*Trigger Warning* The following piece of art may be offensive to some people because it contains incest. It is not real. Real incest is a controversial topic and considered a sin to many. This story is intended for those who enjoy incest as a fantasy or role-play and it not intended to be real or to be reproduced in any way.
-Jennifer Johnson
*
Ever since Annabelle hit puberty things have been weird between us. I know I'm overprotective but maybe I went a bit overboard because her mother isn't in the picture and I didn't know how to keep all those stupid, fucking boys off of her. Annabelle has always been breathtakingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that landed her a modeling gig at the age of seventeen, which I made her turn down. I don't think she's ever forgiven me, but I told her I couldn't allow her to do modeling when her grades were not the best.
Annabelle blames me for not allowing her to pursue her modeling career and constantly bitches about how she could be on her own making money if I hadn't prevented her from seizing her opportunity. I was simply trying to protect her, but I think things may have backfired. Now, it seems like she is trying to do anything and everything she can do to make me pay for what I've done to her.
"I hate that I still have to live here with you!" she screamed the other day after dinner. I asked her to do the dishes and she had to bitch about that too. She is now almost nineteen and she's not doing much with her life.
"I can kick you out if that would make you feel better," I reminded her. Of course, I didn't want to put my daughter out on the street. "But I wouldn't wear that if you want people to take you seriously." I looked at her outfit and honestly, it disgusted me. Annabelle had turned into a disgusting, little slut. There was a part of me that hated her for putting me through this. All I had done since her mother left was try to make up for the fact that she didn't have a mother. I knew I did a sorry job at it, but I did the best I could.
"What's wrong with this outfit, Daddy? Is it turning you on?" she asked. She licked her lips sexually and all I could feel was anger rising quickly to my fists. My urge was to choke her, subdue her, and then scream at her to stop being such a disgusting, little slut. I was ashamed of her.
Instead of doing any of these things I fought my anger until I was in control before I said, "Don't you dare disrespect me like that. Now go put some fucking clothes on!"
"But it's hot!" she whined.
"I don't care. Put on a t-shirt. That isn't even a shirt. That's a bra!"
"All the girls are wearing bras as shirts right now, Dad. You don't know anything!" She was trying to act sexy, that much was obvious. She turned on her heels, which were bright red and stiletto and began to walk, her tight spandex skirt riding up until I saw that she wasn't wearing panties. I'd been averting my eyes from her body all night. I wasn't going to be one of those awful perverts that lusted after his own daughter. My daughter was disgusting.
Later that night, things came to a head. I almost forgot that Annabelle was home as I watched TV and drank some scotch. I wouldn't say I was drunk, but I probably wasn't entirely sober when I heard the moaning coming from her room. At first I thought that she was hurt or that something terrible had happened, but as I sprung up from my chair and moved toward her room I realized what the sounds actually were.
I moved even faster toward her door and sure enough I heard the sound of a woman moaning, at least I thought it was a woman. I continued to listen at the door, not sure how to proceed. I didn't know what I would do if I opened the door and saw some guy fucking my daughter. I would probably kill him and I decided that I needed to grab my gun, just in case. Just as I turned to go unlock my safe, I heard something that absolutely fucked me up. It was the sound of another woman screaming.
I was falling apart, knowing that what was on the other side of that door needed attending to. I couldn't let my daughter get away with whatever she was doing. I raised her as a Christian, and she knew that being gay was a sin. There were two girls moaning in there, unless one was a recording or someone on TV. Maybe she was watching porn? Maybe that's what it was. I moved back to the door and pressed my ear to it, trying to hear more before I busted in there.
"You're so sexy!" I heard my daughter say.
"No, you're sexy," another female voice answered. I could hear the sounds of them kissing and moaning. I opened the door just a crack and paused. I looked inside, but all I could see was my daughter's feet, her toenails painted a whorish red. I felt sick to my stomach as I pushed the door open a little more. The sounds of the girls making out was distressing to me. I felt like an absolute failure as a father as I cracked the door enough for me to see that my little Annabelle was committing a sin right there in my house.
I should have said something then, but something about the way they were kissing deeply disturbed me. For once in my life, I was paralyzed, unable to take action. I wasn't prepared for this event. This wasn't in any of the parenting handbooks I'd painstakingly read throughout Annabelle's childhood. She was kissing the other girl, their tongues intermingling, just like their bodies. I should have said something, but instead I stood there and watched as my daughter took off the other girl's bra and then her panties.
