Daddy takes a bite out of his Slutty Daughter - Part 2

Abused father Henry disciplines his defiant 15yo daughter with a brutal pounding of her pussy again, but this time, there is dark, surprise waiting!

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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For the first part of this story, check out "Daddy takes a bite out of his Slutty Daughter." Just tap my name to find it!

The doorbell rang. Henry checked the feed. It was Janice and the other friend, dragging a nearly comatose Tess between them. He opened the door, his expression a mask of fatherly concern, but his mind was already a cold, calculating machine.
"What happened this time? Is she okay?" he asked, his voice laced with practiced panic.
"We're so sorry, Mr. D.," Janice stammered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and resentment. "We were at that club, 'The Velvet Room'... Tess just wouldn't leave it alone."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "The Velvet Room? That's a 21-and-over club downtown. How the hell did you three get in?"
The girls exchanged a nervous glance. "We just... you know," Janice mumbled, looking at the floor. "We talked our way in."
He didn't believe it for a second. He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. "Don't lie to me. You don't just 'talk your way' into a place like that. A bouncer at a high-end club doesn't risk his job and a thousand-dollar fine for three teenagers without a very good reason. Now, how. Did you. Get in?"
The silence was thick with fear. Henry's gaze was like a physical weight, pinning them in place. The other girl, the quieter one, finally broke. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"It... it was Janice," she admitted, her eyes filling with tears. "She took one of the doormen around back. Said she'd make it worth his while if he let us in."
Henry turned his full, terrifying attention to Janice. "Worth while, how?" he pressed, his voice dangerously soft.
Janice's face crumbled. She looked at the floor, her shame palpable. "He... he wanted a blowjob," she choked out. "I told him I'd do it if he let all three of us in without any trouble."
A cold, dark satisfaction settled in Henry's gut. It was exactly what he suspected. He was surprised at this kind of trashy behavior from these teenage girls, and his daughter. He blamed social media and the bullshit they sold one another.
He let the confession hang in the air for a moment, letting them stew in their own degradation.
"So, to get into a club, you prostituted yourself to a stranger," he stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "And Tess, she was fine with this? She was fine with you selling your mouth so she could go get wasted?"
They just nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
He guided them inside, settling Tess on the couch. She was a mess, her head lolling, a vacant smile on her face. She reeked of cheap liquor and rebellion. This was even better than he could have planned. She wasn't just a victim of circumstance; she was an active participant in her own debasement.
The door clicked shut. He was alone with Tess. Henry had re-evaluated his stand with his daughter and wife since he took Tess the first time. He couldn’t bring himself to saying the word. But he knew he didn’t regret it. In fact, staring down on her, out of her mind from who knows what, what was she looking for? The outcome was clear the first time, and more so now. When those guys got her and friends to wherever they planned their private party, who knows if they were just getting fucked. They may not have been coming home.
But these dumb underage teens jumped right back into the pool with lustful great sharks. Begging to be eaten.
So, why shouldn’t he take a piece of her. And now again, why not? At least she’d wake up at home. Safe.
He knelt by the couch, his clinical assessment beginning. He snapped his fingers. No response. He lifted her eyelid. She seemed completely out of it.
He stood over her, his mind made up. She went out looking to be treated like a piece of meat. She let her friend perform a sexual act to facilitate it. She wanted to act like a whore?
He would give her the authentic experience - again.
He scooped her up and carried her to his bedroom, the familiar weight of her in his arms a dark comfort. He laid her on the bed, the scent of her—a mix of stale liquor and her own floral perfume—filling the air. If she came home in this condition, then this was going to be his ritual. He moved with the calm precision of a surgeon setting up for an operation. His phone was placed on the nightstand, angled to capture every detail. From the drawer, he retrieved the small, professional-looking camera, setting it on the dresser for a wider view. He hit record on both. The tiny red lights were his audience. He was ready.
He stripped naked, the air cool on his heated skin. He felt a profound sense of freedom, of shedding the last vestiges of the man he was supposed to be. His cock was already hard, a thick, throbbing column of flesh that ached with a painful, desperate need.
He turned his attention back to the bed. He undressed her slowly, methodically, peeling away the cheap fabric of her top and the tight skirt. As her body was revealed, he took a moment to simply look. Her skin was pale and flawless in the dim light, a stark contrast to the dark, neatly trimmed triangle of hair between her legs. And there, just visible enough, her glistening pussy lips. Her breasts were perfect, full and high, the nipples small and tight. His cock throbbed in response, a primal acknowledgment of her youthful, forbidden beauty. He wasn't just stripping her; he was unwrapping a gift she had so eagerly offered to the world.
He rolled her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so her ass was presented to him, a perfect, round offering. He intended to start where he left last time, to reclaim her gorgeous teenage hole.
But as he positioned himself, her body, which had been a limp weight, suddenly tensed. She turned her head, her cheek pressed against the mattress, and her eyes, clear and sharp, locked onto his.
"No, Daddy," she breathed, her voice a husky, desperate whisper. "My pussy first. Take my pussy first. Punish that pussy!"
He stumbled back a step, his mind reeling. The ruse was over. Her words, so blunt and depraved, didn't just shock him; they stripped away his last layer of fear, replacing it with a roaring, white-hot anger.
"Why the pretense?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"Because I couldn't just ask you," she said, a tear tracing a path through her mascara. "Everything that makes you a good man, a good father, would have screwed up your thinking. I needed to put you back in this mindset, the same state of arousal as before. I needed you to punish me. I needed to acknowledge I deserved it!"
She’d seen the recording. This didn’t scare him – it excited him even more.
Her confession stripped away the last of his restraint. A raw, animalistic fury took over. He grabbed her and flipped her onto her back, shoving her legs up until they were pressed against her chest. He positioned his cock at her entrance and slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Her ass was tight against his pelvis, the connection absolute and jarring. He held her legs high, using them for leverage as he began to pound into her, a relentless, punishing rhythm. The bedframe screamed in protest, slamming against the wall with the force of his assault.
"Yes, Daddy!" she screamed, her hands fisting in the sheets, her voice a raw mix of pain and ecstatic surrender.
He drove into her without passion or tenderness. This was a transaction. This was what she wanted. This was what she got. He wasn't her father in this moment; he was the instrument of her salvation, the one who would teach her in the most visceral way possible exactly what that meant.
"Sorry, Daddy!" she cried out with every brutal thrust. "I'll be a good girl, Daddy!"
He suddenly released her legs and grabbed her waist. With a rough, powerful jerk, he flipped her over. She let out a sharp yelp as he manhandled her body. He pulled her hips up, forcing her onto her hands and knees, presenting her ass to him. He didn't hesitate, plunging back into her slick, swollen cunt. He started with a punishing pace, then slowed to a deep, grinding rhythm, making her feel every inch of him before speeding up again into a wild, frantic fucking. The control was his, the pace his to dictate. He felt his own climax building, a hot, tight pressure in his balls, and with a final, guttural roar, he slammed into her one last time and emptied himself deep inside her pussy.
He collapsed over her for a moment, his chest heaving, both of them slick with sweat and panting for air. The anger had subsided, leaving a hollow ache of exhaustion. After a long moment, he pulled out and rolled off her.
"Get up," he commanded, his voice hoarse. "Go grab some cokes from the fridge."
She stumbled to the kitchen in silence, the air thick with what had just happened. She grabbed two sodas from the fridge. Back in the bedroom, they drank, their eyes meeting. The unspoken truth hung between them: as father and daughter, their relationship had changed forever. The sounds of carbonation from the cans and their ragged breaths filled the space. It was a strange, realistic moment of respite, a chance for their bodies to recover. But as he watched her throat work as she swallowed, he felt the familiar stirrings return. He wasn't done with her. Not by a long shot.
He finished his drink and crushed the can in his hand. "Back on the bed," he commanded. She obeyed her father.
Back on the bed, he rolled her onto her stomach. He spat on her tight asshole, working the moisture in with his thumb. He pressed the head of his cock against her resistant ring and pushed forward, sinking inch by inch into her impossibly tight heat. He fucked her ass with long, deep, punishing strokes, his hands gripping her hips so tightly he knew he would leave bruises. He was claiming every part of her, marking her as his own. The tightness of her anal passage was orgasmic and he filled her again – loving every moment of it.
But when he had a moment to recover, lying over her perfect naked body, he rose to his knees again.
There was more. He pulled out of her ass and grabbed a handful of her hair, turning her over and forcing her to her knees on the floor. He shoved his cock, still slick from her ass, into her mouth. "Bring it back to life, and milk me dry!" he ordered.
She did. She rolled his cock around in her mouth, lollipopping the head, bobbing it in and out. She revived him, then deepthroated his cock. He held her head and matched her thrusts. It was electrifying to see his little girl's mouth stretched around his cock, to watch himself disappear into her mouth and down her throat. "Empty my balls, my little girl!" he groaned.
She obeyed willingly, her lips and tongue working him with a desperate fervor, her eyes looking up at him with a worshipful, terrified gaze. When he felt his orgasm finally peak, he held her head down and emptied himself down her throat.
She stayed on her knees, gasping for breath, his cum dripping from her lips. He stood over her, his chest heaving, the anger finally spent, replaced by a chilling sense of satisfaction. He had punished her. He had saved her. He had made her his.
It was time to clean up the mess before his wife got home. The scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air, a damning perfume. He wanted to shower with Tess, to wash the sin from her body under the hot water, but he knew himself. The anger was a beast that had been caged for too long, and now it was loose. He would just fuck her again against the slick tile, and they didn't have the time. Adrinna would be home soon.
"Get cleaned up," he ordered, his voice rough. "And get rid of that cans."
He left her there and went to the master bathroom, turning the shower on to scalding. He stepped in, letting the hot water cascade over him, washing away the physical evidence but not the feeling of profound, terrifying power. He felt reborn.
An hour later, the house was quiet. He was dressed in a clean pair of pajama pants, sitting on the edge of his bed, the calm at the center of his new storm. He heard the garage door open, then the familiar click of her heels on the kitchen tile. Adrinna was home.
She walked into the bedroom, not even looking at him, her phone pressed to her ear. "No, the merger is solid," she was saying, her voice sharp and dismissive. "We just need to—"
That was as far as she got.
He moved with a speed that startled them both. He was on his feet, crossing the room in two strides. He snatched the phone from her hand and ended the call, tossing it onto the dresser.
"What the hell do you think you're—"
He grabbed her wrist. Her protests died in her throat, replaced by a flicker of fear she’d never shown him before. His dominance was pulling her out of the attitude of ignorance and dismissal she’d worn like armor. He spun her around and, using his free hand, ripped a sock from his laundry basket. As she opened her mouth to swear at him, he shoved the sock inside, gagging her. Her curses became muffled, furious sounds.
He grabbed one of his silk ties from the closet. With brutal efficiency, he bound her wrists behind her back. Her eyes were wide with shock and outrage. He tore at her expensive blouse, the buttons popping off and skittering across the floor. He stripped her, tossing her bra aside, yanking her skirt down, her panties, until she was standing there, naked and trembling, a queen dethroned.
He shoved her onto the bed, face down. He didn't give her time to think, to process. In all this, he’d stripped off his own clothes. When she saw his skin, she was hit by another wave of shock. He was on her, his knee forcing her legs apart. He entered her pussy from behind, a single, brutal thrust that stole her breath. He fucked her hard, the way she craved when they first married, with none of the careful, placating motions he used during their recent, infrequent encounters. And that was sex. Vanilla. This wasn't for her pleasure; it was a violent, punitive act.
His strokes were deep, like he was mining for her cervix, hitting her hard. He'd withdraw slowly, then rush back in. She hit her first orgasm from a mix of fear, being bound, and exhilaration. He had another surprise for her. He pulled out, rubbed his cock head across her wet pussy, then pressed it against her tight, resistant asshole. She bucked, a muffled scream escaping the gag. She’d always refused to try anal. Not tonight. He pushed forward, sinking into her ass, claiming that final, forbidden territory. He fucked her there for a few strokes, enjoying her panicked, clenching resistance, before pulling out and slamming back into her cunt. He switched back and forth, using her, defiling her, breaking down the ‘boss bitch’ and replacing her with this sobbing, broken thing beneath him.
Finally, with a roar that was part triumph, part rage, he buried himself deep inside her pussy and emptied himself, a final, scalding claim. He pulled out, leaving her a trembling, weeping mess on the bed. He stood over her, his breathing ragged, the last of his pent-up anger finally gone. The house was silent, save for her muffled sobs. One of his wife's excuses for not fucking lately was that she hadn’t had time to pick up a refill for her birth control pills. It had been weeks. He didn’t care. That was his pussy. And he’d refill it when he wanted to.
He looked at his wife, then at the doorway where Tess stood, watching. She had watched and loved her dad’s dominance over her bitchy, selfish mom. She so wanted to fuck her dad again, right now. He was no longer a man living in a house that no longer felt like his own. He was the king. And this was his castle.

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