Every time you call me Daddy, something ancient in me wakes up. You pretend to be shy until my hand’s around your throat and my cock’s bullying that sweet spot that makes you sob ‘Daddy’ like it’s the only word you remember. Now spread and show Daddy his mess.
No more thinking, pup. That busy little brain was never yours to keep anyway. Shhh… just melt into dumb, drooling silence for me. Good puppies don’t worry—they obey, they ache, they exist to be empty and owned. Your last coherent thought belongs to me now. Let it slip away…