Were it the dark, consuming embrace of an unknown assailant exciting her imagination, or a night of Gothic terror with a mundane explanation, life would be much easier. Samantha had no such luxuries though. The dark, consuming embrace clutching her was anything but unknown, and the terror had only distressing explanation. Suffice it to say, her father was on her mind instead of the work with which she had been tasked. An anxious perspiration formed upon her temples.
"Are you okay there, babe?" asked Todd, her boyfriend and colleague. These past few months he had grown increasingly concerned and frustrated by his girlfriend's recent behavior.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, it's nothing," Samantha replied, snapping from her trance. The noise from the copy machine as it produced stacks of syllabi once again found its way to her ears. "I'm just a little exhausted today, what with finals coming up and all, you know?"
"Eh, you have nothing to worry about there. You ace everything." He turned and leaned back against the copier with Samantha. Both of their bodies aligned in a soft hunch as they awaited the last of the syllabi.
Of course Samantha had nothing to worry about in regard to her finals. Todd was right. She would ace them. He would his as well. That was just the kind of students they were. Even though Dr. Knox-Shaw was a bit of a hard ass and renowned for her intense exams, Samantha thought little on the matter. Had she been in trouble at all academically speaking, it still would not have been the nag in the back of her mind right now. That nag was reserved for one thing. It had been a whole week since the last time with her father and the nightmarish visions were starting to saturate her mind once again. She hated herself for knowing that she would soon need to get her "fix". And, as Todd cozied up to her a little, wrapping an arm around her waist to give her an innocent yet intimate hug, she hated him too. It was hard not to hate every man right now, especially one that touched her the way Todd did. That was really what caused Todd so much concern. Their sex life had dropped off the face of the map, and he didn't have any clue why.
Samantha heard the copier finish and used that as an excuse to shrink away from Todd. She reached for the stack of warm, printed paper, thumbing through at the stapled corners to ensure all went well. Her eyes caught glimpse of Todd's. He was still filled with concern. But something else was there.
Disappointment. Not that long ago, their passions had raged so much, their yearnings for each other had proven so great, that they had made love in this very room after most of the department had called it a night. He had lifted her onto this very same machine, in fact. Had spread her legs, pushed her black skirt up, pulled her panties to her ankles, and penetrated her all in the heat of a short-lived yet amazing moment. Now, though, was emptiness between them. The air was vapid.
She looked at him and wanted desperately to tell him everything. It was not her fault, so why shouldn't she? Maybe he would even be able to help her. But how would she explain that she went back to her father. That she recreated her trauma. That she had been recreating it numerous times ever since. She did not even understand fully why she was doing it, so how could he or anyone else?
"Samantha, I love you," Todd said, a slight accent on the last syllable as his doubts revealed themselves.
"Yeah, I love you too," she replied in a monotone voice. "I need to go," she then added, turning and taking her stack of papers with her tucked neatly beneath one arm. She made her way back to the coordinator's office to hand them over so that they could be distributed to the professors who had ordered them done. Then she made her way to her desk, pulled her text book from her bag, cracked it open, and began to study, paying no mind to when Todd walked in. She did not pay attention to anything really, not even her textbook. She needed to brush up on Alexander Pope's "An Essay on Man" for her upcoming exam, but only one line stood out to her: "Whatever is, is right."
Her urge was struggling for her to give in to it. It was a pain both mental and physical. A knot in the pit of her stomach twisted, tearing at her insides like some infectious parasite gnawing from the inside out.
She still had two more hours of work when she received his text.
"Daddy's waiting, pumpkin," it read.
Her eyes almost instantly glazed when she read it. She knew what it meant. Part of her thrilled knowing that her fix would be achieved soon and she would be able to stop agonizing over everything for a short while again. The other part of her wanted to burst out crying and run far, far away, knowing just what that fix meant. She could not deny that buried beneath her tight blue jeans and the layer of purple lace was a tingling mound of pleasure emanating enough to make her squirm in her seat, and that this pleasure was caused by her father's text. But that made none of it better. It, in fact, made her want to crawl up in a hole somewhere and never come out again. She could only think how pathetic she was.
"I need to go. A family emergency has come up," she told the coordinator, who acted as her immediate supervisor, as got up to leave.
"Where are you off to, Sam?" Todd's voice shot up somewhere behind her, but by the time it made it to her ears, she had one foot out the door. She did not stop to answer.
***
"I'll be home soon, Daddy."
Jeremy put his phone down. His heart was racing now, mind reeling, and in truth, his cock was already starting to throb. He had no clue how all of this had come to pass. The first time was like some beast had consumed him momentarily. His daughter had transformed from the little angel he always knew her as into a piece of meat for him to take his anger out on as well as his lust. The anger and lust meant for his wife. He had felt so guilty after that first time that he very seriously considered turning himself in.
But then Samantha had done it again. She had fallen again. Wearing the same nightie. Calling out for him in that same, sweet, innocent voice. She still needed him. That was his first thought as he, once again, had rushed down those faithful stairs to his daughter. His second thought, though, had been that she must want him. It was too big of a coincidence for this to all happen again the same way, right? So when the beast came knocking that time, he did not even pretend to resist it.
That was all then, and they had done it a few times more since. She always said no, and pleaded, and squirmed—oh God did he love the squirming—but even then she would find herself in these situations for him. As far as he knew, she wanted it. So he sit there on the couch in nothing but his boxers with a giant erection and a demented sense of pride welling up in his chest as he await for his daughter. He would conquer the young woman again tonight, and nothing felt better in the world to him.
***
Samantha arrived home to her father sitting on the living room couch. Neither made eye contact. She placed her bag next to the door and solemnly spoke. "Daddy, I'm home. I'm dead tired, so I'm going to go to bed now."
After about the fourth "accidental" spill down the stairs, her father had developed a craving for more. He was apparently a man of varied tastes. The first time he snuck into her room after she had gone to sleep was probably more terrifying than the first time he had taken her. Waking up to the weight of the six foot man pressing down on her from behind, her face buried between pillows so that she was barely able to breath, and feeling him shove her panties down her ass just enough so he could enter her—it was an unfathomable experience that did the impossible by deepening her still bleeding emotional scars. It also opened the door to new ways for her to achieve the desired numbness she had become addicted to. One consolation was that she at least did not have to wear the nightie Todd had bought her. That was somehow more humiliating.
"Okay, dear. You slip into something nice and comfy and get some shut eye. Daddy will be up to check on you later," he said. She did not have to look at him to know he was steadily stroking his hard prick through his boxers as he said this. It was in his voice.
