This story involves the forced – yet ultimately embraced – sex between a father and daughter. If you do not like these types of stories... please move on to something you do like. However if such stories are something you appreciate – realizing they are mere fiction and fantasy – please enjoy.
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Sitting on the bench outside the principal's office, Jenny stared down at her hands nervously fidgeting in her lap. On the other side of the door her father was learning why he'd had to leave work and come to the school. It seemed like an eternity before she heard the door being pulled open and her mouth went dry as her father's shoes appeared in her downcast vision. With her heart trying to beat out of her chest she lifted her eyes to his.
"Let's go," he growled, jerking his thumb for her to follow.
Grabbing up her bookbag, she followed him outside to his car. Neither of them spoke during the drive home; her father simply stared straight ahead out the windshield while she sat in the passenger seat, hugging her bookbag. At the house he held the door open for her and she walked past him, her head hanging down.
Then the door snapped shut behind her . . . hard, the sound making her jump.
"Go to your room and wait," her father sternly ordered.
"Daddy, I–."
"I said go to your room and wait," he snapped.
Obediently, she walked upstairs, to her room. Once there she sat at the foot of her bed with her hands in her lap . . . again. Anxiously waiting . . . again. Too nervous to change, she remained in her school uniform; a checkered skirt and white blouse with knee-high socks and black shoes. Her long, dirty blond hair was done into a pair of braided pigtails, the ends held together by little pink bows, and a touch of eyeshadow highlighted her dark eyes.
Like outside the principal's office, she seemed to wait an eternity. But then he gave her door a quick rap and let himself in without waiting for an invitation, coming to a stop a few feet from her, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingers flexing. He'd removed his shoes and socks, but at over six feet he towered over her in his slacks and dress shirt, the latter being unbuttoned and pulled loose so it hung open, revealing his strong torso.
"So, I've calmed down a little," he said, his voice even. "Tell me what happened."
"Daddy, I... I..." she stuttered, trying to think of some way to excuse her actions. Failing, she fell silent, her eyes dropping.
"So, it's true," he said, a growl rising in his voice. "You were giving some boy head in the locker-room?"
Unable to raise her eyes and look at him, she continued staring at the floor, a couple of tears running down her cheek.
"Well, were you?" He pressed.
A meek little nod was the only answer she could give.
"Fuck," he sighed heavily.
He had a right to be mad.
She'd let him down.
When she was little, her mother had been in a car accident and for years afterwards she'd struggled with an addiction to pain killers, forcing him to pick up the slack. Then a little over a year ago her mother had simply packed a bag and left. She'd said she was doing it for them, so they wouldn't have to deal with her constant relapses, but Jenny suspected that'd just been an excuse for her to dive head first into her addiction.
Her leaving had affected both father and daughter.
He'd become withdrawn, spending more time at work and in his den when home.
Jenny had started acting out, messing around with the boys from school, making-out and . . . other things. Things like the blow-job in the locker-room. Getting the boys interested in her had been easy. Her natural beauty didn't need make-up, although she did like wearing eyeshadow and lipstick. Her full B-cup breasts set nicely on her athletic frame and she had a round little ass that looked good even in the pleated uniform skirts. So the boys liked her. And she liked them. The things they'd do . . . the feel of their hands on her . . . the sensation of their rigid cocks...
"Stand up," her father ordered, interrupting her thoughts.
She obediently slipped off the bed to stand on wobbly legs, her face remaining downcast.
"Look at me," he growled.
She timidly lifted her eyes, but was only able to meet his gaze for a brief second before her nerves made them drop to the floor again.
"Fuckin' look at me!" He insisted.
The anger in his voice surprised her almost as much as the fact that he swore at her, something he'd never done before. He'd always been firm with her, but not strict. And she knew he hated it when she wouldn't look him in the eye. But even that had never angered him like this.
Something told her that his handling of her was going to change.
She just didn't know to what extreme.
Raising her eyes again, she forced herself to hold his seething gaze, wishing her hair was loose so her eyes would be partially obscured by her bangs.
"You might be eighteen, but you are still my daughter," he growled. "Graduation's only a few months away and, by God, I am gonna get you there... if you're not expelled."
Jenny's eyes grew wide in surprise. She hadn't even considered the possibility of being expelled. Suspended, yes. But expelled?!
"After that," he continued. "You can go off and do porn if you want. But until then you are going to be a fuckin' recluse, if that's what I have to do to keep you out of trouble."
"Daddy, I-I'm sorry," she whispered, his tone scaring her more than his threat.
He silently stood there for a minute, towering over her demure height, his nostrils flaring as he considered something. Then he suddenly stepped forward, grabbed her arm, and spun her around as he moved past her.
"You're gonna be fuckin' sorry," he growled. "Come here."
In one fluid motion he sat at the foot of her bed and pulled her down across his lap with her ass raised in the air. Half her torso lay along the edge of the bed and she reached down to the floor with her other hand for fear of falling face-first into the carpet. To help hold her in place, he laid an arm across her back and cuffed her side.
"No, Daddy. Please no," she whimpered, knowing what was coming.
Smack.
His hand landed on her ass.
When he'd jerked her into place, he'd caused a portion of her skirt to pile atop his target. The extra folds softened the blow, but it still hurt. Yet Jenny wasn't sure which hurt more; the spanking itself, or the fact that her actions had led him to feel the need to do it.
Smack.
His hand landed again. And again, the skirt softened its landing. He must have realized it too, because he jerked it up, out of the way, and piled it around her waist with a curse.
