Daddy's Poker Night

Edie (only just 14yo) entertains Daddy’s friends on poker night (anal and oral)...

Edie could here the laughter and clinking glasses from downstairs—the deep rumble of her father’s voice, the sharp bark of 'Uncle' Lee, the smooth drawl of 'Uncle' Joe. Poker night. Again.

Mum had—as she always did— left for her sister's place hours ago, pretending not to notice Edie sitting at the top of the stairs in that stupid frilly white dress Daddy made her wear. The one that barely covered her thighs when she sat cross-legged, the one that made her look even younger than she already was.

Edie picked at the lace hem, listening. Counting the drinks. Three clinks meant the first round of bourbon was poured. Five meant they were settling in. Soon one of them would come upstairs—and she wouldn’t know which one until the door creaked open. That was part of it. The not-knowing. The way her stomach twisted when she heard footsteps on the stairs, slow and heavy with intent.

She heard the stairs groan first—just one board, the third from the top, the one that always betrayed whoever stepped on it. Edie moved to the side of the bed and hung her head over edge, upside down, her blonde hair spilling toward the floor like a waterfall. She’d learned this trick when she was nine—it was easier for her to take them deep this way, no hands needed, they could just push straight down into her throat—use her little mouth like it was a pussy. The door opened without a knock. Edie didn’t turn—didn’t need to. It didn't matter a cock was a cock was a cock.

Whoever it was didn't speak either. They just stood there breathing—letting her feel their gaze crawling over her pubescent body, the dip of her waist where the dress had ridden up. She stayed head upside down, mouth open, waiting, her pulse thudding in her temples. Then—suddenly—a zipper hissed, fabric rustled. She smelled bourbon and sweat and something musky before she felt it—the hot, heavy slap of flesh against her face. Not inside her yet, just resting there, pulsing against her cheek like a live thing. "Suck my balls first," came Uncle Lee's voice, rough as gravel.

She immediately obeyed—she wasn’t stupid—her tongue already darting out to lick a wet stripe along his sack before taking one heavy orb into her mouth. It tasted bitter, salty, the wiry hairs tickling her nose as she sucked gently, swirling her tongue the way he liked. Lee groaned, his fingers pinching her tiny nipples. Knew what came next. She released his balls just as his cockhead nudged against her lips, already leaking, already twitching.

"Deep," he ordered, and she didn’t hesitate—opened wide, relaxing her throat, let him slide forward until his pubes mashed against her upturned chin and his balls rest on her forehead. No gagging. No resistance. Just a hot wet sheath for his cock. He stopped when fully seated and trace the bulge in her neck with his finger—then pulled out slow—her saliva coating him—before slamming back in hard enough to make her skull bounce off the mattress. That made her gag—just a little—and he grinned.

"Did you like that?" She nodded aound his shaft—she knew what he wanted—but her eyes watered. Lee chuckled, as he started to slow fuck her throat. Drool ran down her face, over her forehead and into her hairline. Spit bubbles formed at her nostrils—tiny, quivering pockets of air trapped between her nose and his cock—popping as he pulled back, then reforming when he shoved back in. The rhythm was merciless—uck uck uck—her esophagus flexing around him like a second cunt, slick with her own spit.

His thrusts grew sloppier, as he squeezed her throat—just to feel himself moving inside her—and her vision blurred at the edges from the pressure, from the lack of air, from the sheer wet heat of him pistoning in and out. Edie fought to breath through her nose. She could see nothing but his balls and hairy arse as he skull fucked her throat—her own spit and snot running into her eyes. Little specks of light danced in the darkening edges of her vision—she could feel herself suffocating as his pace grew erratic. She had to breath—her hands scrabbling uselessly against Lee's thighs—but Lee pinned her down.

"I'm gonna cum," Lee grunted, but he kept pumping into her throat—she could feel him swelling, pulsing—she was gonna pass out—her vision tunneling—when suddenly he thrust deep, pressing all him weight onto her face—she heard herself gurgle. His cum flooded her throat in thick bursts—hot—salty—so much—she swallowed convulsively—felt it force it way out her nose—her chest heaved—she was choking—he was still cumming—still pumping his hips—her own body jerked trying to dislodge him—she could taste nothing but him—her vision was black—she couldn't breathe—couldn't breathe—couldn't— And then—he pulled out.

Air rushed back into Edie’s burning lungs in a wet, ragged gasp. She coughed violently, ropes of thick cum and spit splattering across her face, her hair, and the floor. Her throat burned. Her nose stung. She rolled over coughing—but she didn’t wipe her face—didn’t dare—just let it drip, chin glistening, lashes sticking together. That was the rule. Never clean up until they told her to.

Lee grinned down at her, his cock still glistening with her spit, his fingers combing through her damp blonde hair like she was some prized pet. "Fuck you're good at that," he mused, thumb smearing a glob of his own spend across her bottom lip. "Remember when you were little and used to fight a bit more?" His chuckle was dark, nostalgic. "Used to have to pin your wrists just to get your mouth open. Now look at you—swallowing me like a good girl." He tapped her cheek twice—approval—before tucking himself back into his pants.
Edie didn't answer. She just blinked up at him, breathing through her mouth, tasting him in the back of her throat. The room was spinning just slightly from the lack of oxygen. Lee didn’t linger. He never did. Just straightened his belt, gave her one last lingering look—like she was a half-eaten dessert he might come back to—and left the door cracked behind him.

The laughter from downstairs swelled again, glasses clinking, chairs scraping. The game was still going. That meant Joe would be next. Edie stayed where she was, curled on her side, her cheek pressed into the damp spot on the mattress where she’d drooled. She didn’t wipe her face. Didn’t move. Just waited, counting the thuds of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Joe was kinder than Lee. Softer. He’d kneel beside the bed sometimes, stroke her hair, call her sweetheart in that velvet drawl of his—right before he split her throat or arsehole open with his monstrous cock. She heard his footsteps first—lighter than Lee’s, almost hesitant—before the door swung wider. Joe stood there, silhouetted in the hallway light, his broad shoulders swallowing the frame. He didn’t say anything at first. Just exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in the mess Lee had left her in—the streaks of cum and spit still drying in her hair, the way her dress was rucked up around her waist, exposing the soft, almost hairless slit between her thighs.

"Christ, Edie," he murmured, shaking his head. "You look like you been rode hard and put away wet." "Hi Joe," she croaked—her voice uttely wrecked, husky from abuse—but she smiled, small and almost genuine, blinking up at Joe with watery eyes. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he always did when he saw her like this—half-ruined, waiting, too young for the things they did to her—but his gaze still lingered on the slick shine between her thighs.

"Tell you what, sweetie—you can choose which hole I take," Joe murmured, stepping inside and nudging the door shut with his hip. His voice was warm honey laced with something darker—the kind of tone that made Edie's thighs press together instinctively. "You pick." Edie swallowed—still tasting Lee's bitterness—and rolled onto her stomach without hesitation, lifting her hips. The dress bunched around her waist as she arched her back, and pulled her cheeks apart with both hands. The pink furl of her arsehole winked at Joe— puffy and gaping slightly from years of use.

Daddy had trained her there too, stretching her with fingers, then toys, then cocks—until—with enough lube—she could take a Coke can without tearing. Joe let out a slow, appreciative whistle. "Sweetheart, you know I can't resist that pretty little hole," he murmured, sinking onto the bed behind her, his large, rough hands skimming up her trembling thighs.

"But—" His fingers traced the wet seam between her legs, dipping just enough to gather her slick—Edie shivered—"I want to see your face while I'm inside you." He flipped her over before she could react, pushing her knees up and wide—exposing her completely, the dress crumpled beneath her like discarded tissue paper. His breath hitched at the sight—her tiny body flushed pink, her hips tipped up, her thighs already trembling from anticipation. "Look at you," he muttered, almost to himself, thumbing her lower lip where Lee’s cum still glistened. "Christ, you're perfect."

His voice was thick, reverent—as if she were something sacred and filthy all at once. Edie didn’t resist when he pulled her forward by the hips—didn’t flinch when his fingers traced the swollen bud between her legs, circling lazily before dipping inside to test how wet she was. "Fuck," Joe groaned, curling his fingers just enough to make her whimper. "You're dripping, sweetheart. You like this? Like being used?" She nodded—quick, desperate—and his grin was wolfish. "Good girl."

He reached over her shoulder for the bottle on the nightstand—baby oil, half-empty, the cap crusted with old residue—and squeezed a thick, glistening stream into his palm before slicking himself with it. The scent of artificial lavender filled the air, cloying and cheap, as he stroked his cock slowly, coating every inch in a glossy sheen. Edie watched, hypnotized, as his fist moved—up, down, twisting at the head—the oil catching the dim light, making him look even bigger, even thicker.

Joe exhaled sharply through his nose and wiped his hand on the bedsheet before gripping her hips again. "Breathe," he murmured—not unkindly—as he lined himself up. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance, hot and insistent, and Edie tensed instinctively. "Breathe," he repeated, softer this time, his thumb rubbing circles into her hipbone.

She gasped when he pushed in—just the tip at first, stretching her obscenely wide—her sphincter slowly yielding to the pressure. Joe exhaled through clenched teeth, watching the way her tiny body opened to accommodate him. "Jesus fuck," he muttered, dragging his thumb over her clit as he eased another inch inside.

Edie whined—high and thin—her fingers fisting in the the sheets. Joe paused, letting her adjust, his own thighs trembling with restraint. "You okay?" His voice was rough, strained. She nodded frantically, her hips twitching upward in silent demand. He chuckled—dark and indulgent—before gripping her waist tighter and sliding further in, inch by torturous inch. Her little pucker was stretched smooth around his girth, the delicate skin pulled taut and shiny with oil, flushed pink with strain. Above it, her pussy glistened—tiny, puffy with arousal—the swollen lips quivering.

She didn't wait for permission—her fingers darting down to circle her pubescent clit in fast, desperate little flicks, her breath coming in shallow pants. Joe groaned, watching her pleasure herself as he split her arse open—the obscenity of it making his cock twitch inside her tight heat.

"If you were mine I wouldn't share you with anybody," Joe growled, hips pushing forward suddenly, burying himself to the hilt in one slow thrust. Edie's back arched violently—her mouth dropping open in a silent scream—as her small body convulsed around his invasion. The stretch burned—her sphincter fluttering wildly—but she didn't pull away, didn't cry. Just rubbed her clit harder and pressed her heels into Joe's ribs, urging him deeper. He swore under his breath—something reverent and filthy—before dragging almost all the way out and then sliding back in with deliberate force. Edie's stomach visibly bulged as he bottomed out—his masive cock rearranging her insides.

Joe didn’t stop there. He pushed his middle finger into her leaking cunt, curling it forward to massage the spongie spot that made her see stars—the dual pressure making Edie whimper. Her thighs shook violently as he worked both her arse and pussy simultaneously, his finger rubbing the sensitive spot inside her front while his cock stretched her back impossibly wide.

"Feel that?" he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Feel how deep I am?" She nodded, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood—her entire body was a live wire, every nerve alight with conflicting sensations—the deep, aching fullness in her arse, the sharp pleasure coiling between her thighs, the rough scratch of Joe’s calloused fingers inside her cunt. Her breath came in ragged little gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her fingers were a blurry on her clit—frantic—her hips bucking uncontrollably between Joe’s cock and his curled finger, chasing that sharp, bright pressure that coiled tighter and tighter in her belly. The stretch burned, but the pleasure burned hotter, her little body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

"Uncle Joe—" she gasped, her voice cracking—half-gone from Lee’s earlier throatfucking—her thighs squeezing around his wrist. "I'm gonna—," Joe grinned, watching her face twist with desperate pleasure—her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her blonde hair tangled against the sheets. He crooked his finger harder inside her pussy, pressing ruthlessly against that spongy spot while his other hand grabbed a fistful of her dress, yanking her hips higher to meet his thrusts.

"Come on, sweetheart," he coaxed, voice rough with lust. "Let me feel you squirt all over my hand." Edie's breath hitched—her tiny body tensed—her toes curled—and suddenly she was coming, her back arching violently as her tiny pussy clenched around Joe’s finger in rapid pulses. Wetness slicking over his knuckles, her hips jerking erratically as pleasure ripped through her in hot, shuddering waves.

Joe groaned—deep and satisfied—as her arsehole fluttered around his cock, milking him in time with her orgasmic contractions. "That's it," he praised, voice rough, hips snapping forward to grind his pelvis flush against her tender flesh. "Take it, sweetheart—take all of me—" His rhythm turned punishing, his grip bruising on her hips as he drove into her ruthlessly, chasing his own release. Edie whimpered—her oversensitive body trembling—as Joe grabbed her thighs and pushed her knees toward her shoulders, folding her nearly in half, her tiny body bent like a ragdoll. The angle made her arse clench tighter around him—her pucker stretched obscenely wide—and Joe exhaled sharply through his nose before pulling almost all the way out, his cockhead just barely catching on her rim. Her little stomach caved inward—her navel puckering—as Joe hovered there for a torturous second, watching her hole flutter around nothing. Then—with one brutal thrust—he slammed back in, balls-deep, the slap of his hips against her flesh obscene.

Edie gasped, her vision whitening at the edges—her arsehole slurped wetly around his intrusion, the tight ring gripping him like a vise. Over and over, her arse nearly turning inside out—Joe’s cock dragging her pink insides forward with each withdrawal, her pucker gaping momentarily before sucking him back in with a slick, hungry noise. His thrusts were relentless—deep enough to make her belly bulge—her tiny body rocking with the force of it. She could feel him rearranging her guts—the thick ridge of his cockhead scraping against her tender inner walls—her thighs trembling uncontrollably.

Joe groaned—dark and possessive—as her cunt spasmed again, the swollen lips clenching around nothing. His pelvis ground against her brutally with every thrust—his coarse pubes rasping against her hypersensitive clit—the wiry curls soaked with her arousal. Edie gasped—her spine arching—her toes curling—her vision swimming—another orgasm tearing through her before she could even process it. The friction was maddening—crude and unrelenting—his pubic bone battering her clit raw as he pistoned into her tightest hole.

Then—suddenly—Joe’s rhythm faltered. His fingers dug into her thighs like talons. Edie barely had time to register the shift before he was coming—his hips snapping forward with brutal finality—his cock pulsing deep inside her as thick ropes of cum flooded her bowels. He collapsed over her, his weight pressing her tiny frame into the mattress, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. She could feel his cock still twitching inside her, still spurting—the wet, obscene squelch of his release filling her guts.

Joe groaned, his teeth grazing her shoulder as he ground his hips one last time, forcing every drop deeper. Then—suddenly—his lips found hers. Not gentle. Not tentative. A hard, claiming kiss that made her gasp against his mouth, her swollen lips parting instinctively beneath his. His tongue slid against hers, tasting the coppery tang of her own bitten lip. The kiss was possessive, almost angry—his fingers tangling in her hair, tugging just enough to sting—before softening, slowing. His mouth gentled against hers, his lips moving tenderly now, brushing over hers in slow, reverent sweeps.

"Fuck I wish you were mine," Joe murmured against her lips—hot, whiskey-thick words spilling into her mouth between kisses. His fingers tightened in her hair—not enough to hurt, just enough to claim—his other hand cupping the dip of her waist possessively. "I'd take better care of you than he does." Edie didn't answer—she just wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed him back harder, tasting. The confession hung between them, sticky and dangerous.

Then the door flew open. "You finished yet?" Daddy’s voice was sharp, amused—like he’d caught them doing something childish, not wrecking his daughter’s tiny body against the mattress. Joe didn’t pull out. Just turned his head lazily, still sheathed inside her to the hilt, his thumb stroking the sweat-damp hollow of Edie’s throat.

"Give me a minute," he drawled, unbothered, hips rolling in a slow circle just to feel her flinch around him. Daddy snorted, leaning against the doorframe. His gaze raked over Edie—her ruined dress, her swollen lips, the slick shine between her legs where Joe’s cock was still buried. "Christ, Joe. You fuck her like you’re in love with her," he mused, taking a sip of bourbon.