YOURS, DADDIES
Like they were trying to prove something—prove their ownership of me, prove I belonged to them, prove I'd take whatever they wanted to give me.
Marcus had started, bending me over the arm of the couch and fucking me so hard the furniture scraped across the floor with each thrust. His hand had fisted in my hair, yanking my head back.
"Whose pussy is this?" he'd growled.
"Yours, Daddy," I'd gasped.
"Say it louder."
"Yours! It's yours, Daddy, please—"
David had been watching from the chair, stroking himself slowly. "Good girl. Now open that pretty mouth. You're going to thank Daddy properly for using you."