It started as a game. I’d tease him, let other men touch me, and then come back to him. He was so desperate for me that he didn’t care how I smelled—another man’s cum, sweat, and sex. But it got good. Too good. Now, every drop of cum I get gives me control, and I crave it more than anything.
Daddy watched as I took those men, one after another, sucking them off in the same bed where we slept. Their grunts, their cum dripping from my lips and onto my tits—it all made him crazy. He begged, pleaded, and even cried for me to stop, to come back to him. But I wouldn’t. I was a slut for their cum, and it made me so powerful.
I straddled him, his pathetic dick hard and leaking as I rode him rough. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide, as I drained him dry. He came with a pathetic whimper, his cum spilling over my hand and onto his chest. I smirked down at him. “That’s for every time I made you beg,” I said, standing up and leaving him alone with his tears and cum stains.