He switches from the long strokes to a frantic, fluttering suction. He pins my clit between his lips and pulls, a deep, vacuum-like pressure that makes my toes curl into the asphalt. It’s a localised explosion of nerves. Every flick of his tongue is a lightning strike, a precision-guided assault on the very core of my being.
I can hear the wet, rhythmic slap of his mouth against my inner thighs, a dirty sound that carries over the silence of the horrified crowd. He’s drinking me, his throat working as he swallows the frantic, over-bright heat of my arousal.
“Is this the silence you wanted, Dad?” Jex mumbles against my skin, his voice muffled by the folds of my labia.
He sticks two fingers inside me, stretching me wide while his tongue continues its relentless, circular grind on my nub. The contrast is breaking my brain—the freezing bridge air on my back and the boiling, invasive heat of his mouth. I am a wreck of sensation, a mess of sobbing grief and a pleasure so sharp it feels like a wound.
My hips start to buck uncontrollably, my pussy pulsing in a frantic, staccato rhythm against his face. I’m climbing a glass mountain, my breath coming in short, terrified gasps.
“I’m…“I’m… I’’m going to…… Jex, please!”
He doesn’t let up. He intensifies, his tongue darting into me, then back to the peak, faster and faster until the world dissolves into a blur of orange hazard lights and white-hot static. I shatter.
It’s a violent, physical seizure. My internal muscles clamp around his fingers, my body arching off the bumper as a long, harrowing wail of release tears out of my throat and echoes into the dark. I’m coming so hard my vision goes black, the tears finally flowing freely as the last ten years of quiet shame are licked clean by the only monster I ever truly loved.
He stays there, his face buried in me, breathing in the scent of my climax while our father watches the light die in my eyes.
The aftershocks of the climax are still racking my ribs, making my breath hitch in ragged, wet stutters, but Jex isn’t finished with the theatre. He pulls back, his face glistening with the salt of my release and the soot of the fire, looking like a demon who just took communion.
“The show’s not over, Hallow,” he rasps, his voice a low, jagged vibration. “The city’s watching, but the VIP needs a better view.”
He grabs my wrists, his grip like iron manacles, and hauls me up into the back of the ambulance. I’m a dead weight, my skin humming, my vision swimming in the harsh fluorescent light. He doesn’t lay me down. He reaches for the heavy-duty nylon restraint straps hanging from the ceiling grab-bars—the ones meant to stabilise patients in a roll-over.
“Jex… no… please,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
He ignores me, his focus clinical and terrifying. He loops the straps around my wrists and cranks the ratchets until my arms are pulled taut above my head, forcing me to stand on my tiptoes directly over the gurney. He kicks my legs wide, snapping secondary leads around my ankles and tethering them to the base of the bed.
I am suspended in a perfect, agonising arch, my core thrust forward, my centre hovering barely inches above our father’s face.
“Look at her, Dad,” Jex growls, stepping toward the head of the bed.
My father is trying to turn his head, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving in a panicked, whistling rhythm. He’s trying to hide in the dark of his own eyelids.
“I said look,” Jex snarls.
He reaches into the trauma kit and pulls out a pair of weighted surgical speculums and medical tape. With a brutal, practiced efficiency, he tapes our father’s head into a foam stabiliser block, pinning it so he can’t move a fraction of an inch. Then, he uses the cold steel retractors to hook the Mayor’s eyelids, pinning them wide open.
Dad is forced to stare upward, his pupils dilated with a terror so pure it’s almost holy. He has no choice. His entire field of vision is filled with me—with the bruised, swollen lips of my pussy, still weeping and pulsing from Jex’s tongue.
“You wanted to own her?” Jex whispers, leaning over the bed, his shadow falling across both of us. “Well, here she is. Every secret, every scar, every drop of the shame you manufactured.”
I’m crying, the tears dripping off my chin and splashing onto my father’s forehead. My body is betraying me again; the proximity, the humiliation, the raw power Jex is wielding is making me ache all over again. A heavy, clear bead of my arousal gathers at my base, glistening in the sterile light, before it loses its battle with gravity.
It falls, landing right on my father’s cheek. He lets out a muffled, strangled scream behind his mask, his eyes darting frantically, trapped in the cage Jex built for him.
“See that, Dad?” Jex mocks, his hand sliding up my inner thigh, his thumb dragging through the slickness and then smearing it across the Mayor’s lips. “That’s the taste of the daughter you sold. That’s the only legacy you have left.”
I’m trembling so hard the straps are creaking, my pussy dripping steadily onto the man who ruined me, a rhythmic counting-down of his soul. I am a living, weeping monument to his sins, held aloft by the only man who ever truly saw the monster inside the girl.
“Don’t blink, Dad,” Jex hisses, his hand moving to the fly of his jeans. “You’re going to want to see exactly how I claim what’s mine.”
The fluorescent lights of the ambulance hum, a cold, buzzing halo that makes the sweat on my skin feellike liquid ice. I’m suspended above the man who ruined me, my wrists straining against the nylon, my legs pulled wide until the ache in my hips is a dull, rhythmic throb.
Below me, Dad is a frantic, pinned animal. His eyes, forced wide by the cold steel of the retractors, are bloodshot and wild, darting from my weeping centre to the shadow of the man standing at the foot of the gurney.
“You… you sick… bastard!” my father wheezes, the words whistling through the gaps in his broken teeth. “I’ll see you… in hell… Jex! I’ll have… your skin for this!”
Jex doesn’t even blink. He ignores the swearing, the pathetic, frothing rage of a king without a throne. Instead, he reaches for his belt. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops is a slow, deliberate hiss that makes my breath hitch.
