Reality is Different Ch. 03

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It’s quiet in the house. Strangely quiet, a shroud of silence fallen in the instant of my passage through the door, a feeling of foreboding deep inside my belly that I don’t know how I could explain. The kind of feeling that you sometimes get when you’re up alone at night and you hear a noise coming somewhere from downstairs, or when you think you do, and all the shadows suddenly loom larger, darker, staring at you from the corners of the room. When the voice of reason in your head tries patiently to counsel that there’s no such thing as monsters, that you outgrew such fears a long, long time ago, that it’s childish to freak out about imagined noises in the dark…but your heart still pulses worried in your throat, and you have to flip on all the lights you can before you peek your head out into the hall. Making sure the world is still the one you know, that nothing’s lurking there in wait for you, with scaly skin and glowing eyes.

“Dad?” I toss my backpack down upon the couch, glad at least to lose the burden. The ambiguous uncertainty I feel reflected in my voice, high and tight with trepidation. I don’t know why I’m even calling for him – he’s almost never home before me.

So it’s another faint surprise, one that lodges nervous in my breast, to hear him answer back. “Come upstairs, Sarah.” Serious. Solemn. His voice resonating through the house, sounding somehow as though he’s right beside me despite the distance and the walls between us. There’s no choice but to obey him, a nameless worry crawling slow along my spine, my breathing slightly shallow, rapid as I make my way up through our aging staircase. Steeper, darker in this moment than it’s ever seemed before. The creaking of the wooden boards beneath my feet is the only sound I hear, and its low and steady tempo only serves to magnify my dread.

At the landing, now. The lights are on inside my room, the door is opened wide. Dad’s there beside my desk, his arms crossed at his chest, a frown upon his lips, and my throat is pulled already tight with panic. I only hold there in the doorway, afraid to enter, to approach. He’s mad at me. The kind of anger that he never shows, that he never feels, now painted thick and glaring on his brow. I don’t know why. What did I do? What could I have done?

“Come here.” His voice is iron, cold and hard, growling in my ear. No patience for my fear, my apprehension – and if I’m frightened to approach him at this moment, the thought of my defying him is even worse. I have to do it. Tiny steps in his direction, as slowly as I dare, delaying what’s before me for as long as I can manage. My eyes downcast, penitent for whatever wrong I’ve done, risking only little glances at him through my lashes. He stands so big and tall right now, towering above me as I draw closer. As though I’m just a little girl again.

“What is this?” His words hiss threatening at me while I’m still six feet away, his hand extending in a sweeping gesture to the computer that I didn’t see before. My computer, my monitor, the browser open to a page I’ve seen before. I can’t make out the text itself, not quite, but the colors and the layout I can see are enough to tell me all too clearly what it must be. What he’s found, the reason for the fury I see boiling in his eyes.

“Dad,” it comes out desperate, pleading, a word stumbling for purchase. Panic flooding helpless through my mind, twisting queasy at my stomach. What can I say? What reason could I ever give, what explanation wouldn’t make things worse? “Daddy, I…it isn’t what you think. I just – there was a link, you know, someone posted it, they didn’t say what it would be, and I only clicked on it, that’s all.” It tastes like poison, lying to him, the deception clumsy on my tongue. “I didn’t even read it, mostly, not really. I wouldn’t, daddy, I didn’t…”

A moment passes as I trail into silence. His eyes still dark on me, staring, heavy and intense. Unreadable. Then he speaks again, repeats. “Come here, Sarah.” His body language telling me he wants me there before him…I’m trembling as I draw closer, pushing forward my protesting feet that tell me just to run away, to hide, to flee. But if I did, he’d only catch me, and my punishment would be far worse. I must do as he says, as he orders, drawing closer step by step. Three feet. Two. He’s a mountain there before me; I have to crane back my head to try to look him in the eye. A feeble, ghostly smile forced onto my lips, struggling to lend support to the explanation that I gave. It was just an accident. I didn’t seek it out. Please believe me, daddy. Please.

I don’t see him move – I only feel it, a sudden shock of white sensation as he backhands me across the face, as I stumble, almost fall down at his feet from the force of his attack. Tears well up in my eyes before the pain has time to reach my consciousness…but it finds me soon enough, the stinging sharpness that blooms pinkly where he struck me, glowing hot upon my cheek, while my heart pounds swiftly in a greater agony of fear. I’ve only just regained my footing when he takes a step in my direction, advances on me with his jaw still set, his gaze still hard and sharp as steel, bursa escort and I stumble backwards, terrified of what he’ll do. “Daddy, no…” Helpless pleading as I back away, tears trickling along my cheeks. He’s reaching for me, his hand extending out to grab me, and there’s no further I can get away, my back already pressed against the wall. His fingers curling around my neck, squeezing with a tiny fraction of his strength that still leaves me gasping, struggling to breathe, staring desperate up into his eyes as though he were a vengeful god.

“Do not lie to me, Sarah.” His grip closes briefly tighter with the word, precise and threatening, a warning to which I can only pitifully nod. I’m pinned against the wall, I can’t escape. He’s so much bigger than I am, so much stronger. Looming there before me, leaning down to look me in the eye, his stern and rugged features filling up my vision as he speaks again. The bitter taste of venom in his voice, painful in my ear. “I know about the stories you’ve been reading. I know what you’ve been doing up here, masturbating like a little whore.”

There’s only one thing I can think to say. “I’m sorry, daddy.” The words just thinly gasped, forced past his hand still tight around my throat. Urgent, anguished, pleading. One of my hands is latched around his wrist, the other pressed into his broad and sturdy chest, but I don’t even try to push him off – I know how fruitless it would be. “Please, I shouldn’t have…” My body weak and trembling before him, tears streaking slickly down my cheeks. The pain still throbs there where he struck me, the uncomfortable constriction of his fingers round my neck – but worse than either one of these is the knowledge that he’s right, that he’s given nothing but a fraction of the punishment that I deserve. I lied to him. I tried to keep things secret. I dove into these fervid, foul fantasies, as though I had any right at all…the shame I feel roils sick inside my stomach, miserable for having failed him, for having let him down. It surrenders to him, staring up in damp and earnest misery into his eyes, confessing all my wrongs. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Joy. Relief – I’ve pleased him, at least a little bit. His grip relaxes, the flicker of a smile even playing at those regal lips. A shadow of amusement set to mingle with his righteous wrath. “And what are you sorry for, exactly?” His hand turns, rises up to touch upon my face. His fingers trailing through my tears, spreading them across my cheek, my mouth. I can taste them, their salty tang of shame and sorrow mixing with the subtle satisfaction of his fingers scraping rough upon my lips. “For getting caught?”

“No,” I shake my head at him, sincere, insistent. Whispering my apologies into his fingertips. “For lying. I knew I shouldn’t, daddy, but I was so ashamed, I thought I couldn’t let you know.” My hand squeezing at his wrist, fervent and imploring. I want to kiss his fingers, to kneel at his feet, to abase myself and make him see how bad I feel for what I’ve done. To tell him I’d do anything to make it right…

“And what about for wasting my time, hm?” His voice halfway between a growl and a purr, deep and husky, dangerous. Taunting, as his fingers move to curl at my jawline, his cracked and calloused thumbtip taking over at the task of stroking at my mouth. The motion soft, seductive, pushing at that pliant flesh in slow, implacable caresses, and the shiver that I feel along my spine isn’t just from fear. Thrilling at his touch, warmth kindling deliciously between my thighs, my lower lips tingling jealously for a similar attention. The sensation of it subtle, sweetly aching…it’s hard for me to hear his words, to understand them. “Are you sorry for that? For staying up here, diddling yourself with those girly little fingers while I was downstairs waiting for you to realize your place?”

The moment hangs there anxiously between us, a beat that feels like hours as I grapple for the meaning of his words. The sense of what he’s saying slipping slow into my disbelieving consciousness. My gaze shocked wide and white, staring up into his penetrating eyes, his predatory smile. My lips parting for some instinctive, thoughtless exclamation – but I’ve only just begun to shape it when his meaty thumb thrust bold into my mouth, turns my speech into an incoherent mush as it lays heavy on my tongue. Tasting subtly of oil, of grease, of dirt and sweat…and yet it’s almost automatic how I accept its presence there, my lips closing once again to seal it eagerly inside, teeth touching daintily between his knuckles. How I suckle softly at his digit, clean him with my tongue, lapping diligent across that cherished skin. My heartbeat pounding madly in my chest, ecstatic at this opportunity to serve him.

“Don’t worry, now.” His voice caresses rough upon my consciousness, filling up the part of me that still can think. Commanding my attention. “You’re going to make up for all that wasted time. All those years you should have been there in your daddy’s bed.” Stepping even closer, trapping me between him and the wall as his other hand comes up, brushes mine aside to grasp and fondle at my chest, squeezing one small breast possessively within his bursa escort bayan grasp. The pleasure that I feel with his touch is only heightened by the note of arrogant appreciation which climbs into his gaze, regarding me. Mixing with the spice and danger of the threat already there. “I’m going to mold you, baby girl. I’m going to make you mine, my slut, my little angel-whore.” His fingers latch upon my rigid nipple, pinch it in his viselike grip until I can’t help crying out. As best as I can manage, around his thumb still in my mouth. Then he slides in closer still, the stubble of his cheek rasping coarse against my skin as his lips touch barely to my ear, whispering low and husky, stinging and delicious. “Is that what you want, baby?”

My answer is a moan, a whimper pitiful and plaintive – I can feel his responding chuckle rumble confidently through his chest, aggressive and amused. And a moment’s keening loss inside me as his thumb is ripped away, as I no longer have the comfort of its imposing presence in my mouth. “Use your words, little girl.” His face appearing one again before me, strong and weathered, smirking. His finger sliding confidently on my chin, my neck, leaving in its wake a sopping trail of my own saliva.

“…yes, daddy.” Soft and breathless, my voice is just a whisper. A vibrant glow inside my breast, while my stomach flutters wildly with nerves.

“‘Yes, daddy,’ what?” Firm, demanding. My eyes are fixed to his, trapped there like my body is against the wall, but I can feel his hand as it continues sliding down, catching on my blouse’s neckline. A moment there, the fabric tightening behind my back…I can’t keep myself from flinching as a button loudly snaps, flies off to impact on the floor. His hand descending lower still, into the space that’s newly opened.

“I want you to do it.” Whispered, still. The thrill inside my heart aches almost painful, an electric throbbing of excitement for me to say this wish aloud, to think that it could be. To feel his fingers stroking in the valley of my breasts, another button snapping at his strength. “I want to be your little slut.”

The word emerges only faintly, my tongue struggling to shape its harshness. A sheen of scarlet on my cheeks, deliciously humiliated…but it’s joined by such a sense of bliss inside me as I see the lustful satisfaction rise up triumphant in his gaze, curl smirking in his smile. “Good…” One long downward stroke, and the remaining buttons of my blouse are torn away like tissue paper by his descending hand, sent to roll and scatter on the floor. The fabric pulled apart, opened, my naked breasts exposed for him to see. My nipples hard as little diamonds, standing tall as though to beg for his attention, for his eyes, for his fingers tough as iron to pinch them once again.

The prayer is halfway answered. Not a pinch but a caress, his fleshy thumbtip scraping at one pink and pebbled nub. An exultant gasp escaping slowly from my throat, almost squealing with delight. His lips descending to my neck, a forceful kiss encircled by the scratch of day-old whiskers on my skin, intoxicating pleasure buzzing dizzy in my mind…daddy. I say it in my head, in tiny groans and whimpers, gratitude and pleading both reflected in the name. Oh, daddy, daddy…

Then his hand is stroking down again across my belly, outstretched fingers laying claim to everything they touch. Sneaking in beneath the waistband of my jeans – two fingers twist expertly to unhook the little metal clasp before his hand invades my panties, demanding, bold, before he cups possessively upon my puss. A single firm, insistent squeeze enough to overwhelm my senses with a spasm of delight, to leave me trembling against his broad and sturdy chest, while his exploring fingers probe and stroke amidst my petals, coated in the slick and hopeful flow of my arousal.

“Daddy…” I speak it now, squeal the word, whining to him like an animal in heat. The flush of feeling on my cheeks as I clutch weakly at his shirt, as his strong arm closes tight around my back and his middle finger presses undeniably between my drooling inner lips. Pathetic whimpers, my hips quivering against his hand. “Please…” I don’t know what I’m even asking him, what I’m begging for. Just that I want him to be the one to give it to me.

Deeper. His finger hooked inside me, his rough voice resonating in my skull. Powerful, amused. “You’re dripping wet, baby girl. You must need daddy bad.” Pumping in and out of me with lazy, teasing strokes, just quick enough to make me want it more, want it faster, harder. “Is that right? You need your daddy to make you cum?”

I have no words of my own. I can only echo his, gasped out breathlessly between the stifled moans that rise up helpless from my throat. “Ohh, yes, daddy, make me cum.” Writhing wanton there against him, my breasts exposed against his shirt, helplessly ecstatic at the sensation of my rigid nipples rubbing, scraping at the fabric. Drinking every drop of Him that I can find. “make me cum, daddy, please, please…”

“Mmm.” Another quiet chuckle in his chest – I gasp and shudder in a momentary flood of feeling as his big hand slaps against my burning pussy, his middle escort bursa finger thrusting firm and hard into my depths, squeezing agonizingly exquisite at my inner walls. And then an aching cry of need as motion stops, as he just stands there, holding me impaled. A husky whisper in my ear, almost conspiratorial. “You need to do something first.” His lips caress my earlobe, the moisture of his breath warm upon my skin. “You need to tell me who you belong to, little slut.”

Even with my mind so overwhelmed with pleasure and with need, I know the answer that he wants. The only answer that could be. “I belong to you, daddy.” The words are thrilling on my tongue, an electric tingle that arcs deliriously along my nerves as I intone them soft and worshipful.

“That’s right.” Murmuring approval – I whimper quietly into his chest to feel him give me my reward, a moment’s searing pleasure as his palm grinds rough against my clit. “Daddy owns you, babygirl. Every inch of you is mine, to do with as I please. This is Daddy’s mouth to use,” his thumb strokes perfectly again across my lower lip. “These are Daddy’s tits to taste, to squeeze, Daddy’s pretty little cunt to fuck into submission.” Another shudder up my spine, as his meaty finger bucks inside me. My head tilts back drunkenly to look him in the eye, and the subtle smile that he wears is thick with threat and promise. A deceptive softness to his voice now, insidiously gentle. “I’ll protect you, sweetheart. Daddy takes care of his property. But you’re never going to leave, you understand?” No worry to his tone, no pleading – just certainty, as pitiless and firm as the rigid heat that I feel pressing to my belly. His hand slides round to loosely grasp again around my neck, squeezing mild and possessive. His voice a low, seductive rumble in my mind. “I’m keeping you, Sarah. This is what you’re meant to be. My pet. My obedient little girl, my precious little whore.” Just the slightest trace of fire, of the undeniable command of which he’s capable, before he lets me go. “Now get down on your knees. It’s time for you to serve your Daddy properly.”

There isn’t any hesitation, no question inside of me, no doubt. A good girl does what her Daddy says. And that’s exactly what I want to be…he looms up tall before me as I sink down to my knees, as the metal buckle of his belt softly clinks to be undone, his zipper hissing as the stiffened slab of his arousal is released for me to see, for me to touch, thick and hot and heavy. I know the bliss that burns inside my chest, I recognize it, the sense of satisfaction like slipping on a shirt that fits just right. Belonging. This is where I’m meant to be, kneeling at my Daddy’s feet. What I’m meant to be, the favored toy of his desires, loved and used. His strong hands curled behind my skull to firmly force my mouth around his straining manhood. My tongue caressing it beneath in adoration, servant to his pleasure, starving for the coming moment when I might be favored with his seed, when I can taste my Daddy’s cum, treasuring every salty, viscous drop. My jaw forced wide to accommodate his girth, as he already pounds against my throat, and I fall deeper to the fuzz of bliss inside my mind…

Warm. Quiet. My eyes open only slowly, scratchy, their corners crusted up with sleep. Daylight glaring in at me through my bedroom window blinds. Bright. Too bright – I must have slept in late. The thought drifts dully through my consciousness as it stirs grumbling to motion. Dreaming…god, the dream I had. Already the details are fading from my memory, evaporating to a vague, uncertain fog, but I can feel what it was like, my body’s lingering reaction to its stimulation, the liquid heat still aching down within my hips. My dad, discovering somehow the fantasies I’ve had, deciding that it’s time to make me his – thinking of it sends another pulse of hunger down between my legs, another cry of need, almost deep enough to hurt. Touch me. Begging, though he isn’t there to listen. Touch me, daddy.

In the sleepy warmth beneath the covers, I don’t feel much reason not to let my hand slip down below my waist. Inside my panties, the fabric there already dampened from my emanations of the night. My fingers rubbing slow across the slickness of my nether lips, stroking at my clit, my mind reaching out to grab what I can still remember of the dream before it slips entirely away. Little flashes, feelings, imagined instants where his hand sits firm around my tender throat, where it squeezes, pinches at my breasts. Where I’m kneeling down submissive at his feet with a sense of such belonging, such utter rightness. My Daddy standing tall above me, protecting me from everything, and all I need to know is how to make him happy. All I need to do is be his baby girl. His angel and his slut, his perfect little princess and his eager little whore, and the seeming conflict of the roles resolved by my devotion, by my willingness to cast myself to any shape that he desires. And god, how it would feel when he carried me to bed, when his strong arms spread my legs apart and I was suddenly impaled with his thickness, crushed beneath his weight, my body battered by the ferocity and power of his lust. Being taken by him, being used in every way, until I can only lay there limply in a mindless haze of rapture, until at last he roars out his release, he explodes inside of me, until I’m gifted with the blessing of my daddy’s seed…

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