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“But… would’t…” I frown, trying my hardest to wrap my mind around his words, “wouldn’t that just be sex rather than rape, Daddy?”
“Actually, I suppose you are at the age where you’d understand the difference in a way that’s more… hands-on, so to speak.”
I tilt my head at Daddy’s strange new proposition. “Um… ok—oh!”
I don’t get to finish when he suddenly pushes me down, laying me back on the bed.
Confusion swirls in my mind as he climbs on top of me, an unexpected excitement gleaming in his eyes. His soft pants escape his lips, almost reminding me of my childhood puppy, Pippy, whenever he got excited.
“Remember, you were the one who asked for this, Isabelle,” he murmurs, one hand slowly going to graze its way down from my cheek to the side of my breasts. I can’t figure out his expression, but, for a moment, it kind of looks maniac as he licks his lips. “Do you trust me?”
What a strange question.
How can I not trust him?
“I trust you, Daddy,” I say, but before I can even fully understand what’s happening, he suddenly grabs the hem of my shirt and tears it down the middle. The ripping of fabric fills the room, and my heart races as I think I might have the wind knocked out of me. “Daddy! What are you doing? That’s my favorite shirt!”
“I know,” he rumbles, showing me exactly who he is… “You asked for this, Isabelle,” but I didn’t understand what he meant until I was leaking with my father’s cum.
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