My daughter is a whore - II.

My daughter lives for cock. She drops her teddy bear the second she hears my boyfriend’s zipper. Her small mouth parts, tongue already pushing out, eager for the weight she can barely close her lips around. He lets her taste him like a treat she hasn’t earned yet, cock heavy against her cheek, the flushed head brushing the corner of her mouth. Spit gathers fast; it strings from her chin when he rocks forward again, pushing past her teeth in a slow, deliberate slide. She gags once, soft and wet, then takes more. Saliva soaks his shaft, runs down his balls while her little hand fists the base, steadying herself for every gentle thrust she begs for with half-lidded eyes. I stay in the doorway, one palm pressed between my thighs, fingertips tracing slow circles over cotton already damp. The sound of her greedy gulping fills the room, tiny and explicit, each swallow making my nipples draw tight. There’s nothing left to say. She wants it. She’s having it. And so am I, watching, dripping, giving in.