Daddy Fucked My Ass At The Sushi Bar

The omakase counter at Sora had a twelve-person waitlist that stretched months. My father Arthur got us the chef"s table. I wore black silk. He wore a gray suit. The master chef placed jewel-like pieces before us, but I couldnt taste any of it. I could only feel Arthurs gaze on my skin, hotter than any wasabi. When the meal ended and the private dining room door slid shut, I became his main course.