milking torture

Once the electricity coursing through her body had run its course, she waited a moment, just making sure her dad was still asleep. His breathing was still steady, loud yet muffled by the machine around his face. She was safe. Although she knew she should head back to bed after pushing her luck, she couldn’t get over her new discovery. She had to go back for another smell. A bit less careful now with her excitement, her hand quickly ventured back to her father’s patch of pubes, fingers running through it as if it where her own hair. Sarah propped herself on her elbow, and moved her head closer, chin rubbing gently against her dad’s thigh as she dared to take a direct whiff.

“She was crying, begging me to stop, saying that I was hurting her. I just laughed, telling her she should be grateful to receive my affection, and that nothing in her life would compare to the glory of bearing my child. Galvin always told me that it didn’t matter what happened to the weak; it was our birthright to take what we wanted because we were superior in blood and magic. I wanted to believe him, because with him, I wasn’t alone. We had fun, we laughed, and we dismissed everyone and everything that got in our way. I wanted to believe that there was nothing wrong with us, even if, deep down, I knew the truth.

She’d snuck into her parent’s bed a few times over the years, something she hadn’t grown out of since her childhood. But to her credit it always got her a good night’s sleep after a bad dream. After she hit puberty, she’d been told she had to go back to her own bed, but after giving her dad a sulking pout she was always allowed to stay until she calmed down.