by Addison Cain
With my father as witness, my short skirt was lifted, lace thong pulled down my buttocks to stretch across my spread thighs. And then the blunt end of an extremely hard cock met the dry lips of my sex.
Quickly working himself in, Malcom took my hips and began a slow, steady pace. All the while I stared at the wall, unblinking, even when my father’s red robes slipped from my door.
The snap of the latch, two more thrusts, and Malcom ceased the rock of his hips. “Do you wish for me to stop?”
Nodding my head, I was already sobbing before he drew completely out. Slipping down the table to the floor, too overwrought to be ashamed of such a display, I curled in on myself and cried harder than I had in years.
I wept at the feet of a man I’d never forgive, and let him pet my hair because I lacked the strength to show him just how much I desired his death.
Broken by something so commonplace as penetration, I was every bit the child Malcom endlessly accused me of being.
Crouching so that his weight rested on the balls of his feet, he set his lips to my ear, whispering things I could not hear over the sound of my sobbing. Not a word made sense, just catches of meaningless sound.
But somewhere, somewhere between my gasps and choking, a single string of coherent, unlikely words broke their way through the gibberish muddling my thoughts. “This does not change how much I love you, my darling Jade.”
