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“Please.”
The man didn’t say a word, his handsome face clenched hard as he flogged her, over and over. And as the moans became louder, the man started stroking himself furiously.
Lash. Moan. Stroke.
Everything about this was wrong, but the man couldn’t help himself. For years he had done his best to bury this sickness inside of him, this need to taint everything and everyone in his life with depravity.
But he could no longer help himself.
Even knowing he was destroying everything with this one single act, hurting the one innocent person in his life – the one person who still thought the world of him –
It was too late.
Lash. Moan. Stroke.
With every instance the cycle repeated, the air became thicker with lust and all things that were vile and immoral...and it was liberating. With every second that passed, it was as if the burden of decency was being lifted off him—-
Lash. Moan. Stroke.
“I’m coming,” the woman sobbed. “Oh God, I’m coming.”
And so she did, and he came with her, their spiraling descent culminating into a shared orgasm. Cum started spewing everywhere – the carpet, the edge of the bed, the legs of the chair –
It was one gloriously repulsive mess, and even knowing that he had to be irredeemably sick to allow such a thing to happen, the man couldn’t help shuddering in delirious pleasure at the sight.
Almost half an hour passed by the time the man was finally spent, and he reluctantly let go of his limp dick. Walking towards the chained woman, he kissed her on the mouth, whispering against her lips, “Brava ragazza.” Good girl.
His wife only trembled against him, and looking over her shoulder, the man saw that the boy was still there.
And so it was done, the man thought.
The boy was half-naked, with his pajama bottoms pooled around his ankles and his dick hanging out. He, too, had spent himself.
The man searched inside of himself for regret but found he had none – and that he liked it that way. His lips widened into a smile. “Bravo ragazzo.” He went to ruffle his son’s head but stopped when the boy flinched at his approach. The man laughed. “Don’t be like that. Don’t you see you’re exactly like me?”
The boy didn't say anything as he slowly pulled his pajama bottoms back up.
When his son started walking towards the door, the man shook his head, muttering, “You should be glad I’m starting you early.”
The boy kept walking.
The man growled, “Dove vai?” Where are you going?
The boy stilled, his hand on the doorknob. “Dormire, Papa.”
“Look at me when you’re talking. Have we not taught you better?”
The boy turned...and wished he hadn’t.
The man laughed at the expression on his son’s face. He turned his wife around, exposing her body completely to her son even as he continued stroking her folds. She moaned, the sound a mixture of agony and arousal, and yet her pussy didn’t stop quivering under his fingers.
“Why leave now? The fun has just started, mio figlio.”
The boy shook his head. “I’m tired, Papa.” His voice shook. “May I g-go now?”
The man dismissed him with a scathing wave of his hand.
And as the boy turned away, he heard his father mutter under his breath.
