he commanded, his voice harsh. “Cum for me now.”
And I did. My back arched. My vision went white. I screamed against the ball gag, a strangled, helpless sound. Waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me trembling and spent.
Daniel wasn’t done. He kept thrusting, chasing his own release. “God, look at you,” he panted. “Taking it so good. So fucking good.” A few more hard strokes and he was there, burying himself deep inside me with a guttural groan. I felt him throb, felt the hot flood of his release. He stayed there for a long moment, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his forehead resting against mine. His breath was hot on my cheek. “My dirty little slut, taking cock.”
Then he pulled out. The sudden emptiness was a shock. He rolled off me, landing on the bed with a soft thump. I lay there, still tied, still gagged, my body humming.
“Be right back,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Gonna rinse off real quick.”
My eyes snapped open. I shook my head, trying to make a sound of protest. No. Don’t leave me like this. The ropes felt tighter now, the gag more invasive. The room seemed larger, emptier.
He didn’t see. He was already up, pulling on his jeans. He leaned down, kissed my forehead. “Won’t be a minute. Promise.”
He walked out. He didn’t close the door all the way. A sliver of light from the hallway cut across the floor. I heard his footsteps. The bathroom door clicked shut. The shower started again, hissing behind the door.
I was alone. Bound. Helpless.
My heart started to beat a little faster. My breath hitched. The air felt cold on my skin. I twisted my wrists, testing the ropes again. They held firm. I tried to pull my legs up, but the ankle restraints kept me spread open. Vulnerable. So vulnerable.
The hissing of the shower. The creak of the house. The streetlight through the window. I was acutely aware of every sound, every sensation. The rough texture of the rope against my skin. The lingering taste of Daniel in my mouth, mixed with the rubbery flavor of the gag. The slickness between my legs, his cum leaking out of me, cooling on my thighs.
I was helpless. Powerless. And the very thought made my body thrum with excitement.
Then a floorboard creaked. In the hallway.
Not the bathroom. The other way. From the top of the stairs.
My blood ran cold. My body tensed. I held my breath.
The footsteps were slow. Deliberate. They stopped outside Daniel’s door.
The door swung inward, silent on its hinges. A silhouette filled the frame. Broad shoulders. A familiar shape.
Harlan.
He stood there for a moment, just looking. His eyes adjusted to the dim light. He saw me. Tied to the bed. Spread open. Gagged.
I stared at him, my eyes wide with terror. My mind screamed, but no sound came out. Just a pathetic little whimper around the ball in my mouth.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
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