Come to think of it, there are a few worse things than being forced to tongue-fuck a stink hole, and with every passing day, I’ll force Violet to do more of these horrid things. No doubt, the bitch will love every second of it.
I lift up. A slight moan slashes through her lips.
“Daddy loves using his precious one like this,” I tease. “Does it feel good knowing I finally want you?” I reach behind me and slap her cheek. She grimaces, her lips open, ready for more. I smirk. “You haven’t been of use to me for decades, but now, I can finally use you however I want.”
“Please—” she cries.
I lower my hips again, resting my ass on her face. I bend forward and rub my finger between her pussy lips. Her sopping need drenches my fingertips.
“Ah, such a whiny thing, and yet your body knows it needs this,” I say wistfully. “If your mother was here, what would she think of you like this? A used-up cunt thrusting her tongue into Daddy’s asshole.”
Violet bucks her hips forward, and I laugh hard. The bitch can deny it, but her cunt knows it wants this. I dig my fingers into her pussy, curling them toward her tender spot.
“Such a filthy fuck hole,” I murmur.
And I want more.
I lean down and taste her nasty twat while forcing her to take my cock in her mouth. Using the crib sides as leverage, I slam my cock down her throat while I lick her dripping folds. She gags, choking on my long length, and I groan as her ripe taste coats my tongue. I suck in every drop. She’s a wanton cunt who needs to be fucked by her father, who gets off on knowing how wrong it is, and that fulfills me.
“You, my sweet one, are completely and utterly rotten.” My thumb circles her clit. “You’re filthy.”
She gargles on my length. I keep going harder, deeper, punishing her throat, teaching her that I own her, that she never truly owned herself. Her body has no choice. The bitch doesn’t even use her teeth on me.
All it will take is a few lessons from her dearest father, some conditioning of her brain, a few punishments and rewards, and all of her mental resistances will disintegrate too.
I tear myself off of her, then mount her in the traditional missionary position, my cock goring her slippery cunt. I drop my mouth against her neck.
“Look at how easy that was,” I growl. Her cunt clenches around me, her velvet walls mashing my cock with her sheath. She moans pitifully, and the wound on the end of my cock jabs her cervix; pain flutters inside of me. I grunt and keep going; the pus must be dabbing her spongy organ with morbid colors.
“I could smell your cunt down the hallway,” I mutter. “Your musky, nasty twat is aroused by the thought of your daddy using your helpless body. Mommy wasn’t enough to satisfy me all those years ago. Daddy needs you now; don’t I, sweetness? And you need me too. My slutty cunt of a daughter likes being used by me. Don’t you, cunt?” I bite her earlobe, and her body jerks. The bitch groans. I chuckle. “Keep fighting me; your cunt squeezes Daddy so nicely.” I cup her face. “You love my cock, don’t you, sweet one?”
“No,” she cries. “You’re disgusting!”
I lick her cheek. Salt paints my tongue, mixing with her sour flavor.
“Lies,” I whisper harshly. “All lies.”
“Fuck you!”
I stop my thrusting. Though I never tolerate disobedience, I can admit internally I enjoy her fiery response. In some ways, she’ll be a challenge to mold, and I admire that about her.
She doesn’t need to know that though.
“Repression is odd, isn’t it?” I say coldly. “You want me more, knowing I’m your father, because your need for approval—for acceptance from me—is buried so far deep inside of you, you don’t even know it’s there.”
“You—” she seethes. Her lips move, unable to find the right words. Finally, she tries again. “You are not my father! There’s no proof!”
I resume thrusting my cock. Then, while resting my weight on one side, I reach down between us and add two fingers to her cunt hole, stretching her with my cock and my fingers. It’s a snug fit; her pelvic bone stops the blood flow to my outstretched fingers, causing them to go numb. But she took my fist earlier; she can definitely take more.
I add a third finger, forcing it in, then I fuck her. She cries out, and I remove my fingers and rub her wetness over her cheeks.
“Shall we test it?” I ask. I tilt my head toward my trousers on the floor. “I brought some syringes. We can take your blood right now.”
“No!” she screams. “Please don’t. I can’t?—”
“You don’t need a test to prove it, do you?” I wink. “Accept yourself, Violet. Admit you want to be here. To see me. To know your father.”
“It wasn’t about you!”
