Get to it

You hoist yourself, scooting awkwardly to get you needy, dirty hole to its undeserved fate – your own father's proud, hard, monster cock. Eighteen inches of soul-crushing Orc-flesh, as broad at its blunt head as your curled fist, and thickening to a brutal cudgel that rises from a bramble of wiry pubes. Before you can do more than press your filthy, sticky pucker to kiss its seeping crown, you are knocked heavily onto your back, and he is there, looming above you as your ankles and knees scramble for purchase around his muscular waist.

"Look me in the eye when you take my cock, hole." You look up instinctively at your father's voice, and see that he is watching your expression as his fat cock-head nudges and shoves, forcing your dirty hole to open wide, wider. And you feel your whole body shiver as you squirm and reflexively shove yourself back to meet it. As he reads the shame in your face, you read gloating satisfaction in his at how completely you betray your desire to be used. You press back harder, biting your lip until your stretched hole yields and you feel his hairy foreskin peel back as his fat mushroom-head pushes into you.

There is no pain, just sensation. Every trickle of pre, every fold of foreskin pressed against you, ever vein, every hair. You can feel your own heart race from your pulse where your stretched ring holds him. He waits for the light to dawn in your eyes, and then without waiting for you to adjust, bucks his hips to shear into you, breaking against soft resistance and churning it nearly to liquid, halfway to his hanging balls on the first thrust. His smug look widens to a toothy smirk as your legs grapple his waist to pull him deeper. He obliges with a lazy thrust against a spot that makes you shudder, then slams the rest in, grinding against your stretched hole as you begin to cum.

As you shoot, rhythmic and reflexive contractions ramify to tighten your full, feculent chute around your father's impaling girth, slaking it slick and sticky, brown to the bristly root as he grinds. The push to eject his brutal intruder sends your seed jetting high, and your father's hand is at the root of you, aiming your juddering tool so that its stream finds your cheek, your chin, your open mouth. He keeps it there, so your own cum floods down your tongue so you must swallow or drown. You swallow. His hips slide back only far enough to defy the outward push, thrusting back into you to bluntly ram himself into the place that shames you, then deeper.

"Now you see," says your father in a low, stern voice. And you feel he is talking to your stretch-sore, sensitized, violated hole as he lets the push of your fountaining release squeeze at his length, only to deny it with another bullying shove, scraping your filth from around his shaft to cake around your quivering ring, to grind it into you with his bristling pubes. "Now, you understand what I tried to tell you." You swallow, your own cum thick in your throat, and your mouth filling again. Holding his smug stare, eyes begging silently, you arch to grind his girth against that place that breaks you, and flex to milk his demanding cock in a sticky, clinging grip.

The sensations, the filthy squelching, slapping sounds, the taste of your own cum in your mouth, and the pervading, degrading, arousing stench, all threaten to overwhelm you. But before you can drift, your father thrusts appreciatively into your inner grip, holds your eyes, mimics the sensation with his hand, slicking you with your own cum, so that your focus shifts from the bone-shaking pleasure of your release to the fullness inside you, and the need to prove your place by earning his cum to flood your churning gut.

You match his pace, spreading yourself wide to slam your hips up to meet each grinding thrust, his heavy sack slapping your own. He thrusts rudely, brutally, his gaze contemptuous and triumphant as he takes all the advantage you give him to plow that much deeper, until you are solely aware of yourself as cock-choked channel of liquescent filth that exists only to suck at and serve his pummeling, punishing, conquering cock.

True. All true. Every word he told you that struck your at self-respect, undermined you so deeply. Debased, degraded and aroused you. And yet you hold his gaze, letting him see what you now know as well. That you do want this. Truly. Want and hope to deserve it.

Cum overflows your panting lips, pouring down your chin even as you swallow convulsively in time with the willful clench of your shit-slick passage, yielding to each grinding thrust, resisting every agonizing withdrawal. Once your father sees that he has succeeded in making you crave this defilement, he doubles his pace, churning your clutching gut, punching that soul-soiling spot with the **** of his release as he tenses, grinds himself there, and looses a cannonade of hot cum to flood and fill you.

Lost in the sensation, your slackened grasp cannot contend with his seed-slickened out-draw, and even your grasping hand finds only your achingly empty ring, spasming to close itself. But when he drags on your collar to bring himself to wipe hot across your cum-drenched face you are ready with soft, sucking lips and swabbing, savoring tongue, and read his gloating smile as praise.