The Daddy Dare [DARK EROTIC THRILLER]

48. Illy's disapproval

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MONDAY
October 29, 2040
9:45 AM

"Daddy, please stop!" Illyana cried out, voice breaking from the effort it took to restrain her emotions. Tears flowed freely down her face now as she continued to plead with him, growing more desperate with each passing moment.

She could feel his presence all around her, she could feel him inside her, hot and hard and intensely demanding. He was everywhere, all at once and it was far too much to bear.

"Please!" She screamed, "I'm sorry! I promise I won't run away again! Please stop!" Begging was no use. He wouldn't listen, only kept on pounding into her, stretching her to her limits until she felt so full it was almost unbearable.

That's when she woke with a start, gasping and covered in a cold sweat.

She was in bed, dressed in fresh clothes and with a tightening feeling in her chest as the memories of the dream came creeping back, causing her heart to grow heavy with dread.

She continues to have dreams of him, the worst kind of nightmares that leave her crying and shaking, wet and needy.

She could still feel the familiar stirring in her loins, the heat building between her thighs, the pulse in her clit growing stronger and stronger with each passing second.

It was almost as if he was physically there. She could feel his hands on her, fingers digging into her middle, stroking her, making her squirm and writhe, soaking into her panties with anticipation.

Attila's hold is ironclad. Like a vice, his influence over her is unyielding and she'll never understand why it was so hard to forget him.

She had been living in a state of constant fear since her escape, never sure when he might find her. Every time she got too comfortable with the idea of finally being free, he would appear in her dreams, tormenting her with his presence, suffocating her with his demands. It was an endless cycle of fear and lust that she couldn't seem to break free from.

It was impossible to stop thinking about him. About how he had taken her and molded her; made her his own. How he had dominated her, forced her to submit to his every desire.

And how she had loved it. How she had grown dependent on it.

And what if he somehow found her?

Attila was insane. She knew that.
And she knew he would never give up the hunt.

Every time she tried to distance herself, she would only be pulled back, drawn inexorably towards the man who declared himself her god, and swore to baptize her in sin.

Her hands were shaking as she dug her fingers into the soft pillows and felt a pricking in her eyes, large teardrops plopping onto the pillow that she found impossible to suppress.