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Stanley Hubert had been drinking. Or at least had tried to. He had always kept the liquor to a minimum, but now, within the sanctity of his house, he immersed himself in the devil's drink without any limits. His life with his wife had been heading downhill for the last two years, but now, in addition to that fact was his belief that his daughter was always flirting with him. He had always been a good husband and a better father, but now, retired from work thanks to a very wise investment, his idle mind was proving to be the devil's workshop. His mood was set for a spell of riot.
Without any particular initiative on his part, his mind turned to his daughter. At eighteen, Ethel was a beautiful brunette who had her mother's face and her father's brain. As far as he could remember, she had been the first in her class, topping in the state in her final years of grade school. Almost every nearby University offered scholarships to her, but so far, she didn't seem to have any intention of selecting her major just yet. The top of her head was at a distance of 5'9" from her cute little toes, a height that Stanley had found more than intimidating as it served to emphasize her firm breasts high above her waist, the trim stomach and the feminine curves of her body. He took solace in the fact that her boyfriends were not spared either - most were often left with an inferiority complex that is so part of the average male outlook that her love-affairs lasted little more than a week.
What she didn't know, Stanley thought laconically, was that in her house lived her greatest fan. Her father.
It had all begun innocently enough - as most of these things do. An accidental display of skin, an inopportune comment or, as was becoming more frequent in his household, daring remarks accompanied with a flash of flesh and a wink of the eyes. At first, he had put them down as childishly adolescent displays of a growing woman who wanted to be appreciated, but then, daughter or no daughter, it occurred to him that she was already a beautiful woman, mature beyond her years.
His wife, the career-minded executive bitch, was little more than a traveling salesman, in his opinion. She was always off to this city or that, meeting with this firm or its rival,... basically, all the mundane things of corporate life that he had tired of. His wife had insisted that she wanted to make a mark of her own. Sure she would, he remembered retorting, just like the million executives before her. And before you knew it, there would be a million after her.
She had stormed out of the room, terminating the discussion with her trademark puff of impatience. Stanley knew he was as much at fault for the rut in his married life; but he no longer felt compelled to kiss and make up. He knew the moment he lost his desire for compromise, that the romance in the marriage was lost forever. The marital bond, though, was secure - at their ages, starting over afresh would be the last resort. In itself would the divorce be enough to bring about the end of the lifestyle they maintained now. A split would do both of them harm.
So there was no talk of a divorce.
And then, there was his - their - daughter to consider. He loved her terribly, sometimes too much, as he reminded himself. She was the only thing that still pushed him on, wanting to improve upon his successful business life. If it had not been for his 'little girl' who was always there to give him a hug after a boring day at the office, he was sure he would have gone off bungee-jumping, just for the sheer thrill of it.
Somehow, he felt that their relationship too had undergone subtle changes. It wasn't just the drunken musings of a married man - in fact, his confusion over her actual motives had caused him to drink himself silly. Of late, his daughter had taken to jumping into his laps for the lightest of reasons. With her mother gone most of the time, even on weekends, the teen wore clothes that hugged her figure like skin, like the white t-shirt that she had that seemed to cling onto her for dear life. Compounded to it was his startling discovery that she rarely wore bras around the house, the observation evidenced by the two small nips that poked out of the material.
Stanley also noticed that she used to be digging up more and more of her old swimsuits. He smiled to himself as he thought of a suit that she had worn just the other day - when he had bought it for her two years ago, it had seemed conservative. Now, though, it looked indecent enough to get her kicked out of any beach except the nudist ones. She was always insisting that she would be wearing them just 'around the house', but there were times when he wished she would be more discrete than to run around in them. Her latest trend was to wear them on Sundays, when she would do the laundry or clean the house.
His cock twitched as he remembered how he had stared down her cleavage when, on a hot afternoon, he had stepped in after mowing the lawn - the little minx had on one of her smallest tops and was bent over the vacuum cleaner, apparently trying to turn it on. Stanley chuckled to himself at his choice of words - turn it on - before the ruminations continued. He had had a perfect view of the top of her creamy breasts, tanned to the color of light toast, and how a little pebble had peeked out of the material that was supposed to keep her breasts from view.
Some bikini! It could not even keep her nipples within its cups...
And then, casually, as she straightened, Ethel had noticed her father's eyes on the visible portion of her areola - and instead of freaking out at his reaction, she had just tugged the red triangle over the bud; but her eyes had mischief in them.
This wasn't the only incident, he knew, but it had been the most suggestive. She usually spent her mornings in a loose shirt and a tight pair of panties that was visible every time she moved. Father and daughter also had a ritual of a 'Good Morning' kiss - it appeared to Stanley that he and Ethel were nowadays kissing longer than would be deemed appropriate. Every active fiber of his imagination told him that she was coming onto him. He had turned to drinks in the hope that they would give him the will power to turn the erotic images away - instead, they weakened his defenses.
As he drunk, his guilty conscience went into a coma, and he no longer felt bad as he thought about the things he wanted to do to his daughter. Things like ravishing her...
Suddenly, the door opened, breaking up his thoughts but not scurrying them away. Ethel entered her father's study, a bright smile on her face. As usual, she had topped her class. Her lack of a social life no longer bothered her - in fact, as she optimistically consoled herself, it left her more free time with her Dad. He was her best friend in the whole world, the pillar behind her as she underwent the trauma of being stood up over and over again. He had been there for her every time, comforting her and making her feel precious. She felt free around him, unfettered and uninhibited, unlike her peers who thought of their parents as little more than meddling cohabitants. Okay, so sometimes she gave him an erection or two - but even though she would never admit it, she liked the knowledge that she could still turn on a man. For all outward appearances, however, she pretended to be terribly naive, having no idea of the reaction she aroused in him.
She had never thought, not even for one erotic second, that he would violate her modesty. Never.
Stanley had the presence of mind to regain the composure he had lost as the object of his fantasies entered his room. He forced a paternal smile as the long-legged beauty approached him, grinning from ear to ear as she rattled off the teacher's compliments that she had gotten in her class. He managed to get himself into a neutral position before his daughter sat on his lap and felt his hardness - he didn't know if he could come up with a good subterfuge to explain it away. He placed the empty glass on the table as she, as he had known she would, plonked down on his lap. Ah! He loved the soft feel of her buttocks so much...
Ethel had seen the erection as she moved towards him, and had guessed the reason behind his sudden shifting of his position. She knew she was in some way responsible for that arousal - after all, the two of them had gone over matters of the flesh many times in the past. It could only have been thoughts about her that must have forced him to act the way he did; but she had no idea what his thoughts had been, and it never crossed her mind that he could be thinking about sex. Sex with her. Perhaps if it had... but Ethel had too much faith in her Dad to think of him sexually, as a man. She hadn't anticipated the animal within that man.
"Ethel, be a dear and get Daddy a bottle of wine from the shelf over there," he requested her. "Please."
Ethel knew she should protest about him having had so much to drink already, but she also perceived that he must have been thinking of his wife and their marriage. She couldn't blame him; her mother was a difficult person to live with, now that the thirst for corporate success was there. Still smiling, she got up and walked over to the shelf. Selecting a bottle of Don Perignon, she brought it back to him.
As he watched her shapely ass wiggle towards the shelf, something snapped inside Stanley - his emotional control broke down. His lust came to the front, fuelled by the sight of her in the short cut-offs and the tank top. His cock could no longer be disguised or subdued. Emboldened by the alcohol, it just refused to go down. A split second before he actually reached for her breasts, he realized he was going to have her. He would rape her if he had to, but he would have her. He wanted the satisfaction of feeling her naked body against his. He wanted to feel the tight walls of her pussy closing in on his dick.
Ethel, on the other hand, had the impression that her father was reaching for the bottle in her hand as she bent over the table. She yelped and tried to jump back as his hands closed around the rim of her tank-top, tugging it up with brute masculine force. With his other hand, Stanley held her by her hair as he practically tore the white top off her breasts. Ethel started to struggle, but with power on one hand and surprise on the other, Stanley clearly had the advantage. He threw her top into the fireplace, and Ethel watched helplessly as it started to burn.
She had not bothered to wear anything underneath, and the same went for her shorts, as Stanley realized when he tugged at the waist button of the material that kept her crotch from coming into view. Ethel regained enough control over her senses to try and kick back, but Stanley placed a leg behind hers, and pushed her down. Ethel landed with a thump, realizing that her butt was already bare, with the shorts having been pushed down to her thighs. Expertly, Stanley placed a hand over her mouth, muffling any sound she might make, and pulled the shorts free of her legs. It followed the tank top into the fire.
Without giving her any time to gather herself, Stanley attacked his daughter with the frenzy of a sex-maniac. A hand cupped her pussy, roughly brushing against the short pubic hairs that guarded her entrance. The other palm kneaded her breasts alternately, pinching her nipples and teasing the areolas that she had always considered too small. In spite of herself, Ethel felt the buds turn hard, watching with decreasing detachment as they turned darker in color. The sign of arousal.
When a rape is in progress, the victim often tends to dissociate herself from the surroundings. She watches the violation of her own body as one sees a movie, the actual trauma coming only at the end of the attack. In the case of Ethel, however, even as she attempted to remove herself from the scene mentally, Stanley's experienced fingers pulled her back into the incident. A part of her told Ethel to defend herself by refusing to be turned on by his advances, but another part argued that she give in. It was inevitable, convinced the voice, so why not enjoy it?
Ethel did remember the lessons from the sex-ed class in school - rise above rape, the counselor had told them, because then the wounds will only be physical. Unfortunately, though, she felt herself respond to her father's rough caresses as he replaced his hand with his mouth, taking in an entire breast hungrily. She allowed herself the pleasure that came with the depravity in the situation, of having her father enjoy her body without her consent - there was something hot in that too, for Ethel.
Stanley had his boxers peeled off before Ethel had even realized it, and he was on her before she could react.
It took all her will power not to cry out when her father bit hard on her breast. Instantly, though, as if sensing her displeasure, his tongue assuaged the throbbing nipple. Ethel felt her hands clench tighter as she felt her breasts being massaged by his lolling tongue. For a moment, she almost gave in to the moment and savored the touch of his hands all over the body, as he pried and prodded against her burning skin. The mind may object, but the body has tastes of its own.
And then, those tastes took over. Her hands went to the back of his head, pushing him deeper into her bosom. She clutched at his hair, pushing and pulling at the same time. She could feel his hard cock slapping against her hole, depositing on her folds the drops of precum. Within moments, though, his finger was at the entrance. For a moment, the victim in her came to the fore again, wanting to push his hands away, but as soon as his index finger parted her lips, she knew she couldn't stop him. She knew, as wrong as it was, that she wouldn't.
Stanley felt her body relax, as if she had finally started to enjoy the rape. In his inebriated state, he couldn't distinguish whether her defenses had been finally worn down, or if she was just faking it. The adrenaline that was coursing through his body had lessened the effects of the alcohol, and somewhere within him, he felt a pang of guilt, of sorrow, as he realized that the woman lying below him, helpless and naked, was his own daughter. But the guilt passed immediately passed as his finger toyed with the wetness that her cunt oozed with.
Slowly, but surely, as a blind man follows a wall, he let his finger slip inside. This time, she genuinely moaned - she really moaned, his senses told him, misinterpreting it as a sign that she liked it. The body of Ethel liked it, but the person of Ethel was turning away from it. She didn't have to like it, and dammit, she didn't. Reality struck like an ice-block again, staggering her with its harshness. Half an hour ago, she had been happy, eager to share her day with her dad. A dad who was her only true friend, one she could bank on come hell or high water. Now she was underneath him, enjoying the entrance of his finger into her finger. She didn't know what hurt her more - her father's betrayal, or her own willingness to satiate his desires, albeit only physically.
All she knew was that the world would never be the same again.
Stanley could wait no more - he felt he had wasted enough and more time to try and make her feel good. It was obvious he could never get her to like it, and all his pent up frustrations were screaming for that final satisfaction, of shooting his jism into his girl. Woman, he corrected himself silently as he shifted his body. His cock was just at the entrance of her pussy again, glistening and engorged. Wordlessly, all thoughts of love driven out of his mind, Stanley drew back, intending to slam her to the hilt with his organ.
The slap stunned him. At the last moment, Ethel had drawn upon the hidden resources of her endurance and managed to get enough blood into her hands for a powerful slap across his face. As her father stopped in mid-motion, surprised to the point of freezing, she slid out from under him and with the catlike movements that her body could afford so easily, moved away from him. Getting on her feet, she started to run towards the door, confident that she would reach it before her father realized what had even happened. Her escape was never meant to be...
With remarkable speed did Stanley recover, lunging on his daughter as she tried to run past him. He caught her elbow, and roughly pulled her naked body to him. Ethel tried one last time to get away, but the vice-like grip told her that her father was more than a match for her weak, feminine strength. He had her jaw firmly held with his other hand, moving her face towards his. There was no softness now as he kissed her - rather, he bit into her lips so hard she had to open up her mouth to his tongue. He ground his teeth against her gums, bleeding them thinly as his tongue continued its rape of her mouth.
Dottie
- 09.03.2021
- 12
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