Author's note:
This is the story of Rebecca and her loving single father, John, who are harboring some rather unusual thoughts about each other that go quite a bit beyond the usual daddy-daughter dynamic.
If daddy-daughter stuff isn't your thing, you should probably look elsewhere.
Also, this is a very slow burn, and this is only the first part. If you prefer a quick exposition followed by pages of hardcore sex, you'll probably be disappointed. This is actually more of an erotic love story.
While I've been writing for a while, this is the first story I've shown to anyone else, so constructive criticism is welcome (emphasis on the 'constructive' part).
I hope you all enjoy my hard work!
Wednesday
Rebecca huffed as she stomped into the house, dumping her bag unceremoniously on the floor with a loud thud and slamming the door behind her. She was practically fuming with anger, her hazel eyes glaring at nothing and everything all at once.
She shed her jacket, leaving it in a disorganized pile in the middle of the floor as usual, and grumbled something unflattering about her school, her teachers, and the whole concept of authority in general.
In the living room, her single father, John, sighed as he closed the book he'd been reading and took off his glasses. He knew that sound all too well by now. He'd had a lot of practice lately, particularly this week. A little too much practice for his tastes. With measured and controlled movements, he put the book down and laid his glasses neatly on top of it.
"In here, young lady," he said firmly, his otherwise calm voice carrying a hint of tiredness and just a bit of irritation. When she didn't immediately react, he raised his voice a little.
"Now, Rebecca," he said with growing impatience.
Even through her seething anger, Rebecca noticed the edge in her father's voice and stopped, one foot already on the stairs leading up to the top floor and her room. She knew what that tone meant - there was no arguing with him when he sounded like that. Reluctantly, she turned and marched into the living room, her chin held defiantly high despite the flutter in her stomach.
Her father was looking at her, seated in his favorite chair, clad in his typical off-work clothes consisting of loose-fitting slacks, a t-shirt, and an unbuttoned shirt, his deep brown eyes conveying that perfect mixture of calm, disappointment, and concern that he did so well.
She huffed again, crossing her arms as she stood before him with a petulant frown on her face, inadvertently striking a pose that accentuated the curves she'd developed over the last couple of years while trying to hide the nervousness that she always felt under his intense gaze when she knew she'd misbehaved.
He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but his daughter remained quiet, pointedly turning her head to look out the window, the unnecessarily furious movement making her wavy brown ponytail flip round and spill over her shoulder.
"So," he began calmly, "are you going to tell me now, or do I have to wait for the phone call from the principal?"
"Dad --" Rebecca started in that high-pitched exasperated voice she always used when she complained about something, about to launch into a rant about how stupid everyone always was. He cut her off.
"
Another
phone call from the principal," he added, his annoyance making him emphasize the first word of the sentence. "In fact, the third phone call from the principal this week."
"But -- "
"Even though it's only Wednesday."
Rebecca opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it at the last moment.
"On top of the two I got last week," he continued, keeping his voice low with an obvious effort.
"I got d- " Rebecca started angrily, still looking out the window.
"Look at me, young lady," he interrupted sternly.
Swallowing hard, she looked at him, one hand fidgeting momentarily with the hem of her top and her eyes flickering a little before they found his, betraying the anxiousness she was trying to hide. Her jaw worked for a moment.
"I got detention," she spat. "Again," she added after a short pause. "Happy now, dad?" she asked in a much quieter voice, looking down again, her voice testy but carrying a subtle note of regret.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut in a frustrated grimace that brought out the fine lines on his face. As he opened them again to look at her, the subdued anger in them almost made Rebecca take a step backwards. She managed not to, but she could feel her defiance evaporating fast, and she knew that it showed on her face.
"No, Rebecca, I am most certainly not happy," he said, his voice low as he fought to control his anger.
"Three detentions in as many days?" he asked, his usually calm voice rising uncharacteristically as his control slipped, sounding very loud in her ears, making her wince slightly. He shook his head in frustration as he got to his feet.
"This is unacceptable," he said. "You need to stop acting out like this!"
He started pacing, running his hand frustratedly through his hair, the salt-and-pepper on top of his head fading into a distinguished silver at his temples.
"I've tried being supportive," he said, exasperated, gesturing with his left hand, "I've tried grounding you, taking your phone away..." He sighed. "Hell, we've even tried therapy," he said.
Rebecca huffed yet again at the last comment.
"That stuck-up sanctimonious bitch," she mumbled, but shut her mouth at the furious glance her father sent her.
"I..." he started, his voice still raised, but trailed off, taking a deep, deliberate breath as he fought to control himself.
"I've tried everything I can think of," he continued, his displeasure somehow even more evident despite his voice being quiet once more, "but nothing seems to get through to you."
He looked at her again with those intense brown eyes.
"So, tell me," he said, "what am I doing wrong? Tell me. How can I help you get back on the right track? Please, Rebecca... You never used to act like this before. What's happening with you lately?"
The clear note of concerned disappointment in her father's voice got to her more than his anger. She never wanted to make him feel like this, but she was just so damn frustrated all the time, and it was getting worse by the day.
She got a momentary flashback to when she was twelve years old. She'd broken a window while she was home alone, and had tried to blame the neighbor's son, Jack, for the mishap. Her father had seen straight through her lie, of course, and that look of disappointment that she'd seen in his eyes had made her break down in tears almost instantly, sobbing that she was so, so sorry that she'd lied to him. She'd felt so small and vulnerable, standing there in front of her father's muscular frame, looking up at him.
Seeing that disappointed look in his eyes now, she felt the same sting in her heart, although she managed to hold back the tears. But she just didn't know how to tell him the truth this time.
She knew exactly what was wrong, and she really wanted him to understand, but... She sighed. She was feeling pent-up and frustrated because she desperately needed release, but lately, she just couldn't get there, no matter how hard she tried.
She'd never had any problems with that before -- she used to be able to get herself off in minutes using nothing but her fingers and her imagination. But the last couple of months, she'd become more and more reliant on her trusty bullet vibrator to reach her climax, finally being unable to get there at all without its aid.
Even then, it took longer and longer, and the satisfaction she got from it seemed somehow pale and insubstantial, not nearly reaching the peak she was aching for, and fading away like smoke almost immediately after, leaving her jittery instead of relaxed.
And for nearly a week now, even that hadn't worked. The battery in her big-girl toy had died on her before she'd been able to finish, leaving her desperate and squirmy with need as she tried to get some sleep. The lack of release had left her moody and volatile, and she knew it. And she had no idea why this was happening to her.
But how could she tell him?
I'm sorry, daddy, I don't mean to act out, but I'm just so fucking horny all the time because I can't cum for some reason, and my clit is all sore from masturbating desperately with no result...
It sounded absurd even inside her own head.
"I'm sorry, daddy," she mumbled vaguely in lieu of the real explanation, her voice subdued as she looked at her feet, her left hand absentmindedly gripping her right forearm across her belly, feeling just as small as when she'd been twelve, despite being only a little shorter than her father these days.
"Oh, you're sorry now?" he asked, his voice still low, but somehow sounding angrier than she could remember. She could feel his eyes locking onto hers, but she still didn't look up. She just couldn't handle seeing that terrible look of disappointment in his eyes -- she knew she'd let him down, and it made her feel like shit.
"Well, sorry isn't going to cut it anymore, young lady," he said firmly, a strangely determined tone in his voice, one that she'd never heard there before. She bit her lip nervously as he sat down on the edge of his chair.
"Bend over my knee and pull up your skirt, Rebecca," he said, sounding as if he was a bit surprised to hear himself say it.
She finally looked up and blinked, completely wrongfooted, not really understanding what he'd said at first. Her mouth dropped open as it sunk in. Was he... Was he going to spank her? Why did the thought make her tingle?
He was still looking at her.
"Um," she murmured, a blank look on her face. She swallowed again. "Y-yes, daddy," she heard herself say.
