The Provocation

I struggled out of bed, my muscles aching from the **** of our embrace. My legs were shaking under me, but I managed to stay upright, leaning on the bed so as not to fall. I could still feel my "father's" thrusts resonating inside me, and my sex was throbbing with pain and pleasure. His sperm was running down my thigh. I took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together, and headed to the bathroom to wash myself.

I took the perverted lolita clothes planned in the scenario after washing myself, indeed I would never have worn that normally without wanting to have him **** at the first intersection, I was 10 minutes late.

I went down the stairs, my high heels clicking on the steps, and entered the kitchen. I came across a muscular bust.

• you call that dressed and with 10 minutes late you're making fun of me?

provocatively

• yes it's not difficult

He moved closer to me, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with anger. I could feel his hot breath on my skin, and my heart was beating faster. He reached out and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye.

• You're going to make me regret leaving you without discipline, you little bitch, he said, his voice low and menacing.

I could feel his hand shaking with anger, and I knew he was going to explode more than a little effort to get there

• Pff 5 minutes of pleasure and we think we're the master.

I took my most brazen and arrogant tone.

He grabbed my blouse and ripped it off in one go, revealing my bare chest, by reflex I tried to cover my chest.

• you're going to get naked little bitch rather that than your whore outfit

his voice rising in anger, seeing that I didn't react.

• since you don't understand my instructions

He took my daisy shorts and pulled them down in one go revealing that I had no panties.

• I see that you have no modesty, on your knees go eat the bowl that I prepared for you the first minute of delay, he said pointing to a dog bowl placed on the floor

I felt my cheeks burn with shame and anger as I knelt on the cold kitchen floor. I looked at the bowl placed in front of me, a metal bowl filled with a viscous and brownish substance. The smell was nauseating, and I felt my stomach turn.

I looked up at him, who was looking at me with an air of sadistic satisfaction.

• give me an excuse to **** you to eat your mixture.

I felt my eyes burn with tears of shame. I looked at the bowl in disgust, trying to understand what he wanted from me. The viscous, brownish substance seemed to move slightly, as if it were alive. I felt my stomach turn again, and I had to **** myself not to throw up.

• I'll give you 10 minutes to eat then I'll use ****.

I felt my eyes burn with tears of shame and anger as I stared at the bowl, unable to move or speak. The 10 minutes were going to pass quickly, and I knew I had to find an excuse, any excuse, to avoid eating this viscous, brownish substance. I looked up at him, who was still looking at me with a look of sadistic satisfaction, and I saw something in his gaze that made me shudder.

• I... I can't, I finally said, my voice barely audible.

you wanted it, he tied me to a chair so that I wouldn't move, he took a mouth spreader and **** me to open my mouth.

• no dad sorry, please no not that.
• since your mother died your words are shit you're going to eat it like you **** me to take your insults for years.

without listening he took the bowl put it on the table pulled my hair back and took a spoon of the mixture that he poured into my mouth.

He poured a second spoon of the mixture into my mouth, and I felt its bitter and nauseating taste invade my throat. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on something else, but the sensation was too strong. I felt tears running down my cheeks, and I began to suffocate.

"Dad, please stop, I'm going to throw up" I begged, but my voice was muffled by the mouth spreader. I definitely liked this role, it **** me to surpass myself in my interpretation but also within certain limits, including food that I would never have thought would disgust me to this point.

• No problem, I'll make you swallow it too.

I felt the viscous, brownish mixture going down my throat, and I began to panic. My eyes were closed, but I opened them abruptly to beg my "father" to stop. He was looking at me with an air of sadistic satisfaction, his face a few centimeters from mine. I saw the wrinkles on his forehead, the hairs of his beard, and the lips that seemed to curve into a vengeful smile, clearly he had endured too much to crack to this point.

• down to the smallest crumb.

He held the spoon over my mouth, ready to pour another spoonful. I could feel the hot, viscous mixture in my throat, and I struggled to try to free myself. My eyes filled with tears, and I could feel my throat closing more and more.

He poured more mixture into my mouth, I felt my stomach revolt. I began to suffocate, and I felt spasms of nausea run through my body. Spoon after spoon, he emptied the bowl.

• You know what it feels like to be **** to take your daughter's shit, it's just a return of politeness.