Daddy, Fucked On Camera 💥🎥 (3 days break)

I froze. My heart dropped into my stomach, then started pounding against my ribs so hard I could barely breathe. The screen was still glowing, showing the end of the scene. I looked at the darkness near the stairs, then back at Vaughan.

"I... I just came down to get a glass of water," I lied—a very cheap, stupid lie, because how do I pass the kitchen and step underground into this place just to get water? "I thought you were asleep. I didn't see anyone."

Vaughan didn't move. He just stood there in the dim red light, his chest bare and solid as rock.

Fuck!

Who knows if he had been there the whole time? What if he had watched me watch them? What if he had watched me touch myself and had heard every single moan I let out? The stream of thoughts made my skin crawl with a mix of terror and a weird, forbidden heat.

"Angel," he called with a voice that sounded flat. No anger, no warmth. Just cold. "Go to your room. Now."

"Please," I whispered, stepping toward him. My hands reached out before I looked at them; my fingers were coated with my juice and wetness—an evident sign of my sin. I withdrew my hand back to myself. "Please don't tell Mom. Please, Daddy. Please. She'll... she’ll hate me. Please, Daddy, don't tell her, please."

He didn't blink; his eyes remained steady, retaining their cold gaze. He didn't say anything about what I was doing, not even the fact that I had moaned his name and he had possibly heard it.

"I said, go to bed," he repeated.

At that point, I knew I didn't need to delay. I bolted past him, my feet hitting the stairs hard—I knew I would probably bleed from that, but I didn't stop. I ran straight into my room and slammed the door, locking it.

My hand went to my chest, clutching myself.

What have I done?

What was wrong with me? I knew it wasn't my first time going in there, but it was the first time I was getting caught. And... would he tell Mom? What if he did? Mom would kill me if she knew I went there. If she knew I moaned her husband's name. I would be finished—that's for sure.

That night, I barely slept.

And then, the morning came. I felt sick. That kind of sickness that comes to you when you're guilty, that makes you feel nauseous, hot, and gives you a headache all at once.

I put on my school clothes, my eyes avoiding the mirror because I looked sleep-deprived.

When I finally walked into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee hit me. I saw him: Vaughan.

He was sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone. My mom was bustling around, packing her bag.

“Good morning, Mommy,” I greeted. Not looking at Vaughan, and my heart beating, I murmured, “Good morning, Daddy.”

“Angel,” he responded flatly, eyes still glued to his phone. Who knows? He may still be angry.

"Morning, honey," my mom responded, smiling. "I'm heading out for that three-day trip. You’ve got everything you need?"

True. I had forgotten that Mom was going on her work trip.

"Yes, Mom," I said, my voice sounding small. I kept my head down, my gaze fixed on the table. Vaughan looked up. His eyes locked onto mine. There was nothing in them—no hint of last night.

"Angel, are you ready? I can drop you at school," Mom offered.

"Actually, she can drive herself," Vaughan said, his voice calm. His gaze shifted to his wife. "You've got to get to the airport, sweetheart. You don’t want to be late."

“Alright, honey, you take care of yourself. Be a good girl, Angel.” She planted a kiss on my cheek, moved over to Vaughan, and they kissed before she was gone.

After she left, the air became tight. The house went quiet. Too quiet. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, my heart finally slowing down. Maybe it was over. Maybe he’d just let it go, seeing it as a childish mistake and curiosity. Still, I needed to leave this house because my sin looked like it was wrapped on my skin.

Then, just before I reached the door, "Where do you think you’re going?" Vaughan’s voice stopped me cold in my tracks.

I turned my head towards him. He was still sitting at the table, sipping his coffee like it was a normal Tuesday.

"School," I said, my voice firm.

He laughed softly. "School? There’s no school for you, Angel. Not today. Not for the next three days."

I turned around, brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

He held up a set of keys—my car keys. He dropped them on the table with a heavy clink. "Your car is officially off-limits. I’ve had it towed to the shop for ‘maintenance.’ You aren't leaving this house."

My stomach turned. "You can't do that, Daddy. I have a life. I have classes. I have an excursion today."

He pulled out my credit card. How did he get that? Before I could blink, he snapped it in half. "Your accounts? Frozen. Every last one of them.” He dropped the broken card on the table. “You’re grounded, Angel. You’re going to spend the next three days within these four walls."

"This is crazy!" I flared, my face heating up. I walked toward him, not caring if I was being loud. "You can’t just lock me up because I snuck into your little secret room! You have all of that going on inside this house—did you really think I wouldn't eventually check it out? What did you expect?"

He stood up slowly. He was much taller than me, making me look like an ant in front of an elephant. He didn't look angry; he looked like someone that had finally caught their prey.

"Check it out?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low growl. "You didn't just check it out. You participated. I heard you, Angel. Every breath. Every time you whispered my name while you were rubbing yourself to my work."

Guilt, hot and suffocating, washed over me. I tried to look away, but he was already there. In front of me. He reached out and grabbed my chin, his thumb pressing firmly into my skin, forcing me to look up into his dark eyes.

"You wanted to watch, didn't you?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You wanted the show. That, I’ll give you: the leverage. But not on a screen. You’re going to watch it live. Raw. Unfiltered. You will stay in this house, work in my studio, until your mother is back."

Then, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"If I see your hands anywhere near yourself, if I catch you rubbing even an inch of skin, for the next three days, bid your car, your money, and your status in this house goodbye. Do you understand me?"

My breath hitched. "Daddy..."

The doorbell rang, sharp and loud, echoing through the walls of the house.

He let go of my chin and straightened his shirt. He looked at the door, then back at me. A cold, hard, tiny, almost unnoticeable smirk formed on his lips.

"Go change," he ordered. "We have a client arriving. And Angel? Try not to look so disappointed."