“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re doing very well, staying still like this.”
The praise made something complicated happen in my chest—a warmth that had no business being there, not while I was bent over a bathroom counter getting my ass crack shaved by a man I’d met hours ago. But my traitorous body didn’t care about logic. It responded to the approval in his voice, to the gentle touch of his hands, to the complete surrender the position demanded.
The razor moved lower, closer to places that made me want to die from embarrassment. I felt him working around my anus, removing every trace of hair with patient, thorough strokes. Then lower still, between my legs from behind, shaving the hair I’d always been so embarrassed to trim, let alone remove.
“There we go,” Daddy Bill said at last. “Time to take a look at your daddies’ new pussy.”
CHAPTER 8
Pam
It took me a moment even to understand what Daddy Bill meant. How could my daddies have a pussy? They were men—very, very manly men. Men didn’t have pussies, did they?
Then it hit me, and I couldn’t keep a whimper from emerging from my throat. My daddies had a new pussy to put their hard penises in. They had already fucked it. Now they had shaved it, because they liked it bare and smooth for them.
It belonged to Daddy Bill and Daddy Ed. It just happened to be located between my thighs—its location, though, wouldn’t stop my daddies from fucking it whenever they wanted to make their huge cocks feel good.
Daddy Bill’s words echoed in my mind as he helped me stand up and turn around. My legs felt weak, barely able to support me as he guided me to a position in front of the mirror over the sinks. The fluorescent lights were merciless, showing every detail of my flushed face, my tear-bright eyes, my exposed body.
“Look,” Daddy Ed said, positioning himself on my left side while Daddy Bill moved to my right. “Look at what belongs to your daddies now.”
My eyes traveled down in the mirror, past my heaving breasts to the junction of my thighs. The bare skin there looked alien, unfamiliar—completely smooth and exposed in a way that made my stomach clench. Without the hair, the cleft of my pussy, with the pink of my inner lips peeking out, looked so innocent, so little that I couldn’t keep a tiny sob from emerging.
“Touch yourself,” Daddy Bill said softly. “Feel how smooth your daddies made you.”
My hand moved before my brain could process the command, trembling as I reached down. My fingertips brushed over the newly bare skin and I gasped at the sensitivity. Every nerve ending felt exposed, heightened. The touch sent sparks through my body that I couldn’t suppress.
“That’s it,” Daddy Ed murmured. “Feel what your daddies have done to you, because we like a bad girl’s pussy that way.”
Then his hands were on me—one cupping my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple, the other sliding down my stomach. On my other side, Daddy Bill’s hands mirrored the movement, claiming my other breast while his free hand traced down my hip.
“Hands on your head, Little Seventy-One,” Daddy Bill commanded. “Watch what happens to your body when your daddies touch you.”
My breathing grew ragged as I obeyed, telling myself that I’d get paddled again for the slightest infraction. I raised my hands and locked my fingers atop my disheveled hair, and now I couldn’tlook away from the mirror. The woman reflected there didn’t look like me—couldn’t be me. She was some other person, some stranger with flushed skin and glazed eyes, trapped between two large men whose hands moved over her with practiced skill. I watched Daddy Ed’s fingers roll my nipple, watched it harden under his touch. Watched Daddy Bill’s hand slide around to cup my bare mound, his middle finger sliding between my nether lips with devastating precision.
A moan escaped my throat—high and desperate and nothing like any sound I’d ever made before.
“Show her how wet she is,” Daddy Ed said, his analytical voice somehow making everything worse.
I watched in the mirror as Daddy Bill’s finger slid deeper, finding my entrance and circling it slowly, then pushing in to gather my slick, treasonous juices. My hips pushed forward involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction. The woman in the mirror did the same—her body arching, her head falling back against Daddy Ed’s shoulder.
That’s not me, I thought desperately.That’s someone else. Some other woman who gets wet when strange men touch her. Some other woman who spreads her legs and begs.
But the disconnection only made the arousal stronger. Watching it happen seemed to make it easier to get turned on, as if it were an episode in someone else’s X-rated story.
Daddy Bill withdrew his finger and brought it up in front of my face. His digit glistened with my wetness, the evidence of my body’s betrayal impossible to deny.
“Open your mouth, Little Seventy-One,” he said softly.
I stared at his finger in the mirror, my stomach clenching with fresh horror. He couldn’t mean?—
“Open,” Daddy Ed said firmly, his hand tightening on my breast in warning.
My lips parted. I watched the woman in the mirror open her mouth like an obedient child, watched Daddy Bill slide his slick finger between her lips. The taste flooded my senses—musky and intimate and unmistakably mine. I’d never tasted myself before, never even thought about it. The act felt impossibly dirty, taboo in a way that made my face burn hotter than I thought possible.
“Suck,” Daddy Bill commanded.
I closed my lips around his finger and sucked, cleaning my own arousal from his skin while he watched me in the mirror with those intense brown eyes. The humiliation of it made my pussy clench, made more wetness gather between my newly bare private lips.
