I never thought my own father would be the one to break me open.
It started the night he caught me. Not with a boy. Not with drugs. With the private videos on my laptop the ones where I was on my knees for men who looked a little too much like him. The ones where I had my fingers buried in my cunt while I whispered Daddy like it was a prayer.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t hit me. He just sat on the edge of my bed, calm as anything, and locked the door behind him.
“You’re going to delete those,” he said. “And then you’re going to make new ones. With me.”
I laughed at first. Nervous. Stupid. Then he showed me the folder he’d already copied to his phone. Every file. Every angle. Every time I’d moaned for strangers while thinking about the man who’d raised me. Every close-up of my soaked pussy and the way my thighs shook when I came.
“You can try to leave,” he said, voice low. “You can try to tell someone. But these go out. To your school. To your friends. To your mother’s family. Or…” He looked at me the way a man looks at something he already owns. “You stay. You learn to love it. You learn to love me.”
I should have fought harder. I should have run. Instead I sat there shaking while he unbuttoned his shirt like we had all the time in the world. His cock was already hard when he pulled it out — thick, heavy, the head already wet. He stroked it once, slow, and nodded at the floor.
“On your knees.”
I went. My mouth was already open when he pushed the head past my lips. He didn’t ease me into it. He held the back of my head and fed me his cock until my nose was pressed against his stomach and I was gagging around him. Spit ran down my chin. My eyes watered. He fucked my throat like it was just another hole that belonged to him, wet sounds filling the room every time he pulled back and shoved in again.
When he finally pulled out, a thick string of spit connected my lips to his cock. He wiped it across my cheek with his thumb.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now get on the bed. Spread your legs.”
The first time he took me, it was slow and deliberate. He made me look at him the whole time while he worked the head of his cock up and down my slit, coating himself in how wet I already was. Then he pushed in. Thick. Stretching me open. I whimpered and tried to close my legs, but he pinned my thighs wide with his hands and kept going until his hips were flush against mine and I could feel every inch of him buried inside me.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re tighter than I thought you’d be.”
He fucked me deep and steady, grinding against my clit on every thrust. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of my cunt filled the room. I came the first time with my nails digging into his back and his name spilling out of my mouth like a confession. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking me through it, harder now, the bed creaking under us.
“Say it,” he ordered, voice rough. “Say you want this.”
“I—fuck—I want it—more”
“Say you want me.”
“I want you,” I gasped. “I want your cock. Please”
He flipped me onto my stomach, yanked my hips up, and slammed back into me from behind. Deeper this time. Rougher. One hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. Every thrust punched a broken sound out of me. I could feel how soaked I was, how easily he was sliding in and out of me now, my cunt making filthy wet noises around his cock.
He came with a low growl, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing inside me. Hot. Thick. Filling me up until I could feel it starting to leak out around his cock. He stayed inside me for a long moment, breathing hard against the back of my neck, before slowly pulling out. I felt his cum start to drip down my thighs.
He used the blackmail like a leash. Every time I tried to pull away, he’d remind me what was at stake. Every time I came on his cock with tears in my eyes, he’d kiss them away and tell me I was doing so well. That I was his good girl. That this was how it was always supposed to be.
Weeks passed. Then months. The threats stopped feeling like threats and started feeling like rules. He stopped locking the door. I stopped checking if it was locked. I started waiting for him at night. I started aching when he was gone too long. I started loving the way he held me down and ruined me, the way he made me thank him after, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that had ever belonged to him completely.
One night I woke up with his hand between my legs and two of his fingers already buried in my cunt, slow and deep. His cock was hard against my ass. His mouth was against my ear.
“Say it,” he whispered.
I didn’t pretend anymore. I didn’t fight it.
“I love you,” I breathed, pushing back onto his fingers. “I love you, Dad. Please… don’t stop. Fuck me. Fill me up again.”
He smiled against my skin like he’d won something he’d been hunting for years. Then he pulled his fingers out, lined his cock up, and shoved into me in one long stroke. I moaned into the pillow as he started fucking me hard and deep, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the dark. He reached around and rubbed my clit in tight circles while he pounded into me, and I came so hard my vision went white, cunt clenching around him, more of his cum from earlier leaking out around his cock with every thrust.
He didn’t stop until he’d filled me again hot and thick, flooding me until it was dripping down my thighs and onto the sheets.
And then he held me there, still buried inside me, and made me say it again.
He didn’t pull out right away.
He stayed buried inside me, still hard, still pulsing little aftershocks of cum deeper into my cunt while I lay there trembling under him. His chest was pressed to my back, his breath hot against the side of my neck. One of his hands slid up and wrapped loosely around my throat not choking, just holding. Claiming.
“You’re not done,” he said quietly. “Not even close.”
I made a soft, broken sound as he started moving again slow, deep rolls of his hips that pushed his cock through the mess he’d already left inside me. Every thrust made more of it leak out around him, wet and filthy, soaking the sheets under my hips. I was so sensitive it almost hurt, but my body still pushed back to meet him like it had already learned who it belonged to.
“Feel that?” he murmured, grinding in deep. “That’s mine now. This cunt. This body. Every time you come from now on, it’s going to be on my cock.”
He pulled out suddenly. I whimpered at the loss, feeling his cum immediately start to drip down my thighs in thick, sticky strands. He flipped me onto my back like I weighed nothing, shoved my knees up toward my chest, and looked down at the mess between my legs my swollen, used cunt glistening with his cum, still twitching.
“Pretty,” he said, almost thoughtful. Then he spat on my clit and rubbed it in with his thumb. “Open your mouth.”
I did. He leaned down and spat into it too, then shoved three fingers past my lips so I could taste myself mixed with him. I sucked without being told. He watched me do it with dark, satisfied eyes.
“Good girl.”
He lined up again and slammed back into me in one hard thrust. The wet sound was louder this time filthy, obscene, his cock sliding easily through all the cum he’d already pumped into me. He fucked me harder than before, the bedframe knocking against the wall with every snap of his hips. One hand stayed on my throat. The other pinched and rolled my nipple until I was gasping and clenching around him.
“You’re going to come again,” he ordered. “And when you do, you’re going to thank me for blackmailing you. For making you take it. For turning you into my little fucktoy.”
I shook my head at first, more from overwhelm than refusal, but he just fucked me deeper, angling his cock so it dragged over that spot inside me that made my thighs shake.
“Say it.”
“Th-thank you” I choked out. While my pussy was feeling hot.
“I choked Louder.”
“Thank you for blackmailing me,” I sobbed, already starting to come again. “Thank you for making me take your cock—fuck thank you for turning me into your fucktoy”
I came hard, cunt spasming around him, more of his cum forced out around his cock with every pulse. He groaned and fucked me through it, relentless, until he buried himself to the hilt and unloaded inside me a second time — hot, thick ropes of it flooding me until I could feel it leaking out in messy gushes every time he moved.
This time when he pulled out, he didn’t let me close my legs. He kept my knees spread wide and watched his cum pour out of me, then pushed two fingers back inside and scooped some up. He brought them to my mouth.
“Clean it up.”
I licked and sucked his fingers clean, tasting both of us. He looked almost proud.
He finally let me lower my legs. My whole body felt used and open and full. He lay down beside me, one heavy arm draped over my waist, his still-slick cock resting against my thigh. His fingers idly played with the mess between my legs, pushing some of the cum back inside me like he couldn’t stand the idea of it leaking out.
“You’re going to stay in my bed from now on,” he said quietly. “No more locked doors. No more pretending. Tomorrow morning you’re going to suck my cock before breakfast, and then I’m going to fuck you again until you cry and thank me for it. Understand?”
I nodded, throat tight.
He pinched my clit lightly in warning.
“Words.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered. “I understand.”
He kissed the side of my neck, almost gentle.
“Good. Now go to sleep with my cum still inside you. I want you to feel it all night.”
I closed my eyes, still trembling, still dripping, and let the weight of his arm and the ache between my legs lull me under.
I already knew I wasn’t going to fight him anymore.
I already knew I was his.
I woke up to the feeling of his cock sliding between my thighs.
Not inside me yet. Just thick and hot, dragging slowly through the sticky mess he’d left in me the night before. His chest was pressed to my back. One heavy arm was locked around my waist, holding me in place like I might try to escape. His mouth was against the side of my neck.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “You still full of me?”
I made a soft, broken sound as he pushed forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge against my sore entrance. Everything down there was swollen and sensitive. When he finally sank into me, slow and deep, I whimpered into the pillow. He felt even bigger like this — thick and relentless, stretching me open again while I was still half-asleep and dripping with yesterday’s cum.
He fucked me lazy at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out. His hand slid down between my legs and started rubbing my clit in slow circles, the same way he had last night. I came embarrassingly fast, cunt clenching around him, more of his cum forced out around his cock in messy gushes.
He didn’t stop.
He flipped me onto my back, shoved my knees up, and started fucking me properly harder, deeper, the headboard knocking against the wall. I could barely catch my breath. Every thrust punched broken little sounds out of me. He watched my face the whole time like he was memorizing it.
“You’re going to quit your job,” he said suddenly, voice low and calm even as he slammed into me. “You’re going to stay home. You’re going to be here every time I walk through that door. Wet. Ready. Mine.”
I stared up at him, dazed, still shaking from the last orgasm.
“What?”
He leaned down, forehead pressed to mine, and fucked me even harder.
“You heard me. No more pretending you have a life outside this house. Outside me. I’m not sharing you. Not with a job. Not with friends. Not with anyone.” His hand tightened around my throat. “Say yes.”
My mind was spinning. The blackmail. The videos. The way he’d already taken everything else. And now this.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy”
He came with a low, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt and flooding me again. Hot. Thick. So much of it that it started leaking out around his cock before he’d even finished pulsing inside me. He stayed deep, grinding against me, making sure every drop stayed where he wanted it.
Then he pulled out, slow, and watched the mess pour out of me onto the sheets.
He looked satisfied. Almost soft.
For about three seconds.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He glanced at the screen. His expression changed just slightly. Something colder. Sharper. He picked it up, read whatever was there, and then looked back down at me still spread open and dripping on the bed.
“Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Someone’s coming over in twenty minutes.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just stood up, still half-hard, and started pulling on a pair of sweatpants. Then he glanced back at me with a small, unreadable smile.
“You’ll see.”
He tossed my clothes onto the bed.
“And don’t clean up. I want them to know exactly what you are the second they walk through the door.”
The front gate buzzed downstairs.
He looked at me one more time calm, possessive, completely in control and said the words that made my blood run cold.
“Be a good girl… and don’t scream.”
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