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Petite Cumdump Blonde

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Russell Fabray glared at the computer screen. His daughter was hanging around sluts, and the evidence was on his screen: the Lopez girl was sucking off someone while another plowed her from behind, while the dumb blonde took on three black men. Her name eluded Russell; all he could remember was that it was similar to a famous pop star. He stared at the images for a few minutes more, before deleting them. He hadn't wanted to believe his good Christian daughter was fraternising with sluts, but the evidence was undeniable.

His cock was hard, and Russell fished it out of his pants, slowly fisting the thick shaft. All three of the girls were cheerleaders—it'd been one of Quinn's most fervent wishes to gain a spot on the squad—and if two of them were such sluts, it didn't seem unlikely that Quinn was any different. She knew how how she looked in her Cheerios uniform; hadn't Russell seen her leading Finn Hudson on with her nubile body on more than one occasion? And while he was fairly sure Finn was going home with blue balls, that didn't mean Quinn wasn't a slut. Quinn was just smart enough to know that Finn had nothing to give her if she slept with him. But Lima had other men, men with more money than restraint...

Her friends certainly used that to their benefit, as he'd seen. Why wouldn't they have dragged Quinn down with them?

And if Quinn was fucking around Lima, well, she could take over her mother's duties...

Russell groaned, and splattered the underside of his desk with several spurts of hot cum.


Judy was off to some charity weekend thing, leaving Russell and Quinn at home. They had a simple dinner, Quinn went off to do homework to have the weekend free, and Russell locked himself in his study, looking over the packet of pills Judy sometimes took when she had severe migraines. Judy swore they were fast acting, and knocked her out to the point where she may as well have been dead, and Russell figured they sounded about perfect for his intentions.

He crushed four into a hot chocolate, and after some vigorous stirring, he took it up to Quinn. She thanked him, as a good daughter should, and was already gulping it down as he left. It wasn't long before he heard a thud, and Russell returned to Quinn's room to find her sprawled on the floor. She was still breathing, and she had a pulse, and Russell hauled her onto her bed.

The slut was still wearing her Cheerios uniform, the skirt riding up to reveal no panties, and Russell's cock throbbed.

"They corrupted you, you little slut," he said, roughly pushing Quinn's legs apart, shoving at the skirt to get a better look at the barely there golden hair covering her not so innocent cunt. He ran a finger roughly over her skin, having forgotten the danger of the drugs wearing off—but she remained unconscious, and as his fingers trailed over her clit, she began to get wet.

"You fucking whore," Russell said, pulling out his cock. "I told you those girls weren't good friends... well, if you're going to put out for them, you can put out for Daddy!"

He clambered on top of Quinn, and with one powerful lunge, he was buried to the hilt in Quinn, his eyes widening as he felt himself bust through her hymen—but it was too late. Her cunt was gripping his cock tight, he was too caught up in his belief that Quinn was a slut, and with barely a pause, Russell began to fuck Quinn fast, his balls churning with cum.

Quinn stayed unconscious beneath him, and as much as he wanted to look at her tits, he resisted the temptation; if Quinn thought anything was out of the ordinary in the morning... and having tried his daughter's virgin cunt for the first time, Russell was determined it wouldn't be the last. There were other drugs, surely... ways to make her far more responsive, but yet unable to remember anything.

Russell gasped, shooting sticky streams of cum into Quinn's waiting womb.


After a couple of weeks and some dark web searches, Russell found the perfect drug cocktail to give him what he wanted: a responsive, but unaware Quinn, and he was so eager to try it that he drugged both Judy and Quinn—Quinn with the new cocktail, Judy with her migraine pills. His cock throbbed in his pants as Russell waited the recommended thirty minutes, and as he went up the stairs, he pulled it out, taking a good look.

Judy hadn't made him that hard in years.

Russell entered Quinn's room, closing the door as he took in Quinn, sprawled over the bed. She had been changing for bed, for she was clad only in panties, her young tits firm and upthrust. Hurriedly disrobing, Russell sucked a pink nipple into his mouth, and Quinn let out a soft moan, the nub growing erect as Russell flicked it with his tongue.

"Dirty slut," Russell said, releasing the nipple. "Are you wet for Daddy, you cunt?" He jammed a finger into her cunt, roughly pulling the panties aside, finding her slightly wet, and he added a second finger, smirking as she grew wetter, unintelligible moaning slipping from her mouth. When she seemed to be sufficiently wet, he rubbed his fingers on his cock, and mounted her again.

She was as tight as ever, her hips bucking up to take his cock, and Russell froze, scanning her face. But still she was in the depths of somnolence, and Russell relaxed, settling into a slow, steady fucking motion. She was just as tight as Judy had been, all those years ago before two kids had happened—perhaps even tighter, given she'd been a virgin and Judy hadn't.

Russell bit a nipple, his cock throbbing as Quinn moaned, her legs wrapping around his, and she pulled him into her.

"Natural slut instinct, you whore," he gasped, pounding her with quick strokes. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, only drowned out by Russell's gasps of pleasure when Quinn's cunt reflexively squeezed around the invading, incestuous cock, and when Quinn's body shuddered in orgasm, a breathy moan escaping her lips, Russell couldn't hold back anymore.

"Bitch cumming on Daddy's cock," he said, panting. "Making Daddy cum, you bitch!"

Her cunt held his cock fast as her walls were sprayed with cum, and as his orgasm subsided, Russell collapsed on top of Quinn. Once he'd recovered his breath, he got up, and fixed her panties, staring at the cum leaking from her. There wasn't much he could do about that, except wear a condom, but such things were forbidden by the Church, and therefore, Russell didn't own any.

He wasn't too worried; while the Church forbade birth control, women held their own counsel about such things, and Judy had likely put Quinn on birth control, and told her not to tell her father. Russell had made the choice to remain wilfully blind, as confirmation of Quinn's use of birth control would only lead to disharmony in the family, and what with Quinn hanging around her slut friends, there'd been enough of that of late.

He cleaned her up as best he could with a washer, but too much had to be left behind...


"There must be some sort of mistake here. Quinnie, we raised you right," Judy said.

"You... you did," Finn said. "We didn’t even have sex—"

"Can we just stop with the lying, please!?"

The opportunity was there, and though he kept his expression stern, Russell was a bundle of nerves as he seized it with a raise of his hand. "Hudson! What do you mean, you didn't have sex?"

Judy's expression was one of disbelief, but she knew better than to speak against her husband, being a good Christian woman.

"Uh... we were in a hot tub, and—" Finn caught Quinn's pleading look, totally misinterpreting it. "Um, well, Quinn was in a bikini, and I um, masturbated. Um... that's how she got pregnant. The, uh, swimmers entered her in the hot tub."

Judy and Quinn stared at him with indescribable looks.

"Son," Russell said, "that's just impossible. The hot tub would've killed your... swimmers before Quinn could get pregnant."

"Daddy!"

"You... you cheated on me?" Finn said, his jaw dropping.

"There's no way that baby's yours," Russell said. "You'd better go home, son. I appreciate your being a man, and facing your responsibilities, but my wife and I have to deal with our daughter." He looked at Finn's crushed expression, and decided to throw him a bone. "I hear that Berry girl's quite taken with you. Perhaps she'd make a good girlfriend."

Finn stumbled out of the house, feeling deep relief and confusion.

Quinn's face was streaked with tears, but Russell was glaring at her, so she didn't run after Finn. Besides, she knew there was nothing she could say: not only had she cheated, she had lied to take advantage of his innocence and naivety.

"We didn't raise you to be a lying, cheating whore of Babylon," Russell said.

"I'm not," Quinn said, choking back a sob. "Daddy, I swear I don't know how I got pregnant."

Judy shook her head, going off to get herself her pills.


Now that Quinn was pregnant, Russell did more research, finding yet another drug cocktail that was apparently proven to not harm the baby. It was easier to slip Quinn the drug now; Sue had kicked her off the Cheerios of being pregnant, and once Rachel Berry had spread it around that she lied with such a dumb story to take advantage of Finn, Quinn was only welcome in Glee because she was the necessary twelfth member—so she spent most of her time at home.

She'd had one semi-persistent visitor—Noah Puckerman. Due to his persistence, Russell figured that Quinn and he had fucked, and Quinn assumed him to be the father. When confronted with this, Puckerman had tried to bluff—until Russell pointed out a few facts: as the father, Puckerman was responsible for the child, meaning he was up for no less than a million dollars over the next eighteen years. And he might want to do the right thing, give the baby what it deserved... but he'd be better off signing away his rights. He could have a kid later, maybe in ten years, when he had a good education, and a good job. This one wasn't important.

In the end though, Puckerman disappeared, to never come back, not because of Russell's logic, but because Russell gave him five thousand dollars 'as an investment on getting a better future than the one his daughter wanted to tie him to'.

And if the five thousand dollars was taken out of Quinn's cunt later that night, well, only Russell had to know that.


The first night after Quinn came home with her daughter Beth, Russell brought her a drink, and went off to settle Beth down for the night. Coming back, he found her passed out in her chair, and he hauled her up, shoving her over the desk before slamming his cock home in her cunt. She let out a moan, and Russell pulled her head up, kissing her roughly as he groped a breast, feeling milk leak from the full globe.

"Your cunt loves this, bitch," he hissed in her ear, driving into her as deep as he could manage. Quinn's cunt contracted, cream seeping around his cock, and Russell grabbed her hips, pulling her back to him on every thrust in. "Fuck... I was right to insist on a c-section..."

Quinn's insides were soon painted with another few blasts of cum, and Russell left her on the floor.


When Quinn found out she was pregnant again, and tried to claim again that she didn't know how she'd gotten pregnant, Judy wanted to disown her. If Quinn wanted to be a slut, that was fine—but she would not be a part of their good Christian family. Of course, Russell refused, saying that Quinn was at heart a good girl, and she would, if treated with trust and kindness, own up to her sins.

Judy moved out, divorced Russell by mail, and changed her name (to Donna Smoak, not that Russell or Quinn ever found that titbit out).

Being pregnant for the second time in as many years made Quinn's school life hell, isolating her even further from her peers. Which was fine by Russell; the more Quinn was home, the more chances he had to use her body as a masturbatory device. Which obviously only resulted in more pregnancies.

By the time of Quinn's graduation in May of 2012, she was on her fourth pregnancy, and had given birth to four kids. College was a fresh hope for her: although she had suspicions about how she was getting pregnant, she had no way to confirm any of them, but if she went off to college, she could get educated, get a good job, and hopefully not get pregnant ever again.

She came home after the ceremony—no one was going to invite her anywhere, anyway—and found Russell watching some documentary.

"I'm going to bed," she said. "I've got to go check out college campuses tomorrow."

"You're not going to college, Quinn," Russell said.

"But daddy... I need to get a good job so I can support my family, and a college degree will help!"

"You really should've thought of that before spreading your legs for all those men." Russell's tone was implacable, and Quinn swallowed.

"Daddy, I told you I don't know how I got pregnant... I never slept with anyone, except Puck that one time..."

"Took you only three years to admit that, you little slut," Russell said, and he stood up, towering over her. "I've been in those delivery rooms, Quinn. I've seen how used your cunt is; you've clearly been getting fucked practically non-stop."

Quinn trembled, biting her lip.

"So no, you're not going to college. I've been given a transfer."

"Your job's transferring you? Where are you going?" Quinn said, blinking with surprise.

"Company wants me to do my thing in France," Russell said shortly. "So we'll all go there, and you'll take care of the kids. In fact..." He reached out, grabbing a milky tit. "I won't have you embarrassing me if they know my daughter can't keep her legs together. We'll say you're my wife, and we'll raise the kids like they're our own. They are, anyway."

Quinn's eyes widened, horror filling them.

"Now get out of those clothes, slut. Daddy's going to fuck his sweet little daughter slut."

Numbly, Quinn pulled her clothes off, moaning as Russell pulled her close, kissing her hard. A thousand realisations ran through her mind, her cunt getting wet as she connected countless vague erotic dreams to what must have been reality: she'd gotten fucked unaware, but her mind had known, and so she'd dreamed as she was fucked.

"You fucking slut," Russell said, pinching her clit. "Already wet for me... on your hands and knees, bitch."

Quinn swallowed hard, getting on her hands and knees without really understanding why. Russell's cock slid into her cunt with practiced ease, and she let out a guttural moan as he began to fuck her. He was big—bigger than Puck had been, at any rate—and hard inside her, but somehow not as big as she'd thought a cock would feel, and as he drove into her, their hips colliding, she realised it wasn't that his cock wasn't big: he'd just been fucking her for years, so her cunt was now perfectly sized to fit him, and she orgasmed, her cream flowing down her thighs.

"That's right, bitch... cum for Daddy," Russell said, grabbing her hips. "You love dick, don't you?"

Quinn groaned, and hooked a leg around his, pulling him deeper by instinct, a lustful shame burning in her as her father plowed her like a two-bit whore. It felt too good to protest, and—she rationalised to herself—at least now she knew what had been happening. Now she knew that she was nothing more than a womb to breed with her father's seed.

Another orgasm hit Quinn, and she slumped to the floor, submitting.


The French complimented Russell on such a young and pretty wife, especially when they noted her complete and utter subservience. She cooked, cleaned, ironed, washed, and whenever Russell wanted, she took his cock into one of her holes. Sometimes, Russell even lent her to company employees, and though some—upon seeing how Russell treated her—offered to rescue her from such a vile man, she always went back to Russell, and those who made such offers were fired.

She gained the name Little Blonde Cumdump, although in much fancier French that she didn't understand. And thereafter, Lucy Quinn Fabray became a distant memory.

All that remained was Petite Cumdump Blonde.