Now, I don't know what the hell I was doing that night. I was angry, sure—the kind of anger that sits in the back of your throat like a copper fucking penny. This fucker, John, didn't just owe me two and a half large; he was moving H through the whole damn street, cutting into corners that weren't his to touch. After I called him twice and the prick didn't have the stones to answer, I decided a house call was in order. I figured I'd let out some stress by beating the absolute dog-piss out of him. It's therapeutic, really.
But what I found... well, that was a hell of a lot more interesting.
xxx
The rain was hammering down like a hail of bullets as I stood on his porch. I knocked, a heavy, rhythmic thrum against the wood, and waited. Two grand is pocket change in the grand scheme of things, but as a "loan shark" a label I find tacky, honestly, it isn't about the money. It's about the message. If every cocksucker missed his due, I wouldn't be sitting where I am. Someone has to remind these bastards of their place in the food chain.
I knocked again, harder this time. No answer. I leaned my ear against the damp wood, trying to catch a footfall, but the storm was screaming too loud.
"Fucking prick," I spat.
I circled the house, my boots sinking into the mud, until I hit the kitchen door. Through the glass panels, I saw it, a cell phone lying on the laminate counter, lighting up with my name on the screen as I called John again. The coward was right there, watching me call and letting it go to voicemail. I gripped the handle, ready to shoulder the door in, but the damn thing just clicked open.
I threw myself inside, the sudden silence of the house ringing in my ears as rain droplets cascaded off my leather jacket onto the linoleum. The kitchen smelled of stale coffee and something chemical—bleach, maybe. It was a pathetic little space, cluttered with half-empty cereal boxes and a sink full of gray water.
"Fucking bitch," I muttered, shaking my head. "Having me drive all the way out here in this mess."
My stomach gave a predatory growl. I walked over to the fridge like I owned the deed to the place, swinging the door wide. I found a plate of leftover pasta, cold and congealed, and shoved it into the microwave. I stood there, watching the turntable spin, the low hum of the machine the only sound besides the rain hitting the roof. When the timer dinged, I grabbed the bowl—scorching hot—and shoveled the food into my mouth with a plastic fork, leaning against the counter and scanning the room.
The living room was just as dismal. A sagging sofa that had seen better decades, a coffee table littered with cigarette ash and glass coasters. I wandered in, my eyes catching my reflection in a gold-rimmed mirror hanging on the far wall. I stopped, adjusting my collar. Six feet of solid, dark muscle looked back at me. I've got a jawline that could cut glass and eyes that don't blink first. Fuck I was good.
"I look damn fine, eh?" I grinned at my reflection, the ego flickering for a second before the sound of running water caught my attention.
The shower.
I leaned against the doorframe of the hallway, waiting. I figured it was John, washing off the grime of his pathetic life. I'd wait until he was clean before I made him bloody. But then, the water cut off. The pipes groaned, and a moment later, the bathroom door creaked open.
Steam billowed out, smelling of cheap floral soap. And then she stepped out.
She wasn't John. Not by a long shot.
She was maybe ten, eleven max. Total knockout. She had these deep, dark brown eyes that looked almost black under the hallway light, and hair, straight, raven-black, that clung to her damp shoulders. She was clutching a white towel around her frame, the terrycloth straining against the curves of her hips and the swell of her chest.
She froze when she saw me, her breath hitching.
"Why, hello there," I said, my voice dropping an octave, smooth as bourbon. I didn't move, just let my eyes roam over her. "Who the hell are you, kid?"
"Um... who are you?" she stammered, her knuckles white as she gripped the towel.
"Call me Sharky." I let out a low chuckle that vibrated in my chest. I could feel my cock beginning to stir, a slow, heavy pulse behind my fly. "Is John your father?"
"Y-yes?"
"Where's that cocksucker?"
"Out... he's outside. He went to the store," she managed to say, her voice trembling.
I walked over to the sagging sofa and sat down, spreading my arms across the backrest. I patted the cushion right next to me.
"Come sit," I commanded.
"I... who are you?" she asked again, her eyes darting toward the front door.
"I'm your daddy's friend. Now come sit down. Don't make me repeat myself, girl."
She hesitated, her lower lip quivering as she looked at the space on the sofa I'd claimed as my own. I didn't move an inch; I just watched her with that slow, heavy gaze that usually made men start sweating through their shirts. She was shaking, her small frame vibrating under that thin white towel like a trapped bird. Every shallow breath she took made the terrycloth strain against the tops of her breasts, the damp fabric clinging to her skin in a way that made my pulse thrum a rhythmic, dark cadence in my veins.
"I... I don't know who you are," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"I told you. I'm a friend," I lied, the word tasting like smoke. I patted the cushion again, harder this time. "Now sit. Don't make me ask a third time, kid. I'm not a patient man, and I'm already soaking wet because of your old man's lack of manners."
She finally moved, her bare feet padding silently across the threadbare rug. She sank onto the cushion beside me, keeping as much distance as the narrow sofa allowed, but I could still feel the heat radiating off her skin. Up close, she was devastating. Her skin was a smooth, flawless honey-tone, still damp from the shower, and her dark brown eyes were wide, glossy with a fear that only made the predatory ache in my gut grow sharper.
I shifted, closing the gap between us until my damp leather sleeve brushed against her bare, trembling shoulder. She jumped, a small gasp escaping her lips, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. The weight of my presence held her pinned to that spot more than any physical restraint could.
"There we go," I murmured, my voice a low, gravelly scrape in the quiet room. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
I leaned back, my eyes roaming over the length of her legs. The towel had ridden up when she sat, exposing the soft, rounded curve of her thighs. They were perfect—unmarked, glowing in the dim yellow light of the floor lamp. My cock was a heavy, insistent pressure against the denim of my jeans now, thick and pulsing with every beat of my heart.
"Your daddy owes me a lot of money, girl," I said, my voice dropping into a more intimate territory. "Two and a half large. Plus interest. Plus the fact that I had to waste my night coming out here in a goddamn storm."
"He... he'll have it. He said he was getting it tonight," she stammered, her eyes fixed on her own knees.
"Maybe he will. Maybe he won't," I said, reaching out. I let my hand, calloused and warm, settle on the top of her thigh.
The contact was electric. Her skin was incredibly soft, a sharp contrast to the rough texture of my palm. I felt her muscles jump, a sharp, involuntary twitch—nn-gh—as my fingers began to trace slow, deliberate patterns against her flesh. I didn't rush it. I wanted to feel her heart racing through her skin.
"But I'm here now," I continued, my thumb brushing against the very edge of the white towel. "And I'm thinking... since John isn't here to settle his debt, maybe his daughter can help make the trip worth my while. What do you think about that?"
She looked up at me then, her eyes swimming with tears she was too scared to let fall. "Please... I don't... I don't have any money."
"I didn't ask for money, kid," I chuckled, the sound dark and rich. I leaned in, the scent of her floral soap and warm, terrified skin filling my lungs. I was close enough that I could see the tiny, frantic pulse in the hollow of her throat.
She was so small next to me, so fragile, and the power of it was a drug.
I slid my hand higher, my palm flat against her thigh, my fingers inching under the damp hem of the towel. I felt the heat of her core radiating through the fabric. "What's your name? I like to know who I'm dealing with when I'm collecting a payment."
"M-Mia," she whispered.
"Mia," I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue. "That's a pretty name. You're probably lying about it, but sure. A real pretty fake name for a real pretty girl."
I gripped her hip, my fingers digging slightly into the soft flesh, and pulled her a few inches closer to me. She came easily, her body pliant with terror. My other hand reached up, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw before settling on her bottom lip. I pressed down, pulling it away from her teeth, exposing the pink, wet heat inside.
"Now, Mia," I said, my eyes locking onto hers. "We're going to wait for your daddy together. But while we wait... I think you're going to show me just how much you want to help him out of this hole he's dug for himself."
I shifted my weight, my own hardness pressing visibly against my fly as I looked down at her. The towel was slipping further, the knot loosening as she trembled. I could see the faint, dark swell of her areolas through the thin material as she breathed in jagged, panicked hitches—huff... huff... nngh.
"You're going to be a good girl for Sharky, aren't you?" I asked, my voice a dark command.
She didn't answer with words. She just closed her eyes and let out a tiny, broken sob that sounded more like a surrender than a plea. I smiled, a slow, predatory baring of teeth. This was going to be a hell of a lot better than a simple beating.
I reached for the knot of the towel, my knuckles brushing against the valley between her breasts. The heat there was incredible.
Nah, not yet. I wanted to see her more in that bathrobe.
"You're a quiet one, Mia," I rumbled, my voice a dark, velvet scrape. "Makes me wonder what's going on in that pretty little head of yours. You ever had a man in this house before? Besides your useless old man?"
She swallowed hard, her pulse jumping under the skin of her neck—thump-thump, thump-thump. "I... I have a boyfriend," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rhythmic lashing of the rain against the windowpane.
I let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. The idea of some teenage punk touching what I was currently staking a claim on was hilarious. "A boyfriend? That's cute. What's his name? Some kid who takes you to the movies and gets nervous holding your hand?"
I didn't wait for an answer. My hand slid down from her hair, my thumb tracing the shell of her ear before dragging down the side of her neck. I felt her shiver, a deep, full-body tremor..
"Does he know how to handle a 'woman' like you, Mia? Does he know how to make you shake like this just by looking at you?" I leaned in closer, my breath hot against her cheek. "I bet he hasn't even seen what's under this towel yet, has he? He's probably too scared to even ask."
"He... he's nice," she managed to choke out, her eyes fluttering shut.
"Nice don't pay the bills, sweetheart. And nice sure as hell don't settle debts with guys like me."
I shifted my weight, my thigh pressing hard against hers, pinning her into the corner of the sofa. My hand, still resting on her thigh, began to move again. I didn't just stroke her; I gripped her, my fingers kneading the soft, pliant flesh. I felt her hips lift off the cushion instinctively, a small, needy movement she probably didn't even realize she was making.
"You ever done it, Mia? Really done it?" I asked, my voice dropping to a predatory whisper. "Or are you still a 'nice' girl for your 'nice' boyfriend?"
Her face flushed a deep, hot crimson, the heat radiating off her skin in waves. She didn't answer, but the way her thighs clamped together around my hand told me everything I needed to know. She was a garden that had never been tended, and I was about to pave over the whole damn thing.
"That's what I thought," I smirked. I reached out with my other hand, my index finger hooking into the top of the towel right between her breasts. I pulled it back just a fraction of an inch, exposing the pale, creamy swell of her cleavage. The skin there was dusting with goosebumps. "You're wasted on a boy. You need a man. Someone who knows how to take what he wants without asking."
I leaned my head down, burying my face in the crook of her neck. She smelled so clean, so pure, it made the darkness in my blood roar. I let my tongue dart out, a single, wet stroke against her collarbone—slurp-tch—and she let out a jagged, broken moan.
"You like that, don't you?" I growled against her skin. "You like the way a real man feels. The way I'm not asking you for anything. I'm just taking it."
My hand on her thigh slid upward, my fingers hooking under the hem of the towel once again. I felt the heat of her sex through the thin cotton of her panties, a damp, concentrated warmth that made my cock throb so hard it hurt. She was already leaking for me, the terror and the thrill mixing into a cocktail that was stripping her of her resolve.
"I bet your boyfriend never made you wet just by talking to you," I whispered, my fingers dancing along the lace edge of her underwear. "I bet he's never felt how hot you get when you're scared."
The terrycloth loosened, the weight of it beginning to slide down her shoulders, revealing the tops of her small, firm breasts. Her nipples were dark, tight points of arousal, poking through the steam-softened skin.
"Look at you," I rasped, pulling back to see the wreck I was making of her. "You're practically begging for it. Your daddy's debt is starting to look like a bargain, Mia. A real bargain."
I ran my hand up over her stomach, my palm flat against her ribs, feeling the frantic, bird-like flutter of her heart. I moved higher until my thumb brushed against the underside of her left breast.
"You ever felt a man's hands on you like this? Heavy. Hard. Knowing exactly where to press to make you fall apart?"
She shook her head, a tiny, frantic motion, her raven hair spilling over her face. "No... please... nnn-gh."
"Don't say 'please' unless you mean it, girl. Because in a minute, you're going to be saying it a lot. You're going to be begging Sharky to settle this debt. You're going to forget all about that boy and that 'nice' life of yours."
I leaned down, my mouth hovering just an inch from one of those stiff, dark nipples. I could feel the heat radiating off it.
"You want to be a good girl for me, Mia? You want to make sure I don't have to break your daddy's legs when he walks through that door?"
"N-no…"
"Maybe I'll kill your daddy," I whispered into her ear. "And leave you all alone."
She let out a sob, her hands coming up to rest tentatively on my shoulders, her fingers curling into the damp leather of my jacket. It wasn't a push. It was a hold.
"Yes," she whispered, the word a total surrender. "Yes…"
"Yes… what?"
"Y-yes… please…" She whimpered.
"Good girl."
The sound she made was a high, thin keening, the sound of a girl who'd never been touched with this kind of intent. I pulled back just enough to see her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her long, raven lashes wet with tears she couldn't stop.
"You're a virgin, aren't you, Mia?" I rumbled, my voice a dark, gravelly vibration against her skin. "That 'nice' boyfriend... he's too scared to even look at you like this, isn't he? He treats you like some fragile little doll. But you aren't a doll, are you? You're a woman with a debt to pay."
She didn't answer, but her breath was coming in short, jagged hitches. I reached up, my hand heavy and warm, and cupped her face, forcing her to look at me. My thumb pressed hard against her bottom lip, dragging it down until I could see the wet, pink interior of her mouth.
"I asked you a question, girl. You ever had a man's hands on you? Ever felt a real cock pushing against you? Ever had someone take what they wanted without asking for your goddamn permission?"
"N-no," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Never... please... ah-h."
"Good," I smirked, the predatory heat in my blood turning into a roar. "I like them fresh. It means I get to be the one who ruins you for everyone else. I get to be the one you think about every time that boy tries to touch you."
My hand slid down once more, my fingers hooking into the waistband of her thin cotton panties. They were soaked through, the lace edge clinging to her honey-toned skin. I didn't pull them down yet. I just let my fingers dance along the edge, feeling the frantic, electric heat of her.
"You're so wet, Mia," I growled, my lips inches from hers. "You're practically leaking for me. Does it feel good to be scared? To know that I could do whatever I want to you right here, and your daddy wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it?"
"I... I don't know," she choked out, her hands curling into the damp leather of my jacket, her knuckles white.
"You know," I said, my voice dropping to a low, intimate crawl. "You know exactly how it feels. It feels like power. My power over you."
She let out a jagged, broken moan and her hips gave a small, involuntary buck against my leg.
"That's it," I whispered against her skin. "Give it to me. Give me all of it."
I reached for the knot of the towel again, but this time I didn't just tug it. I yanked it. The terrycloth fell away in a heap on the sofa, leaving her completely exposed to my gaze. She was perfect. Her stomach was flat, her waist narrow, and her thighs... god, those thighs.
"Look at you," I rasped, my eyes roaming over every inch of her. "You're a masterpiece, Mia. A goddamn masterpiece of flesh and fear."
I ran my hand up from her hip, my palm flat against her ribs, feeling the frantic, bird-like flutter of her heart. I moved higher until my thumb and forefinger closed around one of those dark nipples. I pinched it, not hard, but enough to make her cry out—ee-nn-gh!
"Does that hurt, sweetheart? Or does it just make you want more?"
I didn't wait for her to answer. I sat back, spreading my legs wide, and unzipped my jeans. My cock sprang free, a heavy, dark length of heat that throbbed with every beat of my heart. It was thick, veined, and tipped with a heavy glans that was already weeping with pre-cum.
"Look at it, Mia," I commanded. "Look at what's going to settle your daddy's debt."
She opened her eyes, her breath hitching as she stared at the massive length of me. Her dark eyes went wide, reflecting the amber glow of the lamp.
"Now," I said, my voice a dark, absolute command. "I want you to show me just how 'nice' you can be. Get on your knees, girl. Don't make me tell you twice."
She hesitated for a split second, her lower lip quivering, but then she slid off the sofa onto the threadbare rug. She knelt between my legs, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders, her small, pale hands reaching out to rest tentatively on my thighs.
"Use your mouth, Mia," I growled, my fingers tangling in her hair and pulling her head forward. "I want to feel how hot you are. I want to feel you choke on me while your daddy is out there in the rain."
The rain continued its rhythmic, violent assault on the roof, the only sound filling the oppressive silence of the living room as Mia remained on her knees. She didn't move. She just sat there, her small frame racked with tremors that made the raven hair draped over her shoulders shimmer in the dim, yellow light. A single, crystalline tear tracked down her cheek, catching the glow of the floor lamp before disappearing into the shadows of her jaw.
I looked down at her, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. I felt the heat of my own ego surging alongside the pulse in my veins.
"Aww," I cooed, the sound dripping with a mocking, dark tenderness. "Are you crying, Mia? Are you really shedding tears over a little debt collection?"
I stood up, my six-foot frame towering over her like a thundercloud. From her position on the floor, I must have looked like a giant, a shadow that blotted out the rest of the world. I stepped closer, my boots silent on the threadbare rug, until I was crowding her space, forcing her to tilt her head back just to see my face.
I reached down, but I didn't use my hand. I leaned forward, using the heavy, pulsing length of my cock to brush against her damp cheek, dragging the velvet-soft glans over the trail of her tears.
"Suck it," I commanded, my voice dropping into a low, guttural scrape. "Taste your own fear on me, babygirl. Taste how much you're failing your daddy right now."
That broke the dam. Mia let out a full-blown sob, a jagged, broken sound as she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with the force of her grief, her small chest heaving in panicked, shallow hitches.
I'd had enough of the theatrics. The patience I'd been feigning evaporated, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I reached down and snagged her by the chin, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks, forcing her head up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wide with a terror that only fueled my fire.
"I said," I growled, "that you're going to be a good girl for Sharky."
I guided myself toward her mouth, pushing the heavy head of my cock against her lips. She fought me, her jaw locking tight, her lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. She was trying to hold out, trying to keep a shred of her dignity while the storm raged outside.
I smirked. "You think you're tough? You think you can just shut me out?"
I reached up with my free hand and pinched her nose shut, cutting off her airway. I watched her eyes go wide with a new kind of panic as her lungs began to burn. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Finally, her body overrode her will. She gasped, her mouth falling open in a desperate search for oxygen—ha-ah-h—and I didn't waste a heartbeat.
I slid inside.
The heat of her mouth was incredible, a sharp contrast to the damp chill of the room. She panicked, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my shaft—a sharp, stinging sensation that made my vision blur for a second.
"Bite me again," I hissed, leaning down until my face was inches from hers, my eyes cold and unforgiving, "and I'll rip those teeth out myself, you little whore. You hear me? I'll make sure you can't smile for that boyfriend of yours ever again."
She let out a muffled, vibrating whimper and her resistance crumbled. Her body went limp, her strength deserting her as she leaned back, her spine arching until the back of her head hit the edge of the low coffee table.
I didn't let up. I stepped forward, planting one heavy boot on the mahogany surface of the table, pinning her into the awkward, exposed position. I began to move, a slow, rhythmic slide that felt like heaven and hell combined. Schlick-squish, schlick-squish.
"That's it," I muttered, the dirty talk flowing out of me like venom. "Take it all. Show me how much of a slut you are for your daddy's mistakes. Does your boyfriend know you're this good at settling debts? Does he know you've got a throat made for a man like me?"
Every time I pushed deep, she made a gagging, desperate sound, her eyes rolling back as I fucked her face. The coffee table creaked under the weight of my foot, the magazines and glass coasters rattling with the force of my movements.
"Look at you," I rasped, my breath coming in heavy, jagged bursts. "Pinned down like a bug. You're nothing but a payment, Mia. A beautiful, soft little payment. And I'm going to spend every cent of you tonight."
I picked up the pace, my thrusts becoming harder, more demanding. I wanted to feel the back of her throat, wanted to hear her choke on the reality of who I was and what I was doing to her.
"Tell me you love it," I commanded, though I knew she couldn't speak. "Tell me you're Sharky's girl now. Tell me you're never going back to that 'nice' life."
She was a wreck beneath me, her raven hair fanned out across the dark wood of the table, her hands clutching at the rug as I continued to ruthlessly claim her. The rain outside seemed to drum in time with my heart, a wild, chaotic rhythm that echoed the madness in the room.
I was relentless. I kept the rhythm hard and unforgiving, my hips slamming against the edge of the coffee table with a dull, rhythmic thud-thud-thud-thud. Saliva was everywhere now, a thick, glistening trail that ran from the corners of her mouth and soaked into her raven hair. She was a mess of fluids and fear, her small hands clawing uselessly at my thighs as I drove myself deep into her throat.
Every time I buried the head of my cock against the back of her throat, she let out a muffled, frantic gag—gh-k-k-k-nngh. Her face was a terrifying mask of desperation; the pale skin had flushed a deep, angry red, and as I held her there, depriving her of air, it began to tinge toward a bruised, sickly blue. Her eyes were rolled back, showing only the whites, her body jerking in small, spastic movements as her lungs screamed for a breath I wasn't ready to give her.
It was a beautiful, raw sight—a girl completely broken by the weight of a debt she didn't even sign for.
Suddenly, the front door flew open. The sound of the wind and rain rushed in, along with the heavy thump of a man's boots.
"Sorry, I forgot my phone, Jenn—"
John's voice cut off abruptly. The plastic grocery bag in his hand hit the floor with a wet splat, oranges and bread rolling out across the entryway. He stood there, frozen, the rainwater dripping off his cheap windbreaker, his eyes bulging as they locked onto the scene in his living room. He saw me, towering over his daughter, my foot on his coffee table, while Mia lay spread out and gasping, her mouth filled with the very man who had come to break his legs.
I didn't stop. I gave one final, deep thrust that made Mia's body go rigid before I slowly, deliberately pulled myself out. A long, silver string of spit connected my glans to her trembling lips before it snapped.
"Evening, John," I said, my voice smooth and deadly calm. I didn't even bother to cover myself. I let him see exactly what his daughter had been busy with. "You're back early. Don't mind us; Mia and I were just discussing the interest rates on that two and a half large you owe me."
John's face went ghostly pale, his jaw hanging open as he looked from me to his daughter's tear-streaked, reddened face. "Jen? Oh god, please… no… she's just a kid… please stop!"
He took a stumbling step forward, his hands shaking, tears already beginning to well in his pathetic, weak eyes. "Take the money! I'll get it, I swear! Just leave her alone!"
I let out a dark, booming laugh that echoed off the cramped walls. "The money? John, we're way past the money now. You let your phone go to voicemail one too many times. Now, I'm taking my payment in trade. And I have to say, your girl is a hell of a lot more generous than you are."
"Please!" John wailed, dropping to his knees on the wet rug, his voice a broken, high-pitched sob. "She has nothing to do with this! It's me! Kill me, just don't do this to her!"
"Kill you?" I stepped over Mia, reaching down to grab a fistful of her raven hair. I yanked her head up, making her cry out in pain. "Why would I kill you when I can make you watch? I want you to see exactly what your fuck-ups cost, John."
I stood her up, her legs wobbling like jelly, the white towel long since forgotten in the straw-colored rug. I began walking toward the small wooden dinner table in the kitchen area, dragging her along by her hair. John scrambled after us on his hands and knees, weeping and begging, a pathetic shadow of a man.
"Now," I growled, my eyes locking onto John's as I reached the table. "For the main course."
I slammed Mia face-down onto the hard wood of the dinner table. The salt and pepper shakers rattled, and a half-empty glass of water tipped over, soaking into her hair. I grabbed her hips and jerked them back, forcing her to arch her spine until her honey-toned ass was tilted high in the air, right at my waist level.
She was sobbing into the wood, the sound muffled and heart-wrenching. "Daddy… daddy please… help me… make him stop!"
John reached out, his hand trembling as he touched the edge of the table, his face a wreck of agony. "Man, I'm begging you… don't… please don't do this to her… she's my baby…"
"Daddy…"
I looked down at the back of her head, then back at John's devastated face. I felt the pulse of my cock, harder than ever, ready to finish what I started right in front of the man who had failed her.
"Watch closely, John," I whispered, the malice in my voice cold enough to freeze the room. "This is what a real debt looks like when it's settled."
I didn't give her a second to breathe. I didn't give John a second to look away. I gripped Mia's hips, my fingers bruising the soft flesh as I positioned the flared, weeping head of my cock against her tight, virgin cunt. She was trembling so hard the table was rattling against the floorboards, her muffled sobs turning into a high, frantic whine.
"Watch, John," I growled, and then I lunged.
I buried myself inside her in one brutal, uncompromising thrust. The sound was visceral—a sharp, wet tear followed by the sickening thud of my hips hitting her backside. Mia's scream ripped through the kitchen, a raw, jagged sound of pure agony that seemed to vibrate the glass in the cabinets. She wasn't a girl anymore; she was just a vessel for pain.
"Wish I found out about her sooner… ooh, that's right, baby. Take my cock into your kiddie-pussy."
Immediately, I felt the hot, metallic rush of blood coating my shaft. It was a lot—thick, bright crimson that bloomed across her thighs and began to drip onto the dark wood of the dinner table. I'd broken her, shattered the last bit of her innocence to settle a debt that wasn't even hers.
"JEN! NO!" John screamed, his face a distorted mask of grief. He scrambled up from his knees, his hands reaching out to grab my shoulder, to pull me away from his daughter. "GET OFF HER! YOU'RE KILLING HER!"
I didn't even break my rhythm. I spun slightly, my left fist connecting with John's jaw in a blurred arc. The impact was solid—a wet crunch as his teeth met his lip. He flew backward, hitting the linoleum floor with a heavy groan.
"Don't touch me, you pathetic fuck," I spat, my eyes never leaving the back of Mia's head. "You brought this into your house. You're the one who killed her."
I turned back to the task, my hips beginning a slow, agonizingly deep grind. The friction was incredible. She was so tight it felt like she was trying to squeeze the life out of me, her internal muscles clamping down around my girth in a panicked, involuntary rhythm.
"Oh… I watched so much CP…" I muttered. "Never thought I'd fuck an actual kid. Fuck, the tightness is just… mhh. Fucking… wow."
"DADDY! DADDY!"
"Shit... she is so... tight..." I hissed through gritted teeth, my head falling back as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over me. "I'm gonna fucking... oh, fuck me."
I began to move in earnest then, driving into her with a savage, animalistic pace. Thwack-squish, thwack-squish. Every thrust sent more blood spilling out, mixing with the sweat on my thighs. Mia tried to scramble forward, her fingernails digging into the wood of the table, trying to escape the relentless hammer of my weight.
"Please... stop... it hurts... DADDY!" she wailed, her voice fading into a hoarse, rhythmic sobbing.
I didn't let her move an inch. I reached forward, my hands flat on her shoulder blades, pinning her chest against the table. I was fucking her like a beast, my eyes locked on the spot where we were joined, watching the way her pale skin was being stained by the dark red of her maidenhead.
John was on the floor, curled into a ball, his hands over his ears as he listened to his daughter being ruined. He was whispering "stop" over and over again, a broken record of a man who had lost everything in the span of twenty minutes.
I felt the climax building, a tectonic shift in my gut that I couldn't hold back. I let out a low, guttural roar, my fingers digging into her shoulders until I drew blood there too.
"I'm—I'm coming, Mia! Take it! Take the whole fucking debt!"
I slammed into her one last time, pinning her against the wood as I erupted. It was a violent, pulsing release—thump, thump, thump—pulse after pulse of hot, thick seed flooding her internals. The sheer volume was staggering. I felt it backing up, spilling out of her and mixing with the blood, a pinkish, viscous liquid that began to drip from her pussy and pool on the floor beneath the table.
But I didn't pull out. Even as the last of the cum left me, I felt my cock stay rock-hard, fueled by the adrenaline and the sight of the carnage I'd wrought. The desperation in the room was a physical thing, a suffocating blanket of grief and lust.
"I'm not done," I whispered into her ear, my voice devoid of anything but cold, hard hunger. "I'm still hard, Mia. And we've got all night before your daddy finds the money."
I started moving again, slower this time, every slide of my blood-slicked shaft a reminder of exactly how much they both had lost.
The friction was a masterpiece of filth—the slick, hot combination of my own cum and her virgin blood creating a lubricant that made every slow, deliberate slide feel like I was being flayed alive by pure pleasure.
Thump-squish. Thump-squish.
The sound was wet, rhythmic, and devastatingly loud in the quiet kitchen. Mia was a broken thing beneath me, her raven hair plastered to her face by sweat and spilled water. In a final, desperate act of defiance, she reached back and clamped her teeth onto the meat of my hand where it was pinned to her shoulder. I felt the sharp sting of her canines sinking into my skin, drawing my own blood to mix with hers.
"Little bitch," I hissed, my voice a dark, vibrating snarl.
I didn't pull away. I shifted my grip, my fingers tangling into the very crown of her head, and slammed her face back down against the hard oak of the table. The crack of her forehead hitting the wood was sharp and final. She stopped biting, her jaw going slack as she let out a long, broken wail—uuuh, that trailed off into a series of jagged, wet gasps.
"You want to play rough, Mia? I can play rougher than any boy you've ever met," I growled, my hips beginning to churn again, faster now.
The sensation was beyond anything I'd ever felt. The taboo of it—the fact that her father was three feet away, the fact that I was ruining her on the very table where they probably ate breakfast—it acted like a bellows to the fire in my gut. I was close again, the pressure building behind my hips like a tidal wave. My vision was blurring, the edges of the room turning dark and fuzzy as I focused entirely on the friction of her tight, blood-slicked walls.
"FUCK... I'M GONNA CUM AGAIN!" I roared, the sound tearing from my chest like an animal's cry. "I didn't know raping kids would feel this fucking good…"
I began to hammer into her, my thrusts becoming shorter, more violent, my boots sliding in the spilled fluids on the floor as I sought more leverage. I was pushing more and more of myself into her, trying to reach a depth that didn't exist, my hips slamming against her bruised backside with a sound like a wet whip—smack, smack, smack.
Mia's cries reached a fever pitch, a high, thin keening that seemed to fill the very rafters.
From the corner of my eye, I saw John crawl forward. He didn't try to fight me again; he was too broken for that. Instead, he reached out a trembling, blood-stained hand and took hold of Mia's fingers where they were clawing at the table's edge.
"It'll be over soon, honey," John whispered, his voice a pathetic, watery wreck. He was stroking her knuckles, his eyes squeezed shut as he wept. "Please… please... just let it be over..."
The sight of his weakness was the final trigger. I felt the second explosion begin at the base of my spine and rip upward.
"TAKE IT!" I screamed, my body locking into a rigid arc.
The orgasm was a total system failure. It hit me with a force that made my lungs seize, pulse after pulse of scalding heat erupting from me. It felt like I was emptying my very soul into her, a thick, white-hot torrent that flooded her already-full canal. I stayed pinned against her, my chest heaving against her back, my fingers still buried in her hair as I rode out the aftershocks.
I pushed a few more times—heavy, blunt shoves—to force the last bit of cum out of me, hearing the wet slosh of the fluids inside her with every movement. Finally, I let go of her hair and stepped back, my legs feeling like lead.
I looked down, and the sight was a goddamn massacre. Mia lay slumped across the table, her skin pale and gleaming with sweat. Her pussy was a ruined, gaping mess of bright crimson blood and thick, frothing white cum that was overflowing, dripping down her inner thighs in long, visceral streaks. It pooled on the floor, a pinkish, viscous puddle that reflected the sickly yellow light of the kitchen.
I exhaled, a long, cloud-like breath of steam, and reached for my waistband.
I walked over to where John was still huddled on the floor, clutching his daughter's limp hand. I leaned down, the smell of sex and iron clinging to me like a second skin, and whispered directly into his ear.
"Consider your debts paid, John. Every last cent."
I didn't wait for a response. I pulled my pants up, zipping them with a sharp clack, and stepped over the spilled groceries as I walked toward the front door. I paused at the threshold, the cool air of the storm hitting my face, and glanced back one last time.
John was still on the floor, staring at his daughter. But my eyes dropped lower. Despite the tears, despite the horror, I could see the unmistakable, rigid bulge in the front of his trousers. The sick fuck was hard.
I shook my head, a dark, mocking smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
"What a fucking guy," I muttered to the rain.
I stepped out into the night, the door clicking shut behind me, leaving the house to drown in its own filth.