I knew I had fucked up the moment I walked in the door. The way he sat on the chair, feet propped on the table, thick, veiny hands folded together, eyes cold and regarding me head to toe. His gaze crawled up and down my body, looking at every inch of my outfit with a judgement that made my stomach turn.
"Kara." He says my name in a tone that makes me want to cower, but I don't. "Do you have any understanding how men's minds work?"
I'm at a loss for words. I stand there, holding his gaze.
"Do you know how men perceive you when you dress like that? Where the fuck were you?" His words are harsh, but his tone is smooth and collected, his gravely voice low yet sharp.
"You're not my father," I snap back. Definitely not my most mature move. "Just because I'm eighteen and you're twenty-seven doesn't give you parenting rights."
The moment the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. He stands slowly, and deliberately begins to walk towards me. I step backwards subconsciously until my back is against the closed door.
"Say you're sorry," he murmurs softly. Eyes locked on mine, I feel the hairs at the back of my neck raise.
"I'm not saying sor--"
My voice is cut off as he shoves two fingers into my mouth and down my throat and his other hand wraps gently, but firmly, around my neck, pushing me against the door. He towers above me, looking down at me. "Somebody didn't raise you right," he says in that condescending tone I know so well.
In a burst of anger, I shove him away from me violently, my nails digging into his arms. His strength is unmoveable - I feel like a child trying to push a semi truck.
To my surprise, he lets go of my neck, and his thick wet fingers slide from my mouth. But I can tell by the look on his face that he's not done.
"If you were a smart girl, you would've bitten my fingers," he snaps, and I feel a hard slap across my cheeks which instantly brings tears to my eyes. I look back up at his chiseled face, trembling.
"I fucking hate you," I hiss, the toxicity of my own voice surprising me.
"Say that again," he warns, his voice dark and low.
"I. Fucking. Hate. You," I snarl between my teeth.
Suddenly his hand covers my mouth, the back of my head slamming into the door. He flips me around so my back is to him, his hand on the back of my head, my face squished against the door. My ears ring. He pins me there with one hand, and I hear him undoing his belt with the other.
"Stop," I choke on a broken whimper.
He forcefully wraps his belt around both my wrists and they are trapped behind my back. I look behind me and our eyes lock. I shake my head, eyes filling with tears.
With a look of defiance on his face, he pulls out his hardness, thick and full of veins just like his hands. I never knew how it fit inside of my tiny body. He always used it as a weapon.
With one hand on the back of my head, shoving my face against the door, his other hand begins to slide up and down his hardness. "Lick it," he commands.
I struggle against the binds. "You're fucking sick," I sob.
"Lick the fucking door," he commands quietly again. Ashamed, I start to lick the door, kissing it as if it was another man.
"Wouldn't your daddy be proud," he purrs, his hand working up and down his hardness. Disgusting. I feel shame rise in my chest, but I ache between my legs. "His little girl, being slutty for a grown man and for a whole fucking --" he interrupts his speech to slap my again - "club full of men."
I flinch as his hand strokes my face. "I didn't even dance on anyone," I sob.
He turns me around, lifting me up against the door, my legs straddling him, my skirt riding up to reveal my lacy white underwear. My hands are still locked behind my back, painfully against the door. He holds me there, his cock dangerously poised at my entrance.
"Tell me what you said again," he commands.
