Your stepfather's grip tightens in your hair as the watch captain's cock throbs against your lips, his smirk widening at your gasped admission. "This cunt chooses her outfits to make men sin," he declares to the room, yanking your head back to expose your spit-slicked face to the captain's hungry gaze. The landlord wheezes a laugh from the hallway, unzipping again as your stepfather punctuates each word with a sharp slap to your tits—the sound mingling with the wet squelch of the captain thrusting deeper down your throat. "Skirts shorter than a fucking grocery list," your stepfather growls, twisting your nipple hard as the watch captain groans, his military-issue boots scuffing the tile when your tongue swirls around his head. The landlord's yellowed fingers dig into your ass cheek as he mutters, "Should be registered as a public hazard," before spitting onto your stretched hole—your stepfather nodding toward the kitchen where your mother's whimpers still leak through the door.