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Patricia teaches him a lesson.
"I need to teach you, clearly," he said as if I hadn't spoken, hadn't moved, "about why I still expect you in at certain times, and why it's dangerous to be so careless." His face was suddenly close to mine, though I'm sure he moved as he ever did, precisely and languidly. I felt his breath on my cheek and chin and tickling slightly my neck. I felt his other hand clasping my free arm's wrist and I stood there dumbly, locked into place by my father, powerless to predict what was going to happen next, helpless to comprehend what was even happening now.
"Were these the clothes you wore last night?" he asked quietly, needing not to raise his voice.
"Y-yes, Daddy," I whispered, voice cracking. It was far more creased and a little dirtier than when I had first put it on several hours ago, but I had been too wasted to even remove the strappy, sparkly black dress that didn't even cover my thighs, that left my arms bare, that had made me feel oh so sexy. Now I felt exposed.
"Did the boys like it?" I could feel his eyes watching my face as hard as if he was touching me with his fingers - if they hadn't been curled around my arms. Inwardly I felt a tattered shred of relief. Sure this was a direct way to go about it, but really it was my same old daddy making sure I knew what boys could be like.
"Daddy," I said more calmly than I felt, looking back fully at him now I was sure no tears would fall. "I wasn't with any boys last night. I danced alone when everyone else left."
My heart raced frantically as daddy suddenly shook me, fingers pressing harder into my flesh.
"Stupid girl, don't lie to me," he snapped. Swift as anything, he roughly pulled both my arms together and held them by the wrists in one big arm, and then I felt those same big rough fingers up my dress and pushing against (oh thank god, I silently, bitterly thought, I had put /something/ on down there) the silky thin fabric of my thong, feeling him against the lips of my pussy through it. I cried out in shock, but before tears of shame or anger could even make it to my eyes, I felt daddy's fingers prying apart my pussy lips through the silk, and felt his hardness and the sleek silk push roughly against my snatch.
My only experience with sex was masturbation, and I hadn't even thought of anyone while doing it; I thought of my fingers and my clit and the pleasure I got from putting them together, rubbing and pinching and getting wetter and wetter... Daddy's fingers were now the only fingers to touch my private area. Maybe that's why it sent such a jolt through me that seared through fear and humiliation and shock. I felt my clit suddenly jump to life, felt myself pulsing down there.
It didn't stop me from screaming "Daddy!" hysteria rising in me. He had become deaf now though, wilfully ignoring my terror even as he watched my stunned face, saw the tears roll down my cheeks, his eyes (not transformed by evil, not entirely black or even entirely cruel) the same as they ever had been, soft hazel, shining, and - the worst part - still fatherly, the same man I had always known. I didn't have time for bullshit philosophising though about the appearance of good or evil or whatever the fuck this was; but at the wrong time I tried to move the only way I could, sinking down onto my knees as my father deftly moved the thong aside and really touched me with his flesh, so as I sank I felt his finger go into me, rough and chafing. Then as if I had given an invitation he thrust it further up, making me grunt in pain and - I was sure the shame was going to kill me - feeling myself grow wet in the very place my own father was forcing himself.
His actual flesh against mine, right against my virgin pussy, seemed to ignite my lower half in a way I had no control over. My stomach rolled pleasantly, as if my womb believed it was going to find out its use (god no, why did I think that?), and my little snatch, fresh and unfucked and feeling a visitor inside it, flexed its muscles, so I could feel myself clench and unclench daddy's finger.
"Don't struggle," daddy