As he fondled her fleshy tits, he murmured to her, “You really are such a good little girl, Heather.” He plucked at her delicate pointy nipples too hard. “You know that baby?”
He had big, brutish hands – he used to be a bouncer at seedy clubs, had bragged the other day about fucking hot young nightclub tail (“Not as young as you though… You’re a real baby,” he’d said with a creepy sort of fire in his eyes. “Daddy’s gorgeous teenage babydoll…”
But his fingers were almost gentle as he lazily touched her sensitive nipples, her fragile throat, her shiny lips that he’d just painted with the last stubborn old drops of cum spat up from his big hairy sagging balls.
Then he resumed squeezing her ample tits, harder, almost cruelly now.
I’m getting wetter, Heather worried. She hoped she didn’t orgasm, since it seemed to communicate that she was fine with with… everything.
But she wasn’t fine with everything… A father shouldn’t do this to his own–
“So glad we reunited,” he murmured, interrupting her foggy, anxious thoughts. He was pinching her nipples, twisting them, pulling on them, making them sting and hurt. His hand slipped down to her soaked, swollen crotch. Briefly he carressed her swollen, slick pussy folds, and it felt so good.
But then he suddenly, viciously slapped her pussy, causing her to holler out in shocked pain.
“Oh shut it,” he snapped irritably.
He was so much more mood-swingy these days, Heather had noticed.
“I didn’t even hit you that hard. Little crybaby.” His voice shifted from mocking to heated. “Daddy’s little crybaby slut…”
Heather *was* on the verge of tears – but it was moreso because she needed to cum so badly. However, when she noticed in the gloomy gray dawnlight that his cock, instead of going fully soft now, instead was almost fully erect. She did begin tearing up at the unwelcome discovery, at the thought of him fucking her exhausted, wrecked body again right now.
“Sorry Babygirl, Daddy took some special medicine that keeps his big daddy dick hard. But,” he continued as he wearily heaved himself up off the sweaty, messy bed, “I *am* a gentleman, and a very caring Dad; so I’ll go fix you one of those green smoothies you like so much.”
He towered over her, an unflattering outline in the lingering shadows of naked, let-himself-go-at-35 middleaged lumpy male, most noteworthy for his overall size (he’d always brought to child Heather’s mind the image and temperament of a grizzly bear) and also for the impressive size (both length and girth) of his dick.
He was gently massaging said dick as he firmly pushed two of his fingers into her mouth.
“That smoothie’ll get some life into you,” he said, and she could just make out in the gray light a rather sleazy little smirk curling his lips. “I want you bouncing on daddy’s dick when I come back up. And these lights – you turned off the lights again, baby, what did we say about that, huh?”
“That Daddy likes to see my sexy naked body all night,” she softly parroted back; but her mind was sharper than it had been maybe all week and she was remembering something about the lights… She’d made an important plan and part of it involved turning off the absurd amount of lights he’d added to the bedroom the other day, to hopefully minimize how much all of his tiny sneaky cameras recorded…
But poor Heather was still in too thick of a mental fog of pent-up arousal and fatigue to stay focused on that important line of thought. Her lovely body almost felt as if she’d been in a car accident; and she was so thirsty and hungry. Daddy didn’t stock any beverage here besides beer and his green smoothie fixings. Tap water’s no good, he’d blithely warned her the day she arrived for her long-delayed visit.
Part of why she had come was to ask for help with her upcoming fall college tuition. Her mom had made a bad financial error, which somehow – Heather understood none of it – had resulted in Heather’s college fund being drained to the penny. The almost immediate next upheaval in Heather’s life had been an eviction from her lifelong family townhome (due to unpaid mortgage payments while her mom served an unnecessarily harsh two-year maximum-sentence in prison).
Finding herself suddenly alone, soon to be homeless, and flat broke, Heather had placed all of her eggs into the basket that was her seven-year-estranged father’s assistance.
Yes, somehow a whopping *seven years* had passed since that horrible night he’d fought one last huge horrible fight with her mom. He had finally, suddenly declared he was leaving and not coming back; then he’d taken off with their only car, screaming obscenities out the passenger window as he disappeared into the night. “Good riddance,” Heather’s mom had murmured.
Since that night, her mom had only ever been admirably tight-lipped about him. One time she had let slip: “He is not a good man. I suspect him to be a very bad man, actually. We’re glad he’s gone.”
Truly, Heather had very little reason to think her long-gone father would help her at all.
However, with her mom suddenly in prison and the dreaded eviction from her childhood home looming closer, Heather had grown desperate and begun attempting to reconnect with dear ol’ Daddy.
He had responded to exactly none of her phonecalls, texts, emails.
Less than a week before her high school graduation and eviction, she had thought up one final Hail Mary to hopefully get through to him, at least enough to earn some response. She put together a beautiful, thoughtful, and hopefully nostalgia-inducing, handwritten letter.
She had enclosed with it two photos:
her sixth grade yearbook picture – she remembered Daddy had liked it quite a lot – and her stunningly pretty senior yearbook picture taken only a few months ago.
Within four days of her placing the last-hope letter in the mailbox, her longlost father had texted her.
*Of course I can help you sweetheart. I’m glad you’re not buying into your Mom’s lies anymore. You see where her way of loving got her? She’s the reason I left, not you honey. Come immediately to this address and we’ll figure everything out together. Your old dad makes good money these days and has plenty to spare for his little girl.*
However, when she arrived at his address (over a thousand miles from her hometown) she saw that Daddy lived in a very old, crumbling, ugly little house. It was dirty and half-empty inside. He confessed humbly that he had been let go from his wonderful years-long position in “business” not an hour after texting her, that he would need time to sort everything out. And the money he’d had in the bank to generously help her?
“Your mother will never own up to it, but I spent just about all my savings to pay her lawyer and court fees. She’ll never admit it though. You know how unfair and downright fucking nuts that woman is.”
Then Daddy had shutdown her anxious questions by briskly ordering her to relax and cheer up. She must be tired from traveling; here, let him blend up this nutritious green smoothie for both of them, to tide them over ’til supper. He’d shooed her away from the kitchen, instructing her to give herself a nice long self-tour of her new home.
Her self-tour was brief and depressing; when she returned to the kitchen, he’d snapped, “Get the fuck out of here, what did I tell you? I’m working on your smoothie as fast as I can,” and had looked surprisingly upset that she wouldn’t give him more space.
He’d smiled though when he handed her a big coffee thermos filled to the brim with thick green liquid. She was very hungry and thirsty. She thanked him when she finished it and he looked delighted with her.
Heather had felt uneasy from his mercurial mood shifts.
That first night, she remembered he had stared and stared at her as he played games on his junky little phone; he was very good at his phone games, she could tell cuz he barely had to look at his screen. He mostly just stared at her while adjusting his phone a bit this way and that, making clicking shutter sounds that he couldn’t figure out how to mute.
Heather hadn’t realized that she’d been gradually slumping over on the tattered, tacky couch. She was almost horizontal; and the way that she slept on her side caused her skimpy red spaghetti-strap top to be pulled indecently low on her chest, almost to the top of her flat belly. Meanwhile her arms had been accidentally squishing her perfect teenage melons together. She also hadn’t realized that her tiny cutoff jean shorts revealed the bottom half of her naked buttcheeks.
The next thing she knew, she was groggily opened her eyes to see her father, her Daddy, shockingly close to her. He was pulling her daisy duke to the side a little, and then snapping so many pics so quickly.
Heather had trouble remembering what had happened next. Really the whole week was shrouded in an eerily dreamlike (or nightmarish?) fog.
The sudden screeching and grinding of Daddy’s old, nasty blender downstairs shocked her back into the present fully. Her eyes snapped open and she slowly, painfully sat up, and then painstakingly stood up. She blinked against the brilliance of the oddly excessive amount of lamps and light fixtures in the bedroom. Her eyes wandered dazedly from mirror to mirror (he had put up several cheap plastic-framed mirrors from Walmart yesterday) and then her gaze drifted from one tiny blinking red light to another.
How many cameras could he have, she wondered idly. I hope they’re not recording right now, since I’m totally naked. Maybe I should cover myself up better?
Moving oddly slowly, she began pulling one of the sweat-stained, musty sex-scented sheets off the bed.
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