Page 62 of Swallow Your Sorries

The recoil of her tits from the motion is so heavenly that I nearly explode then and there because the reality of them outweighs any fantasy tenfold.

They’re heavy teardrops, with little silvery white stretch marks at the corners to prove their weight. And I was right. Her nipples are the same colour as her lips. I’d have to wait to compare her slit.

“Sit up straight.”

She’s so hunched that those rosebud nipples are nearly kissing.

She does, but when I look into her eyes again, there’s no defiance, no humiliation, no anger. She seems…smug.

So she knows just how perfect she—

“Are you happy? Now that I’ve shattered whatever sick fantasy you had in your head?”

Shattered?She’s tripled it.

I stroke my thumb along that deep crease again, hoping the ministration is enough to stop me from grabbing her and hauling her onto my cock.

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted to humiliate me, but you were curious too, right? You hoped maybe the sight of me could get you off.” Her smile’s cruel and her eyes shine with false victory. “But I have granny tits. So, are we done? Are you satisfied now that the curiosity is gone? Can we go back to the old school bullying and leave this, whatever the fuckthisis alone?”

A slow smile cracks my lips and my gut clenches. Before I know it, I’m laughing.

When last had I laughed?Tears well in my eyes as confusion and panic begin to bloom in hers.

When the chuckles subside abruptly, I snake my hand around her sticky neck and pitch her forward. Her face lands hard on my thigh, her nose brushing my rock-hard cock.

“Does it feel like I can’t get off?” I ask, pressing her so hard and close, my cock muffles her gasp. “Look at me.”

Her wide eyes fly to mine as if on a string. Or perhaps on a hair, because that’s what I use to pull her back up to eye level.

“Don’t youeverinsult what’s mine? Got it?”

She winces as I tug her hair harder.

“I’m Gant fucking Auclair. No one has better taste than me.”

An incredulous gasp leaves her lips just as my fingers disentangle from her filthy mane to grip the back of her neck again.

“And you’re going to let me taste you.” I eye her food-crusted cheeks and neck. “But I don’t like leftovers.”

The scream that leaves her throat as I toss her sideways off the dock and into the lake is blood-curdling.

But it’s not a normal scream, an indistinguishable sound of horror.

No, she’s saying something, that carries on the wind…

Dy?

Addy?

Daddy…

Gant

Daddy?Did she just fucking call me ‘daddy’?

…

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