She's had enough, but Manton is not done.

"You leave my daughter out of this Mr. Manton." I probably should have just hung up on the man. It seems that every time I speak, that smug bastard learns more and more about what makes me tick. "I'm hanging up now." I tell him. "If I decide to sell the diary to you I'll let you know. But if you mess with my friends or family, I'll burn the damn book!"

I had the satisfaction of hanging up on the racist pig and for about three minutes felt I was back in control of my life. When my phone 'pinged' I had actually started planning out my day here in Charleston and was no longer thinking about Manton. That all changed when I glanced at the text I received and saw a picture of my daughter in a way that I never thought I'd ever see her.

I knew my girl was sexually active. We never really talked about it, not even when she asked me to go on the pill her senior year of high school. I took her to the gynecologist myself and insisted that she get checked for STD's while she was there, but still could not bring myself to talk about her sex life. At the time I told myself I was just doing what any 21st century mother would do for her daughter, but deep inside I know I was doing whatever it took to keep Aniya from getting knocked up like I did when I was just a little older than her at the time.

In spite of all that, I wasn't ready to see my baby riding that big black cock with that expression on her face. I couldn't tell who the man was, but it was undoubtably one of Aniya's ever changing bad-boy boyfriends. Almost s disturbing as the picture itself was the knowledge that someone had been in the room taking the picture while she was getting reamed like that.

The picture came with a short text: 'I bet she'd look even better riding a big white cock.'

I slammed the phone down so hard I'm surprised I didn't crack the screen. There was no doubt in my mind that this was my daughter, not some deep fake. How did Manton find that? How the fuck did Aniya let that picture get taken?! I felt anger, shame, guilt, humiliation, hatred and frustration wash over me in waves, one emotion after the next sometimes in combinations and sometimes accompanied by other emotions that I can't even identify.

When my phone rang, I let it go right to messages and only checked the number after it stopped. When I saw the number my jaw tightened, and I felt my blood pressure spike.