“Shut the fuck up you dirty slut”
Pamela was screaming at the top of her lungs on a Saturday morning by 7:00am. She was going to wake the whole street up. Well there was nothing she could do about it. She was bound hands and feet with her ass in the air like a thanksgiving turkey while getting stuffed with Richard’s enormous dick.
“Shut the fuck up or I’m gonna spank you”
“Y-yes daddy”. The words barely left her lips when Richard pulled out his dick and slapped her so hard on her clit.
“arhhh”, she let out a shrill cry. He didn’t let her finish, he forcefully slid it back again.
“That’s it”, Richard growled, “Take it like a good little slut”. He made clear his dominance.
“Fuck me daddy, fuck me hard”.
His veined dick was so thick she could feel her tight, wet pussy stretch with every thrust; her inner walls greedily clinging to his dick as if begging for more. Her body was on fire, but not the bad kind.
Every inch of her screamed of sensitive submission. She could feel the thick ridge of his cockhead rubbing against her clit, hitting it just right with every stroke.
“fuck-fuck-daddy, yes!” she sobbed, her voice breaking as he angled her hips higher, driving into her even harder.
Richard leaned over her, his breath hot against her ear. “You love this, don’t you? Being my filthy little fucktoy?” his teeth grazed her earlobe before biting down, just enough to make her cry out.
“Y-yes, Daddy! I’m yours-ah!-I belong to you!”
His hand slid down her trembling belly, fingers finding her swollen clit again. He circled it slowly, tauntingly, before delivering another sharp slap. Pamela jerked against her restraints, her pussy clenching around him in a sudden violent spasm.
He flipped her to the side like a raw sandwich, like a dirty fucking whore. He stretched his hand and pulled out a bottle of lube from under the bed.
“What’s that for, daddy”
He said nothing, quietly removing the cap and emptying the entire bottle on her ass.
“Daddy, what are you doing”?
He spread open her ass, and gently began rubbing it with his thumb. He then pressed his thumb firmly into her asshole, and began sliding it, in and out, and then without warning, he stuck his dick in her ass.
“ffffuck”, she screamed. This time, she was sure she’d woken a few neighbors up. It was painful, but yes, Pamela loved pain.
One large hand gripped the base of her bound wrist, yanking his cock deeper into her asshole.. The other hand found her nipple, pinching and twisting until she gasped, her back arching in desperate submission. Occasionally, his balls would slap her clit and she’d shriek in both pleasure and pain
Slowly the hole widened and widened till it gave way. She could feel his dick up in her belly. She could feel his cap going in and out of her asshole. She could feel every vein on his humongous dick.
As though she hadn’t had enough, he picked up the extra-large dildo from under the bed and pushed it into her pussy.
That one did the trick.
“Daddy, I’m cuming, I’m cuming”.
“That’s it,” he snarled, “cum for me, you dirty slot. Let me feel you milk my cock”
He intensified everything, the rhythm of his waist, the movement of his hand. Pamela’s holes were stretched to their limit. She was there, she could see the light. But just as it was about to happen, there was a knock on the door.
Richard froze in his tracks. “Shit, shit. Not now. Not fucking now”
“What’s wrong?” Pamela asked barely able to talk, with sweat dripping from her head to toe. “Who’s at the door?”
“THAT’S MY FUCKING WIFE!”
Pamela hadn’t been home in months. The bus ride out of the city felt like stepping back into a softer world, the kind of place where the air smelled of cut grass and the only noise at night was the hum of crickets. Her forehead rested against the cool glass as the fields blurred past, and for the first time in weeks, her chest loosened. No secrets here, no lies. Just her family.When the bus finally pulled into the little station near her neighborhood, she felt her heart stir with something almost childlike. She slung her bag over her shoulder, tugged her cardigan tighter against the evening breeze, and started the familiar walk down the old winding road.The Hartman house stood just where it always had, painted cream with the same navy-blue shutters her mother insisted gave it “character.” The front garden was alive with roses and sunflowers, lovingly tended by her mum, and there was the faint smell of pot roast drifting from the kitchen window. Pamela paused at the gate, letting the
The morning sun sliced through the city, painting the streets in hues of gold and amber as Richard’s car hummed along the quiet roads. Pamela sat in the front passenger seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her fingers tracing the faint red marks still lingering on her wrists from the night before. The weight of what had happened—the blood, the body, the nearness of death—pressed heavily on her chest, but Richard’s hand on her thigh, warm and steady, anchored her to the moment. In the backseat, Sophia leaned against the window, her bruise-darkened cheek a stark reminder of the violence they’d barely escaped. The safe house had been a temporary refuge, a cocoon of quiet where they’d clung to each other through the night. But now, as Richard pulled up to their apartment building, the real world loomed like a storm on the horizon. Pamela’s heart thudded as she glanced at him, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on the road ahead. She could feel the shift in him—a hardening, a resolv
Richard's jaw locked, his fingers wrapping around the gun as if holding on to the hurricane she stirred in him. He put the gun on the side table with a soft clinking, his eyes never leaving hers. "Pamela," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips, loaded with love and fear. "Even after tonight, you don't realize what you're demanding? It isn't safe. I'm not safe." She closed the distance between them, her heart pounding, her body drawn to him like a moth to flame. “I don’t care,” she said, her voice fierce. “I’m not afraid of you, Richard. I’m not afraid of this." She pulled his hand to her, her fingers shaking as they brushed against his, heated and rough from the violence of the night. "Please, Daddy. Don't shove me away." His breath stilled, and for a moment, she saw the struggle in his eyes—the desire to protect her competing with the desire that was hers as well. Then, with a low growl, he changed his mind, scooping her into his lap with one smooth motion. She perched on him,
The door clicked shut behind Ivan and his men. Pamela’s fingers brushed Sophia’s forehead, smoothing back a stray curl, her touch light but trembling. “You’re okay, Soph,” she whispered, her voice cracking with relief and guilt. “You’re gonna be okay.” She wanted to believe it, needed to.A soft groan broke the silence, and Sophia’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused. “Pam?” Her voice was thick, slurred with pain and confusion, her hand lifting weakly to touch her bruised cheek. “What… what happened? Where am I?”Pamela’s heart lurched, relief flooding her as she squeezed Sophia’s hand. “You’re safe, Soph. You’re in the apartment. There was… someone here, but he’s gone now. Richard took care of it.” Her voice wavered, the weight of the night pressing down on her, but she forced a small smile, trying to anchor her friend. “You’re okay.”Sophia’s eyes darted around the room, widening as they landed on the spot where Nash’s body had been, now just a gleaming patch of hardwood. “The
The tallest one, the leader, had a grizzled jaw and eyes like chipped obsidian, sharp and unyielding. His name, Pamela would later learn, was Ivan. He carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who’d seen too much to be rattled by a single body. The other two followed his lead, wordless, their duffel bags clinking softly with the tools of their trade—chemicals, brushes, and plastic sheets that crinkled ominously as they set them down. Ivan nodded, his lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. “Of course, Viktor” He gestured to his men, who moved with eerie precision. One of them, a stocky man with a shaved head and a scar snaking down his neck, unrolled a heavy plastic sheet and spread it beside the body. The other, leaner, with a faint limp, pulled out a bottle of industrial-grade cleaner and a stack of rags from his duffel. They worked in silence, their movements swift and methodical, as if erasing a human life was just another Tuesday. Pamela watched, her stomach churning
“Pamela,” Richard’s voice broke, raw and desperate, as he let the knife fall with a dull clatter and dropped to his knees beside her. His hands, rough but so gentle, cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaming down her cheeks—tears she hadn’t even noticed. “Sweet thing, are you okay? Please, talk to me.”Her throat burned, each word a struggle as she rasped, “I’m… okay.” The lie felt heavy, her body still trembling from the terror, her skin crawling where the attacker’s blood had splattered across her arms, her chest, her face. She looked down at herself, her thin pajama tank top soaked red, clinging to her like a second skin, and a sob caught in her chest. “His blood… it’s everywhere, Richard.”His eyes softened, but behind them churned a mix of fury and guilt that made her heart ache. He pulled her into his arms, his warmth a lifeline in the chaos, his heartbeat a steady anchor against her cheek. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his lips brushing her forehead, his v