Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Oh, Daddy…” I sobbed. “Oh… it hurts… please, Daddy… please…”
“Shh, honey,” Daddy Jacob murmured simply. “You know you need this.”
Oh, God. I did. To my dismay, I did. It’s all a punishment, I heard Daddy Jacob say in my mind, It’s all a punishment, as if every thrust into my poor, whipped backside brought a renewal of his words. A bad girl… a sore bottom… only fucked… a punishment.
Would it be a punishment even when they made me come? My moans softened as I somehow began to get used to the discomfort of having my daddy’s huge manhood in my most shameful place. I felt myself begin to yield to his thrusts, to his strength, to him, in a way I hadn’t imagined I could: despite how terribly full and open he had made my bottom, I found that I had begun to push against him, as if I wanted him there.
The surge of arousal in my pussy, when I understood that my body had acknowledged my need for my daddy’s discipline, made me desperate. Without even thinking about it, I moved my right hand from next to my face down between my legs. I couldn’t bear not to have some stimulation, some relief, some bit of friction there where I had begun to ache so deeply.
“No, honey,” Daddy Jacob growled, the sternness of his tone contrasting sharply with the honey. He thrust in very deep, until his lap met my hot bottom cheeks. My hand had only managed to find out how terribly wet I was before it froze in fear.
“Put that hand back where it was,” Daddy Jacob said, his voice still very severe. He held his cock there, where it was, much too big for my little asshole. “Only your daddies can give you permission to play with yourself.”
I felt my face twist into a woeful pout. I took the hand away, put it back in front of my face. I let out a sob as my nose caught the fragrance of my desperate need.
“Good girl,” Daddy Jacob grunted, beginning my ordeal again, moving his hardness where it seemed every new thrust took me to a new level of submission. I heard in the huskiness of his words the truth of what he said next. “Daddy’s going to come in you so soon.”
I cried out with every thrust, and I thought I could feel that my daddy’s cock got stiffer and stiffer at each pitiful sound. I began to feel good, to make my submissive noises, whether because they helped distract my body or because I could tell how they made my daddy’s fucking feel even better to him.
At last Daddy Jacob’s hips gave the extra jerk, the powerful thrust that broke the rhythm and told me my daddy had started to come. I felt his rigid penis pulse, and I knew I had just had a second helping of semen shot into my newly-opened rear passage. To my astonishment, I felt my cheeks get hot at the thought, even after everything my daddies had put me through.
“Good girl,” Daddy Jacob repeated. “Such a sweet little bottom. Just wait until tomorrow. You’ll wear your punishment panties tonight, so we can give you your reward first thing in the morning.”
I felt the heat in my face grow as I remembered Ashley: how she had looked in those strange panties, and how she had moaned… how her wrists had been cuffed to the bar next to the bed, and the size of the wet spot on the thick fabric of her underwear. As terribly full of Daddy Jacob’s cock as I still was, the memory distracted me, and worse, renewed the unsatisfied warmth in my neglected pussy.
“What…” I asked, stumbling over the words. “Daddy… wh-what are… what are they?”
Daddy Jacob chuckled and started to pull his still almost-hard penis out of my bottom. The soreness there brought a whimper from my throat, but it made my hips move, too, at how the pain back there brought heat further forward.
“Your punishment panties?” he said. “You’ll see, honey. Very soon.”
He wasn’t a gourmet chef, but Daddy Phil definitely did a good job on the kind of food firefighters needed to eat—which happened to be the kind of food I liked best, too. I caught the delicious scent of what had to be barbeque chicken from the living room. When I followed Daddy Jacob into the huge kitchen, I saw a huge salad on the table. I could smell the fresh garlic in the dressing the moment I stepped into the room.
The kitchen table, where my daddies and their colleagues, and, I guessed, my own colleague Ashley, clearly had all their meals, measured more than two meters long. Six chairs stood around it, enough for everyone to have a meal together. I tried to remember, feeling the red creep into my cheeks again… hadn’t Ashley said something about all of our daddies using us together? Would we all have dinner… or breakfast… together, first?