Norma Egan: Daddy_s slut girl

The teen watched Cindy Cameron leave the car and walk towards her apartment building. He noticed wistfully how her round, compact little butt moved back and forth as she walked in an unconsciously sexy way. Cindy's long, golden blonde hair shimmered, clean and healthy, under the street light. She was a little girl, not much over five feet tall, but she was beautiful, and she had a fantastic body. The teen wished now that he'd had the nerve to try putting the make on her, but it was too late now. Perhaps on their next date.

Cindy entered the apartment building and walked slowly up the three flights of stairs to the small apartment she shared with her father. She was smiling, day-dreaming, and in no hurry. She was eighteen, and she'd just had her first real date. Pop didn't know about it, of course. He didn't allow her to go out with boys. But Cindy felt the time had come, and she was glad she'd snuck out for movies and hot dogs. It had been great fun, and something about being alone with a guy at last had strangely excited her.

She remembered the mild and rather pleasant odor of young male sweat, the way his body had brushed hers a few times, and she sighed. There was a warmth, a moistness, in her cunt which Cindy had never experienced before. She wished her date had tried to kiss her, to feel her up. She was dying to know about those things.

"Pop?" Cindy called as she entered the apartment. "I'm home."

She glanced in the little yellowed mirror beside the coat rack. She was pleased at how pretty she looked, with her big blue eyes, upturned nose, and white even teeth. She hoped the guy had found her pretty, too, and that he'd ask her out again.

Cindy started as she heard a loud crash, like glass breaking, in the kitchen. Then her father staggered into the living room and stared at her. Oh, God, she thought, he's drunk again.

George Cameron, at forty, was no prize. A big beefy red-faced man with thinning, oily brown hair, he neglected his personal appearance and made his low intelligence even dimmer by drinking too much. He had been a factory worker. Now he was out of work.

"Where the hell you been?" he growled.

"I told you, Pop," Cindy said calmly. "Jenny and I went to the movies."

He grinned wolfishly at her, his little bloodshot eyes gleaming. "Oh, no, you didn't," he said, slurring his words a little. "You can't fool me this time. I was lookin' out the window when you come home. I seen that guy."

Cindy watched him without a change of expression, wondering how to deal with this problem. She felt she was plenty old enough to date, that it was her right to do so – but on the other hand, Pop had forbidden it, and he had a terrible temper.

"You must have been seeing things again, Pop," she said at last. "I was with Jenny."

George Cameron lurched towards his petite pretty daughter. His red-veined face contorted with rage. "I know what I saw," he growled. "I seen you with a guy. You better own up to it, young lady, or you'll be in real trouble."

Cindy knew that look. It usually preceded one of his drunken rages. Perhaps it would be better to humor him. "All right, Pop," she said, "you're right. I had a date."

He lurched towards her again, breathing booze in her face, his breath hot and moist. Her confession hadn't helped. He was angrier than ever.

"I said you was to keep away from guys!" he thundered. "I don't give a shit what you think! My word is law!"

Cindy sighed deeply. If only her father were like other fathers, sober and friendly and modern. For the thousandth time, she wished she could leave him and go live with her mother. She didn't know what her mother was like, she'd disappeared so long ago, but anything had to be better than this.

"Please, Pop," she said wearily, "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

She started to turn away, but he gripped her arm in one big sweaty paw. It hurt, and Cindy squeaked with pain.

"You just hold on!" he shouted. "I want you to tell me what happened with that guy. What'd he do to you?"

"Do to me?" Cindy gasped. "What do you mean?"

Pop's face took on a look of mean, drunken cunning. "You know damn well what I mean, you little whore," he said. "How far did you go with him? Did he ball you?"

Cindy shook off his sweaty grip and looked at him in disgust. "We didn't even kiss," she said. "Nothing happened, Pop. Now, I'm going to bed."

"Oh, no you ain't!" he shouted. "Not till I got the truth!"

Cindy screamed as her father pushed her roughly towards the couch. He was much bigger than her, much stronger, and she was propelled helplessly across the room, then shoved down on the couch. Pop's big hot paw was suddenly under her skirt, digging roughly between her soft thighs.

"Pop!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

He didn't reply. Breathing heavily, he clapped his hand onto the crotch of her panties and felt the pussy-juice there, the burning heat. Then he whipped his hand out from under her skirt, as if he'd been bitten.

"You got fucked, you slut!" he screamed. "You let that guy into your pants!"

Cindy blushed scarlet. Even at the best of times her father's coarse language embarrassed her, but now his crude words were poisoning the sweet and innocent memories of her first date. She hated him.

"I did not!" she shouted angrily. "I told you, he didn't even kiss me! Now leave me alone, Pop!"

George Cameron swayed drunkenly over his flushed eighteen-year-old daughter. He was still feeling the silky flesh of her thigh in his vivid memory, the incredible heat of her pussy as it radiated through the thin crotch of her panties. He gazed hungrily at the girl. She was beautiful, damned beautiful, just like her mother. She wasn't as tall as Linda, and her hair was golden rather than ash blonde, but otherwise she was the image of her sexy, flirtatious mother. She had the same good tan legs, the tiny waist that swelled out into round feminine hips and ass, the same big round wobbling tits…

Oh, Jesus, it'd been so long since he'd fucked a woman!

"Get away from me, Pop," Cindy was saying. "I want to go to bed. I'm tired."

George didn't move. He was drunk, so drunk that his sense of time and place were way off, and he was confusing Cindy with her mother, who'd walked out on him years ago when Cindy was just a baby. He arid Linda hadn't been mated very long, less than a year when she left, but he'd loved her blindly, slavishly. She was so beautiful, he'd wanted her constantly. He'd wanted to touch her, smell her, fuck her all the time. And then she'd betrayed him, run off, and he began to hate her memory.

"Slut!" he hissed. "Dirty, rotten whore!"

Cindy was really afraid now. When Pop got like this, drunk and mean, he'd beat her almost senseless with his fists, his belt, whatever he could lay hands on. She'd gotten used to it, of course, and when she saw his rage coming on, she locked herself in her room. But tonight he hadn't given her a chance.

"You dirty bitch!" he slobbered. "You'd fuck anything in pants. Why don't you just set up as a whore? You fuck the whole world anyhow. Everybody but me…"

"Pop!" Cindy cried. "Pop, wake up! It's me, Cindy. It's not Linda. I'm your daughter. I'm Cindy!" She was used to this, too, those rambling spells when he mistook her for her long-departed mother. He always said such terrible things, but she'd never learned just what it was that her mother had done.

George heard her words, and he recognized her as his daughter, but the rage was still there. "I don't care," he said. "You're a slut, too, just like her. You're just like your mother – don't tell me no different. You sneaked out with that guy, against my wishes, and you let him screw you. You did every dirty thing in the book…"