Chapter 9: The Cage

Owen lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the false calm he knew would shatter. At 10:23 p.m, a low moan drifted through the wall, followed by a sharp gasp and Dom’s deep, guttural laugh. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take it all.”

He rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head. It was useless. He could tell it was Mia tonight. Her cries were higher-pitched, more breathless. “Daddy ... please...” she whimpered, the word ‘Daddy’ slurred with a pleasure that made Owen’s skin crawl.

The sounds crescendoed—Dom’s harsh grunts, Mia’s desperate moans—then a sharp, shuddering cry from Mia was abruptly cut off, followed by Dom’s final, triumphant groan. Owen waited, listening to the low murmur of Dom’s voice and the creak of the bed as they settled. There was no dismissal. She was staying the night. He let his own breath out in a shuddering sigh.

He awoke to the same sounds hours later. 6:30 a.m. He didn’t need to check the clock to know. It was Mia again, her voice thick with sleep and submission. The rhythm was different now—not the frantic pace of the night before, but something slower, more possessive.

“Come on, baby girl,” Dom’s voice rumbled. “Open up. Show your daddy how grateful you are for keeping you warm all night.”

A wet, gagging sound followed, then a muffled, strained sob from Mia. The bed creaked with a rhythmic motion. “That’s it,” Dom grunted, his satisfaction evident. “Get it all down. Every last drop. That’s your breakfast.”

The sounds peaked with a series of deep, choking gags from Mia, followed by Dom’s low, grunted release and a profound silence.

The first week was the hardest. One morning, Owen lingered near the top of the stairs. Dom’s door creaked open and Mia stepped out, her nightgown translucent with sweat, clinging to her damp skin. She froze when she saw him, her gaze not angry, but utterly drained.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice flat. “Just don’t.” She didn’t wait for a reply, brushing past him toward the bathroom. As she moved, Owen saw the viscous, milky trails of Dom’s cum glistening on her inner thighs, a fresh trickle welling out with her first step.

Later, Owen sat at the kitchen table as Tessa emerged from Dom’s room. She looked hollowed out, wearing one of Dom’s shirts that did little to hide the dampness between her legs. She avoided his eyes, busying herself at the sink.

Dom strode in, shirtless and smug. “Morning, kid.” He turned to Tessa. “How’s my favorite slut this morning?” he asked, grabbing her ass.

“Fine,” she murmured, not turning around.

Dom’s smirk widened as Mia entered, her own nightgown damp and stained. “And my other slut? Ready for your next filling?”

Mia glanced at Owen, a flush burning up her throat and cheeks, and nodded silently.

“Good,” Dom said, his voice dripping with possessiveness. “Because starting tonight, I want you both in my bed. No more alternating. I want my girls together.”

By the third week, any pretense of shame had evaporated.

Owen watched as Mia shuffled into the kitchen one morning, the sight of Dom’s spend seeping through her thin shorts was now commonplace.

Tessa glanced over from the stove. “You’re leaking, Mia,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion beyond mild annoyance.

Mia looked down indifferently. She hooked a finger into the skewed waistband of her shorts and tugged the damp fabric over her pussy. The motion forced a fresh, opaque glob of cum to slither down her thigh.

“Oh,” she muttered, her tone utterly flat. She wiped it away with a nearby dish towel and tossed it into the laundry.

Owen’s stomach turned.

Owen walked into the living room and froze. Tessa was bent over the sofa, her face pressed into the cushions as Dom took her from behind, her thighs slick with sweat and his earlier releases.

“Oh god ... Dom...” she whimpered, her tone strained.

Mia, who had followed Owen in, froze in the doorway, her arms crossed over her own swelling belly, her expression a stark mix of shock and jealousy. “C-can’t you at least use a room?”

Dom laughed, never breaking rhythm. “Relax, sweetheart. You’ll get yours soon enough. Your mother’s just loosening me up for you.”

Tessa buried her face deeper, but made no move to stop him. Owen turned and left, the rhythmic, wet slapping sounds following him down the hall.

That night, the familiar sounds began again from Dom’s room—a duet of moans now. Owen couldn’t bear it. He opened the video he’d secretly copied from Dom’s camera.

He fast-forwarded to the part that haunted and aroused him most: the obscene close-up of Mia’s ravaged sex. The lens focused unflinchingly as Dom’s thick, veiny cock began to withdraw. Her inner labia, stretched thin and flushed a deep, raw red, were pulled taut around the base of his shaft.

Then came the head. The broad, flared corona of his cock emerged with a wet, sucking pop. For a single, horrifying heartbeat, the camera held on the void it left behind: her gaping opening, a dark, twitching hole, its sensitive inner folds momentarily exposed and pulsing weakly before they began to collapse back in.