Homebound Routine

Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, consensually non-consensual (CNC), or non-consensual sex or scenarios.

Hello. This is my first story here.

I didn't expect something dark themed as my first submission, so I want to say in advance that this isn't my usual style.

But I really wanted to post one right away so this is a little rushed but I hope you still like it.

I'm planning to continue.

_____________________________

The last time Trixie was home, she was 15 years old. She left as soon as she could, applying for a community college 2 states away. At that point she felt that she had just snapped: a little before her 16th birthday, she stole some money from her mom, packed a backpack and left to stay with a girlfriend, having no plan to ever, ever return.

Every day she always felt like she was going crazy, stuck in a routine where no one even spared a glance. What kept her going even just for a little longer was the nostalgia; her childhood that was filled with warmth. She loved remembering those times the best.

A few months before it started, they had a big celebration for her brother, Eric, who passed an examination to a state university. Which meant that he was leaving before summer ended. Before he left felt, every day felt like a party, and even after that things were fine for a while...until they weren't.

Now Trixie was going back to a house that was as empty as she was, the devil waiting for her.

"Ija, you made it,"

Trixie smiled at Ms. Johnson as she pulled her in for a hug. Ms. Johnson was her homeroom teacher all throughout high school and a close family friend. She still smelled the same, Trixie noticed, something of a mix between cinnamon and cream, like autumn.

The small woman gave Trixie a small pat on the back and stood back to look at her. Her purple glasses slipped a little, black eyes on Trixie's brown ones.

"You've grown into such a beautiful young woman," Ms. Johnson smiled.

Trixie felt a knot in her stomach, felt like she had just been punched in the gut. Probably the only person she could talk to in this town had said the things she feared the most to hear.

Trixie hated her femininity. She took an effort to hide it ever morning: not wearing makeup, not keeping her hair kept, wearing plain, baggy clothing, all in dark colors. Even now was wearing a loose plaid shirt over a black tank top and cargo pants. Still, she wondered, how come that was the first thought that would come from people? Trixie wished Ms. Johnson was just being polite.

As she was about to ask about what had happened to her mom so suddenly, a chill went up her spine as she felt his presence behind her.

Two large hands came down her shoulders and she stiffened so much she forgot how to breathe.

"There's my babygirl," She heard behind her, the air turning humid and sour with the faint scent of alcohol lingering. "How was the ride?"

She let herself be pulled in his arms, not wanting to cause a scene. Ms. Johnson giggled at this interaction, leaving to let them have some privacy. Trixie wished for her to stay.

What other people might see as a normal greeting for a father and a child he hadn't seen in a while was all a lie concealed conveniently. Beneath was the disgust: his arms pressing her onto him, his hands on her sides and something between his legs that were all too wrong. After all, people see only what they want to see.

He told her to get inside and make herself at home, to not be a stranger, but there Trixie was in the middle of the living room, inside the house that she grew up in, in the wake of her late mother, but feeling as if she was the elephant in the room. Suddenly she could breathe again. Being surrounded by strangers funnily made her relax. At least she was not alone with him.

She spoke too soon.

Returning from the kitchen, Doug brought her a bottle of water and gestured for her to come and be introduced to everyone inside. Trixie nodded meekly. She thought he would not touch her, not in front of all these people, not on the worst day of her life, in respect to her mother—his wife—but she digressed.

As he toured her around the room, he had his hand firmly planted on her buttocks, the back of her shirt—as it was oversized—covering the act. She cursed at her miscalculation. Occasionally he would grab her, then switched to massaging her with his palm but what she hated the most was when she was introducing herself to the guests, his fingers would probe the opening of her asshole.

She bit back her shame and tightened her smile. Let this be over.

As if answering her prayers, Doug told her to go ahead and visit her mom. Then, he continued, she could rest in her old room right after. He asked if she remembered where and she nodded, not even sparing a glance back. Almost immediately Trixie ran up the stairs and headed straight to the master's bedroom. She slowly opened the door, cool air from the air conditioner welcoming her. She saw her mom on the bed, it seemed that they didn't transfer her to a casket yet, preserving her in some way.

Overwhelmed, Trixie slumped to the floor, spent.

The nightmare she thought she had left behind, followed and dragged her back.

Tears sprung into her eyes as she studied her mother, beautifully laid on the middle of the bed, looking pale but peaceful. She was wearing a black long-sleeved dress that was from her own mother, hair softly around her looking just like she was sleeping.

Mom...

Not a second was given to Trixie to mourn as she heard the door close and lock behind her. Just the sound of those two consecutive clicks made her turn into ice. She knew what was coming.

Without a word Doug hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her up. She went limp, not having any energy left to argue except make small sobbing sounds.

"Welcome back, baby," Doug whispered behind her ears, the sickly breath swimming back and making Trixie's stomach churn. He licked his lips as he pushed her onto the bedside drawer. "I missed you."

Doug threw back her shirt and raised her hips, smiling as he sees her cream skin and the outline of her ass. He grabbed his dick, still in his pants, and started rubbing in between Trixie's thighs.

"Oh, how've you've grown," He grunted, hands exploring her body.

Trixie turned her head to the side, staring straight at the window, avoiding her mother. Shame, disgust, dread, fear, she was feeling them all. She tried to numb herself from it, dissociate—anything—but she was too shaken up. It felt like being eaten whole.

Doug had pulled her pants down and was delighted to find a wet patch on her panties. He fingered her through them, looking even more lustful.

"You never change, babygirl. I like that. You were always weak around your ass, right? I remember. All those people down 'er also helped, right? Were you excited? My baby got so wet waiting, eh? It's been years, anyone taste you yet 'ere, pumpkin." He rubbed her lips but didn't push inside. He was circling them, not even touching her clit just going around and around, wanting to make her beg. While kicking his trousers down he pushed her panties aside, almost tearing them, and gave her a heavy smack. Trixie almost bit her tongue.

Doug gave a dry laugh, as he massaged the now red spot. This time he changed his approach: he took a single finger and probed her opening, slowly he would push it all the way in scratching her walls and then pull it out quickly, before going back to her wet lips. In no time Trixie's pussy was dripping, her juices now rolling down her thighs.

She whimpered, her hips shaking under the torture. She knew what he had liked—taming her, disciplining her, training her until she had no control of her body. Total domination through repetition, she remembered, he liked repetition and then when she least expected it—

Doug pushed his cock into her in one hard thrust. Trixie had her air knock out of her and quickly covered her mouth. Tears were in her eyes as he gave another thrust, getting comfortable, getting her in the best position for some good pounding.

In this room where her mother was resting in peace, she was taken again.

Doug gripped her hips and kicked her feet apart, not stopping his assault. He was like a well-oiled machine: consistent, hard, and fast. He fucked her roughly just as if he was doing labor. Not satisfied, he placed a hand on her back and pushed her down, bringing Trixie's hips even higher. Then he continued thrusting his hips on hers, the friction moving the table, making it squeak. He'd like to think she was shaking her ass back at him, rubbing him, in an attempt to brace for the impact.

"You're tighter than I remember," Doug cooed in between thrusts. "Daddy's happy he's the only one who knows your taste,"

The small sounds that escaped Trixie was like music to his ears. It added to the sweet orchestra of their bodies slapping together. It echoed in the room and whether Trixie liked it or not, that was all she could hear. He raised his free hand and slapped her left cheek and she squeezed down on him, having orgasmed. But Doug didn't stop. In fact, this was his favorite part, this is where he could feel his daughter's walls milking him, asking for his cock milk for all it was worth, pumping him, begging to reach deep inside, and Doug would always deliver.

Trixie panted, one hand grabbing onto the edge of the table, breasts rubbing on the wood, pussy sore and violated. She had a feeling he wasn't stopping when she came—he never did—but she thought a couple of years would slow him down. She was wrong.

Doug dug even deeper, now bruising Trixie's hips with his grip. "Here it comes baby, squeeze down on daddy like a good girl, yeah, that's it,"

He slapped her ass some more, pushing his fat cock all the way to the hilt.

"Milk daddy's cock, babygirl. You know how I love filling my daughter's pussy, take my baby cum, Trixie, swallow them all for daddy!"

Trixie went limp for the third time this day. She didn't care what sounds she was making; all she knew was that her well-trained pussy was doing exactly what it was instructed to do: milk Doug dry. She could feel her walls pushing against and rubbing his cock, helping him pump more of his semen inside her. She could feel it dribble down her legs, now creating a puddle of their mixed juices on the floor.

Doug rode it out; he had always been an ass man and the view of the half-cum half-sweat drenched pink ass beneath him was everything he had desired. He watched his dick push in and out of her until finally, he pulled out from Trixie but not before spreading her ass cheeks open and spraying more of his cum inside her asshole. He watched as he rubbed himself, her asshole twitching then swallowing it all.

When he was finally satisfied, he stepped back and took in the sight as he wished he could burn it in his memory: his once adorable teenager had grown up with a body perfectly designed to pleasure him. He did his part of dirty work to train her to get to this point, but now it was all worth it, he decided.

Doug shook his cock but then thought of a better idea. He went around to Trixie, obstructing her view of the window that was now showing a gray sunset, and told her to open her mouth. He thrusted it inside her pink lips and within a few seconds, he was clean. As thanks he slapped his member on her cheeks a few times, everything of hers now either wet, red, or marked by his cum.

Trixie slowly rose up from her position as soon as she heard the door close. She turned and quickly locked it, falling to the floor in soft sobs.