"I don't have to do what you tell me, Frank!" Sally got up from the couch where her lithe form had been sprawled in front of VH1. She gave Frank the finger and pounded up the stairs. The curtains blew and the house shook when her bedroom door slammed.
Frank turned to the stack of dishes and swore. She was right, though. Sally's mother pretty much vetoed any attempt Frank made to enforce a reasonable discipline on his step-daughter, and over twelve years the sweet little girl had become an eighteen year old monster viewing any effort to make her pull her own weight around the house as a deadly insult. Reason had failed and force was out of the question.
Frank ripped the dishwasher open, his frustration rushing out like a broken verbal sewer main. "The little fucking bitch gets her own way all the time. No one fuckin' listens to me. The little cunt's going to get in trouble, she is. Does her mother listen to me when I pointed to the bitch's computer IM recordings, where she was crying that she needed more practice giving blowobs? Oh, no, not much she doesn't. Does the girl take warning from us about that geek that was hanging around her? No. He pops her cherry and takes off, just like I warned her. That was three years ago. Damn lucky the bitch didn't get pregnant. Damn! I wouldn't mind a piece of that, Sally is one fine little cunt. That was my cherry, the bastard! No. No. Never mind that. She's got to learn to pick up after herself. I'm damned sick of playing housemaid in my time off. What do I get out of it? Heartburn and insults. Twelve years of this, and the little bitch still hates me. I bet she's tasty, too. Dammit, stop that."
Frank slammed the dishwasher closed, and savagely ripped the knob to the start position. "Fuck that. That little stuck up bitch owes me. She ain't my kid. I'm gonna fuck her. She's old enough." Frank was alone in the house, except for Sally, and he knew she couldn't hear him over the music coming down through the ceiling from her room. Thumps on the floor indicated Sally was practicing her dance moves.
Frank began pacing on the floor below his dancing step-daughter. He briefly wished for a glass ceiling. He muttered to himself, "Okay. Let's admit it. You have the hots for that bitchy cunt. You always have. She's eighteen now, but you can't just knock on her door and rape her. Hmmm..can I? No, no, too risky, it's not worth it. What can I do?...can't date her and make moves on her, she'd laugh hysterically. Nancy would kill me, too."
Nancy was his wife, Sally's mother. She was an Emergency Medical Technician, and her shift wasn't over until midnight that night. Nancy had bulked up over the years, and the physical relationship between husband and wife had died early. He'd be damned if he'd beg his woman for sex.
Frank had't been laid in nearly a year, and that was an unsatisfying experience with a married woman terrified of getting caught. It's hard to enjoy your spurting orgasm when the woman you're fucking is suddenly yelling "No! No! Don't come in me! I can't get pregnant, my husband had a vasectomy." Stupid bitch couldn't have brought that up a little sooner, right? He'd wiped his dick in her hair and walked out in disgust.
The memories of the that frantic time faded. Frank, finally relaxed from his pacing, banged on the ceiling with a broom handle to get Sally to turn the music down. He pulled a Foster's from the fridge and sat down in front of the TV. Surfing idly, he stopped at an old Columbo episode. The killer had used subliminal messages in film to motivate his victim. "That's it!" Frank cried. He flicked the TV off and thought quietly. What if he used subliminal messages to get Sally to focus on him as her primary sexual attractor? He jumped on the computer and searched the Internet. His plans were ready in a few hours. He didn't wake up when his wife climbed into bed.
The next day was a Saturday. Nancy had to go in at noon for training, and Sally had dance practice the whole afternoon. Frank headed for the Home Depot and Radio Shack in the morning, and dropped Sally off at her school with a smile and pleasant words. Frank would never be unpleasant with Sally again, oh no.
Dumping his packages on the table, Frank opened Sally's bedroom door with a spare key. She didn't know about that key, he was sure. He went over to her computer and examined the speakers that were over her headboard. Nah, better hide the new speakers he'd bought, it was simpler, easier, and less likely to get screwed up. He mounted the new ones under the headboard, relieved to find gigantic dust bunnies. She'll never look down here.
Finding an obscure spot, he drilled a hole and ran the wire for the speakers down into the room below. He connected them to his computer, installing the sound card he'd never had a use for before. Going back upstairs, he mounted the motion detector on her bedframe. This would to disconnect the speakers if motion in the bed was detected. Can't have Sally hearing his loving messages, not when she was awake.
Frank recorded a sample file, "Jack and Jill went up the hill, to fuck and to frolic. Jack came in her, and left for more, while Jill screamed mother fucker". He had the computer play it on a loop into the speakers upstairs. He carefully adjusted the volume to it's barest audibility.
He was done here, and with a minimum of disturbance, too. What the fuck, he thought, let's look around. Sally keeps a journal, how about that? He sat down and began to read. His eyes opened wider. This might be easier than it seemed. Sally hated her mother, and viewed her as the obstacle in the house. She actually liked Frank, and felt sorry sometimes for the way she behaved. "Damn cunt couldn't just say so to me?" Frank muttered. "No, of course she wouldn't. What am I saying? I'm her step-father."
Wow, he thought, this journal was interesting. She'd had a couple of bad experiences with boys who barely knew how to hold it, let alone where to put it, and she'd become reluctant to experiment with them. But then again, half her "dance practices" were excuses to hang out with her girlfriends. Turns out Martha and Kelly weren't even in dance class. Sally had been experimenting with lesbian affairs with her two friends. She liked kissing girls, she admitted. She liked their softness and their pleasant smells. "Can't argue with that," Frank said aloud.
