Debra checked in on her father every evening after work. Though he was well-off enough to twenty-four hour care, she liked to see for herself how he was doing. It hadn't been long since his Alzheimer's had gotten bad enough to require constant care. Not that he required it now. He had good periods and bad periods, and these were unpredictably. You couldn't hire someone to watch him only when things got bad. So Debra came by every evening and had supper with her "papa", which gave the caretaker a couple of hours off. Debra knew how difficult it was taking care of her dad full-time; she'd tried doing it herself before realizing she couldn't do it by herself. Her mother had died some years earlier, leaving the two of them alone.
At eighty, Debra's father was still a relatively handsome man, and when she looked at him, she saw him as she remembered him, when growing up.
Debra had been born late; she was forty now. A secretary at a law firm, she was dressed in a business suit that did little to hide her full figure. She was a pleasant-looking brunette who was a little plump, as many women her age were. That came from sitting at a desk eight hours a day; asses have a tendency to spread out a bit. She strongly resembled her mother when Debra was born.
As the front door closed behind the caregiver, Debra turned to her father, who was sitting in his big easy chair, and asked, "Do you want to take a nap before dinner?"
Without speaking, the old man got up from the old chair and shuffled toward the stairs. Taking her father's arm, she led him up the steps. "I can do it," he grumbled, unhooking his arm from her slim one.
Suddenly, Debra felt a swat on her ass. "What?"
"Get up those stairs, you little minx," growled her Papa.
Red suffused Debra's cheeks as she realized her father thought she was her mother!
Debra knew better than to get angry with him. He couldn't help it. "I'm Debra, Papa," she said patiently.
Her father merely grunted in response, and the two continued to his bedroom. Once there, Papa pulled Debra to him and started kissing her. She panicked, slapping him once. "Don't!"
The old man smiled wickedly and said, "You want to play rough, eh?" Debra's father pushed her back onto the bed, and, before she could move, flung himself atop her. Squirming under him, she was pinned by the weight of his body. She felt his erection press against her flat stomach. The feeling made her skin crawl.
"Don't, Papa," she cried out, "it's me, Debra. I'm not mama."
Her plea fell on deaf ears. Her father's hands pawed her breasts as he forced his body between her legs. Pushing with her hips, Debra tried to dislodge her father, but could not. Her skirt rode up her thighs, until the fabric of her father's trousers was pressed against her panties.
