On My Honor Ch 05

Warning: this story involves non-consensual incest.

Sorry that I've been a little slower to get this one out, but here it is at last. Thank you for reading!

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My wedding day came too quickly. I don't remember the day as a continuous event. Instead, I can see it only in flashes, and an overall atmosphere of bewilderment. My father's tight hold as he walked me down the aisle and handed me to Reuben. My mother's tearful, stupid joy. My own awkward inability to control my veil, which kept blowing capriciously, seeming to have a life of its own.

I could hardly bring myself to look at my new husband. Half of me was too impressed by him to handle his gaze on me. What could a dazzlingly intelligent man of forty-one want with me for the rest of his life? He had been raping me for just under a year, now. I surely couldn't be of interest to him for much longer. As he had never asked me for my hand, I had no idea why he would want me, a sinful, stupid little girl, twenty years his junior.

The other half of me hated him for selling my wedding night to my father. The pact they had seemed to make together terrified me. Why was it necessary? What did it mean? And if it wasn't necessary, was it a matter of pleasure? There was only one thing I felt sure of: if it was a matter of pleasure, it wouldn't be mine.

I was surrounded with smiles and prayers for my happiness, but none of it felt real. I passed through it. The only moment that seemed solid to me was a glimpse I had of Reuben and my father at the wedding feast, laughing together and impressing each other and all the men around them.

I felt worthless until we were alone, just Reuben and me. He had carried me over the rug into his home, a house much like my father's and just a minute's walk away in the commune, and carried me all the way up the stairs. When he set me down in his strange smelling bedroom, he looked at me with genuine fondness.

'Well, Titia, how do you like your new home?'

'Very much, sir.' I said, timidly. My mother had always taught me that a man's pride was precious.

'Good. Good.' Reuben stroked my face, and then kissed my mouth with unusual passion.

He rarely kissed me, and it felt sweet and warm. His lips melted into my mouth, knowing what they were doing. His tongue mastered mine, but I still shot it back at him gently, playing, teasing. When the kiss had ended, he went in again. Perhaps he really did like me.

Finally, he lifted his lips from mine and looked at me seriously.

'But you should still call me master when we're alone.'

I blushed. 'Sorry, master.'

He smiled. 'Don't worry. I know it's been an unusual day, so I won't punish you for forgetting that tonight. And besides, you look so...'

I waited breathlessly for his validation.

'I wouldn't want to ruin that dress. Speaking of which, I think it's about time we took it off, don't you?'

Not yet. Please.

I nodded placidly. I was his wife now.

'Good girl.'

He'd always been good at taking off my clothes, and even now with this intricate dress, he managed the buttons and fastenings with relative ease. Soon, with a little help, my wedding dress was on the floor. I stood in nothing but the white satin slip my mother had picked out for me.

I was almost naked for him.

He was too mesmerised to pick my dress from the floor, or to let me hang it up. My dress, which I liked, despite everything it represented. Which had taken almost half a day of ironing and many more to design and sew. He stood on it, breathing me in. His hands and eyes were too busy with the shape of my curves. I could tell he liked the feel of the smooth satin of my slip, especially as he rolled it around my breasts.

'You're mine now, Laetitia.' He finally said. 'Do you understand what that means?'

'Yes, master.' I said, submissively.

If I was to be his wife, I would need to learn to look him in the eyes when he said such things, so I lifted mine up to stare into his. His eyes were a whole world, and were startlingly full of emotion.

'I knew you would.' He sighed and stroked my face again. 'I doubt you know just how clever you are, Laetitia. It's almost a shame you're a girl.'

I'd never received a compliment like this. And from him... I didn't know what to do with my face.

'But it's important you remember that you are just a girl. I'll do my best to help you remember, and in return, you must promise to honor me beyond even what you'd usually expect of a wife.'

'Yes, master.'

'That means complete obedience. I should never have to ask you to do the dishes faster, or remind you to make my meals or keep the house clean. And whenever I want to use you, you should be available to me. No complaints or stupid, sullen looks, and no speaking unless you're spoken to, even in our home.' He paused, and a grim look of what I now recognised as arousal passed over his mouth and eyes. 'My pleasure will be your pleasure. Do you understand?'

'Yes, master.'

'Good girl.' He pinched my cheek. 'Now, I know you didn't choose to be my wife. But this is what God has chosen for you.' He added tenderly. 'And I know you're going to do your best to please me. You're a good little girl, aren't you?'

He moved the slip to expose one of my breasts, and gave me a light, impulsive spank on my behind. I blushed, utterly humiliated. I knew I was much younger than him, but I hated when he called me that.

'Aren't you?' He asked, squeezing my nipple.

'Yes, master.'

He smiled and began to massage my breasts. 'I knew it from the first moment I saw you. I knew I could do anything to you, and you'd just take it.' His voice had become almost romantic. 'You were made that way, Laetitia. Just for me.'

I could no longer meet his gaze.

'And for your father too, I think.' He added. His eyebrows furrowed. 'Pick up your veil and give it to me.'

It was a strange request, but I bent down immediately. The silk veil was buried beneath my dress and his feet, and I struggled not to annoy him by pulling on it too hard.

'Hurry up.' He whacked me again on my backside, this time hard. I staggered but quickly picked myself back up and put my long veil in his hands, my eyes downcast.

'Now lie down on the bed.'

Was he planning to take me tonight instead of my father, after all? The thought flashed through my head but I didn't dare to hope. I walked to the bed with a grace I didn't feel, and laid down quickly for him.

He stepped up beside me, but his voice gave away no excitement; only a slow, patronising expectation of obedience.

'Hold out your hands.'

I'd been trained all my life to obey my future husband. He pinned my wrists together and tied a complicated knot around them with my veil. I didn't understand. Then, when he was satisfied, he stretched them out above my head and tied them to his bedpost.

'Good. Very good.'

He lifted the slip back up to cover both of my breasts and gazed at me, his new bride.

I was his possession, now more than ever before. Was I good enough for him? I could hardly look at his face.

For one final time, he moved his hand down to below my waist. I knew what he wanted to touch. I opened my thighs and he found it: the tight, smooth tissue that represented the only virtue I supposedly had left. The feeling of it seemed to transport him.

At last, he spoke again.

'I'd love to take your final virginity, Laetitia. But I've decided to make a gift of it.'

He looked into my face, and looked amused when he saw my numb and slightly defiant expression.

'Oh, you know?'

'Yes, master.' My chin trembled.

'Well, this should be easy for you, then. You'll understand. Your father was very generous with you even before we were engaged. So I'd like to return the favor. You're going to be a good little girl for him, aren't you?'

He didn't expect a reply. He found it in my eyes.

'Good.'

The place between my legs seemed to burn. Reuben left the room. I closed my eyes, hoping to disappear. I realised, now, that I hadn't imagined what was to come in any detail. The fact that it would happen was already too difficult. But now that it was about to happen, I felt so unprepared.

After less than a few minutes, Reuben reappeared. My father was just behind him.

His face was indescribable. I'd felt subdued, ready to be obedient and to get this over with, but a fire flashed within me at the sight of him.

My veil had been so wild earlier in the day, but now it held me fast and tight. It wasn't on my side. Nobody was.

'I'll leave you to it.' My new husband said cheerfully, moving resolutely towards the door.

'Would -' This was hard for my father. 'Would you like me to wear a c-... a con-...'

Reuben laid a hand on my father's arm, putting him out of his misery. 'No. She's your daughter. You should enjoy her. Fully.'

My father gasped, but couldn't seem to smile. 'Thank you.' He said, sincerely.

He rubbed his hands together, looking at the young, smooth skin of my long thighs, and at what lay between them. My whole body was entirely open to him. Even my face must have looked submissive, I thought bitterly. It didn't know how to look any other way. My mind begged Reuben to stay, but my body lay impassively, waiting for my father. Reuben smiled, knowing he was no longer wanted in the room, and closed the door behind him.

It was just us now.

My father took another long look at me and licked his fat lips. The white satin slip was bunched over my breasts and navel, barely covering the very tops of my legs. My ankles trembled. The lower part of my labia stood exposed to the air, waiting. I desperately wanted to cover it with my hands, to rub it in my anxiety, but my hands were fixed. Unable to stand the terrible anticipation, I couldn't help writhing, the veil around my wrists twisting my flesh in a surprisingly strong hold. I tried to keep my hips still to stop the satin from pulling further and further up, exposing more of my sex to the air, but it was no good.

'Laetitia.' My father said, very, very softly.

The extent to which I was trapped was becoming more and more apparent. This was happening. Really happening. My father's eyes, gentle and hard at once, were cutting into me, and the combination of the silk and my frightened shame kept me barely able to move.

He crept closer. His ugly corduroy trousers hung unmistakably around a concerning bulge. I couldn't stop staring at it, my eyes stupidly wide.

'You have no idea -' His voice cracked, feeling horribly real. He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, I heard him fumbling with his zipper and unbuttoning himself.

It was the same sound I'd heard from outside his bedroom after he last spanked me for touching myself. I had known then why it was an abomination for me to use my body for my own pleasure. It was his. I was his. My father's. I always had been.

My father's cock was pink. Very short, but thick, looking stubborn. Manly. It curved very slightly to his left, which happened to be my direction. My tongue felt wet.

His face had become visibly hot as he stood naked before me, his daughter, shameless in his eagerness to rape me. I struggled against the silk of my husband's hold, but my wedding veil seemed just as compelled to obey the men as was I. I felt myself sinking into the bed.

Too quickly, my father climbed on top of me, gazing down at my face, and smiling at my fear and my blushes. He seemed pleased to be on top of me. This was how he'd raised me to be. Innocent. Helpless. Obedient. For the first time in my life, he looked proud of me.

I made a slight sound, my eyebrows furrowing minutely, and he smiled even more.

'Shhhh now. You're going to be a good little girl for me, aren't you?'

I nodded almost imperceptibly.

For the first time, he laid his hands on the soft shape of my breasts. He was trembling.

He sighed at the feeling of them, firm and soft and big in his hands. I knew they were nothing like my mother's, and I felt almost sorry for him. How long he'd been deprived of what he wanted, even though he was a man. How long I'd made him want me with my body, walking around, living in the same house as him. It wasn't right. But he was too law abiding to ever have laid a finger on my breasts before this. He'd needed the permission of my husband.

I stopped struggling at my father's touch - it felt almost embarrassing at this point to suggest I thought I could ever escape. Instead, my mind took me somewhere else, and at the same time, I was psychologically paralysed in the room, in the bed, painfully present.

My father wasted no time. He wasn't interested in touching my sex now he no longer needed to demonstrate his ownership of it, and he certainly didn't need me to touch his, already erect and frighteningly stiff-looking. His face eager, he lowered himself on top of me. He pushed the white satin up above my waist, and rested his big, stubby hands on the small of it, his hips directly above mine.

'My daughter.' He said, lovingly. It was like a prayer. I felt sick. His hands found my breasts again, squeezing them, playing with them, fascinated.

His sex was dangling above mine now, hitting me softly as he bobbed up and down above me, exploring my upper body with his grasping, needy hands. He wouldn't stop breathing me in, with loud, obvious sniffs that made me unable to look at him. My scent made him more dangerous, seeming to empower him. I locked my knees together, hoping he wouldn't notice this small, final attempt at defiance.

'Don't fight me now, Laetitia. You won't deny your own father, will you?'

I shook my head, tearfully.

'That's right. You don't want to disappoint your husband. This was a gift. He wouldn't want you to spoil it now, would he?'

His voice had become firmer and more patronising. 'It's your duty to obey me and serve me.' He pinched my thighs, still closed together, and looked at them expectantly.

'Laetitia?'

Mortified, I let my left thigh fall slightly outward. Surely that was enough.

He slapped me hard on the cheek. In a strange way, my face was glad.

'You've always been a little bitch, haven't you? You're lucky you've found such a generous husband. Most men wouldn't go near such a frigid cunt.'

I'd never heard my father swear like that, but it didn't matter now. And he was right to be angry with me for getting in his way. What was I thinking? This was what my husband wanted me to do. What my father needed from me. I was a frigid bitch. Selfish. Rather than waiting for me to make myself easy for him to access, he forced my thighs open with his palms. They were quickly sore from the pressure he ramped down on them, but it didn't matter. He literally licked his lips, hungry for me, his own daughter. Shaking, he aligned his small, sturdy cock to the opening of my slit.

My mind turned, of all places, to that horrible passage in Genesis. Was this what happened to Lot's daughters? I had always wondered. The bible said they had seduced him, but of course it would. It was written by men.

I realised in this moment that my virginity meant nothing to me. But to my father, it meant everything. His daughter's virginity. The joy of it being his, of really being able to do this, washed over his face with a horrible beauty.

Before I knew it, my body yielded to my father. He gasped. He pushed. Then, the world as I knew it was gone. With a skill I wasn't expecting, the tip of his cock edged tantalisingly into my hole, taking the last dregs of my purity, my honor, and filling me with silk and velvet and the most intimate embarrassment. His cock was small, but it felt so big. The feeling of him, my father, the man who had raised me and punished me so many times across his lap, now inside my body. His anguished desire. His trepidation and longing, finally consummated. And the look on his face, condescending and violently entitled to his daughter, unable to stop himself despite what he must have known about my own wishes somewhere inside himself. This was all it took - the impossible intensity of him physically inside me, the most wrong thing I could ever imagine - and to my shame, my body erupted.

I turned to liquid, shaking, shuddering, soft and silent. Stupidly simpering, like a wild animal. A slave.

A magnet from somewhere inside me pulled my father's small, rigid shaft deeper and deeper. I must have looked pathetic, wrapped in satin, quaking beneath him, but it seemed to confirm everything he had ever known and fantasised of, for he stayed calm and focused, except to let out a cry of ecstasy.

Yes, this was definitely what happened to Lot's daughters. They had left Sodom, and their mother had just been turned into a pillar of salt. Lot had offered them up to the city to rape in the place of God's angels just a few verses before. What chance did they ever have?

My own father was all the way inside of me now, my honor long gone. His hands grasped at my belly, my breasts, which were pliant and fully ready for him. My body was there to give, to be taken from.

'You look... obscene.' He muttered. He squeezed me so hard that I feared it would leave marks for my husband, and buried his head in my breasts. His stubble grazed me as he nuzzled against me roughly and then moved his head up, his mouth latching onto my left breast. My father. He sucked hungrily, as though he expected milk from such big breasts, even though I was a virgin only a few moments before. His groin was rubbing against the parts of me that I usually liked to touch. That I would rub against his trousers when he spanked me. He felt so tight and warm inside me. I let out a soft, delirious murmur as he nibbled and sucked at me.

When he'd finished sucking, he slowly rubbed my belly, growling softly. His thrusts were long and deep. His body hulked and rocked in circles, rhythmically breaking me down even further. Overwhelming me. How long had he been imagining this moment?

This felt very different from the things Reuben had done in my behind. Despite feeling like the most perverse thing humanly possible, having my father inside me, taking me like this, felt like my duty. His cock inside me, touching my womanhood and filling me with a kind of light, with nothing to separate us. Perhaps this was how it should be between father and daughter, after all. Perhaps this was what God wanted. Unrestricted access to the daughter, a vessel for the father's desire, for his firm, righteous lust, his wet seed.

He was hoarse and pumping inside of me, with happy, brilliant looks of disbelief. I felt a pang of sympathy again for his old lungs as they gasped with the enjoyment of my twenty-one year old body.

I reminded myself then that he was raping me. He was exercising his will over me, my own father, in the most humiliating way, on my own wedding night. For other girls, this was a night of love and gentleness. Pure, innocent happiness. Other girls, who were treated with respect by their husbands and by all around them. Girls who didn't see themselves as slaves. I felt a sharp, stabbing bitterness. My life was so different from theirs.

But this was how it was for me. I clenched my jaw. I could take it. I was strong.

'Good girl, Laetitia.' My father sang, interrupting my determination. This softness was more humiliating than anything he could have done. He was pleased with me. He was smiling because of just how obedient, passive, pathetic I was. How easy I was making it for him to rape me. This was what I'd become, or perhaps had always been.

`Good girl.'

A shadow passed his face, and he appeared preoccupied, before gritting his teeth.

'You've always been a little whore, haven't you?'

Yes, that was better. His thrusts became more violent and stiff. I realised that his conscience, his godly guilt, had begun to stifle him. His whole expression had changed to one of erotically charged contempt.