Sarai

For a while, things had gone back to normal - for a given value of normal.

Because that word didn’t apply to me and my life, I was sure of it.

It hadn’t for a long time, since daddy had left mine and mom’s lives and then even more so, since he had entered them again, turning them upside down once more.

It wasn’t just dad’s stint in jail and how it had affected him. Yes, he had told us what had happened ten years ago and why we could never go back home now. He had since murdered his ex boss for throwing out me and mom, leaving us alone and at the mercy of men without any mercy left in them.

It was that, but also mom’s time as a prostitute and how those men lingered on her skin and in her brain the same way Antonio haunted me, yet multiplied.

I could see why daddy had agreed to help me. It was written in the many bottles of beer my mom still drank, into how she would not let him touch her but would come home with fresh hickeys and money we didn’t actually need, thanks to that fat suitcase daddy got off Antonio.

All our lives had gone up in flames and the last couple of weeks had been a constant process of figuring out what anything even meant anymore.

Whatever this was that was happening between me and daddy was just one more of those things.

I could feel it, still. That first time Antonio had touched me, in that bedroom, when he had undressed me and lowered himself on top of me, asking me if I was a whore, I remembered how I had gone somewhere in my head, retreated into myself, and while I had resurfaced every time Antonio got off me, I sometimes thought that not all of me had.

I felt like I had left something behind and I was stuck trying to fill the hole. A part of me that was both a little bit embarrassed and a little bit wicked laughed at that idea, the unintended turn of phrase: fill a hole. Because, well, it was a little ironic, considering everything that had since happened to me. Like how that first sunrise at the motel had found me caked in daddy’s cum. And how I then rush to wash him off me while mom knocked on the door, wondering what the hell we had been doing in the bathroom for so long. My blindness to the rescue, daddy had told her I couldn’t do much unassisted and she had felt so ashamed for having forgotten my disability, she had stopped questioning anything altogether.

But I didn’t need to see to tell how fucked up all this was. How we used every opportunity to fuck behind her back, all in the name of healing.

I wasn’t ever sure that was what we were doing anymore. Yes, I had grown uncomfortably comfortable with sex now, with all its kinks and fetishes and dad’s unique needs, some of them birthed by my own wants.

He had grown fond of me kissing his cock, for instance. Yes, he liked it when I sucked him off, but more often than not, he just wanted me to fondle it and adore it and treat it like a beloved beast. As it was, I was kissing his cock more than I was kissing his cheeks or lips combined.

Maybe he liked being worshiped like that.

Maybe he liked to see me down there, at his feet, submissive and loving.

Or maybe it was because it had become my own messed up version of a pacifier. Every time I almost lapsed into a bad memory during our play time, daddy made me take him into my mouth. My cries were instantly silenced once I was given his cock to lick, or his cum to swallow.

After that, his second favorite activity had been to wake me with a quickie. When mom wasn’t at home during early mornings, he’d climb into bed with me and fuck me to satisfy his urges, daring me to wake up saying I didn’t like it.

But I did.

I liked it all.

Once he got me past my triggers and I no longer shook beneath his weight, crying while he fucked me through my panic attacks, having him inside me had been the best times of my life. Even if he was straight up using me at times, getting off without giving me an orgasm, I wanted him to keep fucking me.

Because I liked him, above everything.

While I had managed to keep the first half of my promise, keeping all this from mom, I had broken the latter.

I had fallen in love with my daddy.

How could I not? We weren’t just fucking, at least not as far as I was concerned. I had bared my body and soul to him and he hadn’t once judged me. He just gave me what I needed, time and time again, and only sometimes selfishly taking more than what I had to give.

And now, it was like I had grown addicted to him. Every time I passed him, it was like the air was dry enough to turn everything to static lightning. I touched him in all kinds of little ways that might have been accidental - brush of fingers, his shoulder, his back, the nape of his neck, his hip, anywhere I could that was inconspicuous.

And I would feel almost like I was bothering him - apparently I was still capable of feeling like that about daddy every now and then - if it weren’t for the fact that I was positive he was doing the same with me.

It was like a prick in my skin, no, a hundred of them, rolling their bright little sparks all the way down to my pussy. Tiny little needles of how much I fucking wanted him inside me.

None of this was what society expected of a father and his daughter.

Maybe normal was an incredibly outdated idea.

“Come here, lil’ cunt,” daddy groaned, playfully, and began to hike my dress up my hips. “I need to be inside you.”

I raked my hands into his hair and rolled my entire body up against daddy’s solid frame.

“Ready to get fucked again?”

I smiled.

I shouldn’t be having trouble with this, I thought, considering all that he had done to me, but I didn’t know how to tell daddy that I needed him to be harder, that I needed him to make me feel his body and his will.

Like that first time, when he pinned me and used me. Like that, but different.

I didn’t know how to tell him that I wanted what he had created in me before, something that felt like I was treading an edge, a sharp one.

Something a little dangerous and risky.

Taboo.

The world was so dangerous now, with us on the run from Antonio, never staying more than a few days in a place, heading straight for the Canadian border and away from his areas of influence.

I shouldn’t be wanting more danger.

But maybe be that was exactly why I did crave it, why I did not mind often being almost caught by mom or having to lie about some bruise or another. Blind girls always bumped into something, anyway, no? Furniture, their dad’s cock, same difference.

And maybe what happened in that villa had spooked daddy. Maybe when he saw the aftermath of our fucking, saw how hard he had bit me, how badly he had bruised me, he had promised himself to never again let go so completely. After all, I could feel a slight hesitance in him every time he had fucked me since then.

Just like I could feel it now too.

His cock was nudging the inside of my thigh and when I ran my hands over his arms, I could feel the little tremble that had worked its way into his muscles, that I could only feel when he was with me like this and he wasn’t letting go completely.

There was something under his skin trying to fight its way out, like his body was struggling to contain it, as if his lust, once unleashed, could never be hidden again.

Daddy was struggling too much right now.

I knew why.

He was still at war with his need for me and having to lie to mom about it. It was a different kind of shame that daddy was feeling. He thought he was being bad for fucking me. He thought he should have better control over himself.

Silly daddy.

He had yet to figure out that just like we could not control our hunger or thirst for long, we, humans, needed to satisfy our needs. And just like tree bark wasn’t the same as a meat pie, whatever mom was giving him, because she was, I could her her trying to satisfy him at night, it was still tree bark.

Daddy hungered for me and would not feel sated until he had me.

Again.

And again.

I was his oxygen, now. And he was mine.

I touched his cheek, running my fingers down to his mouth and then to his jaw. He was hot and it was not just the ambient temperature. I liked how he was burning over me. For an instant, I imagined his blood thundering through his veins, simultaneously running from and chasing his roaring heart. The same blood that kept me alive, was in his veins too. We were a family, shared a DNA. It made sense for me to be his.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, and his hold on me tightened. “It’s alright. Promise, daddy. It’s alright.”

I could tell he was about to ask what exactly was alright, but I didn’t want to give him the chance.

I didn’t want to have to answer the question and, anyway, he knew. He had been carrying it around just like I had been, the weight and truth of what we were going to become if we didn’t stop.

But we couldn’t stop.

We were too weak against our desires and needs.

I reached between us, curling my hand around the base of his cock and guided daddy into me. And that had been careful, gentle, yes, and I took a second to relish his soft gasp, but as soon as he started to roll his hips, pushing deeper, I bared my teeth and dug my nails into his upper arm.

I felt him jump.

I could tell that he was staring, his mouth probably slightly open by the way he was breathing, but he hadn’t pulled out of me or away from the bed, so under the shock there had to be some sort of recognition.

I tensed the hooks I had made of my fingers and dragged them down in a slow, deep scratch. I wanted no room for misinterpretation.

“Daddy, fucking fuck me, come on,” I whispered, almost groaning in frustration.

He was in me and he had been thrusting away into my pussy, but it was hardly enough and I rolled my hips against him again, trying to do what, for the moment, at least, he wasn’t.

“Come on,” I cried again, pitching it into an impatient little whine.

I clawed at him some more and the last constructed restraints had to crumble and fall now. They were and perhaps had always been unnecessary between us, after all.

In a voice I barely recognized as my own, I hissed. “Are you going to fuck me, daddy, or do I have to go out there and find myself a hard cock, like mom does?”

I knew that had been a low blow. I didn’t care. Things had been beyond broken between my parents even without me saying this now.

The sound of a couple arguing outside, culminating with the man slapping his woman, seemed to have acted as a trigger, cause daddy began to move.

It was fast, so fast, it ripped the breath out of me.

It was always like this with us, I thought. I pushed and pushed and when daddy snapped, it was startling how quickly he flung everything back at me.

He was like a spring releasing, like an explosion of kinetic energy.

He wasn’t fucking me, though, still. He had instead pulled back from me, and I was just opening my mouth to issue a complaint, when he gripped me by my hips and flipped me over like I was made of twigs. And then he shoved me face-first into the mattress and hauled my ass up into the air, driving his cock so deep in my pussy, it fucking hurt.

But he did it like that because he knew I had become stronger and that I could handle this, that I needed it this rough.

“Daddy,” I let out a delighted exhale, almost a squeak.

“Shut the fuck up,” he barked and then he began to fuck me in earnest, no pause, no slow buildup in his rhythm, hard and fast enough to make the bed frame rattle.

“Oh, God- daddy, Jesus, argh, yes! Dominic, fuck me like that!”

Just for a moment, I had found myself groping for words and all I could utter had been his name.

“Say it again,” he bit. “Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, daddy. Mmm, Dominic,” I moaned. “Fuck me hard, break my pussy.”

He was still just holding my hips but it felt like his hands were everywhere at once, rough enough to bruise.

He had bruised me that day and every time I remembered it, I was instantly overcome with mad lust. I needed him to start pulling at me, twisting, squeezing. I wanted that, exactly as violent and crazed as it was echoing in my brain.

Every thrust was sending waves of a strange, dense pleasure crashing through me.

I wanted him to do that to me, to find ways to hurt me that didn’t hurt, find ways to finally give me whatever it was that I had been needing for so long.

He fucked me into the bed and at first, I muffled my groans in the pillows, but then again, it was just the two of us here, so the hell with it. I lifted my head, letting the words come the way I did before, gasping in time with the thudding of my heart and the thrusting of daddy’s cock into my pussy.

“Daddy, yes, fuck me fuck me fuck me!”

Daddy wasn’t saying anything. He was just this massive, silent force behind me and inside me, and there was something about that I adored.

He suddenly seized my shoulder and dragged me up, rocking back on his knees so I was almost resting in his lap, half straddling him. He was handling me like a doll, one hand finding my breast and clamping down on me so sharply that pain flashed bright and hot through my body. I cried out in pleasure, but he was quick to choke it into silence, his other hand closing over my throat and squeezing.

For the smallest fraction of a second I was terrified.

I had only ever allowed myself to think this in the vaguest of ways, only in little flashes, because it was too horrible to contemplate directly, and it was horrible in no small part because of how profoundly I knew it would horrify daddy himself.

But he could hurt me.

He could really hurt me, if he wanted to.

But he didn’t, not like that.

Still, I was frozen.

Same as daddy.

Outside, the couple was still arguing, the man throwing all manner of insults at the sobbing woman, but inside this motel room, everything was silent and hot.

Daddy turned his head, then. His lips brushed the outer edge of my ear, his breath warm against my neck.

“I fucking need you so much, my cock aches when its not buried inside you. I want to destroy your little cunt.”

I reached up to my throat, covering his hand with mine, a silent sign that I was okay with all this.

I wondered what it was about the line between pleasure and pain that it could dissolve so easily.

It was a bit awkward, a little clumsy like this, but we found a way to make it work and I began to rise and fall with him, one arm hooked back over his neck, holding on for dear life. Life, which he was fucking into me, pushing it out of me in things that would be almost screams if he wasn’t cutting them off with his hand over my mouth, fingers slipping past my lips and heavy on my tongue as I sucked at them.

He flexed the palm circling my throat and at one point I did struggle to breathe, almost passing out, but I also almost came right then, too.

I had no idea how long this had been going on for. Maybe a dozen minutes. Maybe a few hours. Well, it couldn’t have been a few hours, there was no way either of us could have managed that, but it definitely felt like a small eternity.

We reached for my pussy together, fingers colliding over my clit, and I arched back against him, unsure of which one of us made me come in the end. All I knew was that I did cum and it was like falling apart in his arms.

“Dominic, you bastard! She’s your own daughter!”