Betrayal and horror have her mouth opening and closing, desperate to voice the words of injustice undoubtedly hanging right at the tip of her tongue.
“Sixteen,” he says.
She shoots forward, out of my grip, digging into her bowl so fast she gets sauce on her cheek. Grinning, I lean my elbows on my knees, wanting to see every detail of the humiliating debacle she’s creating, all on her own.
Dad leans down to caress the back of her head. “Don’t worry. We’ll let you eat in peace. No more strikes until you’re done.” He rests his hand on her head—again, deceptively gentle. Puttingweight into his fingertips, he dips her forehead into the bowl, eliciting a sharp whimper from her.
He looks at me, and we share an amused smile. A feral twitch draws over his face when he refocuses on Jenna and wraps his hand around her ponytail.
She squeals when he lifts her head, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Seventeen,” he declares.
Utter, desperate humiliation tightens her whole expression as she peels her eyes open and blinks from Dad to me. Sauce is smeared across her left cheek, dotting her nose, and painting her forehead. Her lips shudder, the muscles around her eyes twitching, tears beading at the corners. She’s so damn beautiful.
Again, the urge to kiss and caress her awakens—along with an urge to drive her deeper, shooting my cum all over her face. But as much as the urge to come all over her tugs at my balls, I don’t want to destroy her like that. Because I know it would. She’s right at the cusp, about to break.
Dad sees it as well. He grabs a napkin and gently wipes her cheek, her nose, and her forehead. “Such a mess you’ve made,” he says in a gentle tone.
I just watch for a moment, marveling at that contradictory combination of praise and degradation that he seems to love. I’m surprised to realize just how enticing I find it. On impulse, I lick the pad of my thumb and wipe it down the side of her mouth. “Such a pretty little dog can’t help it.”
Her eyes keep flickering between us, not daring to look away, but also not daring to linger. But when I say those words, they soften and halt on me. It’s just for a beat, but the surprise in there—the vulnerability—makes me want to keep stroking and praising. But I leave that to Dad.
“Can you be a good little dog and lean down and eat the rest of your food?” he asks. Upon her nod, he adds, “I want to seehow grateful you are for getting your own bowl. Now, how does a dog show gratitude?” He directs the question at me.
“She wags her tail very eagerly,” I say with a grin.
“It’s a shame she doesn’t have a tail,” Dad says, turning to her. She’s shaking her head again, panic wide in her eyes. “Since you’re so eager to get back to eating, we’ll have to wait until next time.Ifyou can be good and show us just how grateful you are.”
Her eyes fall shut on a deep, shuddery breath, remaining closed. Dad gives me a brief shake of his head, and it takes me a moment to realize what he means. I hadn’t even thought about punishing her for the small slip—hiding behind closed eyes. I agree with him. She deserves the small reprieve and a second to gather herself. Because what she does next is utterly beautiful. With controlled movement, she slowly leans forward and dips her tongue into the bowl. And then her hips start working. At first, it’s just small movements, but then it grows into full-on happy wriggling. Her groans and whimpers reveal she’s not as happy as she seems. She’s deep in the muck, and she’s hyper-aware of every tiny flicker of degradation.
I’m not sure if it’s the sadist in me or the part that wants to make sure she’s okay that has me moving to crouch behind her and push her panties aside beneath her skirt. It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and I’m enjoying every second as I slowly slide a long digit inside her pussy, hearing her groans deepen and turning into moans.
“Is she wet?” Dad asks.
With a small headshake, I let out a clipped laugh. “You won’t believe how wet she is.”
He comes to sit at my side, and I pull out to let him insert a finger.
“Jenna,” he says in a low, stern tone that makes her pause. “You’re embarrassingly wet. Like a dog in heat begging to be fucked.”
Keeping his finger seated deep inside her, he reaches for the lube and the glove on the table and hands them to me. A flicker of hesitation goes through my mind at the sight of his finger already inside her. But it’s just that—a flicker. Because I truly don’t care about right or wrong or what anyone else would think. All I care about is right here and now. My dad, who has taught me all I know and made me into the pianist and the Dominant I’m proud to have become, and the pathetic, helpless girl that is not pathetic at all but beautiful and brave in her reckless, trusting submission. The connection all three of us share, bound together in this messed-up show of immorality, is somehow exactly what all of us need.
I’m never going to admit that out loud, and I don’t want to linger on it, so I focus on the degradation I’m about to deliver instead. The act that will bring us all a step deeper into depravity.
41
The Tally
Jenna
“Keep eating,” Ian demands, moving his finger inside me.
A long, keening whimper draws through my throat. I claw at my palms and bite my lips. Humiliation runs red-hot through my veins and sinks into every fiber of my body. I want to disappear, but not away from it all; I want to disappear into the sensations—into their control. I want to be nothing. Justtheirs. So I keep eating even as I wriggle uncontrollably against Ian’s finger, sensation bursting at my core. He’s left me wanting for so long, and just that one finger drives me mad with the need for more.
But when I hear the squeaky sound of a latex glove, the growing acceptance snaps, and I forget about the desire. I know exactly what that means, and it’s more than I can bear in my already deeply degraded state. Squealing with the full force of my desperation, I whip my head from side to side, straining in the precarious position suspended over the bowl. My muscles ache, begging me to let go and just drop my head into the bowl. But I can’t do it; I can’t dehumanize myself even further. Theurgency builds and builds as I just hover there, caught in their devastating control, forced to take another humiliation.
A lid pops—a foreboding omen that has me holding my breath. When a drop of lube lands between my ass cheeks, my control snaps.