Story Excerpt

Mouthful Of Daddy’s Cock

KinkyKitten’s cramped studio apartment echoes with the wet slurps emanating from her throat and OneTrueFather’s grunts of pleasure . The faint hum of a ring light, still glowing from her last cam show, casts harsh shadows across the room, illuminating the raw, taboo act taking place on the cold hardwood floor.

Mira, 21, kneels submissively, her slender body bare except for a sheer black thong clinging to her hips, damp with her own arousal. Her long, blonde hair is a tangled mess, strands sticking to her sweat-slicked forehead and neck as her head bobs rhythmically. Her full lips are stretched wide around the thick, veiny shaft of her father, David, who looms over her under the online alias “OneTrueFather.” Her mouth works with desperate precision, tongue swirling along the underside, tracing every ridge and pulsing vein as she sucks hungrily, saliva dribbling messily down her chin and onto her bare thighs. The wet, obscene sounds of her efforts—slurping, gagging, the occasional choked whimper—fill the small space, along with the torrent of dings from all the DM’s @’ing her onstream. Her hazel eyes, glassy with a mix of vodka haze and raw, unfiltered lust, flick upward to meet his gaze, searching for something—approval, disgust, anything to anchor the storm inside her.

Mira’s mind is a chaotic whirl of conflicting sensations as she takes him deeper, her throat constricting with each push, her gag reflex trembling on the edge. She’s drowning in the wrongness of it, the sick thrill that coils tight in her core, making her cleft slick with need. She knows who he is—David, her father, the man who raised her with cold distance, now reduced to this primal, degrading act. “OneTrueFather,” the username that haunted her streams, was no longer a digital ghost but a hulking reality, his familiar scent of tobacco and old leather mixing with the metallic tang of his precum on her tongue. Shame burns hot in her chest, yet it only fuels her, each degrading thrust of his cock into her mouth stoking a twisted hunger. She wonders if he’s always wanted this, if every stern glance of her childhood hid this dark lust, and the thought makes her clit throb painfully against the thin fabric of her thong. Her hands, trembling, grip his muscular thighs for balance, nails digging into his skin as she hollows her cheeks, sucking harder, wanting to break him, to hear him lose that military control. Inside, she’s a mess—disgusted by her own dripping arousal, yet craving his growled commands, the weight of his taboo desire pinning her in place more than any rope ever could.