Ted Leonard - Discipline for daughter

But she envied Sandra. She wished she could be so enthusiastic about sex. She wished she could be as horny as Sandra and lust after all those stiff pricks wandering around the school.

Of course, Marsha was just as horny as Sandra. She just couldn't do anything about it like Sandra could. Her father would rape the hell out of her if he knew she had fucked a boy, she was certain of that. He had threatened her with a brutal ass-fucking and she believed him! It had been bad enough when he broke her cherry with his enormous cock! She certainly didn't want it shoved up her ass.

She tried to change the subject with Sandra, but the brunette kept coming back to boys' nice cocks. Finally, Marsha told her bluntly that she didn't want to talk about Clint's eager prick.

"What's the matter with you?" Sandra snapped at her. "Are you getting stuck up, or what? You never fuck that I can tell. Are you normal? You must be, I never saw you eat pussy either. Come on, Marsha, snap out of it. You're not getting any younger. Get in on the fun while you can."

"Yeah… sure…" Marsha murmured. "Uhhh, look, Sandra, I gotta go."

"What's the rush?"

Marsha decided to tell her the truth. "I was just going to the kitchen for a big banana when you called. I just got off and my pussy's itchy for some more. You know?"

"Do I!" her friend laughed. "Okay, go ahead and get your rocks off. Though I don't know why you don't just let Clint Fields do that for you!"

Marsha hung up and heaved a sigh. She sagged on the sofa and let one hand drop between her thighs to her furry little twat. She knew only too well why she couldn't let Clint – or any boy, for that matter – help her get her rocks off.

As if her thoughts of her raunchy father caused it, his car drove up in front of the house. Marsha groaned and leapt off the sofa, her tits heaving and her heart racing as she hurried back into her room.

She shut the door quickly and blocked it with a chair – even though she knew it would do no good if her dad wanted to fuck her.

She swallowed nervously and quickly pulled on a dress. She barely got the zipper up in back when she heard the front door open. But she didn't hear it close. Instead, she heard her father fall down and curse like crazy.

She tip-toed to the door and removed the chair. She eased the door open a crack and peeked out to see her dad struggling to his feet. He was bent over, coughing and holding his chest. He was drunker than she had ever seen him.

She kept a firm grip on the doorknob. If her father approached her room, she planned to block the door and maybe get out the window. But Ralph didn't come to her room. She watched breathlessly as he stumbled toward the bathroom.

A moment later she heard the weirdest sounds ever to come from a human being. Curious, she dared to open her door and step into the living room. The front door was still wide open. She went and closed it.

When she turned she saw that the bathroom door was open, too. And there was her dad, crumpled on the floor, hugging the toilet bowl and puking his guts out.

Her father was certainly no threat to her ass in that condition. He looked like death warmed over. Then she saw the blood spewing from his mouth and she screamed.

"Daddy!" she shrieked, bolting into the bathroom.

She dropped down and put her hand on his back as he vomited red liquid mixed with booze into the bowl. "Oh, my God. Dear God! How can you do this to yourself?" she cried as he jerked and puked.

"D – don't know, honey. Don't know… sick… so sick, baby… help, me, please help me."

"But, how, Daddy, how? What should I do?"

He couldn't answer her. He either didn't hear her or simply had no way of responding. All he could do was push his face deeper into the filthy bowl and heave some more.

Instinct took over Marsha. In a flash, she recalled one day just before her mother died. She and her mother were having a cup of tea together and Marsha cheered the woman up by talking about school. Her mother loved to hear her daughter talk of the future and her goals. And Marsha told her she wanted to be a nurse when she got older. Her mother said she'd make a marvelous nurse.

Remembering that, Marsha mustered all her strength and courage and helped her drunken father to his feet. He slobbered puke and saliva down the front of his filthy shirt as she tried to guide him out of the bathroom. Feeling like a nurse, and pretending to be one, she somehow managed to get his huge frame across the living room and into his bedroom.

She let him fall onto the bed because he was too heavy to let down easily. Then she took off his shoes and socks. That was easy. The hard part for the poor girl was getting his pants off. But she knew a nurse had to be detached and efficient. Without looking at his crotch, she yanked his pants off and then removed his soaked shirt. When she had him naked, she rolled him under the covers, and he fell, into a stupor, snoring and muttering insanely.

It was with a growing sense of pride that Marsha went to the kitchen and fixed her father some hot broth. This she carried to his room and she sat on the edge of the bed and spoon-fed the soup to him. She had to force him to eat.

He waved his arm angrily to push away the spoon at his lips. His hand hit Marsha's firm, pointed tits. It paused there, felt around, identified the objects, and stayed there, feeling them.

"Beautiful tits," he mumbled drunkenly. "Tits. Cute tits. Nice… warm… pretty tits."

Since her tits kept his hand occupied while she fed him the broth, Marsha let him play with them. Even when his rough hand yanked her neckline open and bared her tits, she let him maul them so she could get the healthy soup down his throat. No real nurse had ever applied herself to her duty with more dedication.

He is my father, she told herself as her pink nipples responded to his tantalizing fingers. Sometimes I hate him, but I can't let him die.

Don't die, Daddy, she said inwardly as she pushed the last spoon of broth into his slack mouth. Mom is dead. Gone. I'd be all alone if you died. Just me and Ernie. Ohhh, don't die, don't die.

She removed her tits from his wandering hand and set the empty bowl and spoon on the nightstand beside his bed. Her father seemed to be weaving in and out of consciousness, fading into a drunken stupor or a coma, Marsha didn't know which. All she knew was that she had to take care of him – whether he deserved good treatment or not. A nurse had to be impartial.

But her father started shaking terribly with a deep chill. His face grew waxen and his eyes rolled in his head. His teeth chattered as if it were freezing in the room.

Marsha quickly piled blankets on him. It did no good. She could see his big body shaking beneath them. A light flashed in her eyes. She had seen a movie once where a man would have died if it hadn't been for a woman who laid next to him and warmed him with her body heat.

Can I do that? she wondered. Do I dare?

Her father groaned low and his teeth clicked together as his shoulders quivered. Sweat poured from his forehead, even as he trembled with the cold. Marsha knew she had to do everything she possibly could to save him.

She stripped her little dress off and, stark naked, crawled into his bed with him and pressed her curves up against his body. Her father rolled in his coma and a big hairy arm circled her slim waist. His thick cock pressed against her thighs.

Marsha quivered a little herself as she felt his prick begin to rise up like a live thing. It startled her because she didn't know a man could get a hard-on when he was unconscious. His cock got bigger and hotter!

"Helped me," her father suddenly mumbled in his half-sleep. "My baby. Helped your old dad… good girl. The best… my baby…"

Marsha caught her breath as his body pressed ever tighter against hers. She felt her stiff nipples squeeze on his powerful, hairy chest. His immense cock prodded between her thighs. She swallowed nervously.