January 30, 2023
Daddy's Healing Touch Part 03

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My heart lodged itself in my throat when I heard nothing but silence after the floorboards had squeaked, alerting me to someone’s presence in my room.

It wasn’t like Antonio to sneak up on me. He usually barged in, either ecstatic or enraged, but regardless of his mood, he never wasted any time with putting his hands on me and telling me to cheer him up.

So if this wasn’t my captor, then who was he?

Because he definitely smelled like a man, musky and tangy, slightly sweaty, and wearing that generic body spray men got off the supermarket shelf without much thought put into their purchase. Yet beyond all that, there was also this energy coming off him, powerful, magnetic, hard to put into words. It compelled me to go to him, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Jesus, it had been such a long time since I had been near a male that wasn’t Antonio, that I was letting this bit of proximity affect me so much.

And who the hell was he, anyway?

Antonio’s men knew better than to come to this part of the property and even if they somehow got lost and landed here, they definitely wouldn’t have entered my room.

Whoever this man was, he was either a daredevil, an enemy, or somehow clueless about the situation he had landed himself in. For more than one reason.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” I breathed, then rushed to add, “not that it matters.”

I wasn’t lying.

It didn’t matter who this man was or why he was in my room. Like any other of his sex, he must be possessing a cock he could push inside me. I needed him to use it and ruin me for Antonio.

My captor hadn’t exactly raped me, yet, despite violating my body in numerous ways. He liked me pure, yes, but he also craved using me for his physical needs. It was a fight against time and his own self.

I feared the day Antonio would lose it, more so because I knew that that day would come soon. Antonio was finding it harder and harder to control himself every time he touched me. Last night I had to wipe his sticky hot cum off my thighs with one of my pillow cases, while he screamed at me to get cleaned up.

He couldn’t stand seeing me soiled, not even by his own cock and seed. His perverse acts of need disgusted me and his manic reactions to my state always scared me.

Together, they both ultimately pushed me to decide on this absurd plan - I was going to convince a man to ravage me and and then maybe, hopefully, I would be let out of my prison. It didn’t matter what happened with me after, whether Antonio killed me in one of his fits of rage or banished me onto the streets to join my mother, I just wanted out. I was tired of playing out his sick virgin nun fantasies.

“Tell me how you want me,” I purred, and played with my body.

Inexperienced as I was, I was sure that I appeared clumsy and ridiculous, rather than enticing, but I pushed on, past my shame and fear and embarrassment.

I might have been a whore’s daughter, yes, but my mother had made sure to keep me away from everything that happened between her and her clients.

Yet even so, natural curiosity had pushed me to inquire and I had heard… things.

I thought about all that.

The before.

The happenings from during the act.

What usually went on after.

It wasn’t even really thinking, because thought implied a degree of conscious intent. Instead, things merely came to mind as the same speed with which I moved my fingers against my sensitive little nub. They emerged in my brain like rocks periodically appearing as the waves rushed in and out of the shoreline, glistening and jagged and somehow beautiful.

I knew that men liked to look at and play with a woman’s tits, pussy, ass. Even Antonio, whose tastes were unusual, to say the least, enjoyed molesting me. So I touched myself the way he did, moaning the way my mom did, trying hard to paint a pretty picture for my unsuspecting victim.

I needed him to climb into bed with me, spread my legs and take my innocence.

I needed him to set me free with his cock.

But he wasn’t doing anything other than breathing harder and harder. Maybe he did know Antonio, in the end, and couldn’t bring himself to do anything to me.

But I also knew that a man’s lust was hard to defeat, Antonio being living proof of it. I just needed to give this man a sure reason to be bold.

“You’re kind of scaring me, Tony. Have I done something to displease you?” I asked, innocently, as if I truly believed I had been putting on a show for my unimpressed jailer. It was a cop-out for him. This man could ravage me, thinking I would believe he was Antonio the entire time.

No one knew the truth of my situation, the humiliation, the play-pretend, the shame. They all thought I was with Antonio for the money and luxuries he had filled this room with and that I was happy being his and spoiled rotten for it.

No one had any idea about the nights and days I spent crying in here, alone, feeling the ghost of his hands upon my skin and the echoes of his self-disgust ringing in my ears.

Today I was going to put an end to all that.

I climbed off the bed and with my arms outstretched, I moved towards the general direction of those creaky boards.

A strong pair of hands grabbed my arms and the stranger squeezed me, painfully hard, stopping me in my tracks.

“Ow, it hurts,” I cried, but he didn’t let go of me.

He just kept a tight hold on my body, not allowing me to make any moves. My skin screamed under the force of his vice grip, something I couldn’t let the rest of me vocalize. I did not want to alert the guards and for that, I was probably going to have to allow him to bruise me as he pleased.

“Do-do you want to hurt me tonight, then? Hit me?”

If my voice quivered, I could not help it. Antonio had never been physically brutal with me.

I heard the man inhale a sharp breath and my stomach did a flip.

He did want to hurt me.

“Do it, then, do whatever you want to me, I will not fight you, I promise,” I said, talking around the lump in my throat.

I couldn’t do anything, it seemed. I couldn’t stop Antonio. I couldn’t escape. And now if this man wanted to beat me, I knew I couldn’t stop that either. All I could do was to accept my situation and everything that came along with it.

This treacherous, ominous and potentially violent new bedroom role-play was frightening me.

“Does he beat you often?” The man asked, gravelly.

The pretense was off.

He had finally spoken to me and neither of us could dance around his lack of a Mexican accent.

“You are not Antonio,” I mumbled and tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he proved to be concrete solid.

“No. I am not. What do you say to that?”

I stilled, because it felt like he had decided to be gentler with me.

“It depends.”


“Why you are here.”

He snorted, derisively. “If I said I was here for you, what would you do?”

“Release me and I’ll show you.”

Here for me?

Here for me, for what?

To steal me away? Him and what army?

I almost wanted to laugh.

No, he was not my ticket out of here. My only chance to escape was in his pants.

I needed to take them off first.

I raised myself on my tiptoes and I pressed my lips against his, while my hands worked on his jeans, pulling the zipper down, opening him up to a new stage of seduction. I snaked my right hand to the very front of his crotch, squeezing his cock through his underwear.

He was already so hard.

I was half measuring him, half jerking him off the way I was taught a man liked it done. He felt big, so much bigger and thicker than Antonio.

“You don’t, ugh, fuck, stop it, girl,” he growled, despite clearly enjoying it. His precum was wetting my hand.

I didn’t even know men were capable of such self-control. He had been groaning under my touch, his breathing becoming increasingly labored, but he had not tried to lay a hand on me other than to try to stop my advances. And all he had managed accomplish about that, however, had been to make me wrap my hand around his cock even tighter.

That earned me a whimper and a slow, helpless grind against my palm.

“Don’t fight it, let me make you feel good.”

“I don’t like to feel good, actually,” he lied.

We both shivered when I ran a finger over his leaky cock head and he instinctively thrust forward.

“I can see that,” I teased, then raised the stakes. “I’ve never had a man in my mouth. Would you like to be my first? Teach me how to pleasure you.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, followed by a litany of curses as I pushed down his underwear, before finally kneeling before him.

I rested my palms on his muscular thighs for support and I willed myself to just do it. To just press my lips against his manhood and kiss him there, gently. It was a rather chaste, close-mouthed kiss, but even so, his cock twitched in response. He had liked that, so I did it again, peppering little kisses wherever I could, enjoying his moans.

“Don’t, argh,” he groaned when I took his cock in my hand and lifted it so I could kiss it on all sides.

Encouraged by his body’s reaction to me, I pushed myself to go further and to lick him, over and under, sucking on his balls too, slowly tasting him.

I found I didn’t hate the flavor of his cock. He was clean and sweet and virile, unlike Antonio, and above all, he kept on being very patient with me as I discovered how to make him feel good.

It brought me a strange sense of pleasure when I swirled my tongue around the expanse of silken flesh, tentatively sucking on the tip of his cock, and he instantly melted under my touch.

Finally, I willingly opened my mouth to take him fully in.

He stiffened, probably about to argue against this some more, but then he gave in to my ministrations. He put a hand on my head and gently pushed me against his groin, going just this bit past my comfort zone. I could almost feel him in my throat, the way he was holding me and guiding me to suck him.

I could tell he was so close to faltering, to doing what I needed from him by the way he was trying not to thrust back into my mouth, and occasionally failing.

I found myself moaning and groping at his ass, chasing his carnal submission by offering him mine.

His tone was low, quiet, but although there was a very slight tremble in it, for the most part it was steady when he spoke to me again. “I do not want you to suck my cock, girl. Get up.”

When I failed to obey, he grabbed my hair again and literally pulled me off his cock, then bent down and helped me back to my feet.

“Going straight for the grand finale, then?” I asked, emboldened by what I had just done.

I had just had my first taste of cock, and I had not been forced into it, nor did I hate it! It was freeing to be able to decide to whom to give myself and how.

“I cannot do this to you,” he said, sound remorseful.

He started petting my hair, caressing my face, wiping my chin off saliva and precum with the utmost care.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s degrading, what you just did.”

“Why? I liked it.”

What was degrading was to be told to lay still as Antonio jerked himself off above my pussy and then being left alone to deal with the spillage and shame, feeling like a dirty sex object.

Sucking cock because I wanted to? Not degrading at all. Empowering.

For another moment or two, the man said nothing more, but I got the distinct sense that he was mulling something over. Working it through. Trying, maybe, to decide what he wanted to do, leave or fuck me. I was rooting for the latter.

“Everything seems to be in working order here,” I teased, giving his cock another squeeze and therefore, a push in the direction I needed him to go in. “What more do you need? I’m wet, you’re hard…”

All at once it was like he was freshly aware of his cock, which, unlike its owner, hadn’t lost interest in any of this, and he rolled his hips forward, poking it into my lower belly.

I brought his head down with my free hand and kissed his lips.

“I’m your father,” he moaned into my mouth.

I silenced the surge of disappointment that was given birth in my soul and I continued the kiss. How twisted of him to need that to get off. But then again, twisted was exactly my specialty. If I could bear with Antonio’s role-play fetishes for month after month, I could call this man my “daddy” a few times until he got the job done.


I had had an actual daddy once. But then one day he was gone and mom wouldn’t tell me where or why, just that we needed to move to another place, another city. She had not mentioned him once, since then, and he hadn’t called either.

Real daddies sucked.

This fake daddy would at least be doing more for me than my real one. If only he would finally fuck me.

“Yes, you are, daddy. You’re my sweet daddy and you’re going to fuck your girl’s wet pussy now,” I purred and raised myself a little, enough so that I could guide the tip of his cock towards my wetness. I wasn’t sure how, but I had grown incredibly wet since all this nonsense game had started.

But the man swatted my hands brusquely away, hard enough to sting my knuckles. I let out a wince and I was about to say something vaguely reproachful when he seized me by the hair and yanked my head back.

I froze.

It wasn’t like no one had ever manhandled me before, even my actual father had had his rough moments with me, when I disobeyed or acted out as a kiddo, but it had never been this hard, this close to cruel, and the sting was sending tears to my eyes.

My throat was pulled so taut, it was essentially impossible to swallow. Hell, even breathing was taking some effort.

“Do not fucking call me “daddy” like that,” the man grunted, clearly pissed off. “I am not some sick bastard.”

For all my being on top and finally somewhat in control of my situation in regards to the man in my bed, this guy was much, much stronger than me and the fear was there, real and sharp.

I steeled myself again by softening into a non-threatening sex doll. Submission had always gotten me more than resistance.

“I’m sorry, please, how should I call you then?” I changed tracks, used to acting fast in order to placate Antonio’s bad moods.

“Nothing. I’m nothing to you, do you understand?”

I didn’t understand any of it anymore, but I shook my head “yes” anyway, and I reached out a hand to stroke his cock again.

“Let me make it up to you?”

I listened to the man’s hoarse breathing, feeling his body tensing against mine. But he was not giving in, still. “No.”

“Why are you trying to resist me? Am I not pretty?”

“You’re so beautiful, it hurts my soul.”

“Then what’s the problem? I’m willing, you’re willing, please just fuck me.”

“You will regret it.”

“I swear I want it. I will not regret it. Please, I’m begging you. I need you inside me, you have no idea how much I need it.”

A shiver coursed through him, sudden and uncontrolled.

Not much more controlled than the trembling that broke his will, the man lifted me and carried me over to the bed, where he dropped me onto my back.

He then pinned me with his massive body weight.

“Last chance,” he growled. “Just tell me ‘no’ and I will leave.”

“Take me.”

He hissed when he aimed his cock at my entrance and began pushing into me. The hiss sharpened into a groan when he finally broke my barrier and he slid all the way to the bottom of my cunt, making me cry out.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered and shallowly thrust a few more times into me, moaning, reveling in the feel of my body.

My pussy felt tight indeed, slowly stretching to accommodate his girth. I had never experienced such a sensation of fullness, before.

“You feel so good,” he said and his movements began to pick up speed, making my tits bounce.

I could feel tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, hot and then rapidly cooling, as they trickled down my cheeks.

Stop him now, Sarai, I told myself. Cry out. Beg. The deed was done, he needed to stop now.

And for a while I thought that was what I truly wanted, because it hurt having him move so roughly inside my body.

Not that the outside was being spared of his savage attentions. He was kissing me, licking me, biting me, wherever his mouth could find purchase - neck, collarbone, breasts, he would be marking the spot every time. No expanse of flesh would be escaping his hunger for me.

Soon enough his movements were making me feel something new. Maybe not completely new, but further down a certain path than I had ever gone before and it was impossible to ignore the plain and simple fact that that path frightened me. Sex was… good.

“Bear with it, I can’t control myself anymore,” he confessed his weakness against my breasts, worshiping their softness with his tongue, suckling on my nipples like a babe.

I was confused when he then pulled out of my abused cunt. But it had only been for a bit, and only so he could enter me again and again, claiming and reclaiming me with every mewl his cock drew out of me.

He wound his fingers tight in my hair again, pulling on it, making me arch against him as he took me at a killer pace. The length of his cock in my pussy burned me on the inside, my body growing hotter and hotter with every thrust.

The scent of this man, the scent of sex, thick and musky, it was all too overwhelming.

I mewled in pleasurable pain and the sound must have stoked the heat inside of his belly, because he turned even more demanding, thrusting so deep, as if he was trying to become one with me.

My own fires burned brightly, they licked my body with delicious flame, and all I wanted was more.

Even if I didn’t understand exactly what more consisted of.

I just knew that I wanted these feelings to become my new normal.

Even if the man causing them was a just a stranger to me and that in itself was dangerous.


Because I’d been badly hurt, forced into other, worse, things. Because I could no longer recall a lot of my life before Antonio took me prisoner, and what little did, it had always come back to me in confusing flickers and glimpses.

My life here was lonely and painful and I wanted none of it, and in none of it did I ever have any choice.

But this?

This man, grunting and punishing me with his cock because I begged him to give it to me and I insisted until he caved in?

I wanted it.

I wanted to be laid flat on my back with him braced over me, holding me down with thick and delightfully calloused hands. I wanted him to run his hands everywhere, rough and hungry, practically manhandling me.

And as he drove himself deep, one final time, hitting the bottom of my abused pussy and making me cry out with him in unison, I knew I wanted him to spill his seed inside my womb.

He trembled with the force of his orgasm and I could feel his cum coating my insides.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” he murmured.

I didn’t say anything, I just laid there, panting, exhausted, with him holding my thighs around his waist, probably looking at what a mess I was.


A real mess.

I had just been used, and therefore ruined.

I smiled at the realization.

My freedom was assured now.

“I’m not sorry at all.”

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Hazel Grace

Hazel Grace

I'm Anna, nice to meet you! I like to write incest erotica under the pen name Hazel Grace. My literary tastes run pretty wild, definitely taboo, somewhat more sexually aggressive than most, so if you're willing to experience a different, more vibrant and off the beaten path kind of erotica, come read what I publish.

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