Daddy's Fan Page Slut

Author's note: This is the unpublished short that inspired the concept for Jessie's Fan Page. Enjoy!

The trailer’s living room smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the kind of heavy stink that clung to the sagging couch and the chipped coffee table like a second skin. Summer heat pressed in through the cracked window, turning the air sticky, a faint hum of cicadas buzzing outside the rusty screen. Brittany sprawled across the couch, her bare legs stretched out, toes brushing a pile of crumpled fast-food wrappers she’d left there last night. Her blonde hair spilled over the armrest, tangled and greasy from skipping a shower, and her busty chest strained a faded tank top—too tight, the straps digging into her shoulders, her big tits pushing the fabric to its limit. She scrolled her phone with one hand, the screen’s glow lighting her pouty face—big blue eyes, soft cheeks, a little vacant—as she flicked through pics of girls she’d gone to school with, all posting about college dorms and new starts. Nineteen, barely graduated with a ton of help from teachers who’d pitied her, and now she was stuck, no clue what came next.

The screen door banged open, rattling the whole trailer, and Todd stomped in, his work boots thudding on the worn linoleum. He was a broad, gruff slab of a man—mid-40s, salt-and-pepper stubble rough on his square jaw, his flannel shirt unbuttoned over a stained undershirt, showing a hairy chest slick with sweat from a day hauling lumber. He carried a six-pack of cheap beer in one meaty hand, the cans clanking as he dropped them on the counter, his dark eyes narrowing at Brittany lounging like she owned the place.

“Still sittin’ on your ass, huh?” he said, his voice a low growl, popping a can open with a hiss that cut through the room’s stale quiet. “Thought you were gonna figure somethin’ out by now.”

Brittany didn’t look up, her thumb swiping the screen, a faint whine creeping into her tone. “I’m thinking about it, Dad. It’s not that easy, okay? Everyone’s going to college and stuff, and I don’t even know where to start.” She shifted, her tank top riding up to bare a sliver of her soft belly, her shorts—cutoffs, frayed at the edges—hugging her curvy ass a little too tight.

Todd took a long swig, the beer can denting slightly in his grip, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a wet smear across his stubble. “College? You?” He barked a laugh, short and harsh, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter, boots scuffing the floor. “Brit, you barely got outta high school, and that was ‘cause Mrs. Carter felt sorry for your dumb ass. You think I’m shellin’ out cash for you to flunk some fancy school? Ain’t happenin’. Waste of goddamn money.”

She sat up then, tossing the phone onto the couch, her blonde hair bouncing as she crossed her arms under her tits, pushing them up higher, her pout deepening. “That’s not fair! I could do college if I tried. I’m not, like, totally stupid or anything. And what else am I supposed to do? Just sit here forever?” Her voice had that whiny edge she always fell into when he pushed her, a little nasal, a little bratty, her blue eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and defiance.

Todd snorted, cracking another beer already, the first can empty and crushed on the counter beside him. “You’re not cut out for it, kid. Face it—you ain’t got the brains for books. But you got somethin’ else.” He gestured at her with the can, his eyes flicking to her chest, her hips, a crude grin tugging at his lips. “Those girls online, the ones makin’ bank? They do these fan page things—showin’ off their bodies, lookin’ cute, sellin’ their melons to guys who pay big. You oughta do that. You’ve got big, slutty melons right there—guys’ll fork over cash to see those things bounce.”

Brittany’s face went hot, a flush creeping up her neck to her cheeks, and she hugged herself tighter, her arms squashing her tits even more, mortified. “Dad! Oh my God, that’s so gross! I’m not showing my—my boobs to people online! That’s, like, totally embarrassing and slutty and weird!” Her voice climbed higher, whiny and shrill, her legs pulling up onto the couch like she could hide from the idea, her shorts riding up to flash a peek of her ass cheek.

“Embarrassing?” Todd said, stepping closer, his boots heavy on the floor, the beer can dangling loose in his hand as he loomed over her. “What’s embarrassing is you sittin’ here, eatin’ my food, usin’ my electric, doin’ jack shit all day. I’ve raised you alone since your mom took off—fifteen years of me bustin’ my ass—and you’re nineteen now, Brit. Time to pull your weight. I ain’t payin’ for you to waste time in college just to flunk out, cryin’ about how hard it is. You wanna stay here, you either get a job and chip in, or you do this fan page business. I’ll even help you make it a success—set it up, get it rollin’. Easy money, and you’re built for it.”

She stared up at him, her mouth dropping open, those big blue eyes wide and wet, like she might cry right there.

“A job? Like, what am I even gonna do? I don’t know how to do anything, and—and this fan page thing sounds so nasty! Guys looking at me, like, all creepy? I don’t wanna be some internet slut!” Her voice shook, her hands fidgeting in her lap, tugging at the hem of her tank top like it’d cover more if she tried hard enough.

Todd shrugged, taking another swig, his grin fading to a hard line, his patience thinning. “Then pack your shit and figure it out somewhere else, Brit. I’m done carryin’ you. But lemme tell you—this fan page gig? It’s just posin’ in cute outfits, showin’ off what you got. You don’t gotta be a rocket scientist—just smile, shake your ass a little, let those tits do the work. Guys pay stupid money for that, and we split it. You stay here, eat my food, sleep in that room—free. Your call, kid.” He leaned back against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest, the beer can glinting in his hand, his eyes steady on her, waiting.

Brittany’s lip trembled, her fingers twisting the tank top harder, stretching it till the fabric groaned. She didn’t want to work—flipping burgers or ringing up groceries sounded awful, all sweaty and boring, and she’d suck at it anyway. But this? Posing online, letting strangers ogle her tits? Her stomach churned, a hot flush of shame crawling up her spine, but Todd’s stare didn’t budge, and she knew he meant it—he’d kick her out, leave her scrambling with no car, no cash, no nothing. “Fine,” she mumbled, her voice small, whiny, barely audible as she dropped her eyes to the floor, blonde hair falling over her face. “I’ll do the stupid fan page thing, okay? But it’s just pictures, right? Nothing super gross?”

Todd’s grin came back, wider now, a flash of teeth as he straightened up, cracking his knuckles loud enough to make her flinch. “That’s my girl—good choice, Brit. Just pictures to start—cute stuff, easy. I’ll do some homework, figure out how it works, get you set up proper. You’ll be a star, makin’ cash with those slutty melons, and I’ll handle the rest. Good girl for Daddy, huh?” He chuckled, low and rough, finishing his beer and tossing the can into the sink with a clatter, already eyeing her tits again like they were dollar signs.

She hugged herself more tightly, her face flushed with heat and a lump in her throat that refused to go away. "Don't call it that—it's weird," she mumbled, picking up her phone and sinking back into the couch, her shorts creeping up further as she tucked her legs beneath her. The thought lingered in her mind—posing online, men paying to see her, Todd "helping"—and it made her skin crawl, her arousal a discomfort she despised, a hidden feeling she buried deep. She knew he would do it—coax her into becoming a fan page girl—and she would let him, because what choice did she have? Her father, gruff and coarse, turning her into his project. She quietly groaned, scrolling faster, trying to convince herself it wasn't happening yet.

Todd grabbed another beer, popping it open, the hiss loud in the quiet. “We’ll start tomorrow—get you somethin’ to wear, somethin’ hot. You’ll see, Brit—easy money.” He lumbered off to his room, boots echoing.

---

The lingerie store reeked of synthetic floral perfume and plastic packaging, a low-rent strip-mall dive with flickering fluorescent lights humming overhead, casting a harsh glow on the linoleum floor. Brittany trailed Todd, her flip-flops slapping with every reluctant step, her blonde hair yanked back into a messy ponytail that swayed as she moved. She wore a faded gray tank top—stretched thin, the straps biting into her shoulders, her big tits bouncing free underneath—and denim shorts so short they barely covered her ass, the frayed hems brushing her thighs.

Her cheeks flushed pink, a hot embarrassment creeping up her neck as she hugged herself tight, arms squashing her busty chest, trying to shrink into the racks of skimpy outfits Todd was already rummaging through. He’d spent three days on “homework”—hunched over his old laptop in the trailer, beer cans piling up around him, muttering about fan pages and “what guys buy”—and now they were here, shopping for what he kept calling her “money-makers.”

Todd loomed by a rack of thongs, his broad frame dwarfing the flimsy display, his flannel shirt rolled up to bare forearms thick with muscle and dusted with gray hair. He held up a black pair—tiny, crotchless, “Daddy’s Girl” stitched in pink cursive across the front—and grinned, his stubble glinting under the lights as he turned to her.

“Check this out, Brit,” he said, his voice rough but easy, like he was picking out a new tool at the hardware store. “Guys go nuts for this kinda thing—cute little words, shows off your ass real nice. You’ll try it on later, see how it fits those hips of yours.”

Brittany’s stomach knotted, her arms squeezing her tits harder, mashing them against her chest as she stared at the thong, her jaw dropping in horror. “Dad, no way—that’s so gross! It’s got, like, holes in it, and ‘Daddy’s Girl’? Oh my God, that’s super weird—I’m not wearing something like that!” Her voice whined high and nasal, her blue eyes widening with a mix of shame and panic, darting around the empty store like someone might overhear him.

He chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that rumbled in his throat, tossing the thong into a plastic basket he’d grabbed off the counter, not even glancing at her pouty glare. “Gross? Nah, it’s perfect, kid. I’ve been lookin’ at the top girls online—they wear stuff like this, and it’s what brings in the cash. You wanna do this fan page right, you gotta play the part—show some skin, give ’em somethin’ to drool over. Ain’t no one payin’ subscription money for you in them baggy-ass shirts you sleep in.”

He plucked another pair—red, sheer, “Daddy’s Little Cumslut” scrawled in glittery white across the waistband—and held it up, squinting at it like he was sizing up a piece of lumber. “This one’s a winner too—guys’ll love seein’ your pussy peek through. Into the pile it goes.”

Her face flared hotter, a flush crawling up her neck to her ears, and she stepped back, her flip-flops squeaking loud on the floor. “Dad, stop it—that’s so nasty! I’m not some porn star or whatever! I said I’d do pictures, but this is, like, way too much, and that ‘cumslut’ thing is disgusting!” Her voice trembled, her hands dropping to tug at her shorts, pulling them down a fraction to cover more of her thighs, though it didn’t hide the way her tits jiggled with every move.

Todd turned, his grin flattening to a stern line, his dark eyes narrowing as he dropped the red thong into the basket with a soft rustle. “Too much? Listen, Brit—this ain’t a game you half-ass. I told you straight: pictures don’t cut it if you’re just standin’ there lookin’ cute and pouty. You wanna stay under my roof, eat my food, you’re givin’ ’em somethin’ worth the subscription—your big tits, that curvy ass, all dolled up in shit like this. That’s what sells. I’m puttin’ in the work to make this a success for you, so quit whinin’ and start actin’ like a good girl for Daddy.” He stepped closer, his boots thudding heavy, looming over her, his voice firm but laced with that practical edge, like he was laying out a simple fact she was too dumb to grasp.

She bit her lip, her fingers twisting the hem of her tank top, stretching the fabric till it groaned under the strain, her eyes dropping to the scuffed floor, blonde strands slipping over her face.

“I don’t wanna get kicked out, okay? I get it—you’re serious. But it’s still weird! Guys are gonna stare at me in that stuff, and it says ‘cumslut’—that’s so embarrassing!” Her voice softened, the whine turning into a shaky plea, her shoulders hunching as if she could make her tits disappear by curling in tight.

“Embarrassin’ is fine if it pays,” he said, shrugging broad shoulders, snagging a skimpy top off another rack—white lace, more a bra than a shirt, “Daddy’s Hole” printed in bold black across the chest. “You’re built for this, Brit—big, slutty melons like yours, guys’ll line up to subscribe just to see ’em bounce. No shame in makin’ it work. This one’s good too—gonna look hot with them shorts you got on.” He tossed it into the basket, piling it high—thongs, bras, a garter belt with “Daddy’s Toy” stitched in red—his grin creeping back as he eyed her curves, crude but matter-of-fact, like he was appraising a tool he’d use to fix the trailer.

Brittany’s throat tightened, her flip-flops scuffing as she shuffled back, her ass bumping a rack of stockings that rattled loud enough to make her jump. “Fine, whatever! This is so dumb and gross, and I don’t even know how to stand or pose or anything—I’m gonna look stupid!” Her voice quavered, her hands fidgeting nervously, one tugging her shorts again, the other brushing her hair back, her tits jiggling despite her efforts to stay still.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, hauling the basket to the counter, the cashier—a bored woman with dyed red hair and a smoker’s rasp—ringing it up slow, the total climbing past fifty bucks, then sixty. “I’ve been readin’ up—watched some videos, got the basics sorted. We’ll start easy—snap a bunch of pics at home, build a library first, you posin’ in this stuff, smilin’ cute. I’ll edit ’em, make ’em look good—takes time to do it right.” He fished out a wad of crumpled bills—his lumber cash, creased and sweaty—and handed them over, grabbing the bags as the cashier shoved them across, plastic rustling loud. “Truck’s outside. Move your ass, Brit—gonna take a couple days to get this rollin’.”

She huffed, stomping after him, her flip-flops slapping harder, the bags swinging in his hands as they stepped into the parking lot.

“This better not take forever—I’m not doing it all day every day or something,” she muttered, climbing into his beat-up truck, the vinyl seat hot and sticky against her bare thighs, her tank top clinging damp to her tits. She slumped against the window, arms crossed, pouting as he tossed the bags between them, the “Daddy’s Little Cumslut” thong peeking out the top, taunting her with glittery letters.

“Won’t be forever—just enough to start,” he said, firing up the engine, the rumble shaking the cab as he pulled out, his voice gruff but tinged with a smirk. “Gonna shoot a hundred or so—pics, little clips, you in all this stuff. Couch, bed, wherever looks decent. Then I’ll hook up with a marketing outfit online—pay ’em to push it out, get subscribers comin’ in. Takes a day or two to see who bites—after that, we’ll see what they want more of. Easy money, Brit—you don’t gotta flip burgers, just smile and show them melons.” He glanced over, his eyes flicking to her tits bouncing with the truck’s jolts, his hand resting loose on the wheel, casual as if he’d just planned a fishing trip.

Back at the trailer, he dumped the bags on her bed—pink sheets, stained and rumpled, cluttered with old magazines—and pointed at the pile, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Start with the black one—‘Daddy’s Girl.’ Strip down, put it on, let’s see it,” he said, fiddling with the camera settings. “Stand by the bed, bend a little—show your ass, your tits. We’ll get a bunch today, tomorrow too.”

She stared at the thong, her face flaming again, her hands hovering over the bags, trembling slightly. “Right now? Dad, come on—this is so weird! I don’t even know what I’m doing!” Her voice whined high, her fingers twisting her tank top once more, stretching it thin, her tits jiggling as she shifted, bratty and nervous.

“Just put it on,” he said, his tone edging sharper, patience wearing thin, his phone up and ready. “Pose by the bed, lean over a bit—show what you got. It’s easy—smile, act cute, be a good girl for Daddy. We’ll shoot a ton, stack ’em up. Go on, Brit.” He leaned against the frame, sipping a fresh beer from the fridge, watching her like she was a job he’d finish one way or another.

Brittany groaned, snatching the thong, her flip-flops kicking a magazine aside as she turned away, peeling off her shorts slow, her ass bare and round as she stepped into the black fabric, the “Daddy’s Girl” cursive stretching across her crotch. She tugged her tank top off, her big tits bouncing free, nipples stiff in the trailer’s stale air, and yanked it back down fast, whining, “This is so stupid—I look like a total slut already!” She faced him, pouting, her hands half-covering her chest, her pussy wet despite the shame coiling tight in her gut.

“Looks fuckin’ perfect,” Todd said, grinning wide, snapping pics—click, click, click—her tits spilling over her arms, her ass peeking from the thong, her whiny pout caught in every frame. “That’s my girl—good start, Brit. Keep goin’.”

---

The trailer’s living room buzzed with the hum of an old box fan, rattling in the corner as it shoved stale air around, doing little to cut the late summer heat. Brittany perched on a folding chair in Todd’s makeshift “studio”—a cleared spot by the couch, the coffee table shoved aside, a chipped tripod holding his phone angled just right. She wore the red “Daddy’s Little Cumslut” thong from their shopping haul, her pussy peeking through the thin fabric—and a white lace top that barely covered her nipples, “Daddy’s Hole” scrawled bold across her big tits, spilling out the sides.

Her blonde hair hung loose, frizzy from sweat, framing her pouty face—blue eyes wide, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment—as she shifted, her bare ass sticking to the chair, her flip-flops scuffing the linoleum. Two days of this—posing, whining, Todd snapping pics and clips—had built a library of a hundred shots, her tits and ass on display in every slutty outfit he’d bought.

Todd hunched over his laptop on the counter, the screen’s glow lighting his stubbled jaw, his flannel shirt unbuttoned over a sweaty undershirt, beer can sweating beside him. He’d spent the morning uploading the library—photos of Brittany bending over the couch, her tits jiggling in the lace top; clips of her twirling slow, whining, “This is so dumb, Dad!” as her ass bounced in the thong. Then he'd forked over fifty bucks to a marketing agency he’d found online, some sketchy outfit promising to “boost your girl’s subs.” Now, three days later, the fan page was live—subscriptions trickling in at five bucks a month, ten for premium, a couple dozen guys already signed up. He scrolled, grunting at the screen, his voice rough but smug. “Look at this, Brit—twenty-eight subscribers already, couple hundred bucks sittin’ there. Told you them melons’d sell.”

Brittany hugged herself, her arms squashing her tits tighter under the lace, her voice whiny and high as she glared at the floor. “That’s it? Twenty-eight? Dad, that’s not even a lot—I thought you said I’d make bank or something! And it’s still weird—guys are looking at me in this stuff, and I hate it!” She shifted, the thong riding up her ass, her pussy wet despite the shame twisting her gut, a secret heat she shoved down every time she caught Todd’s grin.

He laughed, swiveling the laptop so she could see—a blurry thumbnail of her bending over, “Daddy’s Girl” thong stretched tight, comments stacked below. “Not a lot? It’s a fuckin’ start, kid. Rome didn't get built in a day or some shit. But check this out—these guys ain’t happy with just pics and little dances. Look what they’re sayin’.”

He tapped the screen, reading aloud, his tone shifting to mock the words. “‘Too tame—show her sucking cock or getting throatfucked hard.’ ‘Where’s the titty-fucking? I’d pay extra for that.’ ‘Need some real action—get her banged by older guys.’ Shit like that, Brit—they want hardcore, not this cutesy bullshit.”

Her face went hot, a flush crawling up her neck to her ears, and she lurched forward, her flip-flops squeaking as she snatched the laptop, scrolling fast, her eyes widening at the flood of dirty demands. “Oh my God, Dad—no way! That’s so nasty—I’m not doing that stuff! Sucking cock? Throatfucked? That’s, like, totally gross and porn-star crap—I can’t!” Her voice climbed higher, whiny and shrill, her hands trembling as she shoved the laptop back, hugging herself again, her big tits jiggling under the lace, her pout deepening into a panicked grimace.

Todd leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, the beer can glinting in his hand as he took a slow sip, his dark eyes narrowing at her freakout. “Can’t? Brit, you think this is gonna work if you just sit there flashin’ your ass and whinin’ about it? These guys ain’t payin’ five bucks a month for you to play shy—they want the real deal, and that’s where the money’s at. You wanna make this a success, or you wanna pack your bags and figure out how to live on minimum wage flippin’ fries? ’Cause I ain’t keepin’ you here for free—you’re either in or out, kid.” His voice stayed steady, gruff but firm, like he was laying down a rule she’d better not test, his grin gone, replaced by a hard stare.

She bit her lip, her fingers twisting the lace top’s hem, stretching it till it dug into her skin, her eyes darting to the floor, then up at him, wet and pleading. “I don’t even know how to do it, and it sounds awful! Guys want me to—to suck on camera? That’s not what I signed up for!” Her voice shook, whiny turning to a desperate edge, her shoulders hunching as she tried to shrink her tits away, her flip-flops tapping nervously.

“Signed up for?” he said, setting the beer down with a clank, stepping closer, his boots heavy on the linoleum as he loomed over her chair. “You signed up to make cash, Brit—not to pussyfoot around. I’ve done the work—bought the outfits, shot the pics, paid the agency to push it. Now it’s on you to step up. They want hardcore, and I’m gonna teach you how to give it to ’em. Start simple—suckin’ cock, lettin’ me film it. You’ll get used to it, and the money’ll roll in bigger. Be a good girl for Daddy, huh? That’s what they’re payin’ to see.” He grabbed his phone off the tripod, thumbing the camera on, his grin creeping back, crude and expectant.

Brittany’s throat tightened. Her hands dropped to her lap, fidgeting with the thong’s straps as she stared at him, horrified. “Teach me? Dad, oh my God—no! That’s so gross—I can’t suck your—you know! It’s nasty, and I’ll gag or something!” Her voice whined loud, her face flaming red, her pussy wetter now despite the panic clawing her chest, a secret twist she hated feeling.

“You’ll gag, sure—makes it better,” he said, chuckling, unzipping his jeans slow, his cock springing free—thick, half-hard already, veins bulging as he gripped it. “Fans’ll love that—your whiny ass complainin’ while you choke on it. Come here, Brit—kneel down, let’s get a clip. Good girl for Daddy, right?” He angled the phone, framing her on the chair, his voice gruff but coaxing, like he was talking her through fixing a tire.

She froze, her flip-flops glued to the floor, her eyes locked on his cock, big and real and right there, her breath hitching fast. “Dad, no—I can’t—it’s too weird! I don’t wanna do this!” Her voice cracked, whiny and shrill, but her pussy dripped, soaking the thong, her body betraying her as she slid off the chair, kneeling slow, her bare knees hitting the linoleum hard, her hands trembling on his thighs.

“Shut up and try,” he said, his tone sharpening, grabbing her hair gentle but firm, guiding her head down, his cock brushing her lips, warm and salty. “Open your mouth—suck it, Brit. Whine all you want, just do it.” He hit record—click—the phone’s camera catching her as she parted her lips, gagging loud as he pushed in, her throat tightening, spit drooling down her chin fast.

“It’s gross!” she whined, muffled around his cock, her voice nasally and bratty, pulling back to gasp, spit dripping to her lace top, soaking “Daddy’s Hole” as she coughed. “I hate this—it’s nasty!” Her eyes watered, tears smearing her mascara, her pussy wet and hot, a shameful heat she couldn’t stop as he shoved back in, filming her choke.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he grunted, his hips bucking slow, her gags loud and wet, spit bubbling as he held her there, his voice rough with a grin. “Keep whinin’—they’ll eat that shit up. Gag some more, Brit.”

The phone caught it all—her bratty pout, her big tits jiggling, her sobs breaking into whines, cum from her spit streaking her chin—the first hardcore clip in his library.

She pulled off again, coughing hard, spit dripping to the floor, her face a mess as she glared up at him, whining, “This sucks—I’m not doing it again!” But her pussy stayed wet, her body shaking, and Todd just laughed, stopping the clip, already thumbing through it, knowing the fans would pay—her complaints, her gags, her melons, all gold.

---

The trailer bedroom glowed dim under a flickering bulb, the night air heavy with heat and the faint tang of cigarette smoke seeping through the thin walls. Brittany knelt on her pink sheets—rumpled, stained with sweat—her knees sinking into the mattress, her blonde hair spilling messy over her shoulders, sticking to her damp neck. She wore a black garter belt from Todd’s haul, paired with crotchless panties that left her pussy bare, the lace framing her curvy ass like a cheap frame around a dirty picture. Her big tits hung free, nipples stiff in the stale air, the “Daddy’s Hole” top tossed aside after the last clip. Her face burned red, her blue eyes wet and wide, still reeling from her most recent throat-fuck—gagging on Todd’s cock, whining “It’s gross!” for the camera, her spit-soaked sobs now a fan favorite online.

Todd stood by the bed, his broad frame filling the cramped space, shirtless, his hairy chest slick with sweat, jeans unzipped, cock out—thick, hard, veins bulging as he gripped it in one hand. The other held his daughter's hair as the phone recorded, catching Brittany’s every whine and shudder. He’d shot several more blowjob clips since that first one—her choking, complaining, her big melons bouncing as he’d rammed her throat—building the library past a hundred now, subscribers climbing, cash ticking up slow but steady at five and ten bucks a pop. Tonight, he wanted more—pussy, ass, the works—pushing her deeper for the premium tier he’d just added, twenty bucks a month for “the real shit,” as he called it.

“Alright, Brit,” he said, his voice gruff but steady, like he was coaching her through a chore. “Time to step it up—gonna fuck your pussy tonight, get it on tape. Fans are askin’ for it—let’s give ’em what they want.”

Brittany’s hands flew to her chest, squeezing her tits tight, mashing them against her ribs as she stared at him, horrified. “Dad, no way—you can’t do that! That’s so much worse than sucking—it’s, like, totally disgusting and wrong! I’m not letting you—you know—down there!” Her voice whined high and nasal, cracking at the end, her ponytail bouncing as she shook her head fast, her knees digging deeper into the sheets, her pussy wet despite the panic clawing her throat.

He snorted, stepping closer, his boots scuffing the floor, his cock brushing her cheek as he loomed over her, the phone’s lens catching it all.

“Wrong? Brit, you’re already suckin’ my cock on camera—whinin’ about it don’t change what’s payin’. Fans want pussy now—they’re droppin’ twenty bucks for premium, and they ain’t gonna stick around for just gags and tears. You wanna make this work, or you wanna find some shitty job and a shitty apartment? ’Cause I’m tellin’ you, this is your ticket—be a good girl for Daddy, let me fuck you, and we’ll cash in big.” His tone stayed firm, a practical edge cutting through her freakout, his hand stroking his cock slow, ready, waiting.

She bit her lip, her fingers twisting the garter straps, tugging them till they bit into her hips, her eyes darting from his cock to the floor, wet and pleading. “But fucking? That’s so nasty—I can’t do it, Dad! It’s too much, and I’ll hate it!” Her voice trembled, whiny turning desperate, her shoulders hunching as she tried to curl away, her big tits jiggling with every shaky breath, her pussy dripping wetter now, betraying her protests with a heat she loathed.

“Too much?” he said, grabbing her thighs, pulling her legs apart. “You hated suckin’ too—now look at you, chokin’ like a pro. You’ll get used to this—gonna fuck your pussy slow, let you whine all you want, makes it hotter for ’em. Good girl for Daddy—lie back, Brit, let’s do it.”

He pushed her down, her back hitting the sheets, her tits bouncing as she yelped, his hands pinning her thighs wide, his cock brushing her pussy lips, warm and slick.

“Dad, no—please, it’s gross!” she whined, her voice loud and bratty, squirming under him as he slid in slow, her pussy stretching wet and hot around his cock, her cries sharp and nasally. “Oh my God—it’s too big—it hurts!” She kicked her legs, flip-flops flapping, her hands clawing the sheets, tears welling as he pushed deeper, filming her whining face, her big melons shaking with every thrust.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he grunted, his hips rocking steady, her pussy soaking his cock, her sobs breaking into whiny gasps as he fucked her slow, deliberate, the phone catching it all—her wrecked pout, her bouncing tits, a film from her spit still drying on her chin from earlier.

“Keep complainin’, Brit—fans’ll eat this up?” His voice rasped low, a grin tugging his lips, his hands gripping her hips, bruising her soft skin as he slammed deeper, her cries louder now.

“It sucks—I hate it!” she wailed, her pussy wet and slick, dripping down her ass as she came hard, her body shaking, tears streaming despite herself.

“Dad, stop—it’s nasty!” Her voice cracked, her hips bucking involuntary, her pussy soaking the sheets, a shameful orgasm she couldn’t hide, her whines turning the clip gold.

Todd shook as he injected his daughter with her first load of incestuous goo, holding his cock deep in her cunt until he'd squirted the last drop. He pulled out, panting, his cock stiff and wet, grabbing the phone to zoom in—her wrecked pussy, dripping girl cum and slick, her tear-streaked face whining.

"You did it inside me!" Brittany wailed. "You didn't say you were gonna do it in me!"

Todd gave her a gentle slap across the tits. "Whats'yer problem? Your slut pussy just came all over my cock. Don't get all high 'n mighty about leaving a little goop up your hole."

Brittany wiped at her cunt with the discarded shirt, disgust written across her pale face.

“Good start,” Todd said. “Now your ass—gonna fuck that too, Brit. Premium needs more—let’s get it tonight.” He grabbed lube from the dresser, squirting it on his cock. He flipped Brittany over and smeared the lube on her asshole as she yelped, squirming harder.

“No—no way, Dad! Not my butt—that’s so gross!” she whined, her voice shrill, scrambling to sit up, her tits bouncing wild, her hands pushing at his chest, panic flooding her eyes. “I can’t—it’ll hurt too much—please don’t!” Her ponytail whipped as she shook her head, her pussy still wet, dripping onto the sheets, a twisted heat coiling in her gut she couldn’t kill.

“Shut up and take it,” he said, his tone sharpening, pinning her back down, her ass up, his hands spreading her cheeks wide, her hole tight and pink in the dim light. “Gonna go slow—whine all you want, Brit, makes it sell. Fans’ll pay big for this.”

He slid in, her ass stretching tight, her groans loud, the phone on again, filming her violation.

“It hurts—oh my God, Dad, stop!” she wailed, her voice raw, her ass burning as he pushed deeper, her pussy dripping wetter, soaking the sheets, her tits mashed against the mattress, bouncing with every thrust. “I hate this—it’s nasty!” She sobbed, cumming again, her body shaking, her whiny complaints a goldmine as he grunted, fucking her ass steady, his cock stretching her wide.

“Fuckin’ gold,” he rasped, slamming deep, flooding her ass with a second load of hot cum, pulling out slow to spray her back, her hair, cum dripping down her round cheeks to the sheets. He grabbed the phone, zooming in—her wrecked ass, leaking cum, her pussy wet and slick, her tear-soaked face pouting—stopping the clip with a grin. “That’s it, Brit—pussy and ass, premium shit. Gonna edit these and sell ’em high. The fans’ll lose it.”

She rolled onto her side, panting, cum streaking her skin, her voice a whiny croak as she glared at him, wiping tears. “That was awful—I’m not doing it again, Dad! It’s too much!” Her pussy dripped, her body trembling, but Todd just laughed, setting the phone down, already planning the upload—her whiny ruin, her big melons, her cash-soaked fate piling up, clip by clip.

---

Brittany’s bedroom smelled of cheap vanilla body spray and sweat, the air thick and stale despite the cracked window letting in a faint night breeze. She sat cross-legged on her pink sheets, crumpled, dotted with old makeup stains—her blonde hair pulled into a loose bun, strands sticking to her damp forehead. She wore a sheer purple thong from Todd’s stash. “Daddy’s Toy” scrawled in faded white across the waistband, her big tits bare, nipples stiff in the humid air, her curvy ass sinking into the mattress.

A laptop glowed on her the bed, the screen flashing her own fan page clips—her gagging on Todd’s cock, whining “It’s gross!” as spit dripped; her pussy violated slow, her cries sharp as he’d fucked her for the camera last night. Her pussy stayed wet, dripping onto the sheets, a shameful heat coiling in her gut, even as her face burned with every replayed sob.

Todd leaned against her dresser, his broad frame filling the cluttered room, shirtless, his hairy chest glistening faintly under the dim bulb, jeans slung low, a beer can in one hand, the other adjusting a webcam on a tripod aimed at her. He’d shot dozens of clips now; her throat fucked, her pussy and ass ravaged, pushing their library past a hundred and fifty, with the subscriber count rising. The marketing agency he’d paid was delivering—slow but steady—and the latest premium clip, her ass stretched raw, had spiked tips overnight. Tonight, he wanted something new; her masturbating, watching herself, talking dirty for the fans—a “self-slut show” he’d called it.

“Alright, Brit,” he said, his voice gruff but even, like he was giving her a job rundown. “Time to mix it up. You're gonna rub that pussy on camera, watch your own clips, tell ’em what a slut you are. Fans’ll pay extra for this—let’s get it done.”

Brittany’s hands flew to her face, covering her eyes, her voice whining high and nasally as she peeked through her fingers at the laptop, mortified. “Dad, no—that’s so disgusting! I can’t touch myself while I watch that stuff—it’s bad enough you made me do it! I’m not saying slutty things either—that’s way too embarrassing!” Her shoulders hunched, her big tits jiggling as she shifted, the thong riding up her ass, her pussy wetter now despite the panic flooding her chest, a secret twist she hated feeling.

He took a swig of beer, setting the can down with a soft clank, stepping closer, his boots scuffing the floor as he loomed over her bed, his shadow cutting across the sheets.

“Embarrassing? Brit, you’re already takin’ my cock in every hole on video. Whinin’ about it don’t change the cash comin’ in. Fans want more. They’re payin’ twenty bucks a month now, and they ain’t here for shy little poses no more. You wanna keep this goin’, or you wanna find some dead-end job and a shitty room somewhere? ’Cause I’m tellin’ you, this is what sells—rub your pussy, talk dirty, give ’em a show. I’ll coach you through it. Start simple.” His tone stayed firm, practical, his hand gesturing at the webcam, the red light blinking on as he hit record, catching her on the bed, her violated clips looping loud on the laptop.

She dropped her hands, her fingers twisting the thong’s straps, tugging them tight against her hips, her eyes darting from the screen—her own sobs echoing—to Todd, wet and pleading. “Fine! But this is so nasty. I can’t do it while I watch myself! It’s too weird, and I don’t even know what to say. I’ll sound stupid!”

Her voice quavered, whiny and desperate, her knees pulling up as she tried to hide her pussy, her big tits swaying with every shaky breath, her shame battling a heat she couldn’t stop.

“Sound stupid all you want. Fans love that you're a stupid cockhole,” he said, grabbing the laptop, angling it so the clip—her ass fucked open, her cries loud—filled her view, his voice gruff but coaxing. “Spread your legs, Brit. Rub it slow, watch the screen, tell ’em you’re a slut for Daddy’s cock. Don’t gotta be fancy—just say it, let ’em hear you hate it. That’s what they’re payin’ for.” He stepped back, adjusting the webcam, his jeans tenting slightly as he watched, his grin crude but focused, like he was directing a job he knew would pay off.

Brittany groaned, her face flaming, her hands hovering over her lap as she stared at the screen. Her own ass stretched and violated, Todd’s cock slamming deep, her sobs “It hurts!” looping loud.

“Oh my God, this is awful! I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Her voice whined high, her legs spreading slow, trembling, her fingers brushing her pussy, wet and slick as she rubbed, her touch shaky and reluctant.

“It’s so gross! I’m such a slut!” She cried out, her voice breaking, tears welling as she watched, her pussy dripping onto the sheets, a shameful orgasm building she couldn’t fight.

“Keep goin’,” he said, his tone steady, leaning against the dresser, sipping his beer as the webcam caught it—her fingers sliding, her big tits bouncing, her whiny sobs filling the room. “Say it louder, Brit. Tell ’em you love Daddy’s cock, you’re his cumslut. Fans’ll eat this up. Premium gold right here.” He watched her, his eyes dark, practical but pleased, the laptop looping her ravaged ass, her cries syncing with her live whines.

“I hate this. It’s nasty!” she wailed, rubbing faster, her pussy soaking her fingers, dripping down her ass as she stared at the screen, tears streaming now, her voice raw and nasally. “I’m a slut—I love Daddy’s cock. I’m his stupid cumslut!” She sobbed, her body shaking, cumming hard, her pussy wet and slick, soaking the sheets as she cried, her big tits heaving, her whiny words a twisted mix of shame and heat she couldn’t deny.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he grunted, stepping closer, grabbing the webcam to zoom in on her wet pussy, her tear-streaked face, her violated clips still looping, her fingers dripping as she pulled them away, sobbing loud. “That’s it, Brit—good show. Fans’ll lose their shit over this.” He stopped the clip, setting the phone down, his voice gruff with a smirk, already thumbing through it, planning the upload.

She flopped back on the bed, panting, her hands wiping tears, her voice a whiny croak as she glared at him, her pussy still wet, dripping onto the sheets. “That was horrible—I’m not doing that again! It’s too embarrassing. I sounded so dumb!” Her big tits bounced as she sat up, tugging the thong to cover more, failing as it stuck to her slick skin, her shame raw but her body trembling with a heat she couldn’t kill.

“You sounded like money,” he said, laughing low, grabbing his beer, finishing it with a gulp, crushing the can in his fist. “Fans’ll pay big for that whiny slut act. Your pussy, your tears, pure gold. We’ll stack more tomorrow. Keep ’em comin’, Brit.” He lumbered to the door, his boots heavy, leaving her there—violated on screen and off, her whiny ruin piling cash, her fate sealed one cum-soaked clip at a time.

---

The trailer’s living room flickered with the glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows over the peeling wallpaper and the cluttered coffee table—empty beer cans, a half-eaten bag of chips, Todd’s laptop humming low. Brittany slumped on the sagging couch, her bare legs stretched out, her blonde hair tangled in a loose ponytail, strands sticking to her sweaty neck. She wore a black thong from Todd’s haul, “Daddy’s Toy” faded across the waistband, and a cropped lace top, “Daddy’s Hole” barely covering her big tits, nipples stiff against the fabric. Her blue eyes stared blankly at the floor, her face flushed pink from the BBQ earlier—hours of dodging Uncle Ray’s drunk stories and cousin Jake’s awkward stares, all while Todd had whispered crude plans in her ear. Her pussy stayed wet, a shameful drip soaking the thong, her body still reeling from last night’s clip—rubbing herself, whining “I’m a slut” on camera, her own violated clips looping loud.

Todd paced by the counter, his broad frame restless, shirtless, his hairy chest slick with sweat, jeans low and unbuttoned. He sipped a beer, the can glinting as he set it down, his dark eyes flicking between Brittany and the front door. Subscribers were still climbing, and her “self-slut” clip had gotten a great response. Fans raved about her whiny sobs, her big melons bouncing as she’d cum. Tonight, he’d pushed further, texting Ray—his gruff, fifty-something buddy from the lumber yard, beer gut and all—offering a “test her limits” clip for the premium tier. Fifty bucks extra, Ray had jumped at it.

“Ray’s here soon, Brit,” he said, his voice gruff but steady, like he was scheduling a shift. “Gonna film him fuckin’ your throat, then your pussy. Fans are beggin’ for it—let’s cash in big.”

Brittany’s hands flew to her chest, squeezing her tits tight, her voice whining high and nasally as she glared up at him, horrified. “Dad, no way—not Ray! He’s so gross and old and fat—I can’t do that! It’s bad enough with you—this is too nasty!” Her shoulders hunched, her big tits jiggling as she shifted, the thong riding up her ass, her knees pulling up to hide her pussy, panic flooding her eyes with a mix of shame and dread.

He stepped closer, boots scuffing the linoleum, looming over the couch, his tone firm but tinged with that coaxing edge.

“Gross? Brit, you’re already takin’ my cock—Ray’s just more of what they want. Subscribers are up, droppin’ twenty bucks a month, and they’re askin’ for older guys, rough stuff. You wanna keep this goin’, or you wanna scrape by on some shitty job, livin’ in a dump? ’Cause I’m tellin’ you, this is the play—Ray fucks you, I film it, we double the cash. You’ll bitch through it, and they’ll pay more.” He grabbed his phone off the counter, thumbing the camera app, setting it on the tripod.

She bit her lip, her fingers twisting the thong’s straps, tugging them against her hips, her eyes darting to the door, then back to him, wet and pleading. “But Ray? He’s all sweaty and hairy—it’s so disgusting! I can’t let him touch me—I’ll puke or something!” Her voice trembled, whiny and desperate, her bare feet scuffing the couch as she curled tighter, her big tits swaying despite her efforts, her pussy wetter now, a secret heat she couldn’t kill.

“Puke if you want—makes it sell,” he said, his voice sharpening, stepping aside as the screen door creaked open, Ray lumbering in—beer gut spilling over his belt, gray stubble patchy on his jowly face, his plaid shirt damp with sweat. “Here he is—fifty bucks up front, Ray. Throat first, then pussy—give ’em a show, Brit.”

Ray grinned, crude and eager, fishing bills from his pocket, slapping them into Todd’s hand as he eyed Brittany’s tits, her bare thighs, his breath heavy with beer and cigarettes.

“Oh my God—no, Dad, please!” she wailed, her voice shrill, scrambling back on the couch as Ray stepped closer, unzipping his jeans, his cock flopping out—thick, unwashed, half-hard already. “He’s nasty! I can’t do this!”

Her hands pushed at the cushions, her big tits bouncing, but Todd grabbed her arm, pulling her down to her knees, the linoleum cold against her skin.

“Shut up and suck,” he said, his tone hard, guiding her head toward Ray’s cock, the phone’s camera filming as Ray gripped her hair, shoving in rough, her throat tightening fast.

“Whine all you want—fans’ll love it.”

Her sobs came loud, muffled around Ray’s cock, spit drooling down her chin as he fucked her throat, her desperate glurks forever immortalized as Ray used her face.

“It’s gross—I hate it!” she cried, pulling back to gasp, spit dripping to her lace top as she coughed, tears streaming, her pussy wet and slick despite the revulsion twisting her gut. Ray grunted, his gut slapping her forehead, his cock stretching her throat, her sobs echoing as Todd filmed, zooming in on her violated face, her big melons heaving.

“Fuckin’ good throat,” Ray rasped, beating his wet and stiff cock against her face. Shoving her back onto the couch, her legs splayed as he yanked the thong aside, slamming into her pussy rough, her cries sharp and whiny. “Little slut—take it!” His hips pounded, her pussy soaking his cock, dripping down her ass to the cushions, her big tits bouncing wild under the lace.

“Dad! Make him stop! It’s too much!” she wailed, her voice breaking, tears streaming as Ray fucked her hard, her pussy wet and hot, cumming despite herself, her body shaking with a shameful orgasm she couldn’t stop. “He’s nasty! I can’t stand it!” Her hands clawed the couch, her whiny sobs loud.

“Keep goin’, Ray—give ’em the works,” Todd said, his voice gruff as he stepped closer, unzipping, his cock out now, joining in. He shoved into her throat, double-teaming her, her sobs muffled, spit and cum dripping as Ray pounded her pussy, Todd fucking her face, the phone catching it all—her violated holes, her tear-streaked cheeks, her big melons bouncing under Ray’s slaps.

She cried, choking on Todd’s cock, her pussy soaking Ray’s, cumming again, her body trembling, tears mixing with spit as they fucked her raw, her whiny voice a cash machine. Ray grunted, flooding her pussy with hot cum, pulling out to spray her belly. Todd following, cumming down her throat, then streaking her face.

Todd stopped the clip, panting, grabbing the phone to zoom in—her ravaged pussy, leaking cum, her cum-soaked face, her whiny sobs still ringing. “Fuckin’ gold, Brit. ‘Daddy and Friend Test Her Limits’—fifty bucks a view, they’ll eat this up.” He grinned, crude and triumphant, setting the phone down as Ray zipped up, muttering, “Worth every penny,” stumbling out fast.

Brittany collapsed on the couch, sobbing, her hands wiping cum and tears, her voice a whiny croak as she glared at Todd, her pussy still wet, dripping onto the cushions. “That was horrible—I’m not doing that again, Dad! It’s too disgusting—I hate you both!” Her big tits heaved, her thong sticky with cum, her shame raw but her body trembling with a heat she couldn’t deny.

“You’re done whinin’ when the cash stops,” he said, laughing low, grabbing a fresh beer, popping it open with a hiss. “Fans’ll pay big. Subs are going up with more comin’. You’re my cumslut star, Brit—get used to it.”

---

The trailer’s living room sagged under the weight of late summer heat, the single lamp flickering weakly, casting jagged shadows across the peeling wallpaper and the cluttered coffee table—empty beer cans, a greasy pizza box, Todd’s laptop wheezing with the fan page dashboard open. Brittany sat on the edge of the couch, her bare thighs sticking to the worn fabric, her blonde hair pulled into a loose, sweaty ponytail that drooped over one shoulder. She wore a red thong from Todd’s stash and a sheer black top, “Daddy’s Hole” stretched tight over her big tits, nipples stiff and dark against the thin fabric. Her blue eyes darted nervously to the floor, her face flushed pink from the memory of Ray’s sweaty cock in her throat, Todd’s in her pussy. Her whiny sobs still echoed in the clips that had spiked subscribers. Her pussy stayed wet, a shameful drip soaking the thong, her body trembling with dread and a heat she couldn’t kill.

Todd paced near the counter, his broad frame restless, shirtless, his hairy chest slick with sweat, jeans low and unbuttoned, a fresh beer in hand. He’d been texting Ray all day—his lumber yard buddy, gruff and fiftyish, beer gut spilling over his belt—planning a “limit breaker” clip for the premium tier, fifty bucks a pop, promising fans a brutal double-team to max out Brittany’s fan page. The last shoot—her and Ray on the couch—had raked in tips. Todd's practical mind churned profit. He set the beer down with a soft clank, grabbing his phone off the tripod, his voice gruff but steady, like he was laying out a job spec.

“Ray’s comin’ over, Brit. Tonight’s big—gonna film him fuckin’ your throat while I take your ass, then we switch, hit your pussy too. Fans are beggin’ for rough shit.”

Brittany’s hands flew to her chest, squeezing her tits tight, her voice whining high and nasally as she glared up at him, panic flooding her eyes. “Dad, no—not Ray again! That’s way too much—I can’t handle both of you like that! It’s so gross and nasty! I won’t do it!” Her shoulders hunched, her big tits jiggling as she shifted, the thong riding up her ass, her knees pulling up to shield her pussy, dread twisting her gut into knots.

He stepped closer, boots scuffing the linoleum, looming over the couch, his tone firm but laced with that coaxing edge he’d honed. “Too much? Brit, you’re already takin’ cock in every hole for the camera—whinin’ don’t stop the cash. Subs are askin’ for more—rough, older guys, double-teamin’ you. You wanna keep this rollin’, or you wanna scrape by on some shitty job, crashin’ in a dump? I’m tellin’ you, this is the move. You’ll cry through it, and they’ll pay big.” He adjusted the tripod, angling the phone, catching her whiny pout, her big melons mashed under her arms.

She bit her lip, her fingers twisting the thong’s straps, tugging them against her hips, her eyes darting to the door, then back to him, wet and pleading. “But Ray again? He’s so sweaty and awful—I can barely stand him once! Both of you at the same time—it’s too disgusting—I’ll die or something!” Her voice quavered, whiny and desperate, her bare feet scuffing the couch as she curled tighter, her big tits swaying despite her grip, her pussy wetter now, a secret heat she couldn’t squash.

“Die? You’ll live—makes it sell,” he said, his voice sharpening, stepping aside as the screen door creaked open, Ray lumbering in—plaid shirt damp, gray stubble patchy, his gut jiggling as he grinned, crude and eager, slapping fifty bucks into Todd’s hand.

“Here’s the cash, Todd—let’s break her good.” Ray unzipped, his cock flopping out—thick, rank, half-hard—while Todd grabbed Brittany’s arm, pulling her off the couch, her knees hitting the linoleum hard, her whiny yelp loud.

“Dad, no, please!” she wailed, her voice shrill, scrambling as Todd pinned her arms, Ray stepping close, gripping her hair rough, shoving his cock into her mouth, her throat tightening fast. Her sobs muffled around Ray’s cock, spit drooling down her chin in thick ropes, her grunts of protest raw and nasally as he fucked her throat, slow and deep, her lips stretching wide, her eyes watering fast.

“Keep whinin’, Brit—fans’ll love it,” Todd grunted, dropping his jeans, his cock stiff and thick, kneeling behind her, yanking the thong aside, his hands spreading her ass cheeks, her hole tight and pink in the dim light. “Gonna take your ass—Ray’s got your throat.” He spat on his cock, slicking it, pushing in slow, her ass stretching as her cries filled the trailer. Her pussy was wet despite the pain ravaging her gut.

She sobbed and squealed, choking on Ray’s cock, her throat bulging, spit dripping to her top as Ray grunted, his gut slapping her forehead, her big tits bouncing wild with every thrust. Todd mumbled to himself as he lubed her butthole again and fucked her slow.

“Fuckin’ tight,” Ray rasped, his cock slamming deeper, her throat raw, spit bubbling as he held her head, fucking her face hard, her sobs loud and wet. “Little slut—choke on it!” Todd matched him, his cock stretching her ass, her cries syncing with Ray’s grunts, the phone filming every inch—her ravaged throat, her violated ass, her big melons swaying under Ray’s slaps.

They pumped her holes like a ragdoll until Brittany reluctantly orgasmed. Todd pulled out slow, his cock wet and stiff, shifting to her pussy, shoving in rough, her cunt stretching wide, dripping slick as he fucked her hard, Ray still ramming her throat. Brittany made a garbled protest that went ignored. Her body shook, her pussy and throat ravaged, cumming hard despite herself, her sobs loud, tears mixing with spit, her big tits heaving as she buckled, the phone catching her ruin.

“Switch it up,” Todd grunted, pulling out, his cock slick with her cum, shoving Ray aside, gripping her hair, ramming into her throat, her lips stretching tight, her sobs raw as Ray knelt, slamming into her pussy, his gut bouncing, her cries sharp and whiny. Todd fucked her face deep, his cock hitting the back of her throat, spit drooling down her chin in a wave of hot slime.

Ray’s cock pounded her pussy, her body trembling, cumming again, her pussy wet and hot, tears streaming as Todd grunted, flooding her throat with hot cum. He pulled out to spray her face, her lace top, cum streaking her skin. Ray followed, groaning loud, cumming deep in her pussy, pulling out to splatter her thighs, her ass, her violated holes leaking cum to the linoleum, her whiny sobs ringing.

Todd grabbed the phone, panting, zooming in—her ravaged pussy, dripping cum, her cum-soaked face, her tear-streaked cheeks, her big melons heaving under the top, her whiny voice fading to gasps.

“Fuckin’ gold—‘Daddy and Ray Break Her Limits,’ Brit. Fans’ll lose it.”

He grinned, crude and triumphant, setting the phone down as Ray zipped up, muttering, “Damn good,” stumbling out fast.

Brittany collapsed to the floor, sobbing, her hands wiping cum and tears, her voice a whiny croak as she glared at Todd, her pussy still wet, dripping onto the linoleum. “That was horrible—I’m done, Dad! It’s too disgusting—I hate you!” Her big tits heaved, her thong sticky with cum, her shame raw but her body trembling with a heat she couldn’t deny, her limit broken, her fate sealed.

“You’re done when I say,” he said, laughing low, grabbing a beer, popping it open slow. “You’re my cumslut star, Brit. Get used to it. You're Daddy's little retirement plan.”