This visceral agony was a mere whisper compared to the roar that followed.
It was her voice—his mother's voice, Ashley's voice—that became the instrument of his complete undoing.
The sounds coming from the master bedroom were not the familiar, comforting tones of the woman who had packed his lunches and kissed his scraped knees.
They were raw, primal, a crescendo of pleasure that felt like a physical violation from where he stood.
"Oh my… I'm coming, Ross! I love your cock!"
The words, so foreign and yet so terrifyingly clear, hit him like a physical blow.
Ross. Not his father, Mark. The name was a brand, searing itself into his mind.
"You have the best cock in the world! I love coming on your cock! Here it is! I'm coming, Ross!" Ashley screamed, her voice cracking with the intensity of her release.
Daniel's eyes, wide with a disbelief so profound it felt like madness, refused to look away.
He was a spectator to his own nightmare.
