Shit Eating Grin

I gripped the table as his cock pressed against my entrance. “Please…” I moaned, arching my back. He leaned in, lips brushing my earlobe. “Beg me to fuck your pussy until you can’t walk.” “Please…Mr Hayes!“ He didn’t wait. Christian thrust in deep, almost hitting my womb. “Shit… yes. Fuck me harder.” He slowed. “That’s not what you call me when you’re begging like this.” My pussy clenched around him, hating how much I loved the correction. “What should I call you then?” His next thrust was hard. I gasped. “It’s Daddy to you, Liv.” “Daddy?” I slurred. “But… that’s what Jenna calls you.” His grip on my waist tightened. “She isn't the only one allowed to, so whenever I'm fucking this pussy you call me Daddy. Understood?!” “Fu..fuckk yes daddyy” Lord forgive me. I wasn't drowning in sin anymore. I was choosing it. ~~~ Olivia Bennett always dreamed of a Christmas wedding. After seven years, her boyfriend finally proposes—and what could be a better wedding date than Christmas Day? Everything perfect… until she catches him cheating with his secretary, just NINETY days before “I do.” Heartbroken, Olivia accepts her best friend’s offer of an all-expenses-paid holiday getaway. But one vulnerable night, fueled by heartbreak and alcohol, pulls her into the arms of a man she should never have touched… Christian Hayes. Her best friend’s Billionaire father. What should’ve been a single mistake becomes something she can’t forget, escalating to a forbidden affair. But all that comes crashing down when Jenna, her bestfriend discovers their engagement and vows to destroy it, Olivia must decide if loving Christian is worth the cost. As Christmas approaches only Jenna can give them her blessing or destroy their chance at happiness.

I was in a car accident while saving my brothers. However, instead of gratitude, they urged the doctors to amputate my legs. "Carol, we're sorry," they said through tears. "We're useless… but don't worry. Even if we have to sell our blood or our kidneys, we'll make sure you're taken care of." Right after surgery, they abandoned me in a shabby apartment. Blood seeped through the sheets as they looked at me with teary eyes—then left in a hurry, claiming they needed to earn money for my treatment. I did not want to drag them down anymore. Enduring the pain, I crawled to the rooftop of a tall building, planning to end my life. That's when I saw it—inside a luxury hotel, a grand celebration was taking place. My brothers were there doting on another girl. She was eating an extravagant cake I had never even dreamed of, wearing a designer princess gown worth a fortune, sparkling with jewels. Everyone called her the Smith family's one and only princess. They had even hired a world-class symphony orchestra to play Happy Birthday just for her. While I lay bleeding in a dingy apartment, they would not spend a few dollars on bandages for me. I watched as my eldest brother gently fed her cake, his eyes full of tenderness. "Jasmine, only you deserve to be our one and only little sister." The second brother placed a tiara on her head with care. "Even for the smallest birthday, we won't let you suffer a single moment of disappointment." The third knelt to help her into a pair of crystal shoes. "Jasmine, you're our most precious darling." Then, standing on the stage, Jasmine held up the black credit card they had gifted her and smiled sweetly. "Brothers," she said, "Carol lost her legs saving you. Maybe you should go see how she's doing?" My eldest brother let out a mocking laugh. "She's not worth it. Now that she's crippled, she'll never be able to compete with you again. She got what she deserved."

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.