BOUND, BRED, AND BROKEN BY THE DEVIL

CHAPTER 3: THE HAZE OF NO RETURN

CHAPTER 3: THE HAZE OF NO RETURN

ELODIE'S POV

He chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating through my bones. His smile is small, almost knowing, before he bends down, spreading my legs apart with a steady, unhurried confidence that makes my breath catch. The fabric of my nightgown rises inch by inch as his hands slide it upward over my body, exposing me to the cool air of the room.

Oh my God. What the f**k is going on?

My chest rises and falls too quickly, every inhale sharp, every exhale scattered. Before I even register the movement, he has slipped my panties down and away, leaving me bare, trembling, and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as if it can anchor me. I know, I know—I have admitted before, in the quiet of my mind, that I have craved this, that I have wanted this, that some unholy hunger has burned inside me, a hunger so mad it terrified me. But no—this can’t be real. This isn’t something I can let happen. My brain is racing, pounding against my skull at three hundred beats per minute, my heart thundering in my chest so violently I think I might die from it. Words scatter uselessly, my mind incapable of stringing together a single coherent sentence to explain what the f**k is happening right now.

I let out a nervous chuckle, the sound brittle, and try to close my legs. But why won’t they move? Why does it feel like they’ve been locked in place by something invisible, paralyzed by a force I can’t fight? Panic rattles my ribs, but nothing happens.

“I know you want this, Elodie. Stop fighting it,” he whispers. His voice is molten, thick with heat, deep enough to vibrate straight into my marrow. The sound alone makes me shiver, makes my p***y throb with desperate, unbidden pulses of need.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his words dripping with certainty. “I’m going to make this the best night of your life. And from tomorrow onward, you’ll understand how your life is going to be.”

And then—before I can think, before I can speak—I feel it. His lips press against the lips of my p***y, and the entire world dies out around me.

My eyes roll back, and a strangled cry catches in my throat. I cannot explain the flood that pours through me, cannot name the violent, merciless storm of sensation ripping me apart. It is overwhelming. It is devastating. It is mind-shattering, mind-breaking, mind-destructive. My back arches without my permission, my body betraying me, curving into the air as if pulled by strings.

Without even caring, without even acknowledging the truth—that the lips pressed against me, the tongue grazing my entrance, belong to my father—I let myself groan, my eyelids fluttering uncontrollably. Every flicker of his tongue, every drag of his mouth through my folds burns into me like fire, teasing, coaxing, splitting me open until my lips part with soft, breathless moans.

Oh God. This is wrong. This is so f*****g wrong.

I should stop. I should pull away before it goes further, before I drown. But my body doesn’t listen. My body doesn’t care. My lungs pump fast and shallow, my fists clutch the bedspread tight, my eyelids flicker like broken shutters against the storm, but the sensation claws through me without mercy.

Both of his hands press firmly against my waist, anchoring me down, pinning me wide open for him. His mouth moves with ruthless tenderness, lips tracing deeper, sliding through me, tongue slipping further, teasing, claiming. Tremors rattle me from the inside out, my spine bowing tight, so tight it feels like it could snap in two.

“Ahhh—ohhh God…” The sounds spill from me before I can hold them back. Moans, whimpers, groans, each one tumbling from my lips raw and frantic.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow. His tongue pushes inside, f*****g me with hot, wet precision, the rhythm building, stealing more of me with each relentless flick and thrust. My body jerks, sliding helplessly against the sheets, eyelids fluttering harder, vision breaking apart into fragments of light and shadow.

God, I can’t fight this. I can’t fight him.

“Dad…” The word slips out of me in a whisper, strangled and soaked in shame. My hand moves on instinct, clutching a fistful of his hair, holding him there, keeping him pressed between my thighs as though my body itself has chosen its betrayal.

“Please… don’t stop,” I hear myself cry, voice cracking, lungs clawing for air.

The strap of my nightgown slips from my shoulder, the fabric falling loose until one breast spills free, bare, trembling with every jagged breath. The cool air ghosts over my skin, but it is nothing compared to the searing wet heat of his tongue driving into me.

I’m lost. Completely lost. The sensation is too much, too sharp, too consuming. My moans grow louder, rawer, as I tremble and quake beneath him. One of his hands slides upward, slow and deliberate, tracing from my belly to my chest until it finds the freed breast. His fingers close around it, squeezing, kneading, teasing my n****e until sparks burst behind my eyelids.

The world spins violently, the floor tilts, my body convulses with every wave of his touch. It feels as though darkness itself is climbing into me, clawing its way into my soul, twisting every piece of me until I can no longer tell where the shame ends and the pleasure begins.

His tongue drives deeper, licking, thrusting, tongue-f*****g me harder, relentless and merciless. My p***y pulses around him, squeezing desperately as if to keep him there, as if to beg for more. My back arches again, tighter, the bow of my body threatening to snap me in two as blinding lights spark and scatter behind my eyes.

This is wrong. This is so f****d up.

What are you doing, Elodie? This is your father. You can’t encourage this. You can’t let it continue.

And yet… oh God, I can’t stop. I can’t help it. My mind is breaking apart, splintering into a thousand fragments. The axis of my world tilts, careening toward a point of no return. My breath comes in shallow gasps, my throat raw, every muscle straining against the storm tearing me apart.

The sheets crumple in my fists as I claw at them, my body rocking up and down against his mouth, my head tossing back as if possessed. Dizzy, blinded, I can’t contain the spiraling destruction of the pleasure. It’s unnatural, it’s supernatural, bigger than me, bigger than anything I’ve ever felt. Possessive. Overwhelming.

“Ahhh—nnghh—ohhh God—” My cries tumble broken from my lips, high-pitched and desperate.

I am unraveling. He is unraveling me. Every moan, every arch of my body betrays me, feeding into him, binding me tighter to this madness.

And then—through the thick haze of sensation, through the roar of my own heartbeat—another sound pierces me.

“Elodie! Elodie, are you there?”

It’s Mom’s voice.

The syllables cut through me like a blade, jolting me into momentary clarity. She’s out there, maybe in the corridor, maybe with her hand on the doorknob, about to step in.

But I can’t answer. My lips don’t move. My throat locks tight, clamped shut by the relentless pleasure still tearing through me.

I can’t speak. I can’t call out. I can’t breathe.

I am buried, lost, drowned in the haze, my body betraying me even as my mother’s voice claws at the edges of reality.