Damie’s Pen
If the idea of the men who should have protected you instead holding you down and taking what they want still makes you flinch, close this now. Find something softer. But if your body already answers—if a stepfather’s hand on your throat, an uncle’s cock splitting you open, a stepbrother’s weight pinning you makes you wet—then stay.
The first stories are about girls. Innocent. Mouthy. Curious. Already wet and pretending they aren’t. Stepfathers who stop pretending when the house goes quiet. Uncles who watched too long. Stepbrothers who lock the door and force every inch while she stays silent. Fathers-in-law. Dad’s friends. Men who raised them, who should have looked away, who instead tell them to be good.
Rough throats. Tight holes forced open. Creampies dripping while someone sleeps nearby. “Daddy’s going to fill you.” “Keep quiet or I’ll do it again.” “This pussy was always going to be mine.” Sneaking. Caught. Used anyway. Blackmail. Training. Breeding talk that ignores how young or scared she sounds.
That is the beginning.
Then the boys on their knees for the same men—stepbrothers, uncles, the stepfather who claims his stepson’s mouth and ass. Then the women: stepmothers pinning daughters, aunts with a strap, sisters who stop pretending. Gay. Lesbian. Straight. Same house. Same risk. Same rule: those who should have kept you safe take you apart.
If being owned by family—the man who raised you, the brother who shared your childhood, the woman who should have been off-limits—makes your cunt clench or cock throb, you already know where you belong.
They are not going to ask. They are already inside.
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