LOGINMary had been testing Daddy all week.At 21, she knew exactly what she was doing — wearing the shortest sundresses with no panties underneath, “forgetting” to call him when she got home late, and sending him teasing texts with pictures of her bare thighs and the little pout on her lips. She craved the moment he would finally snap.Tonight, she pushed him too far.She came home to their luxurious apartment well after midnight, the city lights sparkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Daddy — Luke, her 42-year-old guardian and the man who had taken complete control of her life six months ago — was waiting in the living room. He sat on the wide leather couch in nothing but black sweatpants, his powerful chest bare, muscular arms resting on his thighs. His dark eyes burned with a mixture of anger and raw hunger when she walked in.“Mary,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Where have you been?”She dropped her purse and kicked off her heels, trying to sound casual even as her pussy
Ella had always noticed Mr. Kane watching her.At 21, she spent most summer days lounging in her parents’ backyard in tiny denim shorts and cropped tops, knowing the 44-year-old widower next door could see her from his upstairs window. Mr. Kane — tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair, strong hands, and a quiet intensity — had moved in six months ago after losing his wife. He rarely spoke, but his dark eyes followed her every time she was outside.Tonight, her parents were away for the weekend. Ella had “accidentally” left her bedroom curtains open while she changed into a thin white tank top and pink lace panties. She danced around her room to music, bending over slowly, knowing he was probably watching.A sharp knock on the front door made her jump.She padded downstairs and opened it. There stood Mr. Kane in a tight black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his muscular arms crossed, jaw clenched.“Ella,” he said, voice low and rough. “We need to talk.”Before she could respond
Joyce woke to the feeling of strong hands on her body.The massive bed in Matteo Rossi’s master suite was still warm from the night before. Sunlight filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting golden stripes across her naked skin. Her ass still throbbed faintly from the spanking, and between her thighs she felt deliciously sore and sticky with her new husband’s cum.Matteo lay behind her, his powerful chest pressed to her back, one tattooed arm draped possessively over her waist. His thick cock was already hard again, nestled against the curve of her ass.“Morning, moglie mia,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and fresh hunger. His hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple until it tightened. “Did you sleep well knowing you belong to the Don now?”Joyce shivered, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly. “I… yes, Don.”He chuckled darkly and rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. At 41, Matteo was all hard muscle and controlled power. His e
Joyce had known this day would come since she was sixteen.Her family owed a massive debt to the most powerful mafia family in the city—the Rossi syndicate. Tonight, at 22, she stood in the lavish marble foyer of Don Matteo Rossi’s sprawling estate, dressed in a simple white silk slip dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. It was supposed to be her wedding night.Matteo Rossi, the 41-year-old Don, was terrifyingly beautiful. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp Italian features, dark wavy hair, and cold emerald eyes that saw through every lie. He ruled with ruthless efficiency and an iron will. No one refused him.The ceremony had been short, cold, and binding. Now the guests were gone, and Joyce was alone with her new husband in his private wing.“You look like you’re about to run, little bride,” Matteo said, his deep, accented voice echoing softly as he poured two glasses of expensive whiskey. He handed her one, but she didn’t drink.“I didn’t choose this,” Joyce whispered
Becky’s heart hammered so hard she was sure Victor could hear it.She stared up at him from the couch, her sheer white panties still pulled down just below her hips, her smooth, glistening pussy completely exposed under his burning gaze. Her nipples were tight peaks, her skin flushed pink with a mixture of shame and unbearable arousal.Victor stood over her like a king, suit shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. His dark eyes never left her dripping core.“I said, get on your knees. Now.”The command in his voice sent a fresh gush of wetness between her thighs. Becky hesitated for only a second before sliding off the couch and dropping to her knees on the thick Persian rug. The position made her feel small. Vulnerable. Achingly turned on.Victor stepped closer until the bulge in his expensive trousers was level with her face. She could see how hard he was—thick and straining against the fabric.“Look at me,” he ordered.She lifted her eyes. His
Becky Voss knew she was pushing it tonight.The penthouse was supposed to be empty until tomorrow. Victor Kane, her wealthy, overbearing guardian, was still in London on business. Or so she thought.She’d kicked off her tiny black dress the second she walked through the door, leaving it in a heap by the marble foyer. Now she lay sprawled across the massive leather couch in the living room wearing nothing but a pair of sheer white lace panties and thigh-high stockings. The city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over her bare skin.A soft moan slipped from her lips as she slid two fingers beneath the lace, circling her swollen clit. On the large TV mounted on the wall, the video played loud enough for her to hear every filthy word.“Daddy’s little girl has been so bad today,” the deep male voice growled from the screen. “Look at that wet pussy dripping for punishment.”Becky’s back arched, her free hand squeezing one of her full, perky breasts. H
The pullback came quietly, like smoke drifting from a dying fire.Business surged—new contracts, site deadlines, endless meetings. Her father was home more often, his laughter filling the house again, his questions about her day sharper now that he wasn’t always distracted. The men still came aroun
The end came with a single, careless text.Jake had borrowed Amanda’s phone to order pizza—his battery dead, hers right there on the coffee table. He swiped open the messages without thinking. The thread with “Dad” was near the top. Nothing graphic. Just the last one, sent two nights earlier after
Lila stepped out onto the wide back deck with a tray of marinated steaks, the late-June sun still brutal even as it dipped toward the horizon. The barbecue was in full swing—smoke curling from the grill, classic rock thumping from the outdoor speakers, laughter rolling across the lawn like thunder.
A week crawled by in agonizing slow motion.Lila replayed the patio every night—Victor’s fingers curling inside her, Damien’s teeth on her neck, Reid’s mouth swallowing her moans. She woke up soaked, thighs pressed together, fingers already between her legs before she was fully conscious. She avoid







