Any remaining self-control I may have has gone.

"Baby girl," I say. Kitchen. "Right now," I snarl.

She rushes from the couch, as if stung, and I follow her into the gloomy kitchen, close on her heels. Only a sliver of light enters from the living room.

Arlene looks at me, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot. She volunteered to level the score, but she's so inexperienced that she doesn't know how, which makes my job much more difficult.

I urge calmly, "Undo my pants." She does, although with trembling fingers. "Get my cock out. "Baby daughter, take Daddy's cock in your hands." I purposefully use obscene language—I adore the...