"Alright, dear. I'm going out shopping with Sally from down the street. I'll be back for dinner."
"Okay. Have fun," Greg said, smiling at his wife. She paused, one hand on the door, and looked back at him.
"And remember, our naughty little girl is still grounded."
"Yes, m'am."
She smiled and slipped out the door. Greg kept the smile on his face until Sally's car pulled away from the curb with his wife inside, and then he let it drop.
He wasn't likely to forget that Polly, their daughter, was grounded. She had been grounded for over a year. It was getting to the point where he was wondering if he needed to do something about it, maybe call the police--but how would he explain that he had let it go on this long?
It had started when Polly had come home for spring break her freshman year at college. She'd been all smiles and excitement, talking about how much she loved her classes, how she was thinking of declaring her major before the end of the year. Chemistry. She wanted to be a pharmacist.
Thinking back, even then, his wife had been a bit strange about things. A little fake in her enthusiasm, a little too quick to ask whether Polly could really handle such a complicated subject.
Then, two days into spring break, the video had come out.
Polly said the guy in the video was her friend, that she had trusted him. She hadn't realized he'd been filming their...encounter.
None of that mattered to her mother. Her little girl's naked ass was plastered all over every free porn site on the internet. She snapped.
Polly hadn't gone back to college.
Since that awful week, she'd been grounded to her childhood bedroom. Her mother had bought some handcuffs that kept her secured to the bed, and had brought out boxes and boxes of old things from storage--Polly's old stuffed animals, her princess bedding from when she'd been in middle school, clothes she hadn't worn in years. Greg's wife seemed to be fixated on turning back time, turning their daughter into an innocent little girl again.
"She's safer this way," she'd assured Greg, the few times he'd dared to question this plan. "It's only for a little while. Only until she learns."
Greg wasn't entirely sure what Polly was supposed to be learning. Maybe not to experience arousal any more; his wife certainly seemed fixated on punishing her for it. She often inspected Polly's crotch for evidence of wetness, and if she didn't find any, sometimes she would rub her there until it happened anyway, just to have a reason to punish her. Punishments involved spanking the girl's clit cruelly with a ruler, or rubbing fresh-cut peppers over the dripping folds of her pussy.
Greg was often obligated to stand by and observe, to agree with his wife whenever she asked him to back her up on the necessity of such discipline. The image of his daughter's dripping, twitching pussy had become seared into his mind, the sight of her swollen, tortured clit haunting him.
Greg knew that his wife wasn't well. He was starting to understand, too, that despite her words, this insanity wasn't likely to end any time soon.
But he had to admit that it was kind of nice to have their family all under one roof again, to have his little girl back.
He got up, thinking to check on Polly before he started watching TV to pass the time while his wife was gone. As he made his way upstairs, he heard a tell-tale rhythmic creaking noise.
He knew what he was going to find when he got to Polly's room; he'd caught her at it once before, humping her pillow. He could hardly blame the girl--she'd been tormented for over a year without release. He could only imagine how pent-up she must be.
Greg paused in the hallway, considering. Maybe it would be kinder to just leave her to it, to let her find whatever comfort and satisfaction she was able to while his wife was out of the house.
But the rhythmic creaking of her bed called to him, burrowing into his brain.
Besides, he reasoned, his wife would likely be able to tell when she got home. It would be obvious that Polly had relieved herself. She'd be less desperate. They'd both be in trouble then. And who knew what his wife would do if pushed? He wouldn't put it past her to take some drastic action, to maybe try to sew Polly's pussy lips shut or to glue a shield over their daughter's clit. She'd alluded to both options in previous conversations with him.
He stopped in his bedroom on the way and slipped a couple of supplies into his pocket, then walked down the hall and opened the door to Polly's room.
Polly had one of her stuffed animals between her thighs this time. She was lying on her side, squeezing her knees hard to cram the stuffed dog against her pussy and rocking her hips to grind into it. She didn't even hear Greg come in at first; her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth hanging open, breathing in short little gasps.
"Polly," he said, and she jumped, her eyes flying open. She froze for a second, then shuddered, her hips shifting again helplessly. "Stop that. What would your mother say?"
"Please don't tell her," she said immediately, her voice shaking. She opened her knees and kicked the plushie away, and then squirmed like she was trying to right her skirt, but it was way too short. Her mother had squeezed her into a little girl's ballet costume, a pink satin top with a tulle skirt; Polly was slim enough to fit into it, but her breasts were squished obscenely into the top, her adult hips were too wide for the skirt to properly cover her dripping sex. It was meant to be worn with bottoms, of course, and Polly wasn't wearing any.
"I won't," he assured her, stepping into the room. "But if I keep catching you like this..."
"Please, dad," Polly begged. "I just--I'll be good. I'll be good. Don't tell her."
"Okay. It can be our little secret," he assured her, stepping into the room. "She's not home right now."
"Thank you," Polly whispered. She squirmed again, still trying to get the skirt down to cover her private parts, but it just hiked it up more, so she stopped. The tight fabric across her stomach made it visible how her muscles were quivering. Greg wondered if that was because she'd been close to orgasm, or if she'd just been trying for so long that she'd been tiring herself out.
