Amy

Tim saw the light was on as he pulled into the drive and tried to imagine the argument he felt sure was coming. He didn't have the energy. His shifts were getting harder with more work and responsibility being given to him every day as more and more people were being laid off. And always the threat of the plant closing entirely and his job going to China, or India or he didn't even know where. There was no more third shift and second shift would almost certainly be shut down soon. Would he be moved to days? Or just let go?

He got out of the car and steeled himself for the confrontation with his daughter. He had given her his ultimatum, there was nothing left to say. But he was not prepared for what he saw as he opened the front door. Amy was standing in her pajamas in the middle of the room, a straight back kitchen chair next to her a card of some kind on the seat. Her head was bowed and her hands, clasped in front her, held a hair brush. It was her mother's flat backed hairbrush. The one she used when disciplining Amy as a child.

He sat down and stared. She looked like a little girl, his little girl. Amy took a deep breath and tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

"Daddy, I am so sorry for the way I've behaved lately. I know mom's death has hit you hard and I've done nothing but make it worse, going to bars and staying out with boys. driving drunk and being so hateful; Daddy, you don't even want to know some of the things. If I could undo everything I've done over these past months, believe me, I would." Her eyes were brimming.

"You have to believe me when I say I love you and I never want to hurt you. I don't know what makes me do the things I've been doing. Somehow I think I blamed you for mom's death, even though I know it wasn't your fault. It's as if I've lost the star that I steered by, nothing makes sense anymore." she paused and swallowed hard.

"I need a drink." he said and got up. She exhaled.

He picked up the card on the chair and saw it was her driver's license. This puzzled him until he noticed the date of birth was 4 years before she was actually born. Her fake ID. He put it in his pocket and got a glass and some ice from the fridge. He went to the liquor cabinet and filled the small glass with bourbon. Returning to his recliner he took off his shoes and socks and leaning back he took a long satisfying sip of the cool amber liquid, relishing the mild burning sensation in his mouth and throat.

"Daddy please don't make me leave. Like I said I don't know what makes me do the things I do but I'm afraid of what might happen if I were on my own with no one to care about me or what I was doing. I need you, Daddy. And now that mom is gone I think you need me too. Not the me I've become lately but your daughter, the one you love and who loves you."

Tears were flowing down both cheeks now and she was having trouble speaking.

"I want us to start over, Daddy. To go back to the way we were. I need you to forgive me for everything so that we can start again. But I know that first I have to pay for what I've said and done to you. I need to be punished for my behavior so we can begin again. I want you to punish me."

He didn't speak. He finished his drink, got up and padded into the bedroom. Moments later she heard him go into the bathroom and the shower come on.

She was in agony waiting for her father to finish in the bathroom but she accepted it as part of her punishment and never moved from her spot. After what seemed like hours he came out in his pajamas. His hair was damp and he smelled like soap. He looked at her.

"All right." was all he said as he sat down in the straight backed chair. Amy handed her father the hair brush and with knees shaking she lowered the pants of her PJs and laid herself across his lap.

He laid the brush on the floor not intending to use it. Her speech and her tears had touched him so deeply he couldn't bear the thought of causing his little girl serious pain. A token bare-handed spanking and a long hug, some tears and that would be enough, he thought. He was just happy he had his daughter back.

But as she lay there waiting, her PJ top slid up revealing the tattoo on her lower back. An upside down triangle; some sort of Celtic knot, the apex pointing directly to the cleft of her bottom. Tramp stamp? Isn't that what the guys at work called it? It looked like the pin striping he sometimes saw on the fenders of big rigs on the interstate. But as he stared at it he could see that it wasn't just a knot, some of the lines were actually forming misshapen letters.'S*L*U*T'. She was a slut. His baby girl was a whore and proud enough of it to have it permanently imprinted on her body.

He felt all the anger and frustration of the past several months rise in him and he brought his hand down hard on her panty-clad bottom. He spanked her vigorously with his hand and she took the first 20 or so stoically, gritting her teeth trying not to move or cry out. But soon she couldn't help herself and began to squirm and cry with pain. Her hand involuntarily came back to protect her bottom and he grabbed it and pulled it up behind her. She clenched her cheeks and he felt how firm and resilient the flesh was.

After several minutes he stopped and took hold of the waistband of her panties and tugged at them. She lifted her hips allowing him to expose her ass and slide them down her legs to her ankles. What little protection they had provided was gone and the sudden cooler air on her hot skin accented how vulnerable and exposed she was. He bent down to pick up the hair brush and between her slightly parted legs he glimpsed her pussy. It was shaved.

Unable to control his anger and his pain he went to work on the plump mounds of her bottom with a fierceness that surprised him. Amy was screaming and crying as the brush rained down again and again and again on her outraged flesh.

Eventually she was unable to fight any longer and submitted to the pain, taking it in and embracing it, helplessly letting it wash away her crimes and her guilt. Lying limp and motionless as the blows landed relentlessly she seemed to leave her body and view it from above. She was taking in great droughts of air and letting them out in long racking sobs.

Tim had watched the skin of her bottom go from pink to red to crimson and now dark purple patches were forming. He stopped then and let go of the brush.

He and Angela had long ago agreed that spanking was to be a last resort and to be used only to correct behavior, not to vent anger. Horrified he realized that that's exactly what he had done.

Amy was crying like a little girl, sobbing uncontrollably and forming words that he could only half make out "...so sorry..." "...please...".

He picked her up and held her in his lap and let her cry herself out, patting her back and making 'shushing' noises.

When at last she had calmed down and her breathing had returned to almost normal with occasional little hiccups, he said.

"I'm sorry I hit you so hard, I don't know what happened to me."

"No, daddy," she said. "You needed to do it. And I needed to have it done. Does it pay my debt? Can we start fresh now?"

"Sure baby." He said and picked her up and carried her into her room

When he laid her on the bed she hissed as the tender skin of her backside touched the sheet. He turned her over and was again horrified at what he saw. The skin of her bottom was a bizarre rainbow of colors, pink, red, purple, dark blue. Green bruises here and there.

"Oh baby I'm so sorry." he said.

He sat down on the edge of the bed

"Hand me that bottle of hand lotion on your night stand."

He squirted some of the hand cream into the palm of his hand and gently began to rub the cool lotion into the abused skin of her right buttock shocked at how hot the skin was.

"Does that feel any better, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Mmmmmm, much." She said enjoying how the lotion was taking out some of the heat.

He took another palmful to her left cheek and smoothed it into her skin and using both hands he gave Amy's backside a very gentle massage.

It felt so soothing, the cool cream putting out some of the fire in her bottom. In her mind she followed every movement of his hands as they stroked and calmed the inflamed flesh.

Soon she began to feel that he wasn't stroking her bottom simply to soothe her pain. Despite the bruises, he was enjoying the sight and feel of her gorgeous backside. His fingers lovingly traced the smooth round contours from her lower back - he kept the damned 'tramp stamp' covered with her pj top - as her perfect cheeks curved up and out, on down to the tops of her muscular thighs then inward following the crease to her center, the center of the universe, where life begins, and where it's made worthwhile. Where even with her legs closed her upper thighs separated to show him a glimpse of her outer lips. He lightly brushed her mons with his finger tips before following the deep cleft up to begin again, each time lingering a little longer at her outer lips and pressing a little deeper to caress the puckered bud of her anus.

She was slowly spreading her legs and tilting her hips, pressing her knees down into the mattress and pushing her bottom up trying to capture his maddening fingers and delay them in their travels. She had to bite her lip to stifle the moans he was inducing.

Did he know how crazy he was making her? She looked up at him; he seemed to be in a trance, his eyes glazed. He was mesmerized by the sight of his hands caressing his daughter's beautiful bare bottom. His hand traveled down her thigh and then back up inside where he slid his finger up the slit of her vagina.

She gasped then, she couldn't help it. But it broke the spell and he was like a man awakening from a dream and not exactly sure where he was.

"Um, well, I uh, it's late. I'd better go to bed. You uh, you go to sleep now, sweetheart."

He got up and bent to kiss her. Straightening up, she got a brief glimpse of the bulge in his pj pants where his fully erect cock was pushing against the material.

As soon as he closed the door, her hands went underneath her to her needy pussy. She tried to recreate the movements of her daddy's hands as they traveled over her vulva. Her mind drifted back to the spanking. Not the actual paddling of her bottom, that hurt like hell. But it was exciting thinking about how she had lowered her pj pants and laid herself submissively over his lap, asking to be punished. How her hands and toes were touching the floor and how her ass was raised for him. How he had pulled her panties down to her ankles, exposing her ass and her sex to her father. She remembered the pressure in her belly and pubic arch as she laid over his legs.

Then her thoughts returned to the biker; his eyes, the taste of his lips, cock and his pre-cum. How he had bent her over to fuck her from behind and how his thick cock had pushed it's way deep inside her to plunder the tender flesh.

Her head on the pillow, Amy raised up on her knees, her ass in the air. She inserted a finger into her pussy. Then another and a third and a fourth, approximating his thickness. She imagined him behind her, how he had roughly spread her wide, his hands on her hips controlling her as he pumped his cock into her again and again and again, his balls slapping her clit. She worked her hand, sopping wet now, in and out of her pussy while her other reached around to find her anus. She pressed a finger into the tight little hole just as he had done and had to bite down on the pillow to keep from crying out as she came, the palm of her hand filling with her own inner juices. She shook violently as spasms of orgasm overcame her. When they finally subsided, she fell over sideways on the bed panting and holding her crotch as if to keep the warm feeling inside.

The fullness of her bladder was keeping her from falling asleep and, after trying to ignore it for several minutes, Amy got up and padded down the hall into the bathroom. Sitting on the seat was too painful so she squatted over it and peed. Finishing up she heard the unmistakable sound of squeaking bedsprings coming from the other side of the bathroom wall - her father's room. Leaving the toilet unflushed she tiptoed to his door. It was slightly ajar but not enough for her to see inside. She pushed it with her fingertip and it opened a few inches and she was able to see her father lying in bed with the blue/white light of the moon illuminating him. His hand was moving beneath the sheet and his expression was one of intense concentration.

Just then he threw off the sheet and she clearly saw his hand gripping his hard penis and pumping vigorously, his other hand pinching and stroking his nipple.

Amy had never watched a man masturbate before and was fascinated. She was also excited, certain that her father was scratching an itch her own body had created when he was rubbing her bottom and touching her pussy, however briefly. Was he imagining her sucking him or was he fucking her? Was he on top, or was she? Maybe he was taking her from behind? Her pussy began to tingle with the thought that her father's imagination was filled with images of her. She saw him stiffen then and an expression that she could only describe as intense agony washed across his face. His hips lifted off the bed and a strangled moan escaped his lips;

"Angela! Oh God!"

She watched as a long rope of white cum shot up to his chest. It was followed by a second and a third. He continued pumping his cock hard until it was drained and he collapsed back onto the bed.

She quietly tiptoed back to her room and got in bed her eyes burning with salty tears of sympathy for him. It was such a lonely thing to watch. The cum that should have splashed deep inside his wife, the orgasm that she would have been pleased to induce and which might have triggered one of her own, went unshared. She felt hollow inside.