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Sarah woke late, really late. She was sure she had set her alarm clock the night before but there she was at 10:47 am, nearly three hours late for work. She felt sore and stiff and figured too long asleep had left her body uncomfortable. Groggily, she climbed out of bed and stumbled her way, naked, to the adjoining bathroom. She stared dead eyed in to the mirror, shadows and bags, a grimace, lines in her forehead she was sure weren't there last year.

"I'm only twenty seven, I shouldn't have wrinkles," She muttered, then dashed away her visage to hunt through the medicine cabinet for pain killers; she had one hell of a headache.

Teeth brushed, hair combed and a quick scrub down; no time for a shower. She sat on the toilet and reached down to spread her folds, then frowned. Something dry and flaky came away against her fingertips. She shrugged and released her bladder, blotted herself dry and scrubbed away whatever the mess was then went to dress.

Her phone blinked at her as she grabbed it and saw seven voice messages and at least a dozen texts--all from her boss, "Fuck." The latest one was only moments before she woke up, likely what had roused her and it threatened to fire her if she didn't 'get her ass to work this minute.' So she dialed back, her stomach clenched with dread, "Hey, Becky? Yeah... Yeah its Sarah. I don't know, I went to bed at the normal time last night, but I just woke up. Yeah, I'll be in, in five minutes."

After the line went dead she stared at her phone, relaxing, "Well, I'm not fired..." She muttered to the air, then shook herself, trying to sweep away the mental cobwebs.

**

It was late when Sarah returned home, nearly midnight; Becky had demanded she make up the time. With a low exhausted sigh she fell in to the corner of the couch and tried to relax. Waiting tables wasn't the worst job imaginable, but her feet told a rather sad tale as she wrenched her heels off. They weren't the five inch heals she had worn as a teen that loved to pinch her toes, but after thirteen hours it felt like it.

Footsteps off to the side made her lift her head, "Hey dad... How was your day?" She asked of her father, Roy.

He fell in next to her on the couch and gave her one of his winning smiles, "Oh just dandy, Greg decided to block the drive way this morning with his trailer. Looks like he was half drunk when he parked the damn truck. Then sally backed a forklift through a row of packing crates just as I was getting in." His hand fell on her shoulder and gave her a firm squeeze, almost massaging. His touch was so warm, he always had warm hands--even when it was twenty below out.

She reached up and laid hers upon his and smiled at him, "Sounds rough, hope there wasn't a lot of damage, don't think Sally can afford much in lost wages." She didn't bother telling him about her day, he always seemed to know just by looking at her.

"I made you some tea, but its probably cold by now; want me to heat it up for you?" He asked.

He always made her tea before bed, it was always there on her bedside or waiting for her when she got home. She didn't have the heart to tell him she wasn't thirsty, so she just nodded and gave him a warm smile, "Sure dad." It would be chamomile with a touch of honey. He got up and she followed suit a moment later, grabbed her shoes, then made her way to her bedroom.

When she got out of the shower she found the mug sitting there, steaming on her night stand. She felt no desire to drink at this hour but she didn't want to upset her father. Quietly she took the mug in to the bathroom and poured it down the sink. 'He will never know,' she thought.

For a while she sat up, reading facebook on her phone. She double checked her alarm clock, it was still set from this morning and at testing, the alarm did still work. Eventually however the toll the day had taken upon her, left her snoring.

She didn't hear her father enter, nor feel his kiss upon her brow. Neither did she feel it as he removed her blankets to expose her naked body. She was also oblivious as he pulled her thighs open and as his lips kissed her most intimate of places. However, deep in dreams that were both erotic and exciting; her body did react.

Sarah felt it then however as suddenly her unused sex stretched around her father's girth. She felt it as he sank to the hilt inside of her, bottoming out painfully. She felt in and struggled suddenly, coming awake in confusion and fear, "wha?" She cried and flailed out only to find strong warm hands encircling her wrists. Some one was atop of her, raping her as she slept. His hands held her wrists to the bed, his hips slammed against hers, his penis bruised her insides harshly.

She screamed for help, desperately in the darkness. Both wrists came together and a single strong hand held them as the other reached to her face and smothered her mouth. She still tried to cry out, calling for her daddy, calling for the neighbor. Then he told her, "Shut up." as her jerked himself harshly in to her once again. The voice was breathless but she knew it, knew it oh so well.

"Daddy?" She cried out in horror and disgust, in to his palm. Tears stung her eyes, she felt suddenly ill. Rape was one thing, bad enough, but this was her father--the father she loved so dearly, who treated her with such kindness after their mother died.

"You didn't drink your tea, bitch, you were supposed to drink it," He accused of her, but never once stopped what he was doing. She could hear the panting in his voice, the pleasure he stole from her body.

A sob bubbled up her throat and tears rained down her temples on to the pillow below. Betrayal, that was all she knew and felt, she trusted him, she loved him. Desperately she tried to wake up, hoping it was just a nightmare, a horrible twisted nightmare that besmirched her kind father's name. Cold hard reality continued on as she felt him quickening within her. His release came with sharp ragged gasps, then sudden liquid heat inside of her. She felt stained, tainted with evil now.

He wasn't yet done with her though. Slowly he came down from his release, slowly he relaxed atop of her. She wrenched a hand free and clawed at him, thrusting towards his face. Before she even reached it she felt his muffling hand lift, then strike her. It was a painful strike, heavy and brutal. Blood stained her tongue from a split lip and she recoiled, bringing that hand to cover her face. His blow came down again, this time blackening her eye, then another across her cheek. Once more her wrists were held firm, her battered face turned away, though no longer crying out.

"My little bitch..." He whispered in her ear as his lips touched her cheek. He grunted then, softly, and she felt another rush of warmth from his slowly softening cock. Her sex filled quickly, then overflowed. The stench of it reached her nose, her father's piss befouling her womb. She cried quietly, numbly in humiliation and disgust. She wanted to ask him, what he would do now but she didn't want to know the answer.

He pulled out, drawing back his hips, and she felt his pissing cock spring free, raining his filth over her stomach and breasts. She cried harder and curled inward, laying in the soggy, reeking bed under her father. She said nothing to him, she did nothing but cry. When he released her at last, she didn't run, didn't fight, just laid there sobbing to herself.

"Be a good girl and stay there." He told her, and surprisingly, she obeyed. She was terrified to her core, afraid he would kill her, afraid he would hurt her again. He was not the man she knew, not the man she loved... he could do anything. So terrified, she didn't move an inch and even tried to suppress her sobbing and shaking, afraid even that might anger him. She didn't notice when he left the room, nor when he came back. Only when he turned the bedside light on did she look up. In one hand was a mug, in the other a pill, "Swallow it, bitch. You weren't supposed to wake up, you should have slept through it." He seemed genuinely concerned, but in his hand were pills she recognized.

"Momma's sleeping pills..." They were prescription only, very powerful. It must have been those he had drugged her with, "What... what are you going to do to me?"

He shook his head and pushed the pill toward her, "Never you mind, its out of your hands. Now be a good little girl for daddy."

He was going to kill her. She stared up at him with a sudden inner stillness. In his hand was her death, she would lie down, fall asleep and never wake up again. She would never feel anything, never know anything ever again. It seemed like the best option at the moment... there was no light anymore, no joy. Her father had been her one shining beacon in a world of suffering and darkness and now... and now he would end her.

Timidly her hand reached up and took the pill from him. Her fingers shook but she gripped it tightly and brought it to her lips. She said nothing as it touched her tongue, bitter and medicinal. Her stomach knotted and she felt suddenly nauseous, but she held her gorge down and reached for the mug. Cold tea splashed across her tongue and washed the pill to the back of her throat. She couldn't swallow, wouldn't swallow. For a single moment she was afraid, more afraid than anything in her life. Then she obeyed with closing eyes, she surrendered to oblivion and swallowed.

"Good. Now put your clothes on." He told her firmly, "Before the drug takes effect."

In a quiet daze she did. It would be a few minutes, she knew, but some how she had expected to just be gone the second she swallowed. Clothes from the night before, still scattered about her bedroom were collected then pulled on. Her father watched with lust filled eyes as his semen and urine ran down her thigh. She felt the shame of it but just pulled her underwear up, trapping the filthy mess in her crotch. She moved woodenly, like a marionette on strings under his control.

"Alright, now out to the car." He told her, then added, "Leave your phone."

With a grimace she pulled the phone from her pocket and laid it on the table, then stared at him a moment with cold, accusing eyes. She wanted to yell at him, scream at him, kill him; anything to make him hurt. In that moment as she put her phone down, with its internal GPS, she knew for sure he intended nothing good, "So I just walk to my own funeral?" She asked quietly.

He shook his head, a passing moment of sadness behind those eyes, eyes she now hated, eyes she had once looked in to with trust and adoration. He then told her sadly, "It should have been some other way, you should have never woken up. You should have drank your tea." She spat at him then turned away, marching towards the front of the house. She thought of making a run for it, but even as the idea bubbled up she felt herself growing sluggish and fuzzy minded.

Tears of anger and frustration rained down her cheeks as she stomped outside. She made it to the car door and stood there, wondering if there was nothing she could do. She shouldn't have swallowed the pill, she shouldn't have just sat there. If she had run out of the house and banged on a neighbor's door, she would have been fine. She glanced up, looking to see how far it was and her head felt dizzy. She took a step and nearly faceplanted on the sidewalk, only catching herself on the car. Then there was her dad, coming out of the house toward her. She could see his pistol belted about his waist; she couldn't run now without being shot at.

Without word he opened the door and lifted her in to the seat, then shut it behind her. Then he came around to the other side and got in. He said nothing as he started the car, but Sarah was already beyond coherent. She could barely keep her eyes open and her vision repeatedly faded in and out. She tried, desperately to cling to consciousness, so terrified of never opening her eyes again. At last however, her head fell back and those eyes closed for good.

**

Sarah's final thoughts had been of wanting to see the sunlight again mixed with the realization that it was all over. However, to her groggy surprise, sunlight was exactly what her eyes opened to. For a moment she wondered if she had gone to heaven, if her preacher had been right and not just a blowhard. But then she heard heavy footsteps on floorboards and a clanking of metal. She lifted her head a little and tried to shake the blurriness out of her vision.

There was something very heavy about her neck and from it dangled a heavy metal chain. The room she was in was familiar from her childhood; the cabin up on the lake. A single room log cabin in the middle of nowhere. She wasn't dead, but maybe, maybe this was worse.

"Good, you're awake." Rob said and waited for her to acknowledge him. She eventually brought her fuzzy gaze to him, still laying on her side on the floor. Her wrists were bound harshly behind her back and her ankles were well bound. She tried to say something, but all that came out was a quiet hiss of breath along with a sudden horrible ache in her throat. "Oh, don't try to speak, I severed your vocal cords, probably hurts quite a bit. And I'm sorry, I nicked your throat a few times on the way down but I'm sure you will heal."

She stared up at her father with wide terrified eyes, feeling questions burn in her mind that demanded answers but now she couldn't even voice them. Carefully she curled up and brought herself upright as best she could against the logs behind her. The chain was no more than four feet long and was bolted rather securely to the wall. The collar around her neck was heavy steel as well, crudely fashioned but her father was no slouch when it came to metal work, it would hold. Between her legs she felt dried semen flake away from her naked sex; he had used her more than once while she was asleep.

"Are you thirsty?" He asked with a smile that reminded her of better times. Hesitantly she nodded, she was very thirsty and the pain in her throat only made that worse. Her mouth was dry and her lips chapped as well. She likely had been asleep for a very long time.

He reached in to a cupboard and brought out a metal dog bowl, an old one that had probably fed her puppy as a kid. A few patches of rust on the underside but the inside was still chromed and shiny. She expected him to fill it from the pump outside or from a bottle of water he had stowed away, but instead he set it on the table, undid his fly, and brought out his cock. She stared at it, for a moment confused then suddenly filled with rage at the hated thing. A moment later she watched as her father pissed in to the bowl, his eyes upon her the whole time.

He finished, wiping the tip of his cock on the side, then set it down on the floor in front of her, "Drink up." He told her with that same, kindly smile and a depraved cruelty behind it. She shook her head in disgust, backing away from it against the wall. He responded with that same smile, "This is all you are going to drink today, so drink up. If you don't, I will have to punish you." And the way he said it, punish, made her skin crawl as she realized how much he relished the idea.

Torn, disgusted, and humiliated; Sarah lowered herself to the floor. Tears threatened to free themselves as she inched herself on her naked chest across the old worn floor toward the waiting bowl. She could smell it before she got close and wanted to turn away, but she feared what he might do. So obediently she brought her head to the disgusting dish, lowered her face, and began to lap at it. It tasted worse than it smelled. Her throat gagged and she felt nausea rising in her gut, but she drank as her rapist watched.

When she was done he pulled it away and placed it on the counter, "Good girl, maybe some day I'll let you drink it from me directly, but not until you are broken; cant have you doing any harm, now can we?" His voice was so sweet and kind, but the words were poison in her ears, "Now let me see your ass, sweetheart, present yourself to me like a good bitch."

She hesitated, still laying where she had moved to drink. The taste of his filth stained her tongue and filled her nose, making her rage boil all that much more. She didn't move, no longer caring what punishment he might have in store for her. She would no longer play his sick game, there was little else he could do to her now that he hadn't already done; she was sure.

After a while of waiting he sighed and frowned, then in that same kindly voice of his, "Now thats no way to act. When I give you an order, you will obey it, immediately. Is that understood?" At her stillness he told her, "Fine then, if that is how you wish to play." Then he turned away, left her alone in the cabin, and for a moment she thought maybe he would abandon her to die of starvation. No, of course it wasn't that simple. He returned with work gloves on, and in one of those gloved hands was a switch of green.

His free hand, rough in the heavy leather gloves grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her up. He pulled her backside over a chair, exposing her rear and cunt while her face and chest dragged on the floor, hands unable to protect them. She sobbed silently in pain as she was bodily tossed about and bruised in so many places. That hand then laid over her knees, pinning her to the chair as the other came down slowly, "You remember the sting of nettles, sweetie? You hated them when we used to come up here, I remember how much you cried after you fell in to a patch. Lets see if you still feel the same way."

The greenery came down in a slow tickling brush across her naked cunt. The itching was almost immediate in her most intimate of places. Then up, over her ass, leaving the hypodermic hairs embedded in her flesh, everywhere. She began to squirm and pant as the itching became a fierce burn. He even shoved a stem inside of her poor vagina then another was wedged between her cheeks and pushed in to her anus. She wanted to scream as her ass squirmed about, but he held her firm and continued to spread the nettle fire across her backside and in to her most sensitive areas. He even used a gloved finger to roll back her hood and spread her labia just to apply a leaf to her clit.

Once he was done he dropped her bodily to the floor and let her writhe on the ground before him, in silent agony, "Next time perhaps you will remember to obey. Hmm? Nod at me if you understand, bitch."

She nodded, over and over and over again, her head bumping the floor each time as tears rained down her face and she squirmed. Thighs rubbed together, her ass clenched, her cunt clenched, but nothing soothed the itching burn he had inflicted upon her. She didn't even notice as he left, too focused on her own suffering; still nodding to an empty room.

**

"Ohh very good girl." He praised her as she obediently raised her rear to him. It was red and angry still, the nettles having left her irritated, but she didn't want to suffer that again any time soon, "Now part your knees sweetheart and let me see your flower." She did, shame burning in her belly, but she did. Her sex fully exposed to him, labia gaping open just a little to show off her pert pink interior. She had been with only two men, including her father and she had never before been 'inspected' or even stared at. She wasn't ugly, but she didn't consider herself particularly beautiful either.

Cold metal pressed against her thighs and at his command she began to piss. Shame burned brighter as she released in to the bowl, hearing her own urine splash against the steel. When she was done, she heard him too piss in to the bowl and knew, she was going to drink it. She didn't want to, but she knew to her core, she would obey him out of fear. When it was set down before her she just leaned in and began to lap at it, horrified at her own actions. She didn't resist, didn't fight, just drank what he gave her. Tears fell in to the urine as she did, her heart felt like it was shrinking in her chest, her stomach clenched in protest and started to ache.

Suddenly she stiffened as she felt a hand upon her back, warm and familiar. He caressed down her spine, from rear to neck, then back again. His fingers trailed off between the cheeks of her ass, then over the mound of her sex. She shivered and felt herself clench as his touch. Self hatred grew even more as her own arousal betrayed her hatred of him. He knew it too as her sex swelled and heated, as her lust oozed out on to his fingertips. She buried her face in the bowl and tried to hide from it, from him.

"My my, it seems you are enjoying your night night drink, you never liked my chamomile as much as this." He told her teasingly as fingertips pinched her clit. Her hips bucked suddenly as nerves involuntarily fired. She would have moaned or whimpered, but all that came out was a burble in to the urine. She drank again and cried some more, "Did you know, your mother used to drink my gift every night before bed? It was our little ritual, her way to tell me how much she loved me, every part of me. Occasionally I would even put a little in your tea while you were growing up. You never seemed to mind."

She suddenly remembered the occasional bitterness, tea slightly off, but not enough for her to notice. She shuddered inside as she felt betrayed again, over and over. But below her, the bowl was dry and she was licking the edges of it, still thirsty. She squirmed back a little, in to his hand and away from the bowl. Her breasts hurt from being mashed in to the floor, her chin hurt from hitting the uneven boards, her wrists and shoulders hurt from the tight binding.

His fingers penetrated her again and this time they began to pump and stroke. He was fingering her, pleasuring her. Her body responded as if to spite her. Muscles clenched and juices leaked; hips rocked and toes curled. He was an expert at what he was doing and her resistance was nothing before it, "Your mother loved when I made her cum while tied up. She said it made her feel vulnerable and helpless. She loved feeling vulnerable for me." He told her as two fingers pistoned in to her and his thumb rode against her clit, "Some times I would tease her until she was red in the face begging to cum." He then focused upon her and asked, "Would you like to come bitch?" She was so close, she could feel that heady wave of endorphins and hormones poised to overwhelm her. He stopped.

She bucked back against him and howled a rasp of breath. Cheated, she felt cheated as the crest pulled away, so close but halted just in time. His wet fingers laid against her thigh, inches from her hungry hole. For a moment she had forgotten the abuse, forgotten the situation, then his voice came again and chilled her heart, "No, I guess not, maybe tomorrow you will beg for your father's pleasure." He snatched up the bowl, climbed to his feet, then walked over to the bed on the far side of the room. The light went out and she felt him preparing to sleep. In darkness and silence she laid there, crying herself to a cold uncomfortable sleep.

**

Sarah awoke to rough handling and a quick, brutal mounting by her father. Jerked out of sleep, her body cold and stiff, she had never felt so terrible in her life. Worse though as she felt his penis spear her belly. He held her to the floor, heavy upon her. His breath hot against her back as he panted and grunted. She felt only disgust for him in that moment as he rutted her like a beast. His penis penetrated over and over between her legs from behind but brought her no satisfaction, no pleasure.

He was done with her quickly; leaving only a sticky reminder, oozing down her thigh. He set the bowl down, pulled her up, and ordered her, "Relieve yourself." And for just a moment she hesitated. It was enough to bring forth his ire and she was rewarded with a bloodied lip and a hard crack as her head hit the floor, "I have to leave for work soon, you will obey, or you will go thirsty and when I get home I will give you a chilli enema. Is that understood?"

Teary eyed, she nodded, then raised her knees, exposing her sex and started to piss. He kicked the bowl over, under her legs, catching the stream though there was a small puddle on the floorboards, "In the bowl," he growled, then held his still sticky cock and started to release as well. He it was apparent, was not bound to his silly rule, his stream landed on her chest and face, "Open up cunt." He ordered and she obeyed with disgust. More of it splashed out than filled her mouth but she swallowed a few times with gagging protest.

After that he dressed quickly and ran out the door, leaving her alone, bound, and filthy on the cabin floor with hours upon hours of uncomfortable suffering ahead. She cried to herself, through the first two or three hours. She wished she could sleep, but the floor was hard and her body so firmly bound she couldn't get comfortable. The next hour or two it grew worse; she eventually rose to her knees and sat upon her heels, but she couldn't reach the table nor bed, the only things within reach were her piss bowl, and a chamberpot she hadn't yet needed to use.

Outside she could hear birds in the trees, occasional splash of fish in the lake, and even once she heard a couple of men paddling a canoe. She heard them speak, muffled through the walls and longed to be able to cry out to them for help. But then they drifted away; she hadn't even thought of banging the pot and dish together to make a racket.

Hours passed and she began to even miss her father with his cruel and kind touch. She missed the way he smelled, the way he looked at her; even as he thrust himself between her legs. She remembered how he touched her, how he would bring her tea and cradle her when she had a bad dream. Then she remembered his penis again, stretching her sex open. She remembered the feel of his release, hot and sticky, pooled deep in her belly. She felt lust rise up in her, and it horrified her.

She asked herself silently to the empty cabin, "How... how can I lust after... after Him!?" Her own rapist, her own father. Her fists clenched and tore at the flesh of her back, clawing to hurt herself, to punish herself. She struck her head to the floor and screamed a silent ragged scream, but her sex throbbed with heat and clenched upon itself over and over again.

Sometime, past noon, she squirmed herself over to her bowl, squatted over it, then began to fill it again with her piss. A strange disturbing thought entered her mind, 'How proud would daddy be? Doing this myself without his order.' but she brushed it aside, telling herself she was thirsty and that was that. Then there she went, face first in to the bowl of her own still hot piss, licking it up with shame and disgust--as well as a quiver of desire.

**

Sarah was half mad by the time night fell. Seeing the door open, the light come on, and her father standing there, looking tired; it some how managed to raise her spirits. The hatred was gone, the disgust was gone, she felt almost as if a kid again, ready to be drawn up in to her father's arms for a hug, a kiss, and a cup of tea before bed.

He didn't look at her, it was as if she weren't there or just furniture that he paid no mind to. He sat down at the table, dropped a fast food sack and soda cup down, then pulled out a burger and began to eat. It had been at least three days since her last meal and her gut felt like it. She stared at him as he took a bite, her mouth watering. He took another bite, then glanced her way, "Hungry?" He asked

She nodded in response, her stomach followed suit, gurgling its empty protest. He asked then, "Are you daddy's little fuck toy?" with a playful smirk.

For a moment she thought to resist, to shake her head no, but she was so hungry and she had been so lonely. At last she nodded yes, then looked at the floor. For a moment he was silent, for a moment she feared she had done the wrong thing. Quickly she turned around and raised her rear to him, backing up until she could feel his chair against her thigh. For another moment she trembled and feared this too was the wrong thing--until his hand fell to her rump and stroked over the smooth soft flesh, "Yes, yes you are, aren't you."

His hand trailed down, between her thighs. She was still messy from his use this morning, but he didn't seem to care as he began to finger her. She pushed her backside against his hand, yearning for that touch, for kindness from him. "Your ex boss called today, asking where you were. I told her you took off with some boyfriend after screaming at me and I hadn't heard from you since. No one else seemed to care about you, you know, no one even asked after you. Saw Denise at the drive through, she didn't even ask." His words were like ice against her heart while his fingers continued to play. She heard him take another bite, his hand stilling for a moment, then it resumed; faster and firmer. She started to pant a voiceless pant, her hips rocking back against his fingers as they stroked, teased, and penetrated. "But I'm here bitch, I'll always look after you, you just need to be good for daddy." A blush flooded her cheeks as she heard him and felt the burning lust in her belly grow again, just like before. Suddenly she wanted to be good for him, wanted to please him; so close to her climax, she would have done anything to cum for him.

Then he stopped short of her climax, letting sexual frustration wash over her. "No, not yet, you haven't earned a treat," He told her with his smiling voice, took another bite, then swatted her rear lightly, "I did bring you something though." He set the soda on the floor next to her hip. She shuffled about, her quivering stomach and trembling legs making it difficult to move. She glanced up for reassurance and at his nod she closed her mouth on the straw and began to drink.

It took her only a second to realize what he had done. Ice cold piss filled her mouth mixed with mountain dew. He had drank half then filled the rest up again. Soda and urine hit the floor as she choked and sputtered. She heard him shift, then quickly moved back to the straw and began to drink, rapidly, sucking the disgusting sweet and bitter mixture down. She hoped so dearly that he wouldn't punish her again. He didn't.

Slurping filled the cabin as she drained the drink, then carefully she sat back on to her heels and scooted closer to her father. He was still eating, paying her no mind so she sat quietly, staring at the hamburger in longing. After a while he paid her heed again and told her, "No, you don't get to eat tonight, maybe tomorrow if you are good for me in the morning. Tonight you got enough calories from your drink, can't have you getting fat now can we?"

Tears welled up in her eyes and shallow sobs shook her chest, she stared at the bag and the other sandwich she knew lay within. She felt lost and broken then, so hungry, food right there, the scent of it filling the cabin but she wasn't allowed to taste it. She looked to her father and wondered, not for the first time, 'who are you?'

Rob glanced to her again, pat her on the crown, then sat back, belched, and drew out the second sandwich. Practically blubbering now, she cried in silence as she watched him begin to eat. What could she possibly do to convince him to feed her, what did he want? She rolled over again, offering her rear to him, wiggling it in the air to catch his attention. He paid her no mind. She crawled over to the bowl, squatted her rump over it, peed, with as much force as she could to make a ringing racket of urine hitting metal. Then when finished she turned around and began to drink her own piss, slurping it down like she had the soda. Still he didn't even glance her way. She was still drinking from the bowl when the lights went out and he climbed in to bed.

**

Sarah was once again woken by rough hands and her father's lusty claiming. This time she was on her back, her arms pinned under her, her nearly numb fingers crushed against her rump. He had her knees to her chest, leaving her sex and ass exposed. He chose the latter that day, pushing his stiff phallus in to her tight virgin rear. He used no lube, he had no patience, and she would have screamed had she any vocal cords left with which to scream. Instead all that came out was a silent raspy mewl as she felt him painfully enter her backside.

He was obviously quite excited that morning and it took him only a dozen thrusts before she felt his shuddering release. His bucking continued as he forced his seed in to her bowel. Each jerk sending shock waves of searing pain from her poor abused ring out. Two, three, then a fourth thrust, and he withdrew. She stared up at him from between her knees, tears in her eyes, teeth clenched as the ache continued. Then he jerked her legs down and climbed over her.

Before her eyes his still erect cock hung, oozing pearly white seed, "Do you wish to eat tonight my little cunt?" He asked of her with a smile. She nodded mournfully, her stomach hurting. He smiled brightly to that and told her, "Open up and clean me."

She looked to his penis, filthy as it was having just been up her rear, then looked up in to his eyes. She was so hungry and so tired, there was no fight left in her and so her lips parted and allowed his length between. She began to suckle as her eyes shut. Her tongue curled behind her father's head, licking each crease and crevice. She tasted his semen and the mustiness of her own body. In truth it wasn't so bad.

Suckle after suckle, she worked down his length, bringing it to the back of her throat. She had sucked a man before, though not from this position on her back. It was awkward and humiliating, but she didn't mind anymore. When he suddenly gripped her head and pushed to the back of her throat, she flailed and struggled a moment. But then calmed as she felt his body clench and jerk against her chest. His second orgasm poured down her throat and so she swallowed her father's seed like the good 'cunt' he wanted her to be. When he was finished, he laid there, holding her head against his groin. Her nose was buried in his pubic hair, her lips wrapped around the base of his slowly slacking penis.

She expected it when it happened, his bladder released and soon her mouth was full of his 'gift'. He sighed and she drank, he released and she was filled. She no longer felt disgust or humiliation, she only served her purpose to him. Somewhere in the night she had come to realize, she wasn't a person anymore, she was a pet, a sex toy, a thing. It upset her at first but it brought about a sense of peace. So she drank her father's piss, drank his semen, endured his needs and tried as best she could to please him. She didn't want to be a bad toy, for bad toys got thrown away didn't they.

He was finished with her, he pulled away and stood, naked before her. She looked up at him with the sunlight upon his body and blushed. Her sex clenched as her eyes roamed over his flaccid penis then up to his eyes.

"Very good," He praised, "Tonight you will eat. In the mean time, roll over."

She did as ordered, and she felt relief as her wrists were unbound, then ankles. She laid there, face down on the hard wood floor, clenching and unclenching her fists. Blood flow returned, fingertips tingled and stung. The binding hadn't been too bad, her father was obviously skilled with rope, but it had been terribly uncomfortable.

"Alright cunt, I have to leave soon, but before I go..." She felt his hand slid up between her thighs and they parted for him. Breath sucked in between her teeth as his fingers began once more to play. She was already hot, already quivering with need after being denied and teased for so long. Then at last she felt herself reaching her crest, felt herself ready to cum. He thrust his fingers in to her firmly, crushed down on her clit, and she did. She came for her daddy, came hard on his fingers, cherishing his gift for her, for being a good girl.

Tears ran down her cheeks as her body arched and squirmed. She gasped and panted while her hips bucked against the floor. He played her like a silent instrument and she thanked him for it. Before the last trembling quiver of her orgasm had vanished, he was gone. Clothes pulled on, car keys snatched up, and he was out the door. She laid there on the floor, still on her stomach, a puddle of moisture on the floorboards between her legs.

At last she rolled over and reached down to stroke herself. There was a strange humiliation in her heart, she knew she should hate him, knew she should feel anger, but all she felt was love from his actions. Their relationship had changed but he still loved her, in his own strict way. She came again upon her own fingers, then again and again as she dreamed of her daddy.

**

The wind and snow howled outside and gathered in great drifts as Sarah lay in her dog bed on the floor. She was on her back, panting and bucking against her father's thrusts. She looked up at him, over her swollen stomach, smiling from ear to ear. He gazed back with a strange prideful devotion, then closed his eyes as he came. His weight landed upon her and her hips lifted to catch his seed against her already fertilized womb. His lips touched her ear, kissed, then his whisper reached her, "I love you bitch." A second later she felt his urine splash in to her, washing his sticky seed from her belly. Her own bladder released against his groin, marking her father in her musky scent.

When he was done with her she lapped the mess clean from his groin, then licked the floorboards and sucked the urine from her bedding. Only then did she curl up in to a ball, drape her chain over her shoulder, and close her eyes to sleep. She was on the floor next to his bed and she heard him climb up, then felt his hand as it draped over, running through her air, stroking behind her ear. He loved her, just the way she was, how her daddy made her.

Her own hand lowered to her stomach and stroked over the swell. To herself she whispered soundlessly, "Not long baby, not long until you can meet our daddy. I'm sure he will love you too, as much as he loves bitch."