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Editor’s note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
This story contains incest between a father and a reluctant daughter. Also, the views in this story don’t necessarily reflect mine. It’s very “me man, you woman.” caveman-like at times. It’s made up. It’s a kink. This is not meant to reflect certain views. You shouldn’t remodel your farmhouse, fuck your daughter, and make her carry your baby.
The farmhouse was cornflower blue. My first clue daddy had been working on the house again was the fresh coats of paint swiped across every surface. The shutters were bright white with new, white curtains to match.
Growing up, he was always too busy to make the changes he always wanted but there would be a week or two where he’d go all out and fix up the house. Usually when one of the few girlfriends he had was showing real promise.
The things daddy always saw as pesky gave the house charm. Creaky wood floors and a shaky banister. The old white paint would peel off during humid summers.
These new windows were too new and shiny to match the wood around them. Ceiling fans made during this century whirled high above century-old oil lamps placed precariously on antique side tables.
The house looked beautiful tonight with warm amber lights casting a glow against the sherbet sky. It was mid Fall and I wish I’d returned home to have a normal supper with daddy but I’d come with bad news.
I’d gotten my grades back from school. Officially, I was on academic probation. A manilla envelope was delivered to my dorm with notes like Mia fails to show up to class. Mia fails to turn in homework. Mia seems distracted.. Distracted? Yeah, well, I was hungover. It’s not like I didn’t know it was possible but I’d refused to log on to see where I was at. Kind of like not checking your bank balance after a weekend out.
Even with summer school, it hadn’t been enough to pass. I lied to daddy telling him I was taking a few classes in the summer to get ahead. In reality, I’d been feverishly making up classes I’d tanked.
Against my better judgment, I left the safety of my car.
The front steps didn’t squeak. They were sturdy underneath my boots, past the rocking chairs with new cushions. Tubs, the fat cat my dad took in from the hardware store’s parking lot, stretched out on the porch swing. Tabby and scruffy, he looked like a werewolf.
A step stool propped open the wooden door. The smell of pot roast, gravy, and mashed potatoes floated out onto the porch. My favorite. Everything smelled delicious. I’d been living on Kind bars and coffee.
Moths huddled around the porchlight daddy had turned on for me. Always afraid I’d trip in the dark. I could fall upstairs. I wasn’t graceful.
It had been me and daddy the whole time I was growing up. Mom left when I was about six months old and though there had been a few girlfriends, none of them stuck.
Warm and cozy, the front room had little touches of upgrades. Good quality leather sofas and chairs crowded the wood floors. A fresh coat of off white paint on the wood paneling. Fat vertical slats of wood saved from a barn to build this house decades and decades ago.
Paperbacks and thick hardbacks lined the four bookshelves, full to bursting. Throw blankets folded and stacked on the edge of the couch for wrapping up in with hot chocolate and a Shirley Jackson novel.
“That you, tater tot, or do I need to get my bat?” called daddy’s low, deep voice.
Clanks came from the kitchen. I followed the light through the archway to the kitchen’s sunshine yellow paint.
“You didn’t change it,” I said, relief flooding my body. When I thought of home, I thought of that bright yellow kitchen. With its “good china” stored away behind glass and it’s open face shelves with old, mismatched plates you could actually use. Tinny signs lined the walls making this place look like some ‘ol 66 roadside diner.
The wide stove had eight burners, five of them in use. Mash potatoes filled a tall pot, covered in chives, cumin, and butter. Green beans and corn had their own little pots. Cast iron held a warm golden piecrust, the deep purple blueberries bubbling in the center.
Daddy stood over his domain, stirring in more salt and peppering this or that. His six-foot frame barely allowing him under the hood of the stove. The plaid shirt stretched across his wide back needed mending. Something had snagged and ripped it toward the bottom. He hummed to himself, I couldn’t name the tune.
Arugula and spinach fresh from the garden filled a wooden bowl on the counter. A giant, square oak table sat in the middle of everything. Marilyn Monroe salt and pepper shakers sat on the table. Her figure warped and bloated into fat goblin thespians.
“Course I didn’t change it. Welcome home, baby.” He wrapped an arm around me and squeezed. “How long do I get to keep you for?”
Daddy smelled like peppermint. The cologne I never knew the name of sat bursa escort bayanlar on the top of his dresser. Deep blue glass and it lasted him five months with tiny little dabs added to his neck. Worn it so long, I’m sure if he skipped a day the scent would stay, sunken deep into his pores.
“Fall break or something? Thought that was Thanksgiving.”
“Pipe burst.” Flat lie. I tried to keep my voice from giving me away. I always spoke too high, too fast, when I lied. He always caught me.
Daddy sat the green beans and mashed potatoes on the table. Guiding them onto worn potholders. Most of which were older than me. “So how’s school?”
When’s the best time to tell your daddy the school he paid a ton of money for wanted to expel you? The same one he didn’t want you to attend in the first place. A place he called “idiots teaching idiots” was fixing to kick you out because you were too preoccupied with liquor and rice crispy treats?
Before or after dessert?
I sat down and studied each bowl like I’d never seen them before to avoid looking up at him. “Oh it’s fine,” I finally answered. “Everything smells good.”
“Might have seared the roast longer,” he grumbled. Daddy could never take a compliment.
He went about gathering food into large bowls. With one jerk of his head, my old reflexes kicked in. White dishes were piled upon each other on the shelves, I took two plates, two saucers, and gathered a set of silverware for both of us. Setting the table with a nervous tremor in my hand.
“Good to have someone to eat with,” his hand ran across my back and he kissed my temple.
We sat to eat, taking up our old chairs.
Daddy sat at the head of the table and took my hand. I dropped my fork, pretending I was still accustomed to praying before food. He blessed our food with a few quick lines about appreciation, hard work, and clean slates. The last one was odd but I was starving so I wasn’t fixing to debate him on his prayers.
Mashed potatoes were the first thing I grabbed while daddy went about picking my meat and cutting it up for me. He always had. Even when I was long old enough to do it for myself.
Daddy was a big man. Tall with broad muscles from a lifetime of hard work on the farm. His arms were still deeply tanned from summer, freckles littered his hands. Salt and pepper hair was kept neat and tidy with a close shave. Always.
“Have you found yourself a boyfriend up at that school?”
This was a sore spot for both of us. Daddy sent me to an all-girls school growing up and had assumed I’d go the same route in college but I didn’t. I screamed and kicked and eventually enrolled without telling him. He only footed the bill after several rounds of heart to hearts and negotiation about boys. There would be none until I graduated. “You know I don’t.”
“Cause that was apart of our agreement. You focus on school, graduate, then boys.”
“I don’t have one.” And I didn’t. Besides Tommy Gerret who had a panic attack in the back of his jeep while he fingered me, I didn’t have any experience with boys. I wasn’t happy about it. “You know I don’t.”
“How would I know anything? You don’t call. Which is why I had someone looking out for you, making sure you were making the right choices.”
I almost choked on a green bean. “What?”
He laid his silverware down harder than he needed to. “You’re failing school.”
“You’re failing school because you’re skipping classes. Drinking on weeknights. Hanging out in the backseats of cars with boys who aren’t fit to wipe the mud off your shoes.” With each sentence, his voice got louder. The vein in his neck was popping out like it always did.
My tongue felt too big for my mouth. Not only did he know how bad I’d disappointed him, he hadn’t even let me tell him. Not even giving me the courtesy to explain myself. He had spied on me. I wiped my mouth and went to scoot my chair back, my heart set on leaving. None of my friends lived around here. Nor, did I have any money for a motel but I’d sleep in my car before I’d stay here.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he snapped, jerking my chair back to the table. Uncomfortably, the edge pressed against my ribs. “You’re failing because you’re running wild up there and I’m not gonna have it.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“Watch it, little girl. I’m still the man who washed your mouth out with soap over that sink right over there.” He pointed to the cast iron sink where a vase of sunflowers sat, my favorite. “And I called and talked to those teachers of yours. I figure I know more than you do since you haven’t been to class since the second week of school. Hell, I thought I’d have to tell you about the probation.”
My face was hot. Equal parts embarrassment and anger. Daddy stared at me, waiting for me to explain myself or apologize. No remorse for having me followed or empathy for my situation bayan sarisin escort bursa at all. I couldn’t stand it.
My fist hit the table before I even realized I had raised it. The solid oak ringing through my bones like a bell. Daddy’s confused face crumpled as he furrowed his brows in anger. Dark green eyes burrowing into me. I was surprised too but trying not to look it. “Don’t talk to my teachers! Don’t have me followed! It’s none of your damn business!”
“Watch your mouth!”
Bam! I learned nothing. My fist felt like a cartoon character’s. Like it might swell up to the size of those inflatable boxing gloves for children. “I’m twenty years old, daddy! I can say whatever the hell I want!”
Righteous indignation swelled up inside of me. Who was he to tell me what I could or couldn’t say? What I could or couldn’t do in college? Everyone was drinking on weeknights, skipping class, and doing morally questionable things in the backseat with boys.
Daddy grabbed my wrist, jerking me up from the table. “If you think you’re too big to be pulled over my knee, you hit that table one more time.” He let go of me and I took two quick steps back to put some space between us. Trying my best to look as mean as he did. And failing. “Go to bed.”
“I’m not sleeping here.” I looked around for my keys.
“Mia, if you ever wanna sit down again that front door stays closed until I give you permission to walk out of it. Got it?”
My eyes stung but I wasn’t fixing to cry in front of him. I headed up the stairs, reaching the top few by the time my teardrops started hitting the floorboards.
It’s easy to forget how dark the country is. I grew up here my whole life but when my eyes flew open around two a.m. it took me a while to adjust. Only the moon peeking through my curtains gave me the least bit of light. Crickets sang outside and frogs croaked, and there was another noise. One I couldn’t place. Creaking.
Crawling out of bed, I walked as easy as I could. Taking the stairs two at a time. I did my best not to bust my ass and wake the whole house. Especially when the only other person in the house was mad at me.
Cowboys stared from the cover of a cheap paperback laid on the couch near a crochet throw. Bookmarked with a thin coaster. Daddy must have found time after his lecture and threats to get in a little light reading.
After talking myself out of yanking the bookmark out of place, I made my way into the kitchen for something to drink.
I reached for a glass when I noticed daddy’s door was open. His room separated from the kitchen by a tiny hallway. The creaking was louder down here.
The moon lit up the thin white curtains above daddy’s bed. A soft glow of white over the deep shadows of heavy, dark wood furniture. Daddy’s thick profile outlined by moonlight, I could see his sheets and blankets bunched around his thighs. A shallow grunt coming from him. Both of his hands were around his middle. One hand tugging. Daddy was playing with himself.
I knew I shouldn’t watch. Shouldn’t want to watch. Or hear. Those soft grunts getting more and more frequent. His hips jerking upward to meet his own fist. He was imagining a girl on top of him or underneath him. Possibly my mother. Instead of running away or doing anything sensible, I started to giggle.
I don’t know why it made me laugh. Lots of things. Daddy fixing up everything in this house but keeping his twenty-year-old bed. The absurdity of him jacking off. Or how my inexperience had me watching every stroke. My hands flew over my mouth and I sank back into the shadows. Settling on the other side of the fridge where I could hear but couldn’t see.
Small curses floated through the air. “Fuck, fuck, yeah, yeah” he huffed. My body started reacting to the noise. It was only natural for my pussy to clench as an urge took over. Goosebumps bloomed up my arms and down my back.
The squeaks of daddy’s bed got louder and the headboard started to thump, thump, thump against the wall. Some long lost relative had made their children on that bed. Mother and daddy had made me on that bed. How many times had it thumped against a wall like that?
I pulled my T-shirt up and let my hand slide underneath my shorts into my panties. It’s natural. I said it over and over again to myself trying to push away the parts I knew were wrong. Listening to daddy grunt and whimper and moan as he took care of himself. My fingers moving in time with him.
The good feeling took over and soon I was swiping three fingers hard back and forth over my clit, eyes shut tight. I hadn’t paid attention to daddy’s final grunts. The sound of blanket and sheet sliding to the side as he shambled out of bed and walked across the wood floors.
But I heard him when he cleared his throat not a foot away from me. Felt the slap as his hand grab my arm, jerking my hand out of my panties and me away from the wall. “What were you doing?” bursa eve gelen eskort
“Getting a drink of water, daddy!” I half lied.
“And we get a drink of water with our hand down our panties?”
My whole face burned. He knew what I was doing. How was I supposed to explain myself? How could I lie to get out of it? My idiot brain yelled the first thing it could think of. “I wasn’t!”
Wonderful. My voice was too whiny, even for me.
I swear there was a flash of a smile before daddy grimaced and pulled me upstairs, gently pushing me back into my room and slamming my door.
No water. No orgasm. No nothing.
I’d rolled around in bed, giving up and grabbing my phone. I had shitty service but it was enough to scroll through Instagram and answer a few DMs. Four a.m. rolled around before I fell asleep. I didn’t roll out of bed until eleven. Daddy was already gone.
Fresh blueberry muffins sat on the table. I picked one apart while eyeing a book I’d slipped off the bookshelf. Out of shame, I avoided the spot I got caught near the fridge.
The front door creaked open and daddy came strolling in, Tubs prancing right behind him. He said nothing to me, strolled over to the cabinet and grabbed a blue and green can. Thumping it down on the counter, he grabbed a can opener and started opening it. “We need to talk about it, baby.” His voice was gentle and calm.
I said nothing. Just watched him open the can of tuna and toss it on the floor for the purring feline at his feet.
He looked up at me. I stared down at my book, reading the same line over and over again. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I looked up at him. “I sent a perfectly respectable lady up there to that school and you damn sure know I didn’t want to. Those places rot minds. With their partying and drinking and carrying on. I wanted you to go to a private school.”
He wanted to talk about school? After last night, expulsion didn’t seem like a big deal to me anymore.
“An all-girls school,” I groaned.
“And? What is it you need from these college boys who drink their weight in liquor and trip on acid and stick their cocks in anything that moves?”
I dropped my eyes to the table and muttered, “I’m not a baby.”
“You damn sure are mine,” he snapped. “If the reason you’re failing school is that you’re up there being a little whore I will take you over my knee like I used to. That is not an idle threat. You understand me?”
My face was burning up. I was a grown woman. I’d be twenty-one in the fall.
“Understand me?” he said again, stepping closer.
I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now one of my field hands, Victor, has a wife who takes care of the big garden out back. Her name is Erin. I want you to help Erin do all the work here while I’m out on the farm, got it?”
“Daddy I’m on vacation.”
He laughed. “No, you were on vacation at school. Now you have the rest of the day to laze around and tomorrow, I want your ass in this chair when that rooster finishes crowing.”
The fat cat kept eating his lunch while daddy pulled leftover rabbit stew from the fridge. I sat there, sulking. Why didn’t he realize I was having such a hard time? I was embarrassed about failing my classes. Embarrassed about being caught in the kitchen. He had more sympathy for an abandoned cat than his own daughter.
Erin was a squat, Mexican woman with long black braids with grey wisps running through them. Her eyes were big and brown. She wore a 4-H t-shirt, knee-length denim shorts, and boots that covered her ankles.
Her laugh was full and genuine. I hated her.
I hated her for that little yellow piece of paper she carried around listing more chores than I’d ever known could belong to one person. Or two people. Since I was now her sidekick.
I knew fresh milk didn’t just appear in my fridge. That the chickens wandering around pecking at bugs and feed didn’t get let out by house elves or fairies. I’d met and befriended lots of women and men who worked around the house. I just never had to do it myself.
Daddy wanted me to focus on my schooling. The kitchen table was always piled with my books and my butt firmly planted in a chair. A tutor often sat there going over lines with me. Now I was facing expulsion and sweating like a pig in the middle of a row of peppers.
“If they’re this beautiful dark green color, go ahead and pick ’em. Now, these yellow ones, they’re alright too, they’ll turn red in the house. Pick ’em! If they’re any lighter, leave ’em.” Erin would bark out orders at me from several rows over when she knew I was slacking.
I filled my basket with peppers while she filled several with tomatoes, okra, onions, and squash. Running circles around me at twice my age.
After milking the cows, picking the vegetables, feeding the animals, and sweeping the first floor of the house. We mopped. Except there was no mop. Erin insisted we get down on our hands and knees and scrub the floors with sponges until they shined.
“This is a beautiful house. These floors need to shine right. I’m so happy your daddy’s feeling up to fixing it all nice again.”
I muttered two words to Erin the whole day and she didn’t mind. She talked enough for the two of us.
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