Fucking My Daughter's Bitchy Mouth

For a stepdad, life with a 16 yo bitch like Breanna is hell. Now, her ungrateful attitude has a price, and she’s paying with her mouth.

Disclaimer: Welcome to a world where forbidden desire is the only rule. This story is part of a collection where all lines are meant to be crossed. If you keep reading, you're already on the other side.
Reader discretion is advised.
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This story was inspired by a link a reader sent me. I hope you enjoy it. To see the rest of my collection of stories, tap my name!

The living room was a battlefield of silence. Matt sat on the sofa, the low hum of the television the only sound, a stark contrast to the usual arguments that filled the space when his wife, Ellie, was home. But Ellie was pulling a double shift at the law firm, buried in a big case. That left him alone with Breanna.
And Breanna was a problem.
At fifteen, she was a masterpiece of teenage defiance, a walking, breathing reminder of his failure to command respect in his own home. Tonight was no different. She’d just come in from hanging out with the few friends who hadn’t escaped on a spring break trip for the same reason as herself - we couldn’t afford to send her on it. She was pissed, and she dressed like it. Her top was a scrap of white fabric stretched tight across her chest, and he could see the dark circles of her nipples pressing against the thin cotton. He knew she’d left with a bra. She certainly wasn’t wearing it now. The faint, sweet scent of cheap vodka and something green and herbal clung to her as she flopped onto the sofa beside him, her head landing heavily in his lap.
He was instantly, painfully hard.
She was giggling to herself, a low, throaty sound that grated on his nerves.
"God, I'm so wasted," she mumbled, her words slurring. Her head lolled against his thigh, a dead weight of insolent youth.
He could feel the heat of her through his sweatpants, a maddening, forbidden warmth. The resentment he'd been choking on all evening—resentment at her, at Ellie, at his own powerlessness—curdled into a white-hot spike of anger in his gut.
Then he had a thought - the pills in the bathroom cabinet. Fast-acting sedatives, prescribed to Ellie for insomnia. A thought, dark and sharp, pierced through his rage. He gently eased her head off his lap. "Don't move," he grunted, his voice tight. He retrieved one of the pills, then went to the kitchen, he crushed the small white pills between two spoons. He mixed the fine powder into a glass of Coke, the dark liquid hiding his sin perfectly. He returned to the sofa. "Here," he said, his voice deceptively calm as he held out the glass. "You look like you need this. It'll help you sleep."
She took it without a second thought, her giggles softening as she drank the entire glass. She was so far gone she wouldn’t remember what he said.
"Thanks, Matt," she mumbled, her eyes already glazing over. Within minutes, her breathing deepened, her body going limp beside him. She wasn't unconscious, but she was gone, adrift in a chemically induced sea, her body a pliant, responsive vessel.
"Fuck it," he growled to the empty room, the anger and lust now an inseparable, burning force. "She deserves it."
His hand trembled with adrenaline as he grabbed the TV remote, switching the input to one of the HDMI ports. A flash drive glowed in the Blu-Ray player’s slot. He navigated to a folder labeled "Favorites" and selected a video he’d saved for a moment just like this. It was a porno, his favorite: a beautiful young black girl, on her knees, worshiping a white cock with her mouth. He’d lost count of the times he’d jerked off to this, imagining it was his disrespectful, tantalizing stepdaughter.
He pressed play. Lifting his hips, he shoved his sweatpants down just enough to free his throbbing erection. But before he positioned her head, his eyes fell to her chest. The excuse for a top was still stretched tight, an invitation he couldn't ignore. With a trembling hand, he reached out and hooked his fingers under the hem. He lifted it slowly, revealing the soft, warm skin of her stomach, then the gentle swell of her breasts. They were perfect—small, firm, with dark, puckered nipples that seemed to tighten under his gaze. He leaned down, his rage and desire boiling over, and took one into his mouth. The taste of her young skin was intoxicating. He sucked gently, then harder, his tongue swirling around the nipple as a low groan escaped his throat. He worshipped them both with his mouth, his hands kneading the soft flesh, claiming them.
She moaned, running fingers through his hair, then she stopped. Quiet again.
Finally, satisfied, he gently turned her head, positioning her mouth over his cock. It was a long shot, a twisted experiment born of desperation and rage. Breanna had one strange habit: she sucked her thumb in her sleep. He wanted to see if the impulse would transfer.
He pressed the slick, engorged head of his cock against her soft, parted lips. They opened.
"Fuck, yeah!" he hissed, sliding into the wet, warm heat of her mouth. The faint, lingering taste of vodka and artificial fruit from the soda was an intoxicating cocktail on his skin.
And she began to suck. It was a soft, rhythmic pressure, just like with her thumb, but infinitely more incredible. As the girl on the screen moaned around her own mouthful, Matt began to slowly thrust his hips, pushing deeper into Breanna’s mouth with each stroke, testing her limits. The sight of her beautiful dark skin against his pale thigh was a drug in itself. Then something shifted. She stirred, turning her body slightly, and suddenly her throat opened. She took him all the way to the root, her nose pressing into his pubic hair.
Was she awake? A jolt of pure terror mixed with the ecstasy.
"That's it, girl," he breathed, his voice a ragged whisper. "Suck Daren's cock, yes, baby." He used her boyfriend's name, a stupid, desperate trick in case she was drifting in some confused state between sleep and waking.
It was incredible. The taboo of it, the feel of her throat convulsing around him in a wet, gagging choke as he thrust up into her in long, deep strokes. He felt the pressure building at the base of his spine, an unstoppable tide. His cock pulsed, a violent, delicious spasm, and he fired, thick streams of cum flooding her mouth. He felt her throat work frantically, swallowing against his spurting flesh, her body instinctively milking him for every drop.
She didn't pull back. She sucked him dry, her throat working as she swallowed every last bit. Then, as if her task was complete, she pulled off, turned her head, and fell back into a deep, even sleep on his lap.
Matt was panting, his heart hammering against his ribs. The anger was gone, replaced by a hollow, triumphant emptiness. "That was beautiful, honey… thank you," he whispered, a smile spreading across his face as he ran his fingers through her soft, dark hair.
From the depths of her drug-induced slumber, a soft, muffled voice replied.
"You're welcome, Daddy."

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