Speaker 1: Welcome to Sexy Stories. After dark. Ah. After Dad's key
turned in the front door at seven twenty three pm.
I know because I've been watching the clock on my phone.
Sprawled across the cream colored sectional, one leg dangling over
the armrest. The Netflix previews cycled through their auto play bullshit,
but I wasn't watching Madison. I'm home, Sushi's in the car.
Grab it. His voice carried that weary lawyer cadence, twelve
hours of depositions. Perfect, sure, Daddy, I sing songs, not moving.
My heart knocked against my ribs, not from gila, from anticipation.
The door held for another forty seven seconds. Then it didn't.
The frame splintered with a crack that vibrated up through
the marble floors. Dad shouted something, a single syllable lost
in the thunder of boots on hardwood. I rolled off
the sectional, landing on the persian rug in exactly the
position we'd rehearsed. Wide eyes, open mouth, the perfect little victim.
Two men in balaklavas, broad shoulders. The shorter one moved
toward Dad, while the taller one hooked left, scanning the
room like we'd blocked it. Behind them, A woman same
black mask, same black tactical gear. She found me immediately
living room. Now she barked, and her grip found my
upper arm with a force that sent a jolt straight
between my legs. Showtime. The shorter man Dad in a chair.
Within thirty seconds, Zip ties efficient. The tall one dragged
the heavy oak dining chair across the floor that awful
screech of wood on marble, and positioned it facing the
center of the room. Sit the fuck down, counselor. Dad's
eyes were wild, scanning for me. Find in me. Maddie, Maddie,
don't you hurt her. I'll give you whatever. Shut up.
The short one backhanded him, not hard enough to bruise.
We'd discussed that the woman's breath was hot against my ear.
Remember sell it. She marched me toward the center of
the living room, toward the hook. Dad had installed it
three years ago for his boxing bag, a heavy duty
steel thing bolted into a ceiling beam. I'd watched him
hang that bag myself never thought much about it until
six weeks ago, when I'd lain in bed and stared
at the ceiling and started putting together the math of
how much money Dad actually had and how little of it.
He was willing to share. The rope was already looped
through the hook pre rigged. The tall man had done
it while the short one secured Dad professional I'd paid
for professional. Rough hemp bit into my wrists as the
woman wound it tight a test tug. My shoulders pulled back,
another tug, and my heels left the floor. I dangled
my designer tank top, rode up my Lululemon shorts. Suddenly
felt very, very thin. The cool air of the living
room found the exposed strip of my midriff, and I shivered,
not from cold. Look at her, the short one said.
His voice had changed, dropped, become something slower. Look at
what we've got. The tall man circled me like I
was merchandise. His gloved fingers caught the hem of my
tank top. One clean rip, and the fabric split up
the front. My breasts pert pink nippled, the kind of
breasts that came from being nineteen and doing yoga twice
a week, bounced free. I made myself squeal. It came
out breathier than I intended. Oh, she liked that. The
woman murmured. Dad writhed against his zip ties. The chair
legs stuttered against the floor. Stop, please, I'll give you money.
I'll give you Your daughter's not complaining. The short one
crouched beside Dad's chair, grabbing his jaw and forcing his
head forward. You're gonna watch, and you're gonna enjoy it.
The tall man's knife was out, a folding blade, cold
against my hip. As he slid it under the waistband
of my shorts, the fabric gave way with a whisper.
My panties followed one quick slice through the cotton, and
then I was naked, completely dangling from my wrists toes,
barely skimming the floor. Every inch of me exposed to
the climate controlled air, and three pairs of masked eyes
and my father. The knife clicked shut. Your dad ruined
my family. The short one's voice was conversational, now almost pleasant.
Fancy lawyer, big shot, you know how many people he
screwed over. Dad's mouth opened closed. The realization settled over
his features like a shadow. He had no idea which case,
which client, which family. It could have been anyone, That
was the beauty of it. The woman stepped toward me first,
her hip swayed with a deliberate, theatrical slowness through the
eyeholes of her balaclava. I caught the glint of something hungry. Oh,
she breathed me. First, her mouth found my left nipple.
The warmth of it, the wet suction, the scrape of
teeth sent a current straight down my spine. My back arched,
not acting. My body didn't know how to act, not
with a woman's tongue circling my areola, flicking, pulling. She
cupped my other breast with her gloved hand, kneading, and
her thumb found the nipple. Impressed. A sound escaped me,
high and thin and completely genuine. Oh she likes it.
The woman's voice vibrated against my skin. She sucked harder,
pulling my nipple deep into her mouth, and I felt
the tug in my clit. The men laugh. Look at
the old man. The short one said, I looked. Dad's
face was a mask of horror. But his sweat pants
told a different story. The tent, the unmistakable ridge. He
was hard. The tall man grabbed my hips from behind.
His fingers dug into the flesh of my ass, spreading
me open, and then his thumb found my clit and
started working, slow, deliberate, circles wet, already filthy little thing.
The woman was moving lower. Her lips traced a wet
line down my stomach, pausing at my navel. Her tongue
dipped inside, and my hips bucked. The rope creaked. She
kept going lower, lower, until her mouth found my cunt.
I stopped pretending to struggle. Her tongue parted me, a broad,
flat stroke from bottom to top that made my vision
blur at the edges. She found my clit and sealed
her lips around it, sucking in a rhythm that matched
the tall man's thumb, and the dual sensation was I'm gonna.
The words fell out of me before I could stop them.
Not yet. The woman pulled back, her chin glistened, time
for cock. The tall man unbuckled his tactical pants. The
short man did the same. They moved in concert, positioning
themselves on either side of my dangling body. And then
the tall one lifted my legs and wrapped them around
his waist. His cock head pressed against my entrance, thick, insistent.
The short one was behind me, his fingers slick with
something lube my own wetness, who cared working at my
ass ready Princess, I bit my lip, nodded too thrusts.
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