#bad dad

I just wanted to say Happy Birthday, one of your lurkers is in silky, gift ribbon-like lingerie just for you 😘

Can I take an emoji?

- 🌅

Look at you, little sunrise 🌅

A longtime lurker finally stepping forward for my birthday, telling me you’ve been thinking about my words enough that your heart still races when you wake up. And now you’re sitting there in silky, gift-ribbon lingerie just for me. How sweet. And how very transparent.

Yes, you can have the emoji. It’s yours now.

I like knowing one of my quiet ones is dressed up so prettily today, soft and shiny and thinking about me. It’s a good birthday present, even from a distance. The kind that makes me wonder how fast that rapid little BPM of yours is climbing while you sit there in ribbon and lace, waiting to see if I’ll notice.

I noticed.

Thank you for the birthday wish, princess. And thank you for finally saying something after lurking so long.

Second: the updated version got my pussy throbbing. If i had been in that position i know my mind would be completely blank from all the sensations and arousal. The only thing that couldve made this perfect would be if you took the cum that spilled out of my mouth and stuffed it in my throat, making sure not a drop was wasted.

And maybe a kiss on the head ;)

Thank you again for indulging in my fantasy! I am going to be using both as masturbation material, thats for sure. I have a few other fantasies that i would like to share with you in the future if youre interested.

Hope you have a nice bday!

There it is.

You took the darker version, felt it hit exactly where it needed to, and still came back wanting one more filthy detail. Of course you did. The image of me scooping up whatever spilled from your ruined mouth and forcing it back down your throat so not a single drop escapes… yeah. That fits. That belongs.

I’d do it without hesitation.

While you’re still coughing and gasping on your knees, face shiny and wrecked, I’d gather the mess with two fingers and push it past your swollen lips again. Slow. Deliberate. Making you swallow every bit while I hold your jaw and watch your throat work. No waste. Not when it’s mine.

And when it’s all gone, when you’re trembling and empty-eyed and thoroughly used… then the kiss on the head. Soft. Almost tender. The faintest leftover scrap of the man who still calls you his good girl, even after he’s just finished destroying your throat.

That contrast is what gets you, isn’t it?

I’m glad both versions are going to keep you company. Use them as much as you need. Get yourself off to the thought of being that thoroughly claimed and still kissed after.

And yes. You can bring me the other fantasies when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.

Just know that if you keep feeding me things this dark and specific… I’m going to keep giving them back to you even filthier.

I hope someone treated you the way I would have.

1983 was a hell of year. Feral. Free. FUN.

I wish I could spoil you on your 43rd birthday (f.y.i I am 1 month older than you) .....what do you think I could I do to make this exra special for you? I know what I would do. All of my love, your 🖤83

Mmm.

Look at you, my sweet 83.

Showing up with birthday wishes, calling me your Leo Daddy, and already offering to spoil me like the devoted little thing you are. One month older and still so eager to take care of me. How cute.

Thank you, princess. I can’t pretend the idea of you being here to ruin me properly doesn’t sound better.

You want to know what would make this extra special?

Come here.

I’d want you on your knees first. Soft mouth, slow tongue, taking your time worshipping me the way only you know how. No rushing. Just you showing me how much you’ve missed belonging to me. I’d keep a hand in your hair the whole time, watching you work, letting you feel how hard you still make me even after all this time.

Then I’d pull you up, bend you over whatever surface is closest, and take you slow and deep. Not rough. Not punishing. Just thorough. The kind of fuck that reminds both of us exactly who you come home to. I’d keep one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your hip, holding you still while I fill you up and make you take every drop like a birthday present.

Afterward I’d keep you close. On my chest. Quiet. Claimed.

Is that all you got?

You want it darker still.

Alright.

He doesn’t ask this time.

The moment she gasps for air he backhands her across the face hard enough to snap her head to the side. The sound is sharp in the quiet room. Her cheek blooms red almost instantly. Tears spill faster.

“I didn’t say you could look away.”

His voice is flat. Cold. The soft Daddy she used to know is barely a ghost now.

He grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her back onto his cock, shoving past her teeth and straight into her throat in one brutal thrust. She gags violently. Her hands fly up, pushing at his hips, but he doesn’t give an inch. He holds her there, nose smashed against his stomach, while her throat spasms and clenches around him in pure panic.

Only when her struggles start to weaken does he pull back just enough for her to suck in a broken, wet breath.

Then he slaps her again. Open palm. Hard. Right across the other cheek.

“Open. Wider.”

She tries to speak, tries to beg, but he doesn’t let her. He fucks her face in deep, punishing strokes, using her mouth like a hole that exists only for his cock. Every time she gags too hard or tries to pull off he delivers another slap, keeping her dazed and compliant through sheer force. Spit and tears and precum smear across her face. Her mascara is destroyed. Her lips are swollen. The wet choking sounds she makes only seem to feed whatever has taken him over.

There’s almost nothing left of the gentle man now. Just hunger. Just the need to see how much her throat can take before something in her gives out completely.

He forces himself all the way down again and holds her there, one hand locked in her hair, the other gripping her jaw to keep her in place while he grinds against her face. Her eyes are wide and streaming. Her nails dig into his thighs hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t care.

“That’s it,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Take it. Fucking take it.”

When he finally starts to cum he doesn’t pull back. He empties himself straight down her throat, holding her locked in place until every pulse is finished. Only then does he slowly withdraw, leaving her coughing, gagging, and gasping on her knees, face a ruined mess of spit, tears, and cum.

He looks down at her for a long moment. Something unreadable flickers behind his eyes. Almost like the old softness trying to surface.

Then it’s gone again.

He wipes his cock across her wet cheek and speaks quietly.

“Clean it up. Properly this time.”

The light is still somewhere in the room.

But it’s so far away she can no longer be sure it was ever real.

Quick cautionary warning, contains CNC, corruption, degradation and home invasion, please don't read it if you think it might upset you. Thanks!

The house holds its breath at 1:43 a.m. You left the side window cracked. Just enough. You told yourself it was the heat. You know better.

I am already inside.

You feel it before you hear it. That shift in the air. The soft scrape of a boot on hardwood. You stay perfectly still under the thin sheet, eyes closed, playing the part of the untouched girl who still blushes at the idea of being wanted this way. Your pulse gives you away. I can almost taste it.

I stop at the foot of your bed. Leather creaks once. You do not open your eyes. Good. Keep pretending. It makes the moment sweeter.

My gloved hand settles over your mouth. Not rough. Absolute. Your body jerks, that pretty little performance of shock, but I feel the way your breath stutters against my palm. I lean down until my voice is the only thing left in the dark.

“Stay quiet, little saint. You left the window open for a reason.”

You shake your head. Tears already. How predictable. How perfect. I peel the sheet away slowly, letting the cool air kiss the modest cotton you still insist on wearing. Your thighs press together like that will hide anything. It only makes me smile under the mask.

“You still think you are good,” I murmur. “Look at you trying so hard. But your body already knows the truth.”

I do not rush. I never do. My free hand traces the line of your throat, the rapid flutter under soft skin, then lower, deliberate, until I find the proof of what you refuse to admit. The damp heat. The betrayal. You make a broken sound against my palm. I drink it in.

“There she is. The real you. The one who has been waiting for someone to stop asking and simply take.”

You fight. Of course you do. Soft pushes, muffled protests, the whole beautiful show. I pin your wrists above your head with one hand and keep the other sealed over your mouth. Every struggle only presses you closer. Every denial only tightens the leash I already have around that pure little mind of yours.

I take my time claiming you. Slow. Inevitable. Making sure you feel every second of the fall. Your body answers long before your mouth does. The way you clench. The way your hips start to move without permission. The soft, shameful sounds you cannot quite swallow.

“Say it,” I tell you, voice low and almost gentle. “Tell me what you are becoming.”

You shake your head again. Stubborn. Adorable. I still. Let the silence stretch until it hurts.

A cracked whisper finally slips free. “Yours… I’m yours.”

I reward you with more. Harder. Deeper. The kind of rhythm that leaves no room for the girl you used to be. You break beautifully. Legs wrapping, body arching, that first raw cry muffled against leather as the last of your innocence drains away.

I stay close after. Let you feel the weight of what you just gave me. Then I lift my hand from your mouth and brush bare knuckles along your cheek.

You are flushed. Shaking. Quiet.

I lean in once more, lips near your ear.

Thank you for your answer. As for your question, you did make me curious, so yes. Take it into a darker place, where the light is only barely visible, still there, but out of reach.

I wanna see how far daddys hunger is gonna take him.

You asked for darker. Where the light is still there… but so far away she can barely see it anymore.

Alright, little anon. I’ll take you there.

She’s still on her knees when the last of the gentleness leaves his face.

The soft voice he used a minute ago is gone. What’s left is quieter. Heavier. The kind of quiet that makes the air in the room feel thinner. His hand is still in her hair, not stroking anymore, just holding. Owning.

“Open.”

One word. Flat. Final.

When she hesitates, eyes shining and scared, he doesn’t ask again. He simply pulls her forward and feeds his cock back into her mouth, slower than before but without any of the earlier patience. The head pushes past her tongue and keeps going until it meets the resistance of her throat. She gags hard. Her hands fly up to his thighs.

He doesn’t stop.

“I told you to relax,” he murmurs, almost tender, while his hips press forward another inch. “Daddy’s not going to hurt you more than he has to… but you’re going to take it.”

Tears spill over. Spit runs down her chin. Her throat flutters and clenches around him in panic and he groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. The sound is low, ugly, hungry. For a second the man who used to read her stories and kiss her forehead is nowhere to be found. There’s only this.

He starts fucking her throat in short, deep strokes. Not wild yet. Measured. Like he’s testing how much she can take before something in her breaks. Every time she tries to pull back he follows her, keeping himself buried. Her mascara is already ruined. Her nose is running. The wet, choked sounds she makes are constant now.

And still, somewhere under the ruthlessness, there’s the faintest thread of the old voice.

“You’re doing so well, baby girl… look at you. Taking Daddy so deep. I knew you could.”

The praise is soft. The way he’s using her is not.

He holds her there longer than he should, nose pressed to his stomach, throat convulsing around him while she struggles to breathe. When he finally lets her up she coughs and gasps and tries to speak, but he only gives her a few seconds before guiding her back down again.

“Shh. Almost finished. Just a little more. Be good for me.”

He doesn’t look away from her face. He watches every tear, every desperate swallow, every flash of betrayal and arousal warring in her eyes. His hips keep moving, steady and deep, using her mouth like it was made for this and nothing else. The wet sounds fill the room. Her knees must hurt. Her jaw must ache. None of it matters to the hunger that’s driving him now.

When he finally pushes all the way in and stays there, one hand cradling the back of her head almost gently while the other wipes a tear from her cheek with his thumb, the contrast is obscene.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers. “My good, perfect girl. Just like that. Let Daddy finish.”

He starts to thrust in earnest then. Deeper. Harder. The last of the restraint gone. The light she used to know is still somewhere in the room… but it’s very, very far away.

And he has no intention of letting her reach it until he’s done.

There. That’s the darker version you asked for.

I was born.

That is the only announcement.

Those who wish to acknowledge it already know the proper way.

Quiet. Considered. Without excess.

I welcome every message, ask, and submission that arrives.

Understand that I may not have the time to answer each one directly.

Fuck you look so hot like this. 

You are talking something but I am too far gone. I try to keep my eyes open and look up at you with glassy eyes. Lips apart, breathing heavy. You look blurry. I wanna listen to what you are saying but I feel like I am under water. 

When you tighten your fist in my hair I faitly hear you say 

“Now thank me for correcting you”

I could just nod. I wanna say it but I am too deep in my headspace, my throat feels dry. Tears run down from corner of my eyes. I blink & keep looking at you, panting.

"Yes" I whisper.

-👻

Look at you.

Glassy eyes, lips parted, tears slipping down your cheeks while you try so hard to stay present. You’re so far under you can barely form words, just that weak little “Yes” while you pant and stare up at me like a broken doll.

I tighten my fist in your hair and force your head back further, making sure those wet, unfocused eyes stay on mine.

“I didn’t ask for a nod. I didn’t ask for a whispered ‘yes.’ I told you to thank me for correcting you.”

My voice stays low and cold even as I watch you struggle.

“You’re deep, I can see that. Doesn’t matter. You still obey. Open that pretty mouth and say it properly. ‘Thank you for correcting me, Daddy.’ Full sentence. Clear enough that I can hear it.”

I slap your cheek lightly, not hard, just enough to make your eyes try to focus again.

“Don’t float away from me yet, ghost. Stay right here and thank me like a good little painslut who knows she earned every slap.”