1 - Witness

For the third time that month, I knelt there and watched. It was wrong, I knew it was wrong. I was sick in the head, sick in the heart, and yet I didn't stop. I knelt with bare breasts pressed to the cold plasterboard and eye lined up with the small hole. It had been an accidental thing, a hole torn when the picture frame was knocked off the wall last year. The upper hallway closet was rarely used and no one had bothered plastering over the damage yet, so my irresistible urge could be sated.

Father had come home tipsy again with another stray. I watched with rapt attention as he pushed her into the bed, spread her legs, and plunged himself between. The faint sounds were wonderful, her deep grunt of satisfaction, the wet slap—slap—slap of his groin and thighs against hers. I touched myself and stifled the urge to moan with them. Fingers pinched in time with his thrusts, my stomach clenched and hips rolled.

There was something deeply wrong with me, I knew it, but I didn't care. I watched my father climax, watched the cloudy seed as it overflowed, watched it smear across the sheets. I trembled with desire, my mouth watered. My twisted desires remained still unfulfilled, urges I could never satisfy. How long had I fantasized? How long had it been since I'd woken in the night to father's cries of pleasure and woken to desires too fucked up to voice aloud?

He climbed off her and said something. She flushed, embarrassed and looked away. He said it louder, followed by an audible, "And get out." She grabbed her clothing and dressed, hastily. Used and discarded. My stomach clenched again and a stream of lust ran down my thighs. His eyes, full of cruel amusement and pleasure, watched her leave. How I wanted that harsh gaze turned on me, to feel his humiliating scorn. A thing, nothing more, a rag to wipe his cum into and discard.

The front door opened, then shut a moment later, she was gone. He stood and stretched, then entered the bathroom. The shower came on. I slipped from the closet and shut it as silently as I could. His bedroom door hung open still, and I slipped inside. The scent of sex was heavy, it made my body tingle and skin prickle as I breathed it in. He was handsome, well off, and desirable. He could have near any woman he wanted and had a different one every week. I'd smelled this smell for years, growing up, the smell of father's sexual prowess, of his conquests.

The dark stain spread in a long Y shape, the outline of her ass and thighs, with a large sticky smear at it's center. I bent down and buried my face in his sheet. Still warm, his seed spread over my lips, nose, and right cheek. I rolled my face in it, inhaled, and lost control. I muffled the whimper I failed to restrain as my climax washed over me. I licked the filthy cloth, stained with sweat, semen, and vaginal fluids and brought it into my mouth to suck dry. I shook, the bed shook under me, my bare ass in the air, exposed sex untouched. All it took was a taste of his seed spilled seed.

I regained control a few minutes later and realized where I was and what I was doing. I was such a fool, taking such risks. I should have waited for him to throw it in the hamper… I could have all night with the sheet then, perhaps even swap it for mine and sleep in his mess. I stared down at the smear and I hoped he didn't notice the change in stain when he changed his bedding.

On tiptoes I slipped from the room, face flushed, eyes wide, breath quick. I was taking such risks! up in my own thoughts, I never noticed, never realized my mistake. Behind me the bathroom door stood open, the shower still running, the lights off. Father stood in that dark doorway, watching as I left.

2 - Surrender

I put down my book as the front door shut and heavy footsteps climbed the stairs. I'd expected him home late today, he'd broken his routine. His steps reached my door and stopped. My skin prickled as hair stood on end. What was going on? It opened and he was framed in the hall light, face in shadow, but his eyes were on me. Cruel eyes, familiar yet utterly alien. I'd watched that gaze on others hundreds of times by now, but never turned on me. It smoldered with confidence and possessive desire mingled with contempt.

"Father? What…"

He stepped inside and shut the door again, only illuminated by my reading lamp. I could see more of his expression now—tight lipped, nostrils flared, a nervous twitch in his smile. He flicked his hand out, and tossed something to me. It landed heavily between my breasts with a rattle and clank, then tumbled into my lap. I looked down, stared, suddenly very afraid. The cuffs were not toys, professional tools of a trade. "Put them on," he barked, as if I was a criminal and not his daughter.

I stared a moment longer, then folded my hands around them. Still warm from his grip. My heart beat like a bird in a cage, battering itself to escape. My breath quickened. I raised my gaze to his again and met that cruel expression with one of helpless unwitting desire. "Y-yes father." I answered, breathless, and snapped the shackle around one wrist, then started to close the other.

"No, do it correctly, behind your back." I flushed and nodded, then obeyed. I slid from the plush recliner and landed knees to floor, then fumbled a moment behind my back until the warm metal closed properly around my other wrist. "Good girl," he told me, yet the praise felt more like a lashing for the coldness behind it. "I should have guessed you would turn out the same as your worthless mother. Nothing more than a filthy slut."

Tears sprung to my eyes as I jerked my head up again and met his gaze once more. "W-what?" I stammered, confused.

"How many men have you had in this house? What age did you start passing your cunt around?"

"I haven't ever!" I replied, aghast.

He stepped forward and caught my throat in his fist, then pushed back into the recliner. He dragged me from the floor into it, and pressed until the leg rest came up between my thighs and locked in place. His other hand fell to my waist line and undid the sash of my gown. I wore no bra under it, only white panties. Those he hooked the brim of and jerked down and left stark red marks on my thighs before the bands tore.

I was exposed. I could have pulled my legs up, covered myself, but I didn't even try. I didn't want to. What met his gaze was a sex so wet, so swollen, so needy, like a beast in heat. I could smell myself on the air, and so too could he. At last, I told him with a rasping voice under his tight grip, "I've saved myself, for you." and it was the truth, after a fashion. I could have had other men, but they didn't look at me in the right way, didn't act the right way.

"You're sick," he growled. I shuddered, spread my thighs, and raised my hips towards him in supplication. I gazed back into his unwholesome expression as he stared at my naked vulva. His were lips pursed, tongue caught between teeth and just barely poked free of his lips. I wanted to taste it, to feel it delve toward the back of my throat, to claim my mouth. I wanted his teeth in my flesh, I wanted him to mark me with them, even draw blood.

"I'm yours, father" I told him. His grip relaxed slightly and his eyes rose again to my face, up my exposed front. My small breasts he stopped at briefly, pink nipples tight and pointed. Then our gaze met once more, and it all fell away, everything, but him. He saw me, truly saw me, and it was realized at last, that which had been missing from my life. He despised me. I was nothing, a thing. Gone was his fatherly affection, gone were the supportive words, I ceased to be his darling little girl.

His zipper broke my concentration as he undid his slacks. His belt parted, button followed, and his pants fell away. I did not look away from his eyes, eyes that saw nothing but a hole to use, a thing to abuse and discard. I was already on the verge of orgasm, lost in his possessive conquest, ready to be forever defiled.

His grip tightened again on my throat, and another hand slipped under my bare ass. He lifted me from the chair, my gown draped from my shoulders, then fell down my arms to only be stopped by the cuffs. He dropped me roughly onto my bed and knelt between my splayed thighs. He slapped them wider and I obeyed, as wide as I could spread them. This was it, this was what I'd always wanted, what I'd dreamed of.

His hands clasped me behind each knee, and pushed up, then pinned both of them to the bed to either side of me. My hands were crushed under the small of my back and my hips curled upward, forced by him. I trembled with desire, eyes wide and breath quick. A rivulet of lust welled from my sex to run between the cheeks of my upturned ass, then down my crack to dribble on the sheet below.

His erection jutted proudly as it throbbed for a moment above my sex. His eyes drilled into my face, but there was no search for confirmation or consent. He stared only to burn into my mind what I was. Then he thrust. I screamed in ecstatic pleasure and sharp pain. My hymen broke, a fresh and deep wound. He bottomed out and kept pushing until our pelvic bones met with a hard slap. Blood stained his phallus as it retreated, then sprayed up my belly and breasts as he bounced free.

He didn't waste words on me and his eyes drifted down, to watch as he slammed home a second time, then a third. I lost track of myself and him after that. The pain faded to a dull ache and a wonderful place opened up in my thoughts as a tingling numbness spread through my limbs. I felt him, I couldn't ignore him, but it was a distant and unimportant thing compared to the fire that raged within. I climaxed as I floated in that numbing abyss. When he bottomed out again, my blood stained lust splattered his stomach and balls. I didn't even cry out, the pleasure too intense to breathe!

Then it was over before I was prepared. I was still in the maelstrom of strange bliss. My hips fell, knees freed, and his seed spilled against my cervix. He emptied himself into me as scrotum twitched against my ass and thighs shook between mine. I looked up at him, from such a great distance, and saw what I expected to see. Disgust.

He said something. I couldn't hear it at first, not from this distance, but the echo reached me a moment later like a caress of fingers across the nape of my neck. "I can't believe I wasted so many years on you. So much money." His hips rolled. He slammed pelvis to pelvis, and I felt his spire twitch against the entrance of my womb and spit. "After this, I never want to see you again. Understood?" I didn't reply, my mind in a confused fog, my heart aching with love. "I said, is that understood?"

He wanted a response. I tried to dredge my thoughts back from the strange place I was, and managed to piece together his meaning. "N…no…" I breathed out in disbelief. I was his daughter, I was meant to be his dirty little secret, a disgusting fuck toy left at home, eager and waiting to humiliate herself for him. He stood up, stretched as I'd seen him stretch so many times before, cock still semi erect, still drooling his spent load of genetic waste. I tried to meet his gaze, but he would not look at me, he looked just like he had a hundred times before, done, dismissive, undesiring. He'd gotten his rocks off and now I was no longer needed. That was okay, I expected that, I wanted that, but… but to send me away? "I'll let you, any time you want, you can do anything to me Father, please… don't…"

He started to piss then, still staring away, out the window. Urine landed on my breasts, dark and putrid. He sighed as his erection fell and bladder drained. The stream angled down, over my ribs, stomach, between my legs. It spilled onto my expensive mattress and it's down stuffed topper. I stared down at my own sex and his stream as it landed between my gaping folds. My torn hymen and brutalized sex burned and my face burned as well, with humiliation, shame, and terror.

He shook himself once, then looked down at me again. There was no familiarity in his gaze, no sense of kinship or even disgust. I was nothing now. I'd served my purpose. "Then let me explain plainly. From this day forth, you may not call me father, you may not speak my name, and you may not return. You are nothing and you own nothing." His cock twitched one last time as he clenched with emphasis, and spat a filthy dribble onto my inner thigh.

I stared down still, at my sex, at his thighs, at nothing. It dawned on me at last, that I'd gotten what I'd asked for, to be used and discarded, like a filthy cum stained rag. Tears flowed freely then and blurred my vision. I tried to rise, but he was still between my thighs and for a moment I wasn't sure if he would move. He did, slowly, and climbed off the bed and stumbled. He caught me by the forearm, steadied me, then plucked a key from his shirt pocket and undid the cuffs and pulled the wet gown away. A sob shook me and my breath caught as I tried to speak.

"Get out." Those words, so final, so familiar. I'd heard him speak them so many times before to other women, but not to me. I stumbled toward my dresser, to find something to cover myself with. I found myself one dizzying moment later, laying on the floor, my head ringing and cheek stinging where he'd punched me. "You—own—nothing."

"B-but I'm naked!" I pleaded.

He kicked me between the legs with his steel toed work boot. My folds had been bruised before, but now the right inner labia split and I feared he'd cracked my pelvis. I curled inward, protectively, but he placed that cum and blood stained boot on my chest and pinned me flat on my back. My vision cleared briefly as tears drained down my temples, and I stared up into his heart breaking gaze. "I don't give a fuck. You are less than nothing to me, I hate you. Get out before I dispose of you in the fucking sewage reprocessing plant where you belong."

I stared for one long moment as his words registered. He meant, truly—for I could see the earnest rage in his gaze—that he would kill me. I squirmed out from under his boot and crawled my way toward the door, body in pain from so many places now, and mind so fragile, like the briefest breeze could shatter me into a million pieces. I turned my eyes from his, terrified of that look, of how he saw me. Nothing, less than nothing, worse than a roach. I crawled on hands and knees, grasped at the doorknob to my room… and realized my mistake in that thought. Not my room. I wept openly then as I climbed to my feet, and fled.

3 - Consequences

I was a sight to behold, fleeing naked through the streets, cum, piss, and blood stained. I made it six blocks before I was accosted. I didn't even fight back as I was catcalled, then manhandled and groped. What was the point? Father didn't want me, I was worth nothing now, less than nothing. I didn't even hear the man's words, only his drunken intent behind the words as he dragged me into the dark alley. I was pressed face down over a trash can, the broken plastic lid bit at my bare breasts and scraped my bruised ribs. More kindness than I deserved.

He penetrated me, that untouchable place reserved for Father, he entered that sullied sanctum, and defiled it anew. I shuddered in revulsion and… and pleasure. He thrust and thrust, hard and quick, urgent, as if I might vanish with the break of dawn. I bucked back against him, drove him deeper. He was shorter than father and didn't bottom out, but it still felt good and filling.

He finished quickly and backed away. Other hands closed on my bare hips and pinned me to the trash can. Another cock entered me, and I moaned aloud like the slut I was. Father was right, I just hadn't known it yet! I bucked and squirmed against my third man for the night, a thing alive with newfound and unwanted freedom. It took him longer than father or the other, much longer, and by the time he emptied his gonads down my passage, I was raw and aching.

Hands pulled me off the trash and laid me belly up on a heap of soggy broken down boxes and other litter. There were half a dozen people there, little more than black shadows against the dim backdrop of the city street beyond. Someone dropped down between my splayed open legs and leaned forward. He kissed me, just the way I'd wanted father to. Sour tongue roamed my mouth as he thrust himself home in my sex. It hurt, he was thicker than the others, and I was already so tender. He paid my whimpers no heed though as he slammed his hips down and used me.

When he was finished, I laid there, limp, barely responsive as another took his place. I didn't want to be here anymore, I didn't want to be anywhere. I found that place again, that numbing, distant place, and tried to take comfort there, but it felt darker, colder, and less wholesome. I took it none the less, and watched from a distance as I was raped. No one could see the tears on my face, or hear my silent cries. I didn't even want them to hear, didn't want them to know. I was nothing, after all, nothing at all.

One after another, they took their turns. When dawn came, they smuggled me into the darkness of a building and found a comfortable place to bind me. I wouldn't have run away even if I could. This was what I deserved, where I belonged now. I wept continuously, but never resisted, never even cried out. I welcomed my fate with open legs and open lips. Another phallus slid across my tongue, gritty, coated in stale urine. I nursed upon it. The salty-sour taste that filled my mouth, my only nourishment.

4 - Result

His cold eyes stared down at me, unforgiving, unrepentant. "We found her nine blocks from the compound, naked. I don't need to tell you, but she was terribly abused. She… I don't think anyone fed her for weeks." Father only nodded his response, then reached down to pluck the sheet up, briefly, and stare at my sex. It was a mass of bruises and torn skin. I was still engorged, bloated tissue swollen. "What…" The coroner shook his head as the sheet dropped again, "Nevermind. Sign here." He passed the pad over. Father signed it, consigning me to the reprocessing plant as he'd promised. He then turned away with a lingering, emotionless glance, as if he'd witnessed the unpleasant mortality of a stranger. A final humiliation visited upon me.

END

01/20/2022

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