The Provocation

I struggled out of bed, my muscles aching from the violence 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 raped 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 force 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 force myself not to throw up.

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

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 forced 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 forced 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 forced 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 forced to take your daughter's shit, it's just a return of politeness.