Page 23 of Exposed (The Wellard Asylum #1)

I tear myself off of her, then mount her in the traditional penetrative position, my cock goring her slippery cunt. I drop my mouth against her neck.

“Look at how easy that was,” I growl. Her cunt clenches around me, her velvet walls mashing my cock with her sheath.

She moans pitifully, and the wound on the end of my cock jabs her cervix; pain flutters inside of me.

I grunt and keep going; the pus must be dabbing her spongy organ with morbid colors.

“I could smell your cunt down the hallway,” I mutter.

“ Your musky, nasty twat is aroused by the thought of your daddy using your helpless body. Mommy isn’t enough.

Daddy needs you; don’t I, sweetness? And you need me too.

My slutty cunt of a daughter likes being used by me.

Don’t you, cunt?” I bite her earlobe, and her body jerks.

The bitch groans. I chuckle. “Keep fighting me; your cunt squeezes Daddy so nicely.” I cup her face.

“You love my cock, don’t you, sweet one? ”

“No,” she cries. “You’re disgusting!”

I lick her cheek. Salt paints my tongue, mixing with her sour flavor.

“Lies,” I whisper harshly. “All lies.”

“Fuck you!”

I stop my thrusting. Though I never tolerate disobedience, I can admit internally I enjoy her fiery response. In some ways, she’ll be a challenge to mold, and I admire that about her.

She doesn’t need to know that though.

“Repression is odd, isn’t it?” I say coldly. “You want me more, knowing I’m your father, because your need for approval—for acceptance from me—is buried so far deep inside of you, you don’t even know it’s there.”

“You—” she seethes. Her lips move, unable to find the right words. Finally, she tries again. “You are not my father! There’s no proof!”

I resume thrusting my cock. Then, while resting my weight on one side, I reach down between us and add two fingers to her cunt hole, stretching her with my cock and my fingers. It’s a snug fit; her pelvic bone stops the blood flow to my outstretched fingers, causing them to go numb.

She took my fist earlier; she can definitely take more.

I add a third finger, forcing it in, then I fuck her. She cries out, and I remove my fingers and rub her wetness over her cheeks.

“Shall we test it?” I ask. I tilt my head toward my trousers on the floor. “I brought some syringes. We can take your blood right now.”

“No!” she screams. “Please don’t. I can’t?—”

“You don’t need a test to prove it, do you?” I wink. “Accept yourself, Violet. Admit you want to be here. To see me. To know your father.”

“It wasn’t about you!”

“Maybe it wasn’t, but it is now.” I laugh.

“It may have originally been about your mother or your selfish emotional needs. Now, it’s all about me and what I can do for your sloppy cunt.

” I lick her neck, and she shivers. Heat plows across my spine.

I groan into her. “You hardly ran from me in the cemetery. Your little stabbing attempt was weak at best, and now you expect me to believe it was never about me when your cunt is this wet?”

I plop down to the floor. My cock weeps with pre-cum, though proving my point is more important than cumming right now. I take one of the syringes from my trouser’s pocket.

“P-please,” Violet stammers. “Please. Dr. Ambrose. Daddy. Don’t?—”

The needle pricks the crook of her elbow.

She holds her breath. Blood fills the syringe.

“A paternity test will clear your doubts,” I say. “Perhaps you’ll finally be able to accept who you are.”

Once it’s full, I lock eyes with Violet as I lift the needle to my mouth. I squirt the blood onto my tongue and slurp it down. She wails, her entire demeanor soaked in liquid sorrow, but her hips gyrate. The bitch knows it excites her to see me drinking her essence.

“I suppose we need another,” I say.

This time, I prick her other elbow. Once I have what I need, I put the syringes back into the case, then stuff them in my trouser’s pocket and toss the pants to the floor.

I put my mouth to one of the cunt’s puncture wounds. Hardly any liquid comes out, but I greedily suck in every drop of her vitality I can. She sobs, and I lift my mouth, chuckling down at her with red stained teeth.

“How can you do this?” she whispers. “I-I thought you wanted to save me.” Her eyes dart across the room, as if she can find an answer there, a reason for this madness. “I thought you wanted to fix me?—”

“Fix you?” I snort.

I stand at the end of her crib cage as I jerk myself, the taste of her metallic blood still coating my tongue. She trembles, and a vein in her neck rapidly quivers.

I climb into the cage again, readying my cock at her entrance.

“You think I want to purify you? Make you into a traditional woman with morals and values?” I laugh. “Tell me, Violet: why would I do that?”

Her hips twitch forward, desperate for my cock to make her forget her thoughts. Hovering over her, teasing her with the potential penetration, her escape—my glorious cock—is close, yet so far away. I hold still, not giving her what she wants.

“The world is impure,” I say. “Our fellow citizens are doomed. By becoming my perfectly trained, brainless toy, I am saving you from your worries. Your sole purpose will be to please me, and that will be your salvation. You will transform from a woman with ideas and concerns into my empty-headed, disgusting, obedient cunt.”

Finally, I thrust my cock inside her. Her pussy swallows me so easily, heat prickles down my legs. A full-body shudder pounds through her, my pubic hair teasing her clit. Tears continue to drench her. A smile stretches across my lips.

“Why are you doing this?” She shivers. “Please, Daddy?—”

“The only way to be saved, to be fixed, to heal is to fully accept yourself. You need this.”

She rams her hips toward me, close to orgasm. The dumb cunt is so easy, it’s laughable.

“Now, be a good fuck toy and cum for me,” I say. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

I reach down between us and pinch her clit; her body convulses, a moan bursting from her throat. I fuck her pussy as hard as I can, hurting her with my cock. She sobs, but her orgasm is strong. Like a beast being slayed, she moans with defeat, falling over into nothingness.

I take my cock, my sword, from the beast’s womb. I kneel over her surrendered form, my cock inches from her face, and I stroke myself.

“Such a fucked-up little bitch,” I murmur.

She whimpers, and that sad noise pushes me over too. I shoot white ropes of cum over her cheeks and mouth.

She closes her eyes. “This is torture,” she whispers.

Amusement swallows me, and I shake with laughter.

In the normal world, treatment like this would never be tolerated at any sort of clinic, hospital, or asylum.

There are protocols to help patients manage their daily lives, and doctors address their patients like equals; mainstream society strives for that sort of equality.

In comparison, the world outside of this asylum is a utopia.

The Wellard Asylum exists on a different axis though, where no one dares enter, not unless they want to disappear.

There are so many acts of cruelty and violence within these walls, and yet my sweet one is hardly beginning to understand the extent of my power.

To call tonight torture is humorous. Forcing her to eat my ass and take my cock is merely the beginning.

I step out of the cage, close the lid, then lock it again. Violet’s jaw drops, no doubt disturbed by the distance between us.

This is where she will remain every night until she finishes her stay at the asylum.

I reach through the bars and lift her chin. A drop of my semen wets my finger.

“This isn’t torture, sweet one,” I say. “I’m saving you from yourself. This is a form of humanity.”