"How do I look?" I asked, going back into the kitchen and posing with my arms above my head. He smiled sort of funny as, he said, "You look good enough to eat. Yep — good enough to eat."
"It's the prettiest dress I've ever seen," I squealed, then rushed excitedly across the tiny kitchen and threw myself into his lap, kissing him. I felt I had the best father in the whole world. He was raising a can of beer to his lips as I jumped on his lap, and some of it spilt on the front of his blue shirt. "Hey, careful," he said, laughing. "I can't afford new clothes for myself."
As he looked down at the dark stain spreading wetly across the front of his shirt, I noticed that strange look spread across his face — the same look I had seen the times I'd turned to catch him looking at my butt. It was a hungry look.
Following the downward gaze of his eyes, I saw that the short skirt was tugged up so high that part of my white panties were showing. He had slipped his arm around my shoulder, and I was suddenly aware that his fingers were touching the bottom of my tittie. His touch caused a dull throbbing in my nipples. And under my round little rump, in his lap, I felt something new. His peter was getting hard. Even though I'd never actually seen a hard on, I'd heard enough talk among the girls at school to know that was what he was getting.
And that was when Mom walked into the room.
For a moment she just stood in the doorway looking like she was going to have some kind of attack, then she stomped across the room and slapped me — hard! "You get to your room, you little slut!" she yelled, then turned and started screaming at the old man. Crying, I did as I was told.
She went on yelling at him for what seemed like hours. Through the door of my bedroom I could hear her accusing him of feeling me up, of trying to make a whore of his own daughter, and lots of other things I didn't really understand. I found myself wondering why a good-looking guy like my father had married a bitch like her. She wasn't even pretty.
"You ain't foolin' me one bit! I know what you're up to," she yelled at long last, then stomped, her way out of the house, slamming doors behind her, off to her sister's. I came out of my room.
The old man put the booze away faster that night than I'd ever seen him drink it before. He was soused inside of two hours. I sat in the kitchen with him, drinking Coke and trying to joke him out of the bad mood he was in, and it was in the kitchen that it started.
I was putting an empty bottle in the cabinet beneath the sink, bending far forward at the waist, when. I felt — I could really feel them — his eyes watching me from behind. As I looked around and saw him staring at me, I remembered what I'd told myself about being careful about bending over. Of course, I told myself, it didn't really matter that my bending had caused the short dress to lift so high in the back that my butt was waving like a flag. Not with my own father, it didn't. What the hell, how was I supposed to know that my old man was having the hots for me?
Then I saw the look on his face and was reminded of the way his peter had gone hard as I sat on his lap, the way his fingers had touched my tittie, and the warm feeling it'd caused in my pussy, and I knew it did matter. I felt myself blushing hotly.
"What're you thinkin' of?" he asked thickly. "Thinkin' of how your mother accused me of playing with your knockers?"
"Were you?" I don't know why I asked that.
"So what if I was?" he said loudly. He was giving me the strangest look I'd ever seen. "Ain't a man gotta right to touch his own daughter? Well ain't he?"
"I guess so."
"Well, then, come here," he commanded, and his dark eyes seem to be daring me to defy him. As I walked across the narrow space that separated us, I could fell his eyes on my boobs, on the roll of my still girlish belly. I stopped in front of him. He put his big hands in the small of my back. "Ain't nothin' wrong with a man wantin' to touch his pretty little girl, is there?" I felt his hands move down onto my rump. He squeezed me.
"No… I guess not," I said nervously. There was something wrong with the way his hands were sliding down the backs of my legs. There was something wrong with the way he licked his lips and stared at my titties instead of looking me in the eyes. He pulled me down on his lap, one arm circling my waist.
"Even if I did want to touch you on the titties, Melody, what'd be wrong with that," he asked, and through the woven material of the dress I felt his big hand move slowly upward until it rested on the firm little knob of my tittie. His other hand stroked my thigh. Beneath me I once again felt the hardness of his peter, and I was suddenly aware that what was happening was wrong… totally wrong.
Of course, we can't ever let nobody know about what happens between us. "Specially not the old lady. Not nobody." His hand was cruelly tight on my tittie; the fingers of his other hand were rubbing the bottom of my belly, closer and closer to my pussy. "Just our little secret," he said.
I squirmed on his lap. My eyes were closed. His voice droned on telling me of the fun we'd have together from now on, and his hands moved over my titties, my tummy, and finally, beneath my dress. As I felt his fingers press against the front of my panties rubbing the nylon against the hard little lips of my pussy, I suddenly began struggling to get off his lap. He held me there easily.
The feel of his fingers against my pussy both excited and frightened me. It excited me in a way that seemed to cause my pussy to tingle as if it were filled with pins and needles. I felt my panties getting damp; felt his lips against the smooth flesh of my throat. I was warm all over. But there was also fear inside me.
What if Mom walked in and caught us? What was going to happen next? Was this all there was to screwing — just playing with each other? Or…? It was the unknown that frightened me more than anything, I think. But I wanted that good feeling in my pussy to go on forever.
"I'll rub and kiss my little girl's pussy whenever she wants it rubbed or kissed," he said thickly into the hollow of my throat, and his hands bunched my dress around my waist. The crotch of my panties was pushed aside by his thick fingers, and he was stroking the sparse red fuzz around my pussy, and I was shaking… from fear and from something I couldn't understand. I wanted him to stop. But it felt so good. So… right.
I guess I made it easy for him to slip my panties off.
"Put your hand on my cock, Melody," he said, and as he moved my butt slightly away from the center of his lap and sought to guide my hand to the stiff peter there, I realized for the first time that he had unzipped his pants.
In fascination I stared down at the prick to which he had guided my hand. It looked huge. My fingers looked very white and very tiny against its slightly brownish skin, and the head of it was a strange purplish color. It was warm in my hand. Almost like a child with a new toy, I found myself exploring the workings of this recently discovered treasure. The smooth outer skin of it slipped easily up and down over the hard central core as my fingers sought out its secrets; the feel of it within my hand was strangely pleasant. My father suddenly grabbed the back of my head, turned my face toward his, and crushed my lips in a brutal kiss.
The feeling was even better now. His tongue was in my mouth. I sucked it. His finger had slipped inside the narrow pink slit of my pussy. I opened my thighs wide for him. His finger moved faster. I could taste the booze on his breath, but it was somehow made pleasant by what he was doing between my legs. He was fingering my pussy the same way I fingered it whenever the warm feeling got to be too much. I knew that before long the warm feeling would turn into a sizzle, then go away and be replaced by that wonderful feeling I got whenever I fingered myself. And my fingers moved on his peter. I recall thinking that I'd do that to him until he did whatever it is that men do, and that it would be over. That's how much I knew.
"We'll go in the bedroom to fuck," he said suddenly. He lifted me easily off his lap and stood up, weaving slightly. "Bet you ain't never had a prick that size rammed up you, huh, Melody?" he said thickly, grinning down at the big peter I still clasped in my hand.
It was then that I really knew fear.
It may sound unbelievable — but until that moment I'd had no idea that he meant to put it in me, or even that that was how fucking was done. I felt my knees shaking. I stepped away from him, releasing his peter. It was impossible. That big thing would split me wide open. My pussy was just a little slit that felt good when touched — I had no idea how deep — and a stab of that big peter would surely kill me.
In terror I ran toward my bedroom. He caught me at the door.
"Why, you cock-teasing little bitch!" he shouted as his fingers dug into my shoulder. He was behind me and his arm circled my neck, holding me against him. "Think you're gonna play that game on me, huh?" He forced me into the semi-dark bedroom. "Think you can play cock-teasing games on your old man, huh? Like hell, you can!" He threw me across the bed.
"I didn't know," I said stupidly. It was the first thing that popped into my mind. He laughed crazily as he flung himself on top of me.
"Didn't know, my ass!" He was crushing me. "Think I ain't seen you wiggling your ass for anybody who wants to watch? Think I don't know you're puttin' that pussy on any boy with the balls to ask?" He put one hand on my cunt, his other hand seized both my wrists and pinned them to the bed, above my head.
"Ain't none of them can give you a cock like this one, though," he panted. He was between my legs and I struggled desperately as I felt his tremendous peter brush against my thigh. He held me with little trouble. I felt hard flesh touch my pussy. I tried to squirm away.
There was a brief sensation of pleasure as I felt the outer lips of my pussy being parted by the smoothly rounded knob that I knew was the tip of his peter and then… the most excruciating pain I have ever known! I felt myself being torn apart, just as I'd feared. Searing fire raced through the inside of my pussy. Blood pounded at my temples. Lights flashed before my eyes. I tried to scream, but he had his mouth pressed to mine, kissing me. The smell of his breath was making me sick to my stomach. He moved inside me.
The rod of his peter was reaching deeper and deeper into my pussy with each movement of his hips, burning me as if it were a white-hot poker, and I could feel a warm and sticky fluid seeping out of my slit, onto my thighs, over my butt. Blood. He didn't notice.
I could feel the walls of my pussy rubbing smoothly against the slippery stem of his peter as his driving rod pried them wider and wider, and the pain turned into a dull ache that pulsated in time to the drive of his hips. He released my wrists.
"Nothin' takes the fight outta you like a good piece of cock, does it?" He grabbed my legs and raised them high. Once again he kissed me. His peter moved faster inside me. His breath came faster.
The pain inside me was being replaced by something else. Not pleasure, exactly, but by a feeling of warmness. A feeling of doing something that is natural and easy. I suddenly realized that my hips had lifted and were making crazy little figure eights. On their own. Daddy's breath came in great gasps. He bucked and heaved above me. Then, with a great shove that completely buried his peter in me, he gave a loud cry and fell on top of me. I felt the steady pumping of a warm liquid inside my pussy. It seemed to ease the ache.
Mom never knew about that night. I at least had sense enough to wash the blood from the sheets before she saw them, and though she may have sensed something was wrong by the funny way the old man acted during the next few days, I'm sure it never occurred to her that he'd actually fucked me. She probably knew he wanted to. That was all.
The old man, when he sobered up, was all sorrow and remorse. "I was drunk, kid, and it'll never happen again," he said. And, "Just don't tell the old lady, huh, kid? It won't happen no more — I promise!"
Of course, I didn't tell, and for weeks, whenever Mom wasn't around, all I heard was that whining promise.
He broke that promise less than two years later.
I was in my bedroom, dressed in nothing but my bra and panties, and I knew he was sneaking looks at me through the open door. That gave me a strange sort of kick. I guess that it came from knowing that every bounce of my tits and each wiggle of my ass would make him remember the night he'd fucked me. It was a kookie sort of way of getting back at him. Making him pay the price.
My tits had filled out tremendously since that night. They were round and full. The tops of them swelled creamily upward over the top of the black lace bra that was too skimpy to contain them. The light red fuzz around my cunt had turned into a thick bush that padded the front of my panties, and a few stray tendrils creeped from beneath the elastic at my thighs. I remember wondering, as I stood there in front of the mirror knowing he was watching, if the old man wasn't mentally kicking himself in the butt for not waiting. Probably, I decided. I was a hot piece and knew it. Enough boys had told me so.
"Either get some Goddam clothes on or close the door," he said suddenly, startling me. He was standing in the doorway.
"I thought you liked to look," I said, taunting him as I'd found I could get away with doing since that night. As I turned toward him, I saw his eyes involuntarily drop to the darkly shadowed vee of my cunt. I picked up a brush and ran it through my hair. "You sure do enough looking," I said. "Or maybe you were going to rape me again?"
It was stupid talk. All of it. But I'd found I had a hold over him because of the way he'd raped me, a hold that let me get away with almost anything, and I used it. I guess it was my way of getting back at him for the pain he'd caused me that night. This was the wrong night to try it.