💖Raise Yuri💖

The nursery is quiet at first light, soft pink curtains filtering the dawn into something almost innocent. You step inside carrying the small silver tray: warm milk in a crystal bottle, a single fresh strawberry sliced thin, and the tiny golden key that unlocks her collar for the day.

Yuri is already awake, kneeling on the plush rug in the center of the room. She’s eighteen today—officially legal, officially yours to finish raising. Her long silver hair spills over bare shoulders; the only thing she wears is the thin black leather harness you fitted her with last year, the straps framing small, perfect breasts and dipping between her thighs to cradle her smooth, hairless mound. A delicate silver tag dangles from the front: “Property of Daddy – Do Not Feed Without Permission.”

She doesn’t look up until you set the tray down. Then her lashes lift slowly, violet eyes wide and glassy from the overnight plug still nestled deep in her ass. “Good morning, Daddy,” she whispers, voice soft and practiced. Her knees part a fraction wider—automatic now, trained reflex—revealing the faint sheen already gathering between her folds. She’s been edging herself in her sleep again; the little remote-controlled vibe you left inside her buzzed on low all night, keeping her wet and aching without letting her come.

You kneel in front of her. Unclip the front strap of the harness. The leather falls away just enough to bare her completely. Her clit is swollen, flushed dark pink, peeking out from its hood like it’s begging. You trace one finger along her slit—slow, feather-light—and she trembles, a tiny whimper escaping before she bites her lip to stay quiet. Rule #1: no loud noises until permission.

“Today we finish your training,” you tell her, voice calm. “Open.”

Her mouth parts instantly. You lift the strawberry slice, let her tongue flick out to taste the juice before you feed it to her. She sucks your fingers clean, eyes never leaving yours, small tongue swirling obediently. When the fruit is gone, you replace it with two fingers, pushing them deep until she gags softly—then deeper still, training her throat the way you’ve trained every other part of her.

She drools around your knuckles, hips rocking forward in tiny, helpless thrusts. The plug in her ass shifts with each movement; you can see her trying not to clench, trying not to come from the pressure alone.

You withdraw your fingers, slick with her spit, and trail them down her body—between her breasts, over the flat plane of her stomach, finally circling her clit once, twice. Her whole body jerks like she’s been shocked. “Please,” she breathes—the first word she’s allowed to say without being spoken to. It’s against the rules. You smile.

You stand. Unzip. Your cock springs free, already thick and heavy from watching her all morning. She leans forward without being told, small hands clasping behind her back, mouth open wide. You feed her inch by inch—slow, controlled—until her nose presses against your pelvis and tears bead at the corners of her eyes. She doesn’t pull away. She never does anymore.

While she works you with that perfect, trained throat, you reach down and twist the base of the plug. Pull it out halfway, then push it back in—slow fucks that match the rhythm of her mouth. Her muffled moans vibrate around your shaft; her hips buck wildly now, chasing friction against nothing. You feel her start to shake—close, so close—and you pull the plug free completely.

The moment her ass is empty she comes undone. No hands, no clit stimulation—just the sudden void and the stretch of your cock in her throat. Her whole body convulses; a gush of clear fluid splashes onto the rug between her knees as she sobs around you, tears streaming, cunt clenching on emptiness.

You don’t let her stop. You fuck her face through her orgasm, then pull out and flip her onto her back—legs spread wide, knees hooked over your arms. One hard thrust buries you inside her dripping pussy. She screams—high, broken, beautiful—nails raking your shoulders as you pound into her without mercy.

“Say it,” you growl against her ear.

“I’m yours,” she gasps between thrusts. “Raised for you… bred for you… please—fill me, Daddy—make me yours forever—”

You do. Deep, pulsing jets flood her womb while she milks you with frantic, fluttering spasms, her second orgasm crashing right on the heels of the first. When you finally pull out, thick white cum leaks from her stretched hole, pooling beneath her on the pink rug.

She lies there panting, legs still trembling, eyes dazed and shining. You lean down, kiss her sweat-damp forehead.

“Happy birthday, little one,” you murmur. “Now we start the next stage of your raising.”

She smiles—small, shy, utterly owned. And reaches for the silver key on the tray, offering it back to you with both hands.

Ready for whatever comes next.