DADDY'S LITTLE SLUT

CHAPTER 18

Marcus got out of the truck first. He walked around, opened my door, and waited while I slid out on shaky legs. c*m was still running down my thighs in thick, sticky trails. He didn’t touch me yet. He just jerked his head toward the house.

Lily was already halfway up the stairs, yawning and mumbling about how good the night had been. Marcus followed her up, one hand lightly on her back, the perfect concerned father. I stayed at the bottom of the stairs and listened.

I heard him open her bedroom door. Soft voices. The creak of her bed as she collapsed onto it. The quiet click of her door shutting again.

Then his footsteps came back down the hall—heavier this time.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes locked on me. Without a word he came down, grabbed me by the upper arm, and dragged me up the stairs and straight into his bedroom. The door shut hard behind us. The lock turned.

He shoved me toward the bed. I stumbled and caught myself on the mattress. Before I could turn around he was already behind me, yanking my dress up over my hips and then all the way off. The ruined fabric hit the floor. I was completely naked, thighs shiny with other men’s c*m, cunt still leaking.

Marcus didn’t speak at first. He just stared at the mess between my legs, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. Then he pointed at the bed.

“On your back. Legs open. Wide.”

I obeyed. The second my thighs parted, a fresh rivulet of c*m slid out of me onto his sheets. He looked at it like it personally offended him.

He pulled his belt free again. The sound of leather sliding through the loops made my stomach flip. He folded it in half, the same way he had the night before, and stepped between my spread legs.

“You let them use this cunt,” he said, voice low and cold. “After I filled it. After I plugged it. After I told you it belonged to me.”

The first strike of the belt landed directly across my open p***y. A sharp, wet crack. Fire exploded across my already-sore lips and c**t. I cried out, hips jerking.

He didn’t give me time to recover. The second strike was harder, lower, catching the sensitive underside of my cunt. The third landed right on my swollen c**t. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“This,” he snarled, bringing the belt down again, “is not yours to give away. This tight little hole is mine. My c*m stays in it. My c**k owns it. Not some random assholes from a club.”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Each strike was precise, brutal, focused only on my p***y. He never hit my thighs or my stomach—only the soft, wet, already-abused flesh between my legs. My c**t throbbed with every impact. Fresh tears rolled down my temples into my hair. I was shaking, sobbing, but I kept my legs open because he hadn’t given me permission to close them.

“Daddy—please—”

“Don’t you f*****g ‘Daddy’ me right now.” Another hard slap of leather across my dripping cunt. “You don’t get to call me that while you’re still full of other men. You don’t get to come. You don’t get rewarded. You get punished until I decide you’ve learned.”

He dropped the belt and used his hand instead—open-palmed, stinging smacks right on my c**t and swollen lips. The wet sound of each slap filled the room. My hips tried to twist away; he pinned one thigh down with his free hand and kept going.

“Who does this p***y belong to?”

“You—” I choked out. “Only you—”

“Then why the f**k is it leaking two other loads all over my bed?”

Another series of sharp, vicious slaps. My c**t felt huge and burning. The pain was so intense it bordered on numbness, then flared again with every new strike. I was crying openly now, chest heaving, but my cunt kept clenching and dripping even under the punishment—traitorous and filthy.

Marcus leaned down, still slapping my p***y in steady, cruel rhythm, and spoke right against my ear.

“You’re going to sleep with this cunt sore and empty of pleasure tonight. No orgasm. No relief. Just the sting and the reminder that you don’t get to hand out what’s mine. Tomorrow I’m going to check again. And if I find even one more drop that doesn’t belong to me inside you… the belt will feel like a love tap compared to what comes next.”

He gave my p***y three final, hard slaps—each one landing directly on my throbbing c**t—then stopped.

I lay there shaking, legs still spread, p***y bright red and welted, tears streaming down my face, no release in sight. The only wetness between my legs now was the leftover c*m of the men from the club and the fresh slick my body had produced from the pain itself.

Marcus stood over me, breathing hard, belt still in his hand.

“Stay like that,” he ordered quietly. “Legs open. I want to look at what’s mine while it hurts.”

I didn’t close them.

I didn’t dare.