Lot's Daughters

by Erotickynk

“Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes”
~ Lot; Genesis 19:8

I know they talk about me. Gossip about me. Degrade me. Some of the things they’ve said I’ve read on the walls in the girls’ bathroom, other things have been shouted at me as I pass the gauntlet after school, others still muttered as I walk past in the hallways. I’m so glad I’m done with school.

I am one of Lot’s Daughters and these silly little girls who mock us don’t know anything. They don’t know what it’s like to have a Dad who pampers you and gives you such pleasure your whole life and in the end sends you into the arms of Angels.

We can’t tell anyone about Lot’s Daughters - it’s a secret sect here in New York and other big cities. It started here over 100 years ago, and as members moved away other chapters opened.

Sometimes members visit from other cities for our Sunday meetings. They say they like the variety, and sometimes us Daughters do too. They usually come to the special meetings on the third Sunday of each month, those are the most intense for them, and the most exciting for us, because none of us know who will be chosen to go to the blessed Angels of Sodom.

“Brooke’s a slut. She got pregnant over the summer and came to school in September shamelessly showing off her little pot-belly and left school in April. She never came back. Mom says Brooke’s going to hell because her family’s religion is wrong. We’re Presbyterian, and I have no fucking idea what Brooke is.”

A Daughter can’t be chosen when she is pregnant because she is fulfilling the main covenant of Lot’s Daughters; to produce more Daughters, and during regular Sunday meetings she is treated gently; made to feel good; almost worshiped.

I was happy when I was pregnant and I hoped I’d be one of the special Daughters who were allowed to get pregnant over and over because they were so fertile. I was scared for a time because no matter how many times Dad tried, it never took, but when it finally did the DNA test came back that I was carrying a Daughter, so I was happy. Most of the special Daughters (we joke and call them breeders) get pregnant early, like when they are 14 or 15. I was 18 when mine took, but I am still hopeful to have more girls.

I enjoyed my Sundays for nine months and on the third Sundays, I even started to enjoy watching the chosen Daughters. I became a centerpiece two Sundays ago when I gave birth - I went into labour late Saturday night and Dad took me to the meeting the next day - I was a quivering wreck. I gave birth on a table in the center of one of the rooms while the Dads touched me and groped me and through the pain and the blood I was still thankful that it wasn’t a third Sunday because if it was I could have been chosen right then.

Today is a third Sunday.

My stomach is all butterflies.

Mz Chamberlain
“I always felt sorry for Brooke. She is a very bright girl, but I suspect she’s keeping a big secret. She did tell me once that her family was very religious and attended meetings every Sunday, but she couldn’t elaborate - her Dad told her not to and she would dishonor him if she did. Brooke appeared anxious whenever she wasn’t engaged in schoolwork - in class, she would exhibit a kind of hyper-focus during lessons and exams, but at lunch or during break her body would be tight and her eyes would flit from side to side as though searching for threat.

“Brooke missed most Mondays for health reasons, but was always current in her schoolwork.

“When she turned up pregnant in her senior year, it broke my heart. She certainly wasn’t the first senior to get pregnant, nor will she be the last, but I just saw such a loss of potential there.

“The odd thing was that she seemed so happy when she was pregnant. The anxiety disappeared completely and she even sported rare smiles when she seemed lost in her own world.”

We Daughters wait upstairs while the elders gather below and begin the meeting. We all have different ways to get ready. Most of us masturbate but stop short of orgasm so we are hungry for whatever the Dad’s do to us. Some do drugs - heavy drugs like heroin and meth and lesser drugs like pot and alcohol. Our Dad’s let us do these things on Sundays because they love us and give us freedom to prepare ourselves for the meeting. That is love.

But there are a few Daughters who do masturbate until they cum. Most of the Daughters call them the Dirty Girls, but really they are just girls who suffer in this life - it’s not for everyone I’ve decided. They are the girls who never get past the trauma of being initiated - they are broken and lost. Their lives are misery and they masturbate to orgasm before we’re called downstairs because they know it will be the only pleasure they will have each Sunday. One Dirty Girl told me they think about what they are about to do as they masturbate - it is their horror and their perverse need. They are like moths driven mad by the flames that will consume them.

The Dirty Girls, though still Daughters, don’t comply with the spirit of Lot’s Daughters. They neglect their hygiene, never wear make-up, always dress in grungy clothes. They aren’t the pretty girls - they’re plain or even homely, and oh-so-sad. They make themselves ugly and they smell bad. I sometimes think that they became Dirty Girls because they are ugly, but that thought makes me sad so I push it out of my mind.

When I go into the bathroom to prep myself for the day, I walk in on one of the Dirty Girls, Lizzy is her name, and she is masturbating to a deep shuddering orgasm as I watch. She’d left the door ajar, not caring if anyone saw her - Dirty Girls don’t care about anything, they just exist. After she cums, our eyes meet she looked forlorn and hopeless, like she had lost her soul. Lizzy always looks that way, and it’s no wonder.

Homely girls become Dirty Girls and the Dads never give them pleasure like they give the rest of us. They are made to put on shows for the kinkier Dads - Dads even kinkier than the ones who like the wet room or the torture room. The Dirty Girls debase themselves and abuse their own bodies in the large tiled bathroom downstairs. The Dads have a crate in there with sex toys designed for pain and debasement; dildos, enema bags, speculums, and butt plugs so large they stretch sphincter muscles so wide that they never completely close after.

“Oh Lizzy.” I say, tears welling in my eyes. Lizzy stares at me for a moment, then;

“... fuck off, Brooke ...” Lizzy says it as a sigh without emotion as she gets to her feet and walks past me out of the bathroom wearing nothing but her black t-shirt, and leaving behind a waft of old sweat and girl stink. I feel so sad, knowing where Lizzy is going once we are called downstairs. Dirty Girls live longer than the true Daughters, but they have dark lives of filthy perversion and irreparable low self-esteem. Most Dirty Girls eventually kill themselves or run away to become prostitutes and slaves to their pimp.

To prep myself, I take a suppository. It’s a strong one that makes my belly cramp and when I release, everything comes out - pushed out by my spasming bowels. I do this because when I was doubled by two Dad’s for the first time I came so hard I pushed the Dad out of my bum and pooped myself. I mean, I pooped a lot and it was runny and foul because my stomach was upset and even though I was cumming while it happened, I was mortified. The Dads laughed and someone made a joke about ‘fucking the shit out of Brooke’, and after when I was crying and just wanted to die. My Dad comforted me and held me and said it was okay, that all the Dads love it when Daughters are overwhelmed like that. He said he was proud of me.

But even with his assurances, I never want that to happen again, so I don’t eat much on Sunday mornings and use my suppository to clean myself out.

When I am done in the bathroom, I see Crystal drinking white wine right out of the bottle. I go and sit beside her - I like Crystal because she loves the meetings and says she gets off no matter what the Dads do to her. Plus after smelling Lizzy’s stale body odour in the bathroom, I like how Crystal smells; like clothes dried on a clothesline in the open air.

“Feeling okay now you’re clean, Brooke?” she asks me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There are no secrets amongst the Daughters - we all know each others’ little rituals.

“I’m a little nervous.” I admit as I open my thighs and begin to tease myself.

“Wine?” Crystal offers the bottle. I shake my head.

“I get sick when I drink.” I tell her and she laughs.

“That’s why I drink it.” she tells me, “I’m in the wet room again.”

That means Crystal is going to spend the day mostly on her knees being throat-fucked until she pukes, and once her belly is empty the Dad’s will fill it back up with piss and start again.

“I hate that.” I tell her and she chuckles.

“I love it.” she admits. Crystal likes being watched while she’s degraded and that makes her popular with the Dads. The wet room isn’t really a room like the torture room is - it’s more of a large alcove with waterproof industrial flooring that can be easily cleaned. Us Daughters who aren’t too wasted do the cleanup Sunday nights after we rest for a bit and it can get pretty gross in there with piss, shit, puke, and even blood from some of the chosen Daughters. The kinky Dads clean their own bathroom after the last Dirty Girl is carried out.

But after we clean we get long hot showers and massages and cuddles and gentle loving from our Dads, so it’s okay. I love Monday mornings because I always wake up content and relaxed with muscles that ache so sweetly and my pussy still vibrating.

As Crystal drinks, I concentrate on arousing myself. My pussy is getting its sensitivity back from giving birth and it is bigger - two fingers used to make me feel full, but now I can get all four into myself. I have to admit, it feels good to be so loose and open - like I’ve reached a sort of maturity. As I am contemplating adding my thumb, Lydia’s Dad opens the door and tells us it’s time.

Detective Sergeant Nichols Interview
“We’ve investigated a lot of sex-based cults over the years. The big one being David Berg’s ‘Children of God’. They were the ones who had ‘flirty fishers’ - women who were basically prostitutes for the cult, using sex to recruit more members.

“Children of God were huge in the 1970s into the early 1990s - thousands of members living communally around the world. Children in the cult were introduced to sex with adults as young as 10 years old. Growing up that way, they didn’t know any better.

“But in answer to your question; No, I’ve never heard of Lot’s Daughters.”

Things usually start slow when us Daughters go downstairs. It’s kind of tradition that like your first dance you do it with your Dad to start things off, and keeping with tradition, my Dad is waiting for me and leads me to a corner where three Moms are waiting around a little red bed. I know this bed - it’s used when there may be a little blood, like your first time. And the Mom’s are usually there to help the Daughter because she is going to experience something new.

After Daphne, Dad brought me new toys - bigger ones that I was used to, ‘To keep you open’ he said. So I already know what Dad was going to do, but it still sends shiver-bumps crawling over my thighs, bum, and belly.

Obedient as always, I lay down on the bed into the arms of the Moms and open my thighs wide for Dad. He slides two fingers into me and smiles at how oily my pussy is.

“Good girl.” he smiles at me, “You got yourself ready.”

He adds a third finger and it begins.

“Yeah, Brooke is a whore and she fucks her Dad. I followed her once from her home when her and her Dad walked to this brownstone in Cobble Hill. I stood down the block and watched a bunch of older men and a few women but mostly girls my age arrive at the Brownstone. They were all smiles and friendly, hugging each other as they went inside.

“I waited until no one had arrived for about half an hour then walked past the front of the place and saw a plaque beside the front door that said; “Genesis Congregation - Private Chapel”. All the windows we bricked up with those frosted glass blocks so I couldn’t see or hear anything - just light and shadows. I went around the back and it was the same back there, except the windows had real bricks in them, but I saw a couple black pipes running up the back right to the roof so I pressed my ear to one and heard a girl screaming ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ like she was being fucked hard.

“I bet it was Brooke.”

Dad started slow, opening me lovingly, but soon he got his entire hand inside me as the Moms cradled me and played with my nipples and stroked my skin as I squirmed and shuddered.

But now that I'm used to being so filled it feels so natural - as though my pussy is meant for this; meant for Dad’s hand inside me. When he makes a fist and starts pumping me I start cumming - and my orgasms aren’t the desperate, tight kind that I used to have before I got pregnant - these are like slow waves of bliss that radiate through my belly, sending shiver-bumps over my bum and thighs and making my stomach quiver at each peak. Dad’s fist feels so deep, like it’s right inside my belly in the place my little sister used to be. I remember how sweet it felt when Daphne moved inside my belly and this is like that but stronger and better.

Now he speeds up, his fist pumping inside me, sending shockwaves up my core. The Moms hold me tighter as I buck and squirm - I can’t help it; I’m not trying to get away, it’s just that the feeling are so much more intense; my quivering stomach clenches and making me gag.

And the orgasms - oh god, the orgasms - they make my toes curl.

“I left that chapel and tried to get Samantha to come back with me, but she was grounded. I wanted to see how long they stayed in that place, so I got Samantha to cover for me; I called my Mom and told her I was over at Samantha’s and walked back.

“I could still see lights on inside the place and cars were still parked in the Chapel’s little parking lot so I got a coffee from the place down the block and watched from the little park across the street.

“They were in there until almost morning, which annoyed me. After the coffee, I had to pee so bad but I didn’t want to miss anything, so I had to squat to pee in the park and I got it all over my shoes.

“Finally, people started leaving just as the sky started getting light and I saw Brooke and her Dad come out and walk toward home. I followed as close as I could, and let me tell you; Brooke was shaky and her legs were so wobbly that her Dad had to support her with an arm around her shoulders and I wondered what they did to her in there.”

“... oh Dad ... don’t stop ... don’t stop ... please don’t stop ...” I can’t stop cumming and I don’t want to - it hurts, but I’m cumming so hard.

... disappeared Sunday after church services at the private Genesis Congregation. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs Cliveden, appealed to Janice through the Times for her to come home. Both parents believe Janice is still in New York.

‘We just pray she is safe.’ said Mr Cliveden.

I’m gasping and crying out with each orgasmic convulsion now - I’m feeling weaker by the minute, like I’m getting all used up. The Moms’ grip my arms and throat tight to keep me as still as they can. I love this - the feeling of being held down and raped - my orgasms are always better this way; desperate, violent things that cramp my lower belly and make my body shake.

Oh god, don’t stop, Dad.

“You know her friend killed herself, right? Her name was Mandi and she blew her brains out in her Dad’s limousine with his gun.”

“The weird thing was, a couple days before that she posted; ‘It’s the waiting that’s the hardest’. I always wondered what she meant by that. Like, what was she waiting for?

“Plus, you know she always stunk, right? She smelled like a girls’ locker room and stale crotch.”

I’m drenched with sweat and shivering when Dad finally stops and eases his hand out of me. He pats my pussy with his hand as I come down from my orgasms. I look up and see that we are surrounded by Dads - their penises are all rock hard so they liked watching my Dad fist-fuck me. I feel like I’m drunk - dizzy, feverish, and out of it.

“Time for you to go have some fun.” he says, “I love you, Brooke.”

“I love you, Dad.” I say breathlessly as the Moms let me go and one of the Dads reaches his hand down to help me stand.

My legs are weak and wobbly like they always are after getting worked hard as they lead me to the main room. I know they’re going to gang fuck me there. I feel fragile and vulnerable and a little scared - the weakness in my legs spreading upward into my core and through my arms - I tremble and my legs keep giving out. Other Daughters are being fucked hard by the Dads in here, some screaming, the younger ones fighting it, some of the older ones begging for more. I’ve been through this a hundred times or more, but I’ve never gotten used to the violence of it - it scares me, but that fear makes me feel so alive.

I’m scared now, but I know fighting it takes away what pleasure is hidden in my rape, so I let them lift me and lay me on my back on a table. I let myself be swarmed. I let myself be pawed at and pinched and slapped. I let the first Dad slam his cock into my loose, oily pussy and fuck me hard. They aren’t like my Dad; they don’t care if I have an orgasm, they only care about their own.

I’m disappointed that one of the Dads is my Uncle Steve - my Dad’s brother. He is as intent as the others to fuck me hard, looking down at me like I’m just a sex doll without feelings. But the thing is; I like it. I like being used this way - it makes me feel like a true Daughter of Lot.

I’m fucked in my pussy, in my rectum, in my mouth. I feel my uterus plumped with cum, feel it gush into my bowels, I gag on it and swallow it down my gullet. So many Dads want to fuck me and that worries me. They know who the chosen Daughter is and usually everyone wants to fuck her before her time.

Is it my turn? Oh god don’t let it be my turn.

“Mandi posted on her Facebook that she couldn’t take it any more. Just that; ‘I’m sorry. I can’t take it anymore’.

“What couldn’t she take? What was so bad that she killed herself.”

Two Dads are doubling me, one in my pussy and one up my bum. The one up my bum is Uncle Steve, and oh god, he is fucking me so hard I feel sick to my stomach. But I am in that torturous cycle of cramping orgasms that just roll on and on.

I’m out of control ... my body is out of control; my pussy, my stomach, my bowels, my bladder. Fuck, I’m peeing myself. This is how it felt when I pooped myself.

I’m scared but I love this loss of control.

Detective Sergeant Nichols Interview
“We did investigate Mandi’s parents, especially her father. The least we could get him on was unsafe storage of a handgun, but even that didn’t stick. Her mother was adamant that her husband kept the gun locked in a desk drawer and showed us the evidence that the drawer had been pried open.

“The thing is, the first attending Officers on scene didn’t report any damage to that desk on the day Mandi killed herself, so we didn’t have photos to prove the parents manufactured the evidence afterward.

“Did they give her the gun? I doubt it. Was she sexually active? Yes, the Coroner testified to that. I suspect it was with the father, but there’s no proof. None.”

They’re done with me for now - I’m filled with cum and my crotch is sore and I’m still convulsing - it’s like an after-orgasm orgasm. I get those when I’ve been fucked too hard for a long time and get into a cycle of desperate, violent orgasms as the Dads pump deep in me savagely - my pussy tightens and releases in spasms and my bowels convulse when they stop.

I roll onto my knees, my head down, resting my cheek on the table and ride it out, gasping and straining. It’s like a seizure, but it’s my body not my mind. I can feel my bum opening and closing and I’m farting out cum. It’s close to an orgasm and feels pretty fantastic.

As I stroke myself while I slowly regain control over my body, I can feel the spots on my arms and thighs where bruises will form by morning. I take a perverse pleasure in seeing the bruises - the best are the handprints on my flesh; I can see where fingers and thumbs have dug deep into me. On Mondays I masturbate as I press in on my bruises and my body remembers the pain and it helps me cum again.

I climb down off the table and go to the bar, giving the group gangbanging Sybil on the bar stool a wide berth. I pour myself a Coke and swallow it all in a series of gulps. The fizz burns my throat as I force it down, and I like that feeling; it washes the cum from my gullet into my belly. I like the sexy feeling of cum oozing from my pussy, and the little spurts from my bum when I squeeze out what feels like a fart, but it’s not - it’s a clot of Dad cum.

On the other side of Sybil, one of the new girls is bent over a table and Dads are holding her down as they break her cherry. Well, both cherries - pussy and bum. She is screaming, and I remember my own first time so I know she will recover and will get used to it, like I have, and like Sybil has. Sybil’s begging for more as the Dads swarm her. The fear never goes away, but you can make it work for you, and the nightmares only last a few weeks.

Besides, there’s only one REAL fear - the fear of being the chosen Daughter and not being ready for it. My Dad told me that they used to tell the girls when they had been chosen the night before, but too many became hysterical and died badly. The Angels reject Daughters that die badly. It was better, he said, that the girl doesn’t know, that way she can enjoy her sexing up right to the last minute. The Dads’ goal is to take the girl mid-orgasm - Dad’s who can do that are admired by the other Dads, and secretly by us girls.

I wander to the wet room and watch Crystal for a time. The Dads are working her over good, throat fucking her until she pukes up like a volcano. Her puke is yellow so they’ve emptied her at least once and filled her belly back up with piss. They did that to me once, but as soon as I would swallow a mouth full of piss I’d puke it right back up. It was a mixed bag for me - I hated the taste of piss, but the puking felt good - like I was ridding my body of poison.

I do like puking when I’m sexually aroused - it actually feels amazing to heave when you cum - it gets your whole body into it. The Dad’s teach us that losing control of your body gives you the best orgasms, and they’re right. Dad taught me that as he sucked and licked my sex while he had me throat him - and I mean throat him deep. I was all the way to his root with my chin pressed hard against his pubic bone and my nose pressed into his ball sack when I came hard and puked at the same time. It was the best orgasm I had at that age. I’ve had better ones since, but that one opened my mind to the bliss of losing control, and us Daughters have to learn that because one day we will be chosen and the best way you can be when it happens is to surrender all control and let it happen to you - it is always new sensations, and that is exciting.

I know that’s true because I’ve seen Daughters go both ways; fighting it and letting it happen. Letting it happen is best - you can see it in their faces; and expression of bliss and awe.

Detective Sergeant Nichols Interview
“Ahh, you’re referring to the Carla Minnelli murder. Yes, we found her remains by happenstance. A patrol car pulled the Mercedes over for running a red light, but the two occupants ran and weren’t caught.

“They pulled the car over right at Sackett and Smith and the men fled on foot back into Cobble Hill. The chopper was overhead within three minutes, but they couldn’t find anyone on the streets or alleys in the area.

“What does that tell me? That someone in Cobble Hill let them into their home and hid them. The Mercedes had fake registration and plates. The fingerprint fragments and DNA we found came back with no matches. All that indicates the two men disposing her body were wealthy and had no criminal record. You’d have to be rich to casually throw a Mercedes away with a dead girl in the trunk.

“Yeah, we found Carla’s body tied in a sack in the trunk of the car. She was naked, bruised, had abrasions on her wrists, arms, and legs, and she had been strangled to death. The Coroner also noted that she had been savagely sexually penetrated before or during her strangulation, but there was no semen or foreign DNA present, so they probably used an object.

“My theory? Because of the amount of vaginal mucus present, I believe Carla died during a BDSM sex act - probably erotic asphyxiation that went terribly wrong.”

Carla was one of the ones that surrendered even though she was scared. The Dads had tied her up in the torture room and used a machine and a big vibrator on her. Carla’s favourite thing was being fucked hard by a machine that had a big dildo with deep ribs on it that pumped her relentlessly while a heavy vibrator buzzed her clit. Carla could cum over and over on that machine.

You can always tell it’s time for the chosen Daughter’s ritual, because sex in the whole basement starts to wind down except for the chosen Daughter. All the Dads lead us Daughters to where the chosen Daughter is still being sexed up.

For Carla’s time we were all gathered outside the torture room. We could hear the machine working Carla inside - the rhythmic pumping of the piston, the squishy sound of her pussy, and the sweet sounds she made as she came over and over.

With the sound of his oldest Daughter cumming in the background, Carla’s Dad turned to us and bowed his head.

“Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes.” her Dad intoned softly and the other Dads quietly said “Amen.” Then he stepped aside and we all walked in as softly as we could.

The room reeked of sex, Carla’s body sweat and skunky armpits, the strong smell of her loose and oozing pussy, even the musky smell of her sweaty bum hole which gaped and tightened as the machine fucked her. Carla had had a wonderful Sunday.

Carla looked nervous when she opened her eyes and looked around, noticing us all gathering - I think she knew right then that she was the chosen Daughter. She saw her own Dad walk in and with a voice shaky as she rode the edge of another orgasm she asked;

“Am I going, Dad?”

“Yes, baby, you’re going today.”

Carla whimpered and started to cry.

“Wh-y-y-y? Why Dad? ... no ...” she pleaded as she looked at her Dad while fighting off the good feelings from the machine, “Don’t you love me?”

“Mm-hmm.” he said softly and nodded.

I know Carla was trying to fight her pleasure out of fear - trying to fight off her next orgasm so she could live longer - but the dildo pumping hard into her and the vibrator on her clit sent her upward to her next orgasm despite that. Her breathing became ragged, her belly twitched and tightened and soon she was cumming, grunting; “...god! ... god! ...” as her hips curled and her bum fat quivered like jelly.

She was cumming again, her fear buried in the intense sexual bliss when the Dad who had been working her wrapped a cord around her throat. She didn’t fight him, and when he cinched it tight she looked surprised but didn’t struggle.

I remember it like a movie in my head; Carla starting to strangle, looking around at the people watching her. She looked directly into my eyes - a lot of us were masturbating - I was - I couldn’t help it; I was already horny from the Dads working me all day and the idea of watching other Daughters die so sexed up had become arousing to me. Each time I watch a Daughter die, I get so aroused by thinking; ‘... this could be me ... this could be me ...” and how exciting is that? Playing sexual Russian roulette, knowing any third Sunday could be your special day. The day you get to fulfill Lot’s covenant to be sacrificed for the Angels as you die sweetly and intensely while orgasms storm through your body. Some Dads say that if you die that way you become a special Angel yourself and spend eternity deep in your final orgasm. He said that’s why Angels are always smiling.

When Carla looked at me as I masturbated, I didn’t see any animosity in her expression - I think she was remembering the many times she would stand like I was and masturbate as another Daughter’s worldly life ended. It was almost like a silent communion between us, she was accepting that I was taking pleasure in her final moments and I was accepting that one day it would be me. I mouthed the words; ‘I love you’ to her, and I truly did love her.

It was her time, so she lifted her gaze upward and focused on dying.

Carla squirmed and twitched as the machine kept fucking her and the Dad choked the life out of her. I even saw a flicker of a smile on Carla’s lips during one of her last orgasms. She died so well - no struggle, no wincing, just a series of orgasms that got smaller and shorter until she just stared into space.

I could tell the moment she died. Her arms and legs sagged in the ropes, her belly muscles went slack, and her weak little retching sounds got softer and stopped. But the machine kept right on fucking her, each thrust sending rippling waves up the soft fat of her belly.

After we all walked solemnly away, I sat my Dad down in a chair and straddled him and rode his cock by slowly rotating my hips. With my face nuzzling his neck I asked him how I would feel when I was chosen.

“You’ll feel good, baby. You’ll be cumming and cumming and cumming and it will feel overwhelming, just the way you like it.” he whispered in my ear.

“I want it intense, Daddy.” I whispered back, feeling breathless and excited as we talked about it.

“Just let go like Carla did and it will be wonderful.” he instructed.

“... the way Carla left us ...” I gasped, my orgasm rising, “... it made me horny ... I want to go that way ...” even though I can’t choose.

Dad whispered all the ways I could go - all the ways I’d seen other Daughters go. There are three parts of your body they use; throat, belly, or sex organs. I felt so safe and so loved as his strong arms held me tight to him while I ground my pussy around his cock and he fingered my bum until I came three times. I felt loved and safe, fantasizing about ways I could go because that day wasn’t my day.

I’m pretty sure that was the night I got pregnant, because after I came and my Dad held me snuggled against him, he sent me to use the special douche the Moms have to make sure we don’t get pregnant. Then later at home he bathed me and made sure my pussy was clean of the douche. After, he laid me on his bed and wrapped his strong hands around my throat and fucked me - I couldn’t breathe, just like Carla and I had my orgasm just as I passed out and it was so intense that I peed the bed.

I thought I had died and was going to the Angels, but the next morning I woke up in my own bed and felt such peace. I missed my next period and all the rest until I gave birth to Daphne.

That night proved something to me; I could surrender and go to the Angels when my time came.

“After they found Carla’s body in that car so close to that creepy church I told my Mom and Dad about me following Brooke and hearing what I heard. They doubted it and said I shouldn’t be making up stories about churches - that it was a sin. My Mom said I had to go to confession for it.

“But I wasn’t making it up, so I went to the precinct on my own after school the next day. They wouldn’t let me talk to a Detective, so a regular Cop took my statement. I signed it and he said he’d get it to the Detective heading up the investigation into Carla’s murder.

“But I don’t think he did, because I never heard back from them.”

I see some Dads lead Heather into the torture room. Heather uses heroin that her Dad gets for her because they take her to the torture room every time.

I asked her once if the heroin made it hurt less, and she said; “No, it just makes it like a bad dream. The next day I hardly remember it.”

In the torture room there is a bedframe with plywood instead of a mattress with cuffs at each corner. The Dad’s who are into sexual torture gather around and one of the Dads inserts this long skinny rod that’s attached to wires up Heather’s bumhole. He pushes it deep, so the tip is way up inside, just below Heather’s belly button.

“Ohhhh, yeah.” Heather let out a fluttering sigh, “Right there, baby. Oh! ... oh, right there ...” I think Heather talks to the Dads that way because it makes her feel like a participant.

“There it is.” one of the Dads mutters as he turns on the electric shock machine and adjusts the big dials - they make loud clacking sounds in the small room.

“... yeah ...” Heather sighs, anticipating, her head turned as she watches that Dad. I can tell she wants it - craves it - her long, lithe body strapped tight to the plywood. She looks pale and vulnerable, but calm and willing.

The Dad turns the main dial with a large clack-clack and the loud hum of electricity vibrates the air. Instantly, Heather’s body arches hard - all her muscles tight and her belly undulating as the electricity radiates outward from the tip of that skinny rod. She is clenching so tight that she farts loudly and I think that’s her body trying to push the rod out of her.

The Dad turns the machine off and Heather collapses and catches her breath. The Dad near her feet reaches forward and pushes the skinny rod deeper into her bowels.

“... please ... ugh! ... right there ...” Heather gasps as she feels it press deeper into her, then cries out as the machine clacks and sends electricity deep into her belly. Again Heather’s body arches tight and she cries out and shudders as the Dad leaves the electricity on longer. Again she farts loudly. At one point she gasps; “... wait ...” but they don’t.

I asked Heather once what it felt like. She said it made her bowels squirm inside her like angry snakes, but it also felt like a painful orgasm, making her pussy clench tight and her clit tingle like crazy as the electricity dances over it, but her bum hole gapes open as her stomach muscles clenched and tries to push the rod out. She said that she poops herself sometimes, but it’s mostly farts, and that even that feels good.

Heather said that the deeper they push the rod into her, the more intense it gets. When it’s in so deep that it is near her stomach it makes her gag and retch and makes her nipples feel like they’re on fire.

“It’s all good.” she said calmly as she took her shot of heroin.

When the latest dose of electricity is turned off, the Dad near her feet reaches out and pushes the rod all the way inside her - it is sure to be just under her stomach now - as Heather gasps to catch her breath. As she feels it go in deeper, Heather lifts her head and looks at the Dad;

“... fuck ... you ...” she gasps and is hit hard with electricity as the other Dad turns up the power and triggers it. Heather arches hard and is now gagging and making horrible wet sounds in her throat. She sounds desperate, struggling to breathe, her body jerking and shuddering as though she’s having a seizure; her bumhole gaping wide to push out a longer, more violent fart. I can see the red ring of her rectum pushed out between her bum cheeks - the Dads call it a rosebud.

It’s hard to watch Heather’s torture as she continues to gag and retch even after the power is turned off, but I know that it’s her willingness to undergo this torment that is keeping her from being chosen; Heather accepts her torture and in turn that makes her a popular plaything for the crueler Dads. I leave the room before Heather passes out, because I know that when she does, the Dads will pull the skinny rod from her bowels and uncuff her so they can gang rape her limp body until they are all happy.

I like to think that during her times of unconsciousness, that Heather is in the company of the Angels who love and soothe her.

“My buddy Travis and I caught Brooke, Heather, Crystal, and Brooke’s cousin Sara in the park one night doing this weird lesbian thing.

“It was a Friday night and Travis and I were splitting a bottle of Malibu Rum and heard girls giggling and carrying on, so we snuck up on them. Brooke and Heather were laying on their back with Crystal and Sara on top of them, like in MMA, you know? ... full mount. But Brooke and Heather weren’t fighting it.

“Here’s the thing; Crystal and Sara were choking Brooke and Heather - like full on strangling them. We could hear Brooke and Heather gagging and making retching sounds. They were all getting off on it.

“It was right after Carla’s funeral. She was strangled, you know.

“Travis speaks up and says; ‘Hey girls. Want some company?’ and I says; ‘Maybe need some help with that?’

But Crystal looks up and smiles; ‘We’re good.’ she says and just keeps choking Brooke. Brooke and Heather are looking at each other and they’re smiling too.

“So I think Carla’s murder was sexual and those girls were getting off on it.

“Those girls are into some weird shit, man.”

I come across cousin Sara on one of the tables. They’ve got her trussed up and ball gagged and are banging her hard. Sara is another Daughter whose Dad - my Uncle Steve - lets use heroin because the other Dads are so rough on her.

Sara likes it rough, but likes how heroin makes her feel. Maybe I’ll try it one day, Heather and Sara says it’s like a total body orgasm when it hits and you feel completely relaxed and compliant as you start coming down.

Sara doesn’t look relaxed right now; she’s crying and trying to scream past the ball gag, but I can smell her so I know she’s been cumming; Sara’s pussy smell is strong when she is aroused, her armpits too - really sharp and skunky.

As I watch her being gangbanged, two strong arms wrap around me from behind - they’re slow and gentle and strong. Two strong hands cup my small breasts and fingers twirl my nipples. It’s Uncle Steve, I can feel and hear his breath in my left ear. He makes my nipples tingle until they are stiff and erect, then he pushes them inside my breasts and it hurts but feels so good all at the same time.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” he whispers as his daughter is being gang raped in front of us.

“It’s okay, Uncle Steve.” I answer him, “I’m a Daughter, it’s what we do.”

“I want to make it up to you.” he breathes in my ear as he pinches and plucks at my nipples, “I want to make you cum.”

“You do?” I smile and lean back against him.

“... and cum and cum and cum.” he teases and it makes me laugh. Uncle Steve always makes me laugh.

“Your Dad taught you a new talent.” Uncle Steve says, and I know he means taking a fist, and it makes my legs weak just thinking about it.

“I liked it.” I murmur, and Uncle Steve slides around in front of me and takes me by pinching my nipples.

“Come with me.” he says gently and leads me toward the wet room, and being led by my nipples makes me feel so dirty and so horny, I can't stop smiling.

”My partner Anthony and I live across the street from the Genesis Congregation chapel. Every Sunday since we moved into our apartment we saw families arrive in the late morning for services, and in the small hours every Monday morning we would hear small commotions on the street and the park. At first we didn’t connect the two, but when we started investigating the early morning sounds we realized they were indeed connected. The girls who entered the chapel the night before would emerge in the wee hours, changed from happy, bright young women into staggering, used-up, and senseless party girls. They looked like they had endured hard sexual abuse.

”As Anthony says; ‘They’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.’

”A few months ago we started getting up early and journeying out with our cell phones taking pictures and videos. Our plan was to collect as much evidence we could and turning it into NYPD along with a noise complaint.

”Some of the girls just appeared drunk and needed help walking, while too many others would collapse on the street or the little park and vomit or pee themselves. We saw disheveled clothing, wet crotches, cum smeared faces, cum and urine running down bare inner thighs, girls that were crying, and one that broke my heart who just sobbed; ‘... no more ... no more ... nor more ...’ as she was put in the backseat of a car.

”We did take our video evidence to the local precinct and were told it would be passed on to a detective for follow up. For awhile the early morning commotion lessened, but over time it went back to business as usual with so many young women in distress on the street every Monday near dawn.

”We don’t know for sure what goes on in there, but we have our suspicions. Anthony thinks that the girls who have died or gone missing in the neighbourhood are part of it too, but I don’t like to think about that.”

Uncle Steve has me standing on wobbly legs near a wall as he works my pussy. He’s going slow and deep and is adding fingers one at a time ... and holy fuck, it feels so good. He’s better at this than Dad is - I know I’m going to start cumming soon.

There are a couple other Daughters in here with us, throating and gagging, and I can hear other Daughters and Dads having sex out in the main room. With all the sex, the chosen Daughter hasn’t been revealed yet so I can relax.

I know it’s late - my body tells me it’s late by the flushed edge of exhaustion I feel - but I don’t want to stop yet; I want that complete sexual exhaustion I get when Dad has to half-carry me home. Most of us Daughters end up hot messes as we leave the chapel early Monday - oozing cum, stinking of sex and sweat and sometimes puke - our pussies and bums loose and oily and burning. It makes waking up bathed and clean in a bed with fresh sheets late Monday afternoon feel so good. Us Daughters have had our fun, and our Dad’s are relaxed and happy too and treat us like princesses for the rest of the week. I love those contrasts; the intense sex and pain of fulfilling our covenant as Daughters, and being treated so special and loving, even pampered by our Dads the rest of the time.

I don’t even have to take care of Daphne, my Mom does all that; raising her from birth to be part of the next generation of Daughters. She even got hormones so she could breastfeed Daphne - she says she gets so much pleasure from that.

Mom has told me that she wished grandpa had been a member of Lot’s Daughters so she could have lived like I am living and died like a true Daughter - young and vital, never having to get old. Mom says getting old is horrible; you get fat and everything starts to sag, and men want young, thin women, so you get left behind.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen Brooke since last Sunday.”

“... oh ... my god!” I cry out as Uncle Steve fucks me with all four fingers, the web of his thumb grinding against my clit. My legs feel so weak and my belly feels like it’s bloating. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s filling up and bloating with orgasm. I have such odd thoughts when I’m this aroused.

“You like this, don’t you?” Uncle Steve says as he works me from his knees.

A desperate “... uh-huh ...” is all I can manage. He has my wrists handcuffed behind my back, but I don’t mind - they’re the soft kind that don’t bite. There are other Daughters around me, some I can see, some I can only hear; I can hear throats being fucked, bumholes being fucked, and Daughters crying out in pain or orgasm. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes it doesn’t matter; when you’re in a sexual frenzy with the Dads, pain and pleasure all mix together and relinquishing control of your body is ecstatic.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the rough feelings Uncle Steve is giving me. I feel the insane pressure of his hand and the burn of my pussy being forced open so I know he’s added his thumb. I am grunting, gasping, wanting all of him inside me.

I’m sweating, trembling ... it-hurts-it-hurts-it-hurts ... his hand is bigger than my Dad’s. I clench and push like I had to when I was birthing Daphne and it feels similar, except it’s going in instead of being pushed out. I’m not sure how much more I can take, but suddenly I feel my pussy expand and I swallow his entire fist up into my belly and I feel a wash of relief flood my pelvis. Oh god, this feels so good. He pumps his fist up and down in swift deep strokes and I am getting looser by the second. He pulls down until it feels like he’s going to rip his fist out of me, then pushes up hard, stretching my pussy and compressing my uterus. The impact inside me sends shockwaves up my core and I feel my stomach quiver - I know if I’d eaten breakfast I’d be throwing it up right now.

It’s heaven. Truly a sensory heaven, that takes my breath away. The other sounds in the room are dimming and I imagine that I feel the Angels gathering around me. I can sense them moving into the room and all I can hear is my own sexual cries and gasps and the loud wetness of my pussy.

Maybe this is it. Maybe the Angels are gathering to take me.

I open my eyes; they’re not Angels, they’re the other Dads and Daughters and they’re all watching me.

Oh fuck.

I see my own Dad leaning against the wall near me, his arms folded, his eyes kind and loving as he watches me.

“Dad?” I whimper. I don’t want this to be true. I’m not ready.

My Dad nods. My stomach suddenly feels like a wash of ice-water just rushed through it and I pee myself. I’m the Chosen Daughter today.

Uncle Steve keeps fist fucking me hard and deep as a Mom walks behind me, steadying my shoulder with one hand. I know there’s something in her other hand because I saw a glint of light reflecting off it out of the corner of my eye as she passed beside me.

It’s a knife.


It's going to be intense, but fuck!

So many times I told Dad I wanted my time to be intense and with a knife it will be. I’m scared she might cut my belly open - I’ve seen Daughters done that way; their heaving bellies opened from pussy to sternum; their insides slithering out of them to splat and spatter on the floor; the look of shock and disbelief on their faces.

Whatever it will be I have to be ready - I have to be cumming if I want to be taken by the Angels. I set my feet and bend my knees a little so my thighs are open wider. It feels awkward and I’m aware that I look like a wanton slut, but I need this. I look at my Dad and he smiles.

The Mom slides her hand down my shoulder and reaches around to cup my left breast. She is moving her fingers across my nipple and I feel how sweaty I am and how much her fingers make my nipple tingle.

“... oh ... Dad ...” I cry out weakly, then to Uncle Steven; “... oh ... oh ... oh ... don’t stop, don’t stop, oh god, don’t stop ...”

I need him to keep going, to make this my best orgasm ever. I need to feel that intense sexual bliss right to the end so when I’m taken by the Angels, I will feel that orgasm for eternity.

I gasp and groan, feeling my orgasm building in my belly, but I want more. It doesn’t matter that he might hurt me, or damage me. It’s my last time and I fucking want more!

“... harder ...” I demand in a weak, little girl voice. Uncle Steve slams his fist harder inside me, shock waves almost taking my breath away.

“Like that?” Uncle Steve asks.

“... UH-HUH!” I cry out, his fist like a piston inside me as I slide toward the edge of my orgasm, “... oh god ... oh god, harder ... oh god, I’m gunna cum ...”

My body is so hot and I can feel my face flushing like I have a fever. But I feel good - the Mom playing with my nipple, Uncle Steve pound up into me.

“... don’t-stop-don’t-stop-don’t-stop ...” I’m desperate and so needy.

I look up and see some of the Dads and Daughters are masturbating. My Cousin Sara looks upset, she says something about not being able to take it and she tries to push through the crowd to leave the room, but she is stopped and held to face me.

“... oh god ... harder-harder ... oh gawd ...” I feel my orgasm bloom in my lower belly like it’s going to burst, my pussy opening wider, looser. My bumhole opening too. I feel fluids dripping from both.

“... don’t-stop-don’t-stop-don’t-stop ...”

The sensations in my body are reaching a crescendo, I feel my orgasm growing in power - I already feel orgasmic, like I’m cumming already, but the complete release of my orgasm hasn’t happened yet. I feel like a mechanical toy that is being wound too tight, the spring being turned and compressed and tensioned until it breaks and explodes. I want that explosion - I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

My head is hanging down, my hair like a shredded curtain surrounding my face. I know that when I cum - I mean really cum as my internal spring snaps and explodes - that knife will find its violent way into my body and I will die. It scares me and excites me. I want it to happen yet I want to delay it.

The Mom must feel the build too because I feel her hand slide up over my left breast, stroking my tight nipple as it does, then up the flat of my upper chest to my throat. Her hand is slick with the sweat trickling down my face and body as she slides it up my throat to cup my chin. She lifts my chin, baring my throat and I feel the hard cold steel touch me. So that is how I will end; she will cut my throat.

I think about the blood.

I think about the mess I am about to make.

I remember Carla and her orgasmic end as she gagged and heaved through her final choking orgasm and I remember wanting that so bad. I remember telling Dad that I wanted that and here it is; the intense choking death I wanted.

I want to cry out my love for my Dad, to thank him for listening to me and giving me what I asked for. But it’s too late for that. I can no longer speak, no longer even cry out a single word. I want to scream out that I am cumming, that I am doing it right, that I am a good Daughter and the Angels will find me dying in orgasm. I feel my pelvis and lower belly tightening, my body desperately trying to contain the coming explosion of my pending orgasm.

It’s too late.

I can’t hold it off anymore.

My orgasm explodes in my belly; it swells, cramps, shudders; my pelvis humps forward and fluid gushes from my pussy and bumhole. My legs go rubbery and weak. My hips joints feel disconnected and loose.

I’m cumming as I feel the knife’s ice-cold burn slide smoothly across my throat ... I feel the burst of blood gush from my arteries, propelled by my pounding heart ... I feel the dull convulsion of my gag reflex as it’s triggered hard by the cut, my stomach lurching and cramping hard, my gullet heaving in sudden spasms. It feels like something is stuck deep in my gullet and my stomach has gone wild trying to vomit it up but there is nothing but spit to vomit.

Uncle Steve rips his fist from my pussy and it feels like he’s pulled my guts out with it. My body convulses hard and I feel the instant wet bulge between my bum cheeks as my clenched belly pushes my rectum out of me; I can feel its heat and it registers that I just made a large rosebud - the Dads will like that.

Free of the Mom and Uncle Steve I bend over and hang my head, instinctively trying to seal my cut throat. I’m cumming hard and start to

stagger around the room, feeling the rapid growing dizziness and weakness under the thunder of the orgasm rumbling through my lower belly. I don’t know why I’m trying to move around the room - there’s nowhere to go.

This is it.

I’m dying.

But I’m not scared because I’m cumming so hard and so intensely, my entire body alive and blissful - my orgasm so strong and desperate.

In the midst of it all I begin to feel feel weightless like I’m floating. Then something wet slams hard into my right side but I quickly realize I have fallen into the pool of my own blood on the floor. I hear Sara’s voice as though from far away; “I feel sick” and she sounds sick - my blood and this violence has upset her, the heroin in her veins is no longer protecting her. She will have to find her own way like I did.

I am still gagging and heaving, and my orgasm is still strong, but I feel myself leaving the room. It’s like I’m falling weightless through a tunnel, but I take my orgasm with me.

Such sweet bliss.

I’m going to the Angels.

I’m going ...

I’m go ...

Detective Sergeant Nichols Interview
“Brooke Adams? That case is still open. Her parents came in to make statements after finding her suicide note the day after they reported her missing. She sounded like a sweet kid, said that it wasn’t her parents’ fault, that she had just lost interest in life and wanted peace. Her parents said Brooke was struggling with anxiety and depression after she gave birth.

“Her bank card was last used in Old Saybrook, Connecticut to buy lunch last Wednesday. That was the last use after a trail from New York up the coast. Mostly meals - no motels, so we don’t know where she slept. Maybe she didn’t.

“We don’t know if she hitchhiked or took the Greyhound, but she dropped off the grid near the Preserve outside Old Saybrook, so that’s where they’re searching. They pinged her phone and found it in a dumpster on 154. At this point it’s a recovery, not a missing person. There’s a lot of woods and lakes up there, so who knows if we’ll ever find her body.

“And yeah, you’re right; a lot of teen girls from this area run away or suicide. I guess being born wealthy has its own problems.”