"Yavara wouldn't attack her own people." Father said resolutely.
"Oh, she wouldn't?" I laughed, "Yavara played you all for fools. Why do you think she took her little solo venture? To 'find herself?!' Do you think she accidentally transformed into the Dark Queen, then allied with Fredeon, Brock Terdini and Prestira Rasloraca, in the span of
four days
? She must have been planning this for years. She has deceived you, Father. She will deceive you again."
Father sat back, pondering my words. "What you say may be true, Leveria, but we should still have open communication with Yavara. I cannot believe -I
refuse
to believe- that Yavara would wage war on her own people. I just... I just can't believe it... my own daughter..."
Father began to weep, and Mother put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. I grimaced internally. Father always looked at Yavara as the son he never had. She could shoot better than anyone, ride horseback with the best rangers, and drink men under the table. She was boisterous, bold and overtly friendly, though I thought her stupid, brash and insufferable. Even so, I shared none of the qualities Father loved in her. I always hated how he doted on her, how she was the apple of his eye. My only consolation was that I would take the crown, and she would become some lord's breeding pet. But that was no longer the case. My stupid, brash, insufferable little sister was the Dark Queen of Alkandra. Oh, she'd played a deep game, Yavara had; played it to perfection. I had to concede my admiration, for it was a masterpiece of manipulation. For even as she marshalled powerful allies to her cause, Father did nothing, broken and disbelieving, loving her still. I'd always despised Yavara, but now I hated her with a distilled purity. I brushed Mother aside, wrapped my arms around my beloved father, and pressed his head to my shoulder.
"Don't let your love blind you, Father." I whispered into his ear, "She is the Dark Queen reborn. She has been trying to reclaim her throne for a thousand years, and she's finally found the perfect vessel with which to do it. She never loved you; she used you. Now you sit here and weep while the greatest threat to our empire draws support from our allies and enemies alike. Don't think of her as she was. Think of her as she is, and do what must be done."
"Don't listen to her, Clartias!" Mother hissed, "She's trying to push us to war!"
And I always hated my mother too. She was ever suspicious of me, especially when I was around Father. I think she always suspected something was going on, but she never could quite put her finger on it.
It started six years ago. I had long-since developed into a woman's body by my eighteenth trip around the sun, and Father took notice. One day I left my door open while I was undressing, and Father walked by. Our eyes met. He didn't avert his gaze, nor walk away. He kept staring, and I kept undressing. It was sick, I know, but I craved paternal attention, and I didn't care how I got it. Yavara was the son he never had, but I could be the forbidden piece of fruit he always wanted. It turned me on.
Every day I would leave my door open just a little wider. Every day he would watch me from down the hall. We would both pretend we didn't see each other. One day, I left the door all the way open. I kept my stockings on and bent over on the bed. I started to touch myself. I forked my fingers to spread my nether lips, and I pushed two fingers into my tight virginity. I'd practiced in the mirror the night before; I knew what I was doing. I moaned and cried softly, pushing my ass high in the air, arching my back and looking over my shoulder at him. His pants were around his ankles, his cock was in his hand, and his eyes were on me, swimming with desire. It was the first time I'd ever seen an erect penis. I remember that it was a shock to my eyes, and I could not look away. As my invading fingers kneaded the flesh within, the shock dissipated, and desire replaced it. I wanted it; I wanted it badly. I wanted Father to share something with me that he would never share with his precious Yavara. Day after day, I gave Daddy a show, and day after day he spilled his seed on the floor down the hall. We were stuck in limbo, never taking it further.
A month later, Yavara and Mother went away on a goodwill mission to Vachter Dormus, the dwarven capital. It was just me and Father, and I knew my chance had come. The night before, I took a banana into my room, and practiced in the mirror. The next evening, I put hooped earrings into my pointed ears, painted on dark eyeshadow, sheened my lips red, and did my light blonde hair up in pigtails. I found the night gown I'd worn as a child, and dawned it. It was a tight fit to say the least, the hem frilling just below the meeting of my thighs and the bodice clinging to my ample pale bust, but it more than sufficed. I was Daddy's cute, innocent, little girl. I was ready.
I went to his chambers that night. He was sleeping naked on the bed, his cock standing at attention in his slumber. My breath was sporadic and heated, out of cadence with my accelerating heart. I traversed the bedroom on tiptoes, terrified, excited and aroused beyond description. I laid beside him, not waking him. My eyes once again fixated on his organ. It was fascinating. With immense trepidation and desire, I reached out, and poked it. My experimental touch yielded predictable results, for he bounced rigidly in the air. Emboldened, I clasped my hand around it. It was warm and hard, throbbing and pulsing with his heart. I exhaled a shuddering breath, closing my eyes to savor the alien texture of it. I remembered how he'd stroked his cock in the hallway, how it looked like it made him feel good. So, that's what I did. I lubricated my hand with a glob of spit, and gently glided up and down his length. Father woke up, eyes clarifying and focusing on me.
"We can't take this further. It's wrong." His voice was thick with sleep, and shaking. I didn't listen to him. I kept stroking him while I stared into his eyes. He didn't really want me to stop. He was just trying to convince himself he wasn't a sick fuck who wanted his daughter. I enjoyed this new power I had over him, this ability to make him desire what disgusted him, to make him hate himself. I wanted him to hate himself. I wanted him to give in to me, to pass the point of redemption, to succumb to my power completely.
"There's nothing wrong with it, Daddy." I lied sweetly to him, lowering my face, "It's only wrong if people find out."
My lips trembled even as they drooled, and I watched him, watched his face fall in despair as he realized he couldn't stop me. He couldn't stop himself. I wrapped my lips around his crease, and tasted the nectar that frothed at his apex, the fruit of the loins I'd been given life from. I grinned up at his horrified face; he was delicious. I ran my tongue along his underside, my lips traversing his length with sweet suction, taking him generously. He pressed against my throat, and I stopped. The moonlight shown across my face, and I wondered at the portrait it presented to him. For I was still so young; my skin perfect and unblemished, my face round with teenage youth, his thick cock bulging grotesquely from my pristine mouth. My pink nightgown slid down my hips, revealing the curves of my femininity, the succulent globes of my bare ass. Father was in stasis, staring stupidly at me. I slowly bobbed my head up and down, my lips drawing gently, savoring every gradient of him. He finally gave in, casting aside his pride and dignity. He grabbed my pigtails and forced my head down to his base. I gagged.
That's right Daddy, you made your little girl gag on your cock. And she loved it.
Daddy thrusted down my esophagus, his self-loathing manifesting itself into sexual violence. He punished my throat for his own perversion, not heeding my gags and flails of protest. Daddy raped his little girl, and she loved it. I remembered trying to push him away with one hand while my other hand worked frantically between my legs, the fingers writhing within, rubbing against that spot. I gurgled around each of his drives, the squelching burbling from my gorge, ravaged by his rage, his power. I succumbed to him. I opened my throat, and I accepted him for who he was, who I was. My platinum hair flailed wildly, my red lipstick smeared, my eyeshadow ran down my cheeks with tears of pain. I kept my lips sealed tightly around him, my tongue sliding down his shaft, my hand ceasing its protest to slide between his legs and cradle his balls.
It's alright Daddy, we both want this. There's no shame in it.
But there was shame in it, and that was what made it so good. I remembered climaxing to the feeling of his pulsating cock blowing down my throat. He groaned as he filled me, his cum leaking from my lips, dribbling down my chin. He pulled out, and I looked up at him gratefully, and swallowed.
There's no going back now, Daddy. You're mine.
Daddy turned over and said nothing. He wouldn't look at me. I just smiled. I knew he would come back to me. The next day I positioned myself on the bed and started masturbating, bent over with my stockings pulled to my thighs. I heard his footstep down the hallway. He didn't stop at the end of the hall this time. I began to moan louder as his steps grew closer. I could hear the urgency in his footfalls, just barely not a run. He must've been thinking about me all day. He knew I would do this, but he came anyway. He was mine now. He pressed against me from behind, his strong hands squeezing into the fat of my ass, fingers disappearing in the succulence. I whimpered.