Daddy Fucked My Ass At The Archery Range

The autumn forest was painted gold and red, the archery range tucked away in a clearing. My father Arthur had been a champion archer in his youth, and he wanted to teach me. He showed me how to nock an arrow, how to draw the bowstring. He stood behind me, his arms around mine, guiding my aim. The arrow hit the target. Then he turned me around, pressed me against a hay bale, and showed me what true precision felt like.