by Adrian Amos
There might be more dresses in the old dresser...
The door at the top of the stairs cracks open, and I react immediately, rushing over to the corner of the room, standing still against the dresser. The pounding of wood as daddy walks down the steps makes my heart jump at each thud.
“Babygirl?” he calls out.
I swallow so hard it hurts my throat. I hang my head. He knows I'm down here. The key was gone, the door was open, the light is on...
But I don't say anything. In my fear, I naively believe he'll let it go and leave. Like he'll just shrug his shoulders and walk back upstairs, completely oblivious that anyone was ever down here.
He continues down the stairs when I don't respond. He walks over to the table. Oh no, my clothes!
His hand goes to the pile of clothes, and after ruffling through them for a second, he pulls up the pair of panties I'd been wearing. He crumples them into a ball and takes a huge whiff of them, smelling the remnants of my pussy stained into the fabric.
Oh my god, daddy! What the hell are you doing?
My gasp is loud enough to draw his attention. “I know you're there, baby. Come out now.”
The heat rushes to my face. He just smelled my panties! I can't believe he'd do something so nasty.
Nonetheless, I walk out into the open, knowing full well the jig is up. “Hi, daddy,” I nervously mutter, struggling to keep my eyes on his. Instead, they fall to the concrete floor, where the luxury of my dress is contrasted against the raw, unpolished state of my surroundings.
What I do see in his eyes before mine turn away is anger, anger I know is directed at what I'm wearing before he even says a word.
All he does is confirm it: “That's your mother's favorite dress.” There's gravel in his voice.
Daddy was always super protective of my mother, to a point I thought was strange because they never really seemed all that affectionate. Like I said, she hung on him, like she was afraid he'd disappear, but they never kissed or anything. Their marriage seemed loveless. She never came out of her meek and mousy shell but only seemed to be dependent on him.
“You sure about that?” I ask, sure I'd caught him in a lie. “I'd never seen her wear it.”
“That's because it was only meant for me,” he sternly retorts. The visage of daddy seems to grow as he responds to my objection. He's a big man, dark in features and beard, built like—and behaving like—a grizzly bear.
I roll my eyes. “How could something like a dress only be meant for you? If mom liked it, she would've worn it out.”
Daddy shook his head. “That's not how it worked for us, babygirl. She wore it when I told her to wear it, only when we were down here.”
I look around, taking in the atmosphere of the creepy, dark basement. “Down here? What's so special about this place? It seems hella gross.”
He smirks. “You might think so, but this was your mother's favorite place, where she got to be herself. She loved it more than most things.”
I can't help but chuckle. “Daddy, you're shitting me, right? Mom didn't love some fucking hole in the ground. What did you, abuse her down here? Is that it?”
Daddy's never been one for jokes, and the second I say that, I realize I made a big mistake. Daddy's smirk fades and the relaxation in his eyes morphs into a dreadful stare.
“Take that dress off.”
I'm taken aback. “What?”
“You heard me. Take it off. You're ruining it.”
I scoff. Who's he to talk to me like that? He's not my actual dad, and I sure as hell am not going to be told I'm somehow ruining my mother's memory. I defiantly state, “Ruining it? I think I look pretty good in it.” I run my hands down the sides, enjoying the bend into my curves as the tight dress slims me.
Daddy looks me up and down and smiles. “That you do. Fine,” he says, cracking his knuckles, “you want to keep wearing it? Then you can be treated just like your mother was when she wore it. Is that what you want?”
“You gonna beat me, huh, big man?” I make an accusation I know can't be true, but my brain can't even process what's about to actually happen. All I can think about is how big my stepfather is compared to me, so all I can think about is how he's capable of violence.
And I'm not entirely wrong.
His movement is swift as he steps up to me, but as his hands lift up toward me, and I envision him slapping me across the face, I'm caught by surprise by a different kind of animal fury. His hands reach for my chest, his fingers sliding under the v-neck of the dress, and with a simple yank, daddy pulls the dress from my shoulders.
I gasp as my tits pop out of the tight fabric. My breath catches in my throat as my mouth hangs open. I can't speak, completely stunned by daddy's roughness. He literally just pulled my dress off of me!
When my wits finally gather about me, I move to speak, but daddy's hand clasps over my mouth, silencing me. He shuffles me backwards until I smack into the old dresser.
“Babygirl,” he whispers into my ear. It's the most menacing I've ever heard him in my life, and it makes the hair on my neck stand up straight. “You think you can come into my dungeon—bring the smell of that sweet pussy into my dungeon—and not think I'm going to take what's mine?”
“Dungeon?” I say through his muffled hand.
“This is where daddy's in control, little girl. You want to come down here and play around? Then you gotta play with daddy.” His fingers clamp onto my left nipple, twisting it and sending a shock wave of pleasure and pain through me that makes me squirm immediately.
“Daddy!” I scream, coming out hushed against his hand.
But daddy's body presses against mine, his mouth falling on my neck. Actually, just below my left ear, kissing me down further and further, his mouth moving from jaw to neck to collar to chest. His kisses land on my breast and I shudder, realizing how close he is to my nipple. I try to lift my arms up to push him away, but the tight dress hanging at my elbows makes it impossible to lift my arms more than a few inches.
I'm powerless to stop him as his mouth circles my breast, kisses landing on the mound of fat from top to bottom, getting perilously close to the red nub in the center.
He teases and tortures me, and even though I was utterly horrified by daddy's advances, the more his mouth makes its way around my flesh, the more exciting his touch becomes, until the only thought in my head is how badly I want his mouth to finally land on my nipple. My nipple, without any direct sensation, begins to harden, the tissue reacting to the torment. Instead of twitching away, I realizing I'm twitching into him, offering my nipple for a taste.
But daddy grabs my large breast—seemingly small in his even larger hand—and squeezes it, crushing my flesh in a painful show of strength. I grunt as he kneads me, coaxing my flesh to his bidding, exerting his dominance over my body.
And then his mouth finally meets my nub, but instead of soft lips, I'm met by biting teeth. Light in touch, the shock of sharp enamel is still enough to frighten me. But his gentle grinding leading to pain is lessened by a slight release followed by the flicking of his tongue over my erect nub. The pain and pleasure mix together, and I'm forced to let a moan escape my lips.
“There you go, just like your mother. All you girls need is a little control in your life. You'll be much happier that way.”
I can't disagree more, but I'm in no way capable of speaking my displeasure, because it'd be impossible for words to break through the immense pleasure I'm already feeling! My brain and body aren't synced up, so as my thoughts deny daddy's power, my body bends willingly to him.
“No,” I say, the weakest, most noncommittal denial I've ever uttered.
It's so shockingly ineffective, daddy can't help but laugh. “If you don't want it,” he says, pulling his hand away from my mouth and stepping away, “then you can leave.”
My breathing is ragged. I can still feel the sharp imprint of his teeth on my nipple, and when I look down at it, I can still see the marks pressed into my flesh. What
I didn't expect, though, is the sight of my half-nude body sparking a sense of lust in me.
It's not my body turning me on, it's what's been done to it against my will that's arousing me more than anything! My pussy's already wet beneath the dress, and I can tell it's only about to get worse.
Daddy lifts a tarp from something close to the dresser, something I missed entirely before. Underneath is a standing wooden contraption, set with three holes—two smaller ones on each side of a larger one. Daddy drags it out to the middle of the room. He undoes a latch, which allows him to lift the top half of the wood up, opening the holes up for easy insertion.
He looks at me, studying me as I watch him work the weird torture machine. I look at the stairs. I could leave, right now. I could run up those stairs and never turn back. I could... but when I look back at the contraption, the urge to be controlled surges through me.
I've never wanted it before in my life. I've always been independent, always been a bad girl at heart. But something about the way that daddy controlled me, something about the way he held my body still in his powerful arms and did whatever he wanted to me, makes me forget all about that flight of stairs. That feeling of being held to do something I have no say in...
All I can think about is giving myself to daddy. Completely.
I'm a slave to him. It's what my body's telling my mind, over and over.
I step toward the contraption, and daddy grabs the back of my neck, lowering me down into the larger center hole. With my neck in place, he places each one of my hands on top of the semicircles next to my head. He closes the contraption, firmly locking my head and hands in the holes, snapping the latch shut with an ecstatic bang.
I can hear the smirk in daddy's voice. “You take after your mother, after all.”
When I shift, my hands and head move only slightly, enough to keep me from chafing, but too little to give me any room to maneuver. I'm now at the mercy of the burly man setting up behind me.
The locks on me do something I never would have imagined: they enhance every little touch, empowering each sensation with a tinge of helplessness.
Daddy's hand lands on my leg, slowly sliding up my outer thigh. The sensation is potent, and my legs spasm for a brief moment as they're overwhelmed by waves of excitement. His hands come to the edge of my dress, his fingers getting underneath the fabric, and with a yank as easy as getting the dress on was hard, daddy lifts it over my bent-over ass.
I yelp at the speed of his movement, but I'm calmed again as daddy's palm slides over my ass, forcing my breath to catch as his fingernails lightly scratch my sensitive skin. I moan in delight as his fingers glide between my legs, pushing between my slick lips.
“Oh, daddy,” I groan.
His hand pulls out quickly and sparks across my ass, jolting me from my bliss. “No talking,” he says. “You're going to take your punishment without a word.”
My punishment?
I can hear the dresser creak open behind me, but I have no idea what daddy's doing. I can't turn my head to see, and the wooden contraption is too heavy to move. I swallow, a fear welling up in my stomach as I'm left exposed to whatever daddy's planning, and I have no idea what's coming!
I can't help it. I'm so nervous, I speak even though I am forbidden to, “Daddy—“
But my plea is cut off by the crack of something across my flesh, across the fattiest part of my ass. I bite my lip, holding back the pain of my flaming skin.
It's something long, something thin. Kind of soft but kind of hard. The only thing I can think of hitting me is a rider's crop.
Another slice through the air—creating a whooshing sound—and the implement strikes my other cheek, blistering my ass instantly. I grunt, fire shooting through me, flowing up my spine, itching to escape through my mouth.
But I focus my mind, intent on staying silent. Or at least not say a word.
Daddy strikes me again and again, the crack of the whip signaling an immediate burning sensation in my cheeks. Daddy moves the crop around, striking untouched areas, refraining from hitting the same area again. He'll strike the outside of my ass, and then he'll strike the inner cheek, and then my inner thigh, expertly placing strokes everywhere. I imagine my ass reddening quickly, which gives daddy a perfect view of what's been untouched and needs to be beaten red.
My lower back quakes as I brace for each impact. The pain's intense, ricocheting along my body. As much as I want to fold into myself, I can't, my locked arms and head preventing me from dropping to my knees. I'm forced to stand bent over, taking my punishment in stride, bound only by daddy's determination that I've had enough.
The next strike is soft and unexpected: he flips the crop over and gently taps at my pussy, which to my astonishment, feels incredibly amazing.
And it's made all the more humiliating when daddy brings the crop—I was right!—around for me to see, sticking it close to my face.
“Smell that, babygirl.”
I take a whiff. The strong pungent odor of pussy is unmistakable. Oh my god!
Daddy's clearly amused by the look on my face. ”That's right, babygirl. Daddy's making you very wet. Pain's good for a naughty girl like you. Helps to keep you in line.”
I swallow, afraid to say anything in case it results in another beating.
“It's your first time, though. Your mother took quite a few beatings before she finally gave in. I think we'll go a little easy on you today.”
“Thank you, daddy,” I say.
“Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen easy.”
Butterflies in my stomach explode outward, sending a nervous pulse through me. Daddy couldn't have sounded scarier, but he also couldn't have sounded sexier either.
Daddy stands in front of me, his hands making quick work of his belt and pants. They drop down and daddy pulls his cock from his boxer, releasing his thick meat mere inches from my face.
“Swallow this,” he says.
He grabs my hair, pulling my head up so he can stuff his dick down my throat. Without preamble, he busts through my lips, his rock hard cock pushing all the way to the back of my throat. I gag, but daddy holds it there, forcing my throat closed with his massive dick. He pulls out quickly and a strand of spit follows suit. I cough and sputter, and just as I feel like I'm able to speak, daddy rams his dick back down my throat.
He repeats this over and over, strangling me on his dick, pulling out, and then ramming it back in when I regain my composure. He finally quits playing around, thrusting his hips with purpose as he fucks my mouth. My gag reflex softened, daddy's dick is able to use the full depth of my mouth to my throat, coating him in saliva.
His hand wraps around the back of my head, creating a soft landing as he continues to ram into me, keeping me from hitting my head on the board. But as soon as it seems like he's looking out for me, his other hand swings under the stockade, and the crack of the whip is heard once more, but this time aimed at my tits.
My soft flesh reverberates as daddy strikes it, and I try to cry out, but a thick cock in my mouth prevents it. He smacks me again as he thrusts his cock into my mouth, pain traveling through my chest. The sting is harsh, but it's hard to focus on with the pleasure in my mouth stifling it.
Daddy's relentless, the flow of his thrusts perfectly timed, but the smacks of the crop erratic. They're slower than when he was striking my ass, but it only seems to ratchet up my fears as I brace for unpredictable slaps. It keeps me from becoming complacent, which makes every sensation ring out as I feel every little bit of me give way to my abuser.
Without warning, without ease, daddy's dick pulls out of my mouth, and when I finally open my eyes, he's disappeared.
“Now daddy's all good and wet,” he says, “but I don't think a little slut like you needed that, did you?” He's behind me. He taps my pussy with the crop, the slosh audible in the small basement. I'm soaking wet, the liquid of arousal gushing around my thighs. How the fuck could getting beaten turn me on so much?!
“You mak
e your daddy so fucking hard, he can't resist this tight little cunt.” His hands circle my hips—my skin burning from his touch—and with a simple thrust forward, his cock pierces deep into my virgin pussy.
“Oh fuck!” I cry out, the pressure so intense it buckles my knees. “You're so big, daddy!”
He groans, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth of my pussy around him. “That's just how your mom liked it, too. You're going to learn how to be submissive, just like her.”
His long cock pulls out and slams back into me, his huge body driving like a semi. I'm frail and weak from my beating, which makes daddy's thickness all the more enjoyable as my body gives way to him.
He grabs my hips and begins to fuck me hard. His cock slides in and out of my soaked cunt easily. With powerful thrusts, daddy fucks me like his little toy. Strapped to the contraption, I'm forced to feel his entire length as I'm prevented from twisting away. His cock comes so close to striking my cervix, probably centimeters away, it's almost as if his dick is the perfect size for me!
“Come on, you little slut. Tell daddy how much you love it.”
I moan deep, having to bring my brain back to my mouth to form words. “I l-love it, daddy.”
“Louder slut. Shout it like you mean it. Shout it just like your mother did.”
I cry out. “I love your dick inside me, daddy! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”
“There you go. And when I've put a little baby inside you, they won't hear it either as they're running around upstairs! They sure as hell won't hear your cries of pain!”
I realize that all the padding on the walls is to dampen sound, to prevent all the screams of pain and ecstasy from leaving this room. How often were they doing this while I was just a few feet away upstairs?
Daddy smacks me with the crop, using it as a tool of punctuation for each thrust he gives me, a reward for taking daddy's dick so well. But I can barely feel the slaps, the stings of pain. All I can feel is the humiliation, the control, the longs strokes of cock gliding into me.