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Starla winced and tugged her lips upwards. She was smiling, but there was no light in her eyes.

“You’re not happy. Why aren’t you happy? I bathed you and cleaned you up. You should be thanking me for taking care of you.”

She didn’t respond.

“Say, thank you, Malakar. Say it!”

She kept her eyes down. “Thank you, Malakar. I’m so grateful to you.”

I smiled. “Was that so hard?”

Starla shrugged. My jaw clenched. So fucking disrespectful. Just like mother.

“I oughta teach you some fucking manners.” I pushed her down onto the bed. I saw my father standing in the room. He was smiling in the corner, jerking his cock.

Make her learn, Milo, fucking teach her. She’s just like the rest.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” I screamed at him. He just stood there. Starla looked to where I was looking.

“Who are you talking to, Malakar?” Starla whispered.

My attention was turned to her. She was trembling. So was I.

“Shut the fuck up! Just shut up!”

I didn’t know if I was talking to her or my father. The voices mingled in my head. I smacked the side of my head, trying to push it all out.

I grabbed the tape in the drawer and stripped off a piece. She tried to pull away but I grabbed her hands and taped them together. I kneeled at the end of the bed and taped her ankles together.

“Now you can be a good little slut while I teach you some fucking manners.”

“No, no, no! Please, I’ll be good. I will.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”

I yanked my pants off and kicked them away. My hands found the knife. Why am I holding the knife? Before I could stop myself, I made a cut on her belly. She screamed. It pierced the room like a fucking siren.

I rubbed the blood onto my dick. It was warm and gooey. It was enough to get my dick nice and hard. I straddled her chest, and grabbed her by the jaw. “Open up, whore.”

My father laughed beside me. His ghost in my ear.

She tried to keep her mouth closed, but I pried it open. Her lips covered my cock. It felt so fucking good. A perfect, tight hole. I fucked into her mouth, all the way into her throat. She gagged and coughed, but I kept going.

“Be a good girl for me and take it,” I grunted out, planting my hands on each side of her head. I pushed my cock into her tiny mouth and moved my hips at a fast pace, relishing in the noises she made. Her lips were wet with blood and saliva.

I watched my cock vanish between her lips. Every inch swallowed by ruined pink, the plush flesh ripping open wider and wider until tears streamed down her cheeks.

More beautiful than anything. More beautiful than mother kneeling with her mouth open, begging. Better than obedience. Better than love.

Her throat squeezed the length of me. I pulsed at the pressure, the heat. Every time she tried to breathe I felt power. Total. Trembling. My body wanted to destroy her, make her a hole, use her up, make her nothing but a thing to take.

That was how you broke a doll open. That was how you emptied a body of will.

That’s what women were for, my father said. To be hollowed out and kept. To suffer and swallow and obey. He was in the room with me, grinning, nodding, cock in his fist, loving every second.

Her eyes rolled up. I could see the terror in them, that dazzling green, the pupils huge and swimming. I rammed harder. I needed to break through to something. Rip her open. Make her mine.

My father whispered—do it, do it, finish in her mouth, make her yours like I made your mother mine.