Stiles had been walking on eggshells for days, her slutty body a battlefield between the two Hale patriarchs. She only dared fuck Grandpa Peter when Daddy Derek was safely out of the mansion—quick, filthy sessions that left her dripping and guilty. “I feel so bad for Grandpa,” she’d think, picturing his wrinkled face lighting up only for her, his only source of pleasure in his twilight years. But Derek’s possessiveness was a chain around her neck; he’d growl during their rough fucks, “You’re mine, Stiles—no more of that old cock. Lie to me again, and I’ll punish you harder.” She nodded every time, lying through her moans, “Only you, Daddy… I swear I stopped.” Grandpa remained clueless, whispering during their trysts, “My little flower, you’re all Grandpa needs… that sweet pussy keeps me young.”

One crisp morning, with Eli and Derek out for a long work day—some empire-expanding meeting in the city—Stiles saw her chance. Her porcelain skin flushed with anticipation, she slipped into Grandpa Peter’s room in a tiny robe that barely covered her massive tits and juicy ass, no underwear beneath. Grandpa sat in his armchair, reading an old book, but his eyes lit up when she entered.