Alex sat on the couch, the television on in front of him but his mind elsewhere.
She usually gets home around 6 on Fridays. It's 6:12 right now.
His cock twitched, that reaction to the thought of Ariel promptly followed by shame and guilt.
When he had woken up in the morning, the pounding headache and bitter aftertaste of alcohol had reminded him of his late night spent at the bar. After letting the office know that he would be working from home, and after a very satisfying, still-half-asleep piss, he had gone back to sleep for a little while longer.
Once he had woken up for the day, it took a few minutes for him to remember the entirety of last night. He had trudged down to the kitchen, for coffee and cereal, the kind of breakfast that would not make him vomit up the previous night's alcohol. His eyes had flickered over the table in the corner, a fixture in the house that he had never looked at a second time, simple and unassuming as it was. But today, his eyes had dragged back to it after that initial glance. He had been unsure as to why until a few moments later, when the memory of bending someone over it had surfaced.
Wait, was it Stacy?
he had asked himself.
I thought the date hadn't gone well...
Another few moments had passed, and then a numbing horror set in as the full memory came back to him. The image of Ariel's ass jiggling as he fucked her flashed through his mind, and he had been forced to reach blindly for a nearby chair so he could collapse into it.
I really shouldn't have drunk so much
, he had lamented.
It wasn't the alcohol
, a voice had answered.
You just wanted to fuck her.
In a panic, he had dashed upstairs, to find her room perfectly normal, no sign of any distress. There were also no texts or calls from her on his phone save those from last night. His finger hovered over the screen, as if to call or text, but he restrained himself.
I can't have this conversation in a text or a call. It has to be face-to-face.
After resolving to talk to Ariel when she got home, he had managed to get through the rest of the day. Thoughts of the previous night crept into his head from time to time, his cock twitching despite the shame and guilt caused by those memories. His headache disappeared thanks to food and Advil, and he got some work done in the afternoon, the day ending up somewhat productive. That productivity helped to distract him from the looming issue, but whenever he took a break, he was quickly bombarded by worries of that conversation he would need to have with Ariel.
Distressingly, that pesky voice spoke up in those moments as well.
It wasn't rape. Maybe you held her down, but she could have fought harder if she had not wanted it.
Maybe she trusted me to stop
, he had answered.
Maybe she didn't want you to stop.
Just as distressing as the voice's existence was the fact that he often found himself at a loss for answers to it.
Once 5 o'clock had passed, he had abandoned his work and gone downstairs to watch television and wait for Ariel. A few times, the thought of mentally rehearsing what he would say had come to mind, and once or twice, he had attempted to plan out his side of the conversation. Ultimately, after those few attempts, he had given up.
This is not a normal conversation to have with your daughter.
He heard the front door opening.
She's home. Here we go.
"I'm home!" Ariel sang, peeking around the corner of the entryway as she slipped out of her jacket and shoes.
"Hi, Ariel," he replied, turning off the television and taking a deep breath in preparation for his apology.
Instead of joining him in the living room, she bounded up the stairs.
"Wait, come here a sec!"
She stopped, and just as eagerly came back down the stairs. Before he could stop them, his eyes flitted over her outfit, a sweater paired with a flower-print skirt, tights covering her legs.
"What's up?" she asked brightly, sitting next to him on the couch.
"Uh..."
"What is it, Daddy?" she asked, biting her lip.
His cock twitched.
The last time you called me that, I was inside you...I might not be able to hear that the same way again.
He hesitated again. Ariel just kept her calm gaze fixed on him.
"I'm sorry," he managed to say, a blush rising along his neck.
"For what?" she asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.
"For last night," he replied. "I...I raped you."
As the words hung in the air, he found himself suddenly feeling somewhat better, freer, lighter, like a weight was off his shoulders. The shame and guilt had not left, but he was able to breathe easier with those damning words out in the open.
"I raped you, Ariel," he continued, "and I know I can never make up for that, but I am so sorry."
A few moments of silence followed his apology. A queer expression was across her face, one that defied all attempts to decipher it.
And then she laughed.
"What are you talking about?" she asked through the laughter.
"Last night," he replied, "I raped you."
His solemn statement only made her laugh again.
"No, you didn't," she told him after her quick bout of giggles.
"I bent you over the kitchen table and held you down, Ariel. You begged me to stop."
"At first, and only because I wanted to go to bed. I wanted you to fuck me. I'm glad you did. Did you forget I was the one who suggested it?"
He stared back at her, flabbergasted and disheartened.
She wanted it
, that pesky voice spoke up.
