simba and mufasa

Something was wrong. I struggled to open my eyes, blearily forcing myself to focus. I was in a red-panelled room, dimly lit, one I'd never been in before, with... things, on the walls. Whips, floggers, toys of all descr*ptions, most of which I couldn't even name. It was only then that I realized I was naked, bound on my back to a table with my legs spread into a slight V in the air, wrists above my head, a belt around my waist holding me down. I lifted my head, and saw that my six-inch dick was hard and straining, twitching without my command. Why the fuck was I hard? Arousal was the last thing I was feeling! Confusion, fear, panic, yes. But not arousal.

“What can I say?” Daddy replied, gently starting to thrust, and even without twisting to look at him I could hear the wicked grin in his voice. “Like mother like daughter, I guess!” He spanked my ass, nice and hard, making me squeal and giggle. I reached my hands up from the bed, squeezing her big, jiggly boobs from the sides, smooshing them around my head and into my face, giving her a soft, slow kiss.“But... but how?” she asked, still in disbelief. “Why?”

“Rachel?” I asked. Yes, that was right. The amazing blonde who I'd watched sitting at the bar, turning away attempts to chat her up all night. But when I'd gone over to refresh my drink, she'd asked my name, had wanted me to sit with her. To give her a break from the guys trying to hit on her, she'd said. “You... you spiked my drink! What did you give me?”