Daddy's Girl : An Extreme Psychological Horror

by Anton Palmer

  “No!”

  “Deep inside your…tight, wet, virgin…cunt! Pounding you deeper, harder, faster…satisfying your foul, filthy, wanton, lust!”

  “No! It’s not true!” Victoria ran towards the kitchen. Despite her protestations to the opposite, the sound of the ‘C’ word – that most filthy of all words – had almost tipped her over the edge and given her an orgasm. Her underwear felt like it was dripping with her arousal and as she yanked open the door, blinded by her shame and tears, she fell down the steps and landed in a heap on the dirt floor of the basement.

  Picking herself up, she ripped off her dress and bra and grabbed her ‘Discipline’ from its hook on the wall. She turned and stepped over to stand in front of the wooden cross hanging on the opposite wall.

  “And your underwear…”

  She could feel her father’s presence in the cold basement. Could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the touch of his rough hands brushing against her flesh. She shivered, her nipples stiffening. She slipped her underwear off. They were soaking wet.

  Perhaps she had wet herself after all?

  She held them gingerly in front of her face and inhaled. There was no mistaking the strong musky scent of her lust. She threw the offending garment to the floor and dropped to her knees. She placed a hand between her thighs and touched herself – she was dripping wet and silky slick. Her swollen clitoris throbbed at her touch.

  “No!” she screamed, fresh tears running like rivers down her cheeks, “No! No! NO!” She grabbed a handful of the coarse dirt off the floor and rubbed it hard between her legs, scouring her sex. Scraping up more dirt, she thrust the abrasive material as deep inside as her fingers could manage before rubbing yet more into her labia and her traitorous clitoris. As she scoured herself she felt a warm tingle building inside, “No!” she cried out, her eyes on the wooden cross, “That’s not what I wanted.” She stopped rubbing herself but it was too late. Her orgasm hit her like a bolt of lightning and the basement walls echoed with her howls of pleasure. Her juices soaked into the floor beneath her as her pleasure flooded out, her internal contractions expelling clots of wet dirt from her sopping vagina.

  As the last remnants of orgasm left her, Victoria stared at the dark wet patch of dirt between her legs.

  “Did you enjoy that? Slut?”

  “I’m sorry, father…I didn’t mean it to happen. I was cleansing myself…like you taught me…and it just…happened…”

  “Look at yourself. Look at the wet patch on the floor.”

  Victoria forced herself to look again at the patch of damp earth, as she did so, another lump of wet dirt slipped out from between her labia.

  “That’s your filthy lust made manifest by the Lord. He wants you to physically see what a dirty, wanton whore you really are!”

  She picked up her ‘Discipline’ and rose to her feet in front of the cross.

  “Do it you dirty bitch! The Lord wants to see you bleed for your sins. I want to see you bleed…for the shame you have caused me!”

  “I’m sorry, father. I’m so sorry. I love you, Daddy…” She whipped the knotted ropes hard over her shoulder, crying out loudly as they bit deep into her flesh. Over and over again she flogged herself until her back was numb and the only sensation she could feel was her warm blood running down the small of her back, along her butt cleft and dripping onto the floor…

  Only when the deep red of her blood had completely covered the damp patch from her orgasm did she return the ‘Discipline’ to its hook and head for the shower.

  11

  As she walked across the bank’s car-park, Victoria felt her gut twisting into a tight knot at the thought of her colleagues, already inside the building, gossiping about Friday night. Her face began to burn as she approached the rear door, certain that everybody in the bank would know by now about her and the male stripper. Pausing at the plain white door, she stared through the small wire-meshed window, nausea rising in her throat.

  Could she just turn round and go home? Call in sick?

  She’d probably already been picked up by the CCTV camera, so people would know she’d actually made it as far as getting to work. Maybe, if she threw up in front of the camera then no-one could argue that she wasn’t sick, but the nausea had now subsided a little, leaving only the knots and butterflies churning in her belly.

  She took a couple of deep breaths and swiped her entry card. The lock clicked and she stepped through the door, cautiously, as if expecting to be instantly swamped by a sea of laughing, jeering faces. The rear lobby was empty and silent. Victoria headed towards her cashier’s desk. Nerves had unsettled her bladder and she wanted to pay a visit to the toilet before sitting at her desk, but she felt certain that if there was any gossiping about her going on, then the women’s toilets was the place it was most likely to be – her bladder wasn’t yet so desperate that she needed to take that risk. As she swiped herself through into the cashier’s office, she found Mandy already at her desk, sorting the various forms in her trays.

  At the sound of the door opening, Mandy immediately looked up from her paperwork. “Vic! Are you OK? I’m so sorry about Friday night. I can’t believe Anna could be so mean.”

  Victoria gave a weak smile, “I’m OK. Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “The stripper was meant for Jane – the birthday girl – but of course she was sick and no one bothered to cancel. Anna thought it would be funny to send him over to you.”

  Victoria’s jaw clenched for a moment and she took a deep breath, “Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

  “He was mortified by the way – the stripper. Anna told him that you would be up for…well, you know…”

  “Please!” She almost shouted at Mandy, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Victoria turned away from her colleague and stared out through the front windows, at the queue of people waiting in the bright sunshine for the doors to open. She pinched her thighs hard, desperate to distract her mind from all thoughts of the stripper and the effect he had had on her. As hard as she tried, flash-memories of his thick penis, how it had looked with its single eye staring at her and how it had felt in her hand as it throbbed and grew beneath her fingers, threatened to burst into her mind. She clamped her thighs tight together, desperate to smother her genitals, prevent them from reacting to the sensations and images that poked and prodded at her consciousness. Just as she felt the beginning of a light tickle between her legs, the security guard unlocked the front doors and the sounds of the street flooding in created the welcome distraction she required. Victoria breathed a sigh of relief and unclenched her thighs as an elderly woman, dressed for winter despite the warmth of the day, approached her window.

  ***

  It had been a busy Monday morning. An almost constant stream of customers had meant there had been little time for the memories she was trying to banish to worm their way back into Victoria’s mind and also, thankfully, little time for Mandy to talk to her and bring the topic back up.

  By the time lunch came, Victoria’s bladder was making its needs felt and she walked hastily to the ladies room to relieve herself, not caring at this moment who might be in there. Opening the bathroom door, she saw two women talking as they washed their hands at the sinks. They turned towards her as she entered and briefly smiled at her before continuing their conversation as they walked across to the hand-dryers.

  Were they smiles? Or knowing smirks?

  Victoria locked herself in a cubicle and relieved the pressure of her full bladder. She winced as the stream of urine stung, her delicate parts still sore from the scouring she had inflicted upon them. As the last barbed drops dribbled from her urethra, she gathered a wad of tissue paper from the dispenser beside her and dabbed at herself, careful not to wipe, both through a fear of discomfort but also from a dread of accidentally arousing herself.

  She wanted to pop into town and grab a sandwich, not having been in the mood to make any herself that morning, and headed for the re
ar door. As she reached for the button to release the lock, the door suddenly opened in front of her and was held wide.

  “After you…” The male voice sounded vaguely familiar. Victoria stepped through the open door and as she turned to thank whoever was holding the door for her she immediately recognised the man she had run into when rushing out of the pub the previous Friday night.

  “Oh. It’s you…” She flustered, feeling her cheeks blush under his gaze.

  “Ah…the young lady I bumped into the other night. I must say, I have been bowled over by feminine beauty many times before, but never quite so…literally.” He stuck out his hand, “Marcus. Shaw-Hamilton.” Victoria stared at the proffered limb for a second, noticing the clean, manicured nails, before nervously taking it in her own.

  “Victoria.”

  Marcus raised his eyebrows slightly, awaiting a surname. Assuming one wasn’t forthcoming, he loosened his grip. Victoria gave a sigh of relief as she withdrew her hand, suddenly aware of how clammy her palms were. She looked him up and down. He was again dressed in an immaculately tailored and perfectly fitting suit. His dark hair, eyes and lightly tanned complexion inducing her heart rate to quicken. “I’m sorry about bumping into you…I was in a hurry…”

  “Yes, I know. I heard all about it.” He gave her a sympathetic smile as she pulled her shame filled eyes away from his and gazed down at the ground. “I know Anna. She thinks she’s God’s gift to men. The only thing bigger than her ego is her mean streak. I can have a word with her if you like – knock her down a peg or two.”

  Victoria shook her head, worried that Marcus’s intervention might just make things worse. Might make her an even bigger target for Anna’s mean streak.

  “OK. Well, I’ve got to dash – late for a meeting. But before I go…I wonder, would you like to go out for dinner with me some time, Victoria?” Her heart suddenly began to hammer behind her ribs and she felt dizzy.

  Is he asking me out on a date?

  She had never been on a date before, never even been asked. She didn’t know how to respond. Her brain was flooded with conflicting thoughts and emotions – should she say yes? Part of her wanted to. But she knew nothing about dating, about men. She’d never even had a kiss off a man – except her father, which doesn’t count.

  Father! What would her father say?

  Her blood turned to ice at the thought of what he might have to say – and what punishments she would have to endure if he didn’t approve. Panic was creeping in. She had to get away. “I’m…I’m…sorry. I can’t…” she spluttered, looking in desperation to the street, wanting to run towards the sun-soaked pavement, to remove herself from this situation.

  As she turned to run, Marcus thrust a card into her hand, “In case you change your mind.” He gave her a wide, white smile and headed through the door, allowing Victoria to take her leave of him, acutely aware that he had inadvertently made the young woman uncomfortable.

  The small sandwich shop was popular with workers and the queue of customers waiting to be served was spilling out onto the pavement. Victoria joined the end of the line, behind a young woman gently rocking a pram. Victoria peered into the pram and spotted the infant fast asleep. “Boy or girl?” She asked the mother, keen to take her mind off Marcus.

  “What?” the woman snapped at her, “Oh. She’s a girl.”

  The young mother had bags under her eyes but Victoria wasn’t quite sure if the woman’s irritable response was due to lack of sleep or because Victoria had failed to tell her precious child’s gender. Either way, she didn’t seem in the mood for conversation.

  As the queue moved closer to the shop’s entrance, it became obvious that the woman was not going to be able to fit her pram through the narrow doorway, especially with the crowd of customers already in the shop taking up most of the room. As she tried to manoeuvre the baby carriage into the store, banging it against the door-frame and getting in the way of customers trying to leave, the mother was growing ever more frustrated. Victoria stepped towards her, “I can watch the baby for you if you like.”

  The woman thought about it for a moment, clearly in two minds about leaving her child with a stranger, even if it was only for a few minutes. People queuing behind them were starting to barge past, losing patience with the two woman blocking the doorway.

  “Umm…OK. Thanks.” The young mother stepped into the shop and waited to be served, occasionally glancing back at Victoria as she rocked the pram back and forth, smiling down at the sleeping infant, almost mesmerised by its tiny, but perfectly formed features.

  “She’s lovely. What’s her name?”

  Victoria was woken from her trance and turned towards the voice. A middle-aged woman was smiling at her. “Umm…” Victoria was suddenly flustered, “Emily.” It was the name of the last customer she served before lunch.

  “What a lovely name. Oh look, she’s waking up, bless her.”

  Victoria looked back into the pram as the baby girl opened her eyes and yawned, her tiny legs flexing under her sheet as she stretched. Without even thinking about what she was doing, Victoria reached into the pram and lifted the infant out, cradling it in her arms. As she stared into the child’s blue eyes, she leant her face towards it and kissed it gently on the forehead, closing her eyes momentarily as she inhaled its scent.

  “They do smell lovely, don’t they?” The middle-aged woman was talking again, “I was forever sniffing mine when they were that age.” Victoria ignored her, lost in her dreams as she held the baby close, already feeling a sense of love for it as it snuffled and murmured against her breast, its mouth sucking at her blouse as it searched for a nipple to latch on to.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Victoria snapped out of her reverie as the child’s mother grabbed the baby from her and placed it back in the pram.

  “I’m sorry. She woke up. I was just trying to settle her.”

  The young woman stared at her for a second, as if she was about to say something and then thought better of it. She turned away and headed on up the street.

  “She wasn’t yours then?” The middle-aged woman looked at Victoria with a mix of confusion and pity in her eyes. Victoria shook her head before running back towards the bank, tears streaming down her face.

  As she neared the bank, she paused for moment to wipe her eyes and searched in her pocket for a tissue. Her fingers found the card Marcus had handed to her earlier. She pulled it out for a better look. It was his business card:

  Marcus Shaw-Hamilton. Investment Manager.

  His contact details were also on there, both an office phone number and his personal number. Victoria traced the tip of her finger along the digits of his personal number. If she wanted to have a baby then she needed a man – a husband – and if she wanted a husband then she needed to go out on date. She briefly closed her eyes and remembered holding the baby, the smell of its skin, the feeling of it nuzzling into her breast, and again that sense of love flooded her brain.

  She decided she would call Marcus that afternoon and accept his invitation to dinner

  12

  Marcus knew the floorboard was going to creak even before he’d put his full weight down on his right foot.

  “Marcus? Is that you?”

  He stood stock still, deciding whether to ignore the voice or not. After a few seconds of contemplation he determined there was no ignoring that gravelly whine. He turned around on the landing and headed to the door on his right, pausing for a split second before entering the room.

  “Yes, Mother…it’s me.”

  His mother lay, propped up in her bed, her shrivelled frame lost in the folds of her white nightdress. Her steely blue eyes looked him up and down as the merest hint of a sneer pulled at her thin, pale lips.

  “What are you all dressed up for? Are you going out?”

  “Yes, Mother, I’m going out…I’ve got a dinner date.”

  The old woman grunted and took a sniff of oxygen from the clear plastic mask she clu
tched in her gnarled hand. “Another of your gold-digging sluts, no doubt!”

  Marcus frowned, then smiled, “Actually, I think you might approve of this one, Mother.”

  His mother pulled her mask from her face, her eyes suddenly brighter, “Do I hear wedding bells, my dear?”

  “Not yet, Mother. This is our first date.”

  “Hmm…well you’ll need to get a move on…I’ve not got long left…and I want to see at least one grandchild before I go.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And make sure you’re married before you knock her up – I don’t want bastards!”

  “Yes, Mother…I know.” He checked his watch and turned to go.

  “And Marcus…” she took another shot of oxygen, “remember…if you’re not wedded before I go, you don’t get a single penny. I’d rather leave it all to the cat than have you squandering it on your disease ridden whores!”

  “Yes, Mother…”

  13

  Marcus had been delighted that Victoria had accepted his offer. So delighted that he suggested they go out that same evening. Victoria had assumed their date would be on the weekend. Perhaps, she mused, Marcus was worried she would change her mind if they had to wait till the end of the week and he had decided to strike while the iron was hot.

  As she drove home from work her mind was a turmoil of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

  Her first date!

  At twenty-three years old, most of the women she knew had, by now, had numerous boyfriends, multiple sexual partners and were either married or…living in sin. Victoria on the other hand was an un-kissed and un-touched virgin. She had never even so much as held hands with a member of the opposite sex. A sudden mental image flashed into her brain for a second - her hand wrapped tightly around the male-stripper’s penis, the bulbous head a deep red as the shaft engorged with blood at her touch. She veered across the road. The sound of an on-coming driver blaring his horn roused her back to alertness and she swerved back onto her side of the carriageway, her heart pounding.