Ted Leonard - Discipline for daughter

But what about Ernie? Her brother! Could she tell him?

A faint glimmer of hope flared in her breast. Sure, Ernie drank a lot, but he used to be a nice guy. What would he do if he knew his dad was screwing her to death? Wouldn't he come to her aid? Who better to turn to than her own flesh and blood?

She looked at the clock on the wall. Ernie wouldn't be home until about three in the morning. She could talk to him then. But what if he was drunk and feeling mean? What if he and her father had another fight and he threw Ernie out of the house?

A few tears streamed down her pretty face and she saw her situation as hopeless once again. What escape was there for her? She couldn't run away. She couldn't tell anybody about the incest. All she could do was remain here and accept things as they were. And that made her cry harder.

"There you are," her father said from the doorway.

Marsha gasped to see him coming at her stumbling across the kitchen, knocking over a chair on his way to her defenseless cunt.

He landed on his knees, groveling into her helpless crotch. He buried his face between her thighs and pushed into her sweet little pussy. His tongue became a live thing running over her puffy cunt-lips and quivery little clit. Marsha shut her eyes against the sickening sight of her wheezing dad, eating her cunt so viciously.

She let her head drop back so she couldn't see even with her eyes open. Her tits hardened with unwanted feelings as her father's big tongue worked its way up into her juicy fuckhole. She sobbed as she came.

Despite her aversion to her own father's sucking mouth, she came vibrantly. Against her will, her whole body trembled with orgasm and her little cunt flooded profusely with silky fluids that delighted her horny dad.

After he had her gasping and trying to catch her breath, he stood up and took her by the hand.

"Come on," he said thickly, "let's go on your bed and fuck. It's been a long time."

"Daddy, no, it hasn't!" she cried. "You just fucked me a little while ago! You just don't remember! Daddy, please, not again!"

But he laughed and dragged her through the living room and into her room. He pulled her struggling body against him and his cock rose up stiff and wet against her trembling thighs. Marsha shivered to feel it so big and hot again.

He stuffed her small mouth full of his tongue and chuckled through the obscene kiss. He edged her back toward her bed and Marsha struggled hopelessly. She gasped when she fell onto her back across the bed. She cried out when her father grabbed a mouthful of a firm, jutting tit and pushed his rigid fuck-pole up into her cunt again.

"Ohhh, nooo, Daddyyyyyy," she whimpered.

She didn't want it to happen so soon, but his driving cock got her off immediately. Her pussy, sensitized to fucking by the earlier orgasms, simply went wild on his pistoning prick. She couldn't stop it from getting wetter and wetter as her dad's enormous cock turned it on.

Because he was out of his head with booze, Ralph actually believed he had shot his load into his daughter's twisting, humping cunt, but he hadn't. Nonetheless, he rolled off her fucked body and fell into a coma.

Marsha thanked God for small favors and crept into the bathroom. There she showered and perfumed her aching body, trying to wash away all vestiges of her raunchy, dirty father.

She posed naked before the long mirror and still liked what she saw. Clint had told her she was built like a senior. She could now see that she was. Her tits were high and pointed, her waist slim, her legs long and shapely. Yes, she was still a pretty girl, even though her evil dad was betraying her and abusing her body.

She cupped her tits gently and immediately liked the feeling. Tenderness was something she ached for. And the only tenderness she could get was from herself. Knowing that she rested back against the wall and watched herself in the mirror as she gently caressed her arching tits and rubbed her sweet, pink cunt.

She moaned with soft pleasure and got herself off a good one.

She didn't think of her squishy orgasm as better than the ones her father gave her. They were just different, softer, nicer, gentler, more pleasing.

She rubbed her swollen tits and fingered her drenched fuck-hole pleasantly, enjoying herself for the first time that day. With the good feelings of sexy pleasure washing through her pussy, she was able to forget about her wicked father for a little while.

Because the juicy coming helped her forget her troubles and grief, she started finger fucking her cunt-hole all over again to get more relief. Panting hotly, with her fuck-urge mounting in her tightened belly, she backed up to the toilet seat and sat down on it.

She opened her legs wide, leaned back comfortably, and drilled her fingers in and out of her hungry little pussy as she twirled her clit with her thumbs. She came nicely.

Marsha despaired over ever getting away from her father's incredible, rutting lust. She didn't know that fate was coming to her aid in her time of need.

When she emerged from the bathroom all fresh and pink, she cringed to see her dad out cold on her bed, his prick dangling wetly. He turned in his stupor and mumbled something about taking a piss. Marsha cowered against the wall as he stumbled past her, but he wasn't interested in her at the moment.

She quickly dressed in an old blue T-shirt and white shorts. She wanted to appear as unattractive as possible. Wanting very much to avoid any further sexual contact with her raunchy dad she turned the TV on in the living room and sat oh the sofa, trying to look absorbed and occupied was no use.

Her father appeared in the doorway took one look at her ripe, jutting tits and naked thighs and sighed.

"God damn, you look good enough to eat," he murmured.

"Oh, no," Marsha gasped, seeing his prick rise up in his soiled pants.

Her father chuckled and came at her from across the room. It as then that it happened. As he rounded the corner of the sofa, he stepped on an empty whiskey bottle. The bottle spun and took his foot out from under him. Marsha stared in disbelief as her father crashed to the floor. His head cracked against the TV set. And he just lay there.

Marsha remained cowering on the sofa for a long time before it dawned on her that her dad was not going to get up, have a few slugs of booze and rape her again. He simply wasn't getting up at all.

"Daddy?" she rasped, leaning forward slightly, peering down at his white, pasty face. "Daddy?"

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. There was blood oozing out of her father's hair and he looked dead.

"Oh, my God!" she cried and ran to the telephone.

Things happened rapidly after that. An ambulance came and she watched her father being taken away on a stretcher. Then there were the hours of worry and anxiety, of pacing the living room floor, wondering what to do.

Finally, she remembered her brother and she called him at work. He came home as fast as he could.

"What happened?" he wanted to know. Marsha told him exactly what happened, and Ernie squatted down near the TV and checked out the set. He could see where his father's head had struck it.

He got to his feet and looked at his sister. "Is he gonna be all right?" he asked.

"I don't know. I thought he was dead! But the man in the ambulance told rue he'd be all right. He said something about a concussion or something like that."

Ernie poured himself three fingers of whiskey and downed it. "So he ain't dead, huh?"

Marsha stared wide-eyed at him. "You sound disappointed!" she gasped.

He laughed. "I am in a way."

Marsha bit her tongue again. How she would have liked to tell him just how well she knew Ralph Brennan! But she didn't have the heart to speak of her horrible adventures with dear old daddy.