Weeks had passed since Daddy first snapped.
What started as angry, guilt-ridden f*****g in the basement studio had slowly turned into something deeper, darker, and far more addictive. He still refused to f**k my p***y, always choosing my throat or my ass instead, reminding me with every thrust that “this cunt still belongs to your mother.”
But I could feel him weakening.
Every night he used me harder. Every session he degraded me more filthily. And every time he filled my ass or throat with his c*m, I could see the conflict in his eyes — the hunger slowly overpowering his remaining sense of morality.
Until tonight.
I was lying on my bed when he came for me. No words. He simply grabbed me by the hair and dragged me down the hallway into the master bedroom — his and Mom’s matrimonial be
