The air in the Eden Academy courtyard tasted like expensive perfume and repressed secrets. Anya watched Becky Blackbell twirl, her uniform skirt flaring around thighs that were, Anya now noticed with a clinical sort of lust, actually quite shapely. Becky's mind was a whirl of social calculations and fabric swatches, a buzzing hive of trivialities. Anya let a slow smile creep across her lips, the residual stickiness from yesterday's adventures with Daddy a phantom sensation between her legs.
"Becky," Anya sang, skipping closer. Her voice was sugar-coated mischief.
"Anya! There you are. I was just thinking we simply must convince my father to order the new chiffon line from Paris for our spring luncheons. It's a matter of social survival." Becky's words came in a practiced, dramatic rush.
Anya giggled, a sound that was now layered with knowledge. Ehe. She has no idea. "Forget chiffon. I found something way more fun than stupid luncheons."
Becky paused, her curiosity—a dominant, hungry trait—immediately piqued. "More fun than the limited-edition Cecilehandbag? Impossible."
"It's a secret. A grown-up secret." Anya leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper that made Becky instinctively lean closer too. "It's about a man. A big, strong man who thinks girls like us are… delicious."
Becky's eyes widened. Not with shock, but with a thrilling, scandalized delight. Her mind flashed with images from the romance novels she smuggled under her bed—brooding dukes, passionate embraces. This was better than any novel. This was real, and offered by her sometimes-clueless, always-interesting friend. "A man? Anya, what are you talking about? We can't—we're not—"
"He's safe. He's nice," Anya lied smoothly, painting a picture with her psychic insight into exactly what would appeal. "He just… really appreciates pretty girls. And he has this… thing. He likes to be called Daddy."
The word landed in Becky's mind like a struck match. Daddy. It was taboo, wrong, utterly forbidden. It also sent a completely unexpected, warm jolt right to her core. Her cheeks flushed a deep, telling pink. "D-Daddy? That's… that's so degenerate."
"I know," Anya sighed happily, as if describing a favorite dessert. "It's the best part. He gets all flustered and then… strong. You should see his… peepee. It's huge. Like, monstrously huge." She watched the information detonate behind Becky's eyes. The romance novel fantasies twisted, reshaped by this crude, tantalizing new data. A monstrous peepee. Becky's mouth went slightly dry.
"You've… seen it?" Becky's whisper was barely audible.
"I've done more than see it." Anya's grin was all teeth and promise. "I want to show you. I want us to play with him together. He'd love you. You're so pretty and… bossy. He likes it when we're bossy."
The corruption wasn't a shove; it was a gentle, relentless pull. Becky's moral compass spun, dizzy. This was insane. Dangerous. Potentially ruinous. It was also the most exciting proposition of her entire life. The allure wasn't just the sex—it was the power of the secret, the thrill of being chosen for this dark knowledge, the chance to outdo Anya in a new, illicit arena. Her own dominant nature, usually channeled into social maneuvering, found a new, wetter outlet.
"What… what would I have to do?" Becky asked, her voice gaining a sliver of its usual commanding steel.
"Just be yourself. But… sexier." Anya's eyes glinted. "I'll teach you. Come to my house after lessons. We'll get ready."
The preparation was a ritual. In Anya's room, with the door locked, Yor thankfully absent on a "shopping trip," Anya became a perverse oracle. She produced another tube of Yor's lipstick, a deep, wicked red. "Pucker," she instructed, and Becky obeyed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The slick, cool glide of the color felt like a brand. Anya then rummaged and produced two sets of lingerie she'd pilfered from Yor's drawer—flimsy scraps of black lace and silk.
"Mama won't mind," Anya chirped, though her psychic senses felt a distant pang of Yor's habitual confusion. She pushed it aside.
Becky stared at the garment. It was nothing like her own frilly, innocent underthings. This was a woman's lingerie. Putting it on felt like shedding a skin. The lace hugged her developing curves, the silk cupped her small breasts making them look like offered treats. She looked at herself in Anya's mirror—a stranger with her face, but with knowing eyes and slut-red lips.
"See?" Anya breathed, already in a matching set, her small body looking both childish and indecent. "We look like presents. Daddy's presents."
The walk to the janitor's apartment was a blur of nervous adrenaline for Becky, a joyful pilgrimage for Anya. Becky's mind was a storm of "what am I doing this is madness he's ugly he's a janitor what if someone sees—" but each protest was drowned out by the pounding, curious hunger between her legs, a hunger she'd only ever rubbed against pillows in the dark.
Anya knocked with a familiar rhythm.
The door swung open. The janitor—Daddy—stood there, in a stained undershirt and sweatpants. His eyes, small and deep-set, bulged as they took in the sight: his Anya, and a new one, a posh-looking girl with fiery hair and a terrified, haughty expression, both dressed in laughably adult lingerie barely covered by thin school cardigans.
"Daddy~" Anya cooed, slipping past him. "I brought a friend like you wanted. This is Becky. She wants to play too."
Becky stood frozen on the threshold, her social confidence vaporized by the raw, animal reality of the man. He was big, sloppy, smelling of sweat and cheap soap and something muskier, primal. His eyes devoured her. She saw his sweatpants twitch, a massive, unmistakable ridge forming. Monstrous, Anya's voice echoed in her head. A fresh, soaking heat flooded her lace panties.
"C-Come in," he stammered, his voice a gravelly rumble. He was backing into the dim apartment, a predator momentarily unsure of its luck.
Becky stepped in, the door clicking shut behind her like the seal on a tomb. The apartment was messy, warm, and thick with the scent of sex and man. It was utterly repulsive. It made her pussy clench.
"Well?" Becky heard herself say, the Blackbell hauteur returning as a defense mechanism. She planted a hand on her hip, jutting it out. "Aren't you going to… greet your guest properly?" It was a line from a bad play, but it worked.
A shudder went through the big man. He loved this. The bossy little rich girl act. He dropped to his knees before her, his face level with her stomach. Becky gasped, looking down at the top of his greasy head. He's kneeling. To me.
"H-Hello, Becky," he mumbled, his hands hovering near her thighs. "Y-You're so… so pretty."
"I know," Becky sniffed, her courage solidifying. This was power. "And you're… very big. And smelly." The degradation spilled out, inspired by Anya's stories and her own skyrocketing arousal.
He moaned, a low, pathetic sound, and nuzzled his face against the lace covering her mound. The heat and stubble of his cheek scorched through the fabric. Becky's legs trembled.
"See, Becky?" Anya's voice came from the side. She was already on the bed, kneeling, watching with bright, avid eyes. One of her small hands was slipped inside her own lace panties, rubbing slow circles. Slrk… slrk… The soft, wet sound was obscenely loud. "He loves it when you're mean. Tell him he's a pervert."
Becky's breath hitched. She looked from Anya's pleasuring form to the groveling man. The last of her resistance melted, replaced by a surge of wicked dominance. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back to look at her. "You're a disgusting pervert," she stated, her voice cold and clear. "Aren't you? Getting hard for schoolgirls."
"Y-Yes…!" he wheezed, his eyes glazed. "A disgusting pervert… Daddy's a bad, bad man…"
"Then be bad," Becky commanded, and shoved his face back into her crotch.
The dam broke. With a ragged groan, he mouthed hungrily at her through the lace, his tongue a thick, clumsy pressure against her swollen lips. The fabric grew soaked immediately, plastering itself to her folds, the rasp of lace and his stubble creating a maddening friction. Becky cried out, her head falling back. "Oh! Oh, that's… you animal!"
Anya moaned in sympathy, her fingers moving faster. "Yes, Becky… make Daddy taste you…"
He hooked his thick fingers into the sides of her panties and tore them down her legs with a rough rrrip. Becky yelped, now exposed, her bare pussy gleaming under the dull room light. It was pink and neatly trimmed, her inner lips already puffy and parted, glistening with her own arousal. He didn't hesitate. His mouth latched onto her, his tongue driving straight into her core.
"GLRK! SCHLOP! GLRK!"
The sounds were vulgar, wet, overwhelming. Becky's knees buckled. Her hands flew back to his head, not to push away, but to grind herself against his mouth. "Y-Yes! Right there! Lick it, you filthy—ah! AHNN!"
Anya watched, enthralled. Becky's pussy, being eaten so ravenously. Daddy's big, ugly face buried in that delicate, rich-girl cunt. She pinched her own nipple through the lace, her other hand a frantic piston between her legs. "You look so pretty, Becky… taking Daddy's tongue… he's gonna make you cum…"
Becky was babbling, her degradation and praise mingling into a single stream of filth. "You eat pussy like a… a starving dog! Ngh! Is that all you're good for? Licking… licking where you don't belong? FUCK!"
His only response was to redouble his efforts, sucking her clit into his mouth, nibbling, lashing it with his tongue. The pressure built in Becky with terrifying speed. She'd never been touched like this, never knew a mouth could feel so greedy, so all-consuming. Her hips stuttered, her thighs clamping around his ears.
"I'm… I'm gonna… DADDY!"
Her orgasm ripped through her with a silent scream that burst into a wail. Her body bowed, back arching sharply as a gush of fluid spurted from her, splattering against his chin and nose with a sound like a quick, hot rain. Squirt-squirt-squirt!She flooded his mouth, her cunt clenching rhythmically around nothing.
"Ohhh, she squirted!" Anya squealed, delightedly. "Daddy made Becky squirt!"
Becky collapsed backward, caught by the man's strong arms before she hit the floor. He lowered her gently, his face glistening with her release. He was panting, his cock straining painfully against his sweatpants, a large, dark wet spot at the tip. He looked at Anya, desperate.
"Now, Becky," Anya panted, crawling to the edge of the bed. "Now you get his cock. You have to ask for it. Beg for it."
Becky, dazed and boneless from the climax, looked up at the man standing over her. The tent in his pants was terrifying. Monumental. The size queen conversion was instant and absolute. Any thought of Damien's or any other boy's hypothetical, average-sized penis evaporated. She wanted that. She needed that thickness stretching her open.
"Please…" she whispered, then louder, finding her voice. "Please, Daddy… I need it. I need your big, disgusting cock. Please fuck me with it. I'll be your good girl… your other slut…"
It was all he needed. He fumbled with his waistband, shoving the sweatpants and his boxers down in one jerky motion. His cock sprang free, and Becky audibly gasped.
It was thicker than her wrist, veiny and ruddy, the head a flushed, leaking plum. It curved upwards slightly, and it bobbed with his heartbeat, already dripping strands of clear precum. It was obscene. It was perfect.
"On the bed," he grunted, his submissive act burning away under the urgency of his need.
Anya scrambled aside, making room. Becky climbed onto the messy sheets, on her hands and knees, presenting her dripping, freshly-licked pussy to him. The pose arched her back, making her ass, clad in the torn remnants of lace, look perkier, an invitation. Anya knelt beside her, face close to Becky's, her hand back on her own cunt. "Look at me, Becky," Anya breathed. "Watch me while he takes you."
The janitor positioned himself behind Becky, the fat head of his cock nudging against her soaked entrance. He rubbed it up and down her slit, coating himself in her juices, mixing them with his precum. Squick… squelch…
"Ah! Ah, it's so big…" Becky whimpered, her eyes locked on Anya's pleasure-glazed ones.
"It's okay… it'll feel so good…" Anya whispered, her breath hitching as she rubbed her clit.
He pushed.
The stretch was instantaneous and breathtaking. Becky's mouth fell open in a soundless 'O'. The broad crown pressed, parted her swollen lips, and began to sink in. It wasn't a smooth entry; her virgin-tight cunt resisted the incredible girth, clinging to him, needing to be stuffed open millimeter by millimeter.
"Uhn… UHHN… Becky… you're so tight…" he groaned, his hands grabbing her hips, his knuckles white.
"It's… it's splitting me…!" Becky cried, tears of overwhelming sensation springing to her eyes. She was being filled in a way she hadn't known was possible. The burning stretch was already transforming into a deep, profound pressure against every hidden nerve. Anya leaned in and captured her lips in a messy, lipstick-smearing kiss, swallowing her cries.
He began to move. Short, shallow thrusts at first, just burying himself a little deeper each time. The wet, rhythmic slap of his lower stomach against her ass started, a soft pat-pat-pat that quickly grew louder. Slap. Slap. SLAP.
Becky broke the kiss, throwing her head back. "MORE! All of it! Give me all of it, Daddy, PLEASE!"
With a final, grinding shove, he seated himself to the hilt. Becky felt him there, a solid, throbbing presence that seemed to touch her very core. She was stuffed, impaled, complete.
Then he really started to fuck her.
He pulled back almost all the way, the ridged shaft dragging exquisitely against her inner walls, before slamming back home. The pace escalated, the slaps becoming a steady, brutal percussion. SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP! The bedframe screeched in protest.
"AH! AH! AH! AH! FUCK! YES! DADDY! DADDY!" Becky chanted, her voice rising with each impact. Her eyes were rolled back, her mind blank of everything but the sensation of being ruthlessly, perfectly penetrated. Anya watched, mesmerized, her fingers a blur on her own clit, matching the frantic pace.
"You look so good, Becky…" Anya moaned, her own arousal a sharp, coiling spring. "Taking that big cock… your face… you love it… you're a natural slut…"
"I AM! I'M A SLUT! YOUR SLUT! FUCK ME! BREED ME! AH! AH! I'M CUMMING AGAIN! I'M—GAAAAAH!"
Becky's second orgasm was a violent, shaking convulsion. Her cunt clamped down on the invading shaft like a vise, milking it, pulling another roared groan from the man above her. She squirted again, a smaller but forceful jet that soaked his balls and the sheets beneath them with a hot sploosh.
Her climax triggered his. With a final, hammering thrust that shoved Becky forward onto her face, he buried himself to the root and held.
"TAKE IT! TAKE DADDY'S CUM, YOU LITTLE SLUT! FILL THAT PRETTY CUNT!"
A hot, thick flood erupted inside her. Becky felt it, a pulsing, liquid heat that seemed to have no end. Gush… gush… gush… It filled the space his cock had stretched, overflowing immediately, a stream of white, sticky cream trickling out around the still-plugging shaft and down her inner thighs. The smell of sex and salt filled the air.
He collapsed half on top of her, spent. Becky lay beneath him, panting, utterly wrecked, feeling his cum slowly leak from her well-used hole. Splot… splot…
Anya finally let her own climax take her. With a sharp, keening cry, she ground her palm hard against her clit, her body tensing as a less torrential but still intense orgasm washed through her. "Nnnngh! Becky… Daddy… yesss…"
For a long moment, the only sounds were ragged breathing and the slow drip… drip… of spent fluids.
The janitor was the first to move, pulling his softening cock from Becky's gaping, cream-filled pussy with a wet, sucking pop. A fresh, thicker gout of cum oozed out after it. Becky whimpered at the loss.
He rolled onto his back, his massive chest heaving. Becky remained on her stomach, her face turned to Anya. They were inches apart. Becky's expression was one of shattered awe.
"See?" Anya whispered, a blissful, corrupt smile on her face. "I told you it was fun."
Becky could only nod, her lips curving into a matching, dazed smile. She was hooked. Converted. A size queen born in a single, brutal fucking.
The janitor reached out a heavy arm, pulling Anya against one side of his chest. He looked at Becky, and with his other hand, patted the space on his other side. An invitation.
Becky, moving gingerly on sore, well-fucked muscles, crawled over and nestled against him. His skin was sweaty, his body hair coarse, but the possessive weight of his arm around her shoulders felt… shockingly good. Safe. Right.
They lay there in the sticky, post-coital haze, a perverse little family. Anya traced patterns on Daddy's chest. Becky's mind, for once, was blissfully, quietly empty of everything but physical sensation and a deep, satiated curiosity for what would happen next.
"Daddy," Anya murmured, breaking the silence. Her voice was a sly, playful thing.
"Hmm?" he rumbled, his fingers toying with Becky's vibrant hair.
"Becky's a really good slut, isn't she?"
He chuckled, a deep, contented sound. "The best. My two perfect, dirty girls."
Becky blushed, the praise warming her more than any compliment about her fashion sense ever had.
"But you know," Anya continued, her psychic senses brushing against the lingering, gluttonous desire in his mind. "There's still a hole we haven't used yet."
Becky's eyes widened. She knew what Anya meant. She'd read about it. In the really forbidden books.
The janitor's breathing hitched. His semi-soft cock twitched against his thigh, showing a startling, rapid interest.
Anya propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at Becky with that knowing, goofy, utterly corrupted grin. "Want to learn how to take Daddy in your ass, Becky? It's even tighter."