Keep sucking and fingering yourself mindlessly, letting the pleasure and Derek's cock erase what's left of your thoughts

Evan's Bedroom, Blackwood Family Home, Suburban Ohio, at 8:45 AM on Saturday June 15th, 2024 Day 1.

Your world has shrunk to two sensations: the thick cock filling your mouth and your own fingers pumping lazily in and out of your dripping cunt. Everything else—the room, the morning light, the distant sounds of the house—has faded into a warm, fuzzy background static. Your thoughts are like soap bubbles, pretty and round and popping the instant you try to hold onto them. You don't mind. Holding onto things is hard. Sucking is easy.

Derek's shaft slides over your tongue in slow, lazy strokes, his hand resting on the back of your head without pushing. He doesn't need to push anymore—you're doing it yourself, bobbing your head in a sloppy rhythm, drool running down his length and dripping onto the sheets. Your cheeks hollow around him, your glossy lips stretched wide, making wet little "glk glk glk" sounds that fill the quiet room.

"Hold still a sec," Derek says, and you freeze mid-stroke, his cockhead resting on your tongue. You hear the click of his phone camera.

He angles the screen down at you—your face stuffed with cock, tears streaming from your smudged eye makeup, that mesh 'BREED ME' top stretched across your swollen tits, your hand visibly working between your spread thighs. Click. Click. Click.

"Fuck, that's hot," he mutters, typing rapidly. "Jake's gonna nut just looking at this."

He shifts, pulling his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, and you whine at the emptiness—actually whine, like a puppy denied a treat. He positions you on your hands and knees, yanking the blanket away, exposing your cum-glazed pussy and your newly thickened ass in all its heart-shaped glory. More photos. Your face turned back toward the camera, mouth open, tongue out, eyes vacant and glassy. Your braid draped over one shoulder like a leash waiting to be grabbed.

"These are going in the group chat," Derek says, grinning as he sends the photos. "Told 'em noon but Jake's already asking if he can come early."

You barely register his words. Your fingers have found your clit again, rubbing in slow circles, your hips rocking back against nothing. The warm voice purrs inside your skull: Good girl. Empty head. Wet pussy. That's all you need.

Then—footsteps. Heavy. Coming up the stairs.

Derek's head snaps toward the door. "Shit—" He grabs the blanket and throws it over you just as the door swings open.

Your father, Robert Blackwood, stands in the doorway. He's a tall man, broad-shouldered, still in his Sunday-best khakis and button-down from church men's group. Gray at the temples, reading glasses pushed up on his forehead. His eyes sweep the room—land on Derek standing beside the bed, on the lump of blanket that is you—and his brow furrows slightly.

"Derek, I forgot my Bible study notebook," Robert says, striding to the desk and rifling through papers. "Your mother move my stuff again?"

"Uh—yeah, probably, Dad. Check the drawer."

Robert pulls open a drawer, finds what he's looking for, and tucks it under his arm. His gaze drifts to the bed—to the blanket covering you—and lingers for half a second. The curse pulses. You feel it working on him, softening his suspicion, redirecting his attention.

"Who's under there?" he asks, but his voice lacks its usual sharpness.

"Evan's friend. Raven. She crashed here last night—wasn't feeling well."

"Mm." Robert nods slowly, like that explanation is perfectly reasonable despite the obvious red flags. "Well, tell Evan he needs to mow the lawn today. I'll be back around five from the charity auction setup."

"Will do, Dad."

Robert leaves without another glance. The door clicks shut. His heavy footsteps recede down the stairs, and thirty seconds later you hear the front door open and close, his car starting in the driveway.

Derek exhales. "That was close. But also—" He holds up his phone, showing you the screen. The group chat is blowing up. Messages from 'JakeM' and 'MarcoD' and a new name—'TyrellW'—all reacting to the photos with a cascade of fire emojis and explicit promises of what they're going to do to you.

"Tyrell says he's gonna 'wreck that pussy so bad she forgets her own name,'" Derek reads aloud, chuckling. "Jake says he's bringing condoms but honestly? I think we all know those aren't gonna stay on once they get a look at this body."

He reaches down and cups your chin, tilting your vacant face up to meet his eyes. "You understand what's happening, baby? Three more guys are coming over to fuck you. And you're just gonna let them, aren't you?"

Your mouth opens. No words come out. Just a soft, dreamy moan as your fingers keep working your clit.