virgin ho

your mother is probably at work, doing something important to neutralise the warpath your step-dad seems to always be on, and he.. well, who knows where he is. not that you care anyway, because he’s weird and gross, and you do not like him. at all.

your eyes are shaded by your sunglasses, oblivious to the world around you. all you can focus on is the blistering heat, the way the thin material of your dress sticks to your sweat-slicked skin. you may be prim, all proper and lady-like, but it’s not like anything, or anyone, will take that from you–

“the fuck are you doin, kid?”

speak of the fucking devil.

you suddenly sit upwards, hand plastered against searing concrete, and frown. with your sunglasses slipping off of your face, you spot him on the veranda, arms folded across his broad chest. “gonna let everyone on the street see you like that?” he glowers at you, striding down the stone steps and across the lawn. you get up quickly, brushing off your dress and straightening it up, as if this will do you any favours. it won’t. 

“i’m not doing anything wrong,” you tell him, nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. it’s unnerving how he towers over you. “like– we live in a secluded area, it’s not–”

“that doesn’t work f’me, sweetheart,” he pulls you flush to his chest, grip tight around your waist. it’s weird, and uncomfortable, and definitely not what a step-dad should do. and it gets even more uncomfortable as you feel his hand ghost your ass hesitantly. “ain’t gonna let some sons of bitches think they can touch what’s mine.”

you feel something rush to your face as something, hard, brushes up against your cunt. and whilst you may be pure, sometimes a little too innocent, you know what it is. but it feels new and interesting, and good, so why would you fight it? “yeah, what’re you gonna do?” you taunt, slightly grinding yourself against him. “you’re not my dad.”

“what i’m gonna do is give you a new reason to call me dad.”

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

one thing leads to another, and suddenly, he’s balls-deep in you.

“y’think i’m just gonna let anyone stare at my kid like that?” ben grunts in your ear, pulling you down on his cock, over and over. he’s making you ride him on the couch– the same one he helped your mother pick out– as you writhe and squirm from the feeling of his cock inside of you. your hands try to cover your bare body, shield the futile remains of your sanctity, but he doesn’t let you have any of it. “c’mon, now– you wanted an audience, and you got your audience,” he tells you, grabbing ahold of your hands so he can watch the soft light dim from your eyes. he’s rough and unforgiving, making your vision blur as tears begin to fall down your face.

all the while, he’s shoving his cock into you. “knew it was all an act,” he mutters, to nobody in particular. he didn’t listen to any of your protests; how this would be wrong, how this would be your first time. “acting so fuckin’ innocent, and then lettin’ your dad fuck you like some cheap whore.” ben's tantalising words fall from his mouth like blasphemy, with one hand wrapped around the base of your throat. you whine, already feeling too overwhelmed, trying your best to do what he asked demanded. it’s not like you had any say in the matter.

the fabric of the couch scrapes against your knees as your stamina dwindles, and it’s only made worse when his hand moves from your waist to your cunt, you feeling his fingers on your clit. “pretty fuckin’ sight, though,” he lets out a low whistle, a slight hiss as your cunt involuntarily tightens around him. “gotta give your mom credit– she did a good job makin’ you,” and for some reason, some inexplicable, fucked-up reason, his words only motivate you. the half-assed praises, ones that carry some underlying degradation to them, and the occasional grunts make it a little bearable for you. but when both of his hands suddenly go for your hips, his hold bruising, he thrusts up  into you– harder than before. you whimper, biting down on your bottom lip, and instinctively grab his shoulders for support. 

there’s a new feeling in your lower abdomen now– something you’ve only in the private sanctuary of your room. when you’ve been.. investigating. and now your “dad” is making you feel it. “it doesn’t feel right, ben..” you whisper, before letting out a squeak of pain as he slaps your ass harshly; a reminder of what you should be calling him. a preemptive punishment. “i don’t like it, daddy–”

“nah, nothin’ to worry ‘bout, kid,” he brushes off your concerns with a simple wave of his hand. even though you’re shaking your head and clawing at him pathetically. “gotta stop fightin’ it,” he squeezes your flesh, pressing firmly down on where he’s buried deep inside you. you can’t hold back the strangled cry that tears from your throat. and never once does he stop. “you can do better than that; what happened to that girl outside? practically dying for my cock?”

you try to find the words to reply, but the pressure is too much and soon enough, you’re climaxing all over his cock. embarrassed, you bury your face into the crook of ben's neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and whatever cologne he’s wearing. it’s intoxicating, but before you can push yourself up, he’s pulling you back down on his cock. “makin’ such a mess on your mom’s couch..” he scolds mockingly, hand coming down on your ass again. 

and it’s not long before you end up squirting on him, your slick making the obj poses between you two even more vulgar and obscene. “fuckin’ embarrassed is what you should be,” he barks, taking your face between his rough hands. his fingers smell of your slick, are wet with your slick, but all you can focus on is his blown pupils. and then, the way he cums. it’s heavy, hot and thick, and you can’t help but to grind on him as he releases. “god, look what you’ve made me do, sweetheart,” he groans, before flipping the two of you over, his weight pressing you down into the scratchy cushions. 

but you know that this isn’t the end. 

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

and when the next time that it happens– because of course there’s a “next time”; maybe you had started dressing a bit more.. provocative, and for good reason– ben’s got you face down in your pretty sheets, all innocent and frilly for a girl like you, heartbeat thrumming like a hummingbird’s. 

“uh, like this?” you ask nervously, licking your lips once again. you don’t turn back; you can see his wolfish smirk in your mind, searing into the back of your head as he glowers over the sight of you. 

“yeah, just like that,” he presses his hands against your ass, blunt nails dragging along the skin. “relax, kid. i’ll go easy– if you’re good.”

you nod shortly, before going back to pressing your face into the pillow– as if not seeing what he’s doing, willingly blinding yourself with satin and lace, will numb the pain. it doesn’t. you’re pretty sure you mumble something about how good you’ll be, and how happy you want to make him, but judging by the way he teases your already dripping cunt, then brings a hand down on your ass.. 

he shoves himself in. your whimper is slightly muffled by the pillow, and you bring your head up for a second. the saliva that’s already collecting on it makes you ache more than you already do. “it hurts,” you mutter quietly, biting down on your lip as he grips firmly onto your waist. “i– i don’t think–”

“it’s fine,” and you regret opening your mouth; for when ben uses that tone, the one that suggests that you’re in for it, all you can do is hold onto the slippery sheets just a little more. “we’ve done this, what, how many times now? you can take it.”

you’re already breathing hard from the stretch, unable to adjust to his sheer size, and it only becomes worse when he begins to thrust into you. whilst you’re sure that the burning will soon morph into pleasure, the pain lingers– as it always does. no matter how many times he hist against that one spot inside of you, or praises you for being “the best daughter he could’ve asked for”, it doesn’t make you feel any better. it’s all just another reminder of how wrong this is. 

all the promises in the world of how “easy” he’ll be go right out of the window. as soon as one or two moans slip out of your mouth, despite the pillow you’ve got smothering you, that’s all he needs for him to fuck into you just a bit harder, to make you clench around him just a bit tighter. he becomes more violent, ungforgiving, and those words of praise and worship soon turn nasty. virtue to pitch. meanwhile, you simply writhe and quiver under him, like an animal afraid of slaughter.

“it’s– shit–” you cry, trying to focus on anything but the way it feels like your insides are being torn up. “you’re too big and mean, i can’t–”

“fuck me, sweetheart,” ben groans, holding onto your hips so tightly that you fear the bone will shatter. you can tell he’s about to cum; the way his voice goes all gravelly, the way his pace becomes sloppy and frantic. “if you weren’t the way you were, i wouldn’t have to treat you like this..”

and he does cum, but not before degrading you for your fashion choices once again.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

the thing is, you don’t learn.

and so, ben has to come up with new ways of getting you to listen. to realise that you need to drop the whole innocent act– before you get hurt, or some “cocksucking pussy tries to feel up my kid”– blames you for being so fucking naïve and stupid. he decides the only way for you to learn is by fucking you. 

now, you’re dripping with him cum, covered in it from your face to your tits, as he fucks as much as he can back into you. your cunt feels as if it’s on fire, sore from the constant use and abuse, but you’re too stunned to care. all you know is that you need your lesson. you need you dad to teach you how to behave. to keep you safe.

isn’t that what all dads do?

you can feel his fingers moving in and out of your swollen cunt, the soft squelching as he forces his cum back into you. “can’t have you wastin’ any of this,” he comments, swiping his slick fingers up and down your folds. “be a real shame if i had to get tough on you, kid.”

“i don’t like it, dad–” but you cut yourself off, the feeling of a sudden orgasm shattering any sense of realisation that this is not right. it just feels too good. instead, you just bury your face into your folded arms. something wets your skin. “daddy, please–”

“we ain’t done ‘til i say we’re done,” and with that, he’s roughly pushing back into your ass, laughing lowly to himself– probably amused by the way your cunt clenches around nothing– before he’s stuffing both of your holes. your ass with his cock, your cunt with his fingers. “gotta remember that.”

“but it hurts,” you whine, sinking your teeth into your forearm. anything to relieve the pain. you’ve become so pathetic, such a small and useless thing around him, especially when he gets you all like this, but he doesn’t care. as long as you please him.

“should i stop then? let some asshole down the street have his way with you?” to which you cry, because you can’t think of anything worse. nobody else knows how to treat you. not the way that your dad does, anyway. 

“no, no!” you beg– you need more, you realise, you need more. something about being like this, being used like this, makes you feel good. makes him feel good. “please, i’ll do anything–”

“yeah? you’d do anything?” you can basically hear the pride in ben's voice, the way it drips off of his tongue. “good, ‘cause i’m not lettin’ you go anywhere.” and he doesn’t want you before he’s spilling his cum into you once more.