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.
Jeremy had been awaiting his daughter's arrival for a couple of hours now. He had not seen his wife in a week. She had simply gone to work one day and never came home. He knew she was okay since she had called him with the simple message that she would be staying with a friend for a while. He suspected that friend was her boss. The strain had finally pushed her completely into his arms no doubt, even as they were supposed to be mending the fracture caused by her previous infidelity. Jeremy had not helped the situation though. After having his daughter that first time, he had become obsessed with her. Even when his wife showed even a small bit of interest, he eschewed it in favor of pursuing his new object of desire. She, of course, knew nothing of it and simply thought her husband had decided not to forgive her. Unforgiven, what choice did she have but to return to her boss' ceaseless advances—he was quite handsome and charming after all, but that's for another tale.
Samantha undressed, not bothering to turn her bedroom light on. She then slipped into her more casual nightwear: a pair of pink cotton panties with a flowery design, no bra, and a long white t-shirt that just covered her bottom. Finally, she crawled under her red comforter and closed her eyes.
Thirty-minutes later and she could feel him moving in her. She had dozed off for a short while and actually thought this was one of her nightmares at first. It wasn't of course. It was her father once again on top of her. His cock was already at full erection. Her shirt was already pushed up. Her panties pulled down. And her legs spread. Her pussy had been soaking from the repressed urge all day long, and was even more so now, so he had no trouble shoving his fat prick into her. She stiffened as she gained consciousness and let out a sleepy little moan as she felt him thrust one time into her. She turned her head, once again taking on the scared and frighten persona of a battered woman, and whimpered in her most pathetic plea, "No, daddy. Please, not tonight. Don't, please." She always seemed to revert so easily back to that first time, even now when they no longer played the twisted ankle game. He made her feel so weak and helpless.
"You've been a naughty little girl, teasing daddy," her father crooned as he once again pulled to the tip and thrust back in, still slowly for now.
"No, please, I swear, I didn't mean it. Stop, this is wrong. I'm your daughter," she pleaded more.
The truth was, though, she had been teasing him a bit the past couple of days. She always did as her need started to grow and the nightmares started to come back. It was a vicious cycle. He would do this to her, she would let him as some twisted means of self-therapy, then she would have a good week at the very least of being able to pretend nothing was wrong. The nightmares would cease. Then they would slowly creep back. A new her would start to come out. She would spend the night tossing, turning, moaning, all in the pain of horrible dreams. But she would spend the days wearing more revealing clothes. Accidently bending over in front of him in just a shirt and panties. Walking by with a wag in her hips. She even knew she did it, but at the same time, as odd as it might sound, it did not feel like her doing it. The nightmarish nights and slutty days all lead to the moment she forfeited herself to him again so that she could, again, relive her victimization.
Jeremy did not understand any of it. He was far too simple of a man. But, of course, he did not stop. The reluctance she showed only seemed to encourage him, and she knew it. He figured it was some sick little game she was playing—that she was some slut who just didn't want to admit it. It was not what she wanted though. It was only what she needed. She needed him to grab her hips hard, to pound her faster, to explode deep in her abused little frame. She needed the numbness that brought to her. How could she ever pretend to love spending time with Todd, or focus on her work and her studies, if she could not numb her shattered psyche? Her father's cock was venomous. It had poisoned her the first time, and she would wilt up and die if she did not sporadically have more to make her immune. The immunity just never stuck.
"That's right, you're my daughter. You're mine," he seemed to growl in the back of her ear, slamming especially deep. It was just then that she heard her phone buzz. She could tell it was a text by the two short buzzes followed by a longer one. She turned her head and saw it vibrating on her lamp desk mere inches from her face. Her father did not let this distract him from fucking her for one second. He reared back and spanked her right butt cheek hard enough to leave a red mark.
"Ah!" she screamed out. He seemed to get progressively rougher each time he took her. She wondered if he would ever reach his plateau. At this rate, she would break completely first.
Her phone buzzed again. Another text message. This time her father turned and eyed it. "Who's texting my baby girl this time of night?" His question almost sounded like the genuine concern a father who loved his daughter might have. The throbbing of his cock deep in her pussy reassured her that this was not the case though. And, to her horror, she watched him as he reached out and opened her phone to look.
"No! Don't! That's private!" She screamed, reaching her arm out to try and grab it before he could. It was too late though. He was already reading the text. She figured it had been from Todd. Most nights they would text each other a bit before bed—most nights, obviously, except for those where she had become her father's new favorite toy of course. It was not like she was hiding her boyfriend. She was a grown woman. But it was humiliating to even think of Todd while she was doing this.
"Is this the guy you have been fucking, you slut?" Her father's voice changed the way it always did when his thoughts turned back toward her mother. Jeremy did, in fact, feel a sliver of pain. She still was confused by this though, not knowing of her mother's proclivities and their impact on her father. His hips slammed into her with the ferocity only found with intent to injure. He wanted to do more than fuck her at that moment. He wanted to make her scream. He wanted to take his frustrations out on her body. In a twisted way, he wanted to be numb too.
