What Good Girls Do
Jonathan Butcher
Also by Jonathan Butcher:
THE CHOCOLATEMAN
Further reading by the Sinister Horror Company:
THE BAD GAME – Adam Millard
BURNING HOUSE – Daniel Marc Chant
MALDICION – Daniel Marc Chant
MR. ROBESPIERRE – Daniel Marc Chant
AIMEE BANCROFT AND THE SINGULARITY STORM – Daniel Marc Chant
INTO FEAR - Daniel Marc Chant
BITEY BACHMAN – Kayleigh Marie Edwards
TERROR BYTE – J. R. Park
PUNCH – J. R. Park
UPON WAKING – J. R. Park
THE EXCHANGE – J. R. Park
POSTAL – J. R. Park & Matt Shaw
GODBOMB! – Kit Power
BREAKING POINT – Kit Power
KING CARRION – Rich Hawkins
MARKED – Stuart Park
THE BLACK ROOM MANUSCRIPTS VOL 1 – Various
THE BLACK ROOM MANUSCRIPTS VOL 2 – Various
Visit SinisterHorrorCompany.com for further information on these and other titles.
PRESENTS
WHAT GOOD GIRLS DO
First Published in 2017
Copyright © Jonathan Butcher 2017
Published by The Sinister Horror Company
Photography by Sian Jansen-Bowen
Additional cover design by Vincent Hunt
www.jesterdiablo.blogspot.co.uk
Twitter: @jesterdiablo
The right of Jonathan Butcher to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First thanks goes to my parents for their constant support – even though I hope they never read this filth.
To my fellow horror scribes (Justin Park, Daniel Marc Chant, Matty-Bob Cash, Duncan Ralston, Theresa Derwin, Jim McLeod, Duncan Bradshaw…) who have offered me opportunities, advice, and even friendship.
To Sian, for helping with the presentation of What Good Girls Do, to Kyna, for answering unpleasant medical questions and additional help, to Emily, for kindly modelling for the book, and to everyone who gave me feedback in the story’s early stages.
To teachers and friends who have recognised and encouraged my passion for writing over the years, helping me become the depraved storyteller I am today.
And finally, to anyone who reads (and hopefully reviews!) What Good Girls Do: whether you like it or loathe it, thank you.
This story is dedicated to abusers and coercers everywhere.
I dream of merciless, agonizing karma for each of you.
“To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.”
Friedrich Nietzche
“You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy.”
Donald Trump, President of the United States
1. Girl
The Daddy on the screen says: “Yeah, that’s it. I wanna see you puke.”
And My Daddy says to me: “That’s what Good Girls do, isn’t it?”
And I say: “Yes, Daddy.”
I’ve seen it all before. I’m always watching the Girls cocksuck the Daddies, and when My Daddy tells me that I should do it too, I get down on my knees like a Good Girl should.
The Daddy on the screen makes the Girl on the screen puke with his big cock. It is bigger than My Daddy’s, but My Daddy manages to make me puke, too, all over my tits.
When I’m done, I cough and wipe my mouth, and look up at My Daddy with his big face and fluffy grey hair.
My Daddy says: “It’s a special day, Girl. You’ve gotta be extra sweet, coz I’m gonna let you meet some of your other Daddies again. You like that, don’t you? Yes.”
He goes to the big door in My Room and puts the key into it. It goes CLA-CLUNK.
My Daddy says, “You’re such a Good Girl, sweetie,” and leaves again.
When it’s just me alone in My Room, I go to the bathroom and drink some water to make the dirty taste go away and then I sit on my bed. I decide to scratch the Bad away for a while until my arms are all red, and then I do some exercise. When I’m all warm and sweaty and better, I lie on my bed and look over at Daddy’s Eye.
Daddy’s Eye is on the wall above the door to My Room. It is square and about the same size as my foot, and it has a red dot that blinks on-and-off, on-and-off, and a little round screen.
My Daddy says, “I’m always looking out for you, even when you can’t see me.” He says, “Sometimes, all the Daddies are looking out for you.”
I look up at the ceiling pipes and the light bulb. I shiver. I wish I had clothes like My Daddy because it gets cold down here, but My Daddy says, “Good Girls don’t wear clothes.”
Sometimes, when it’s just me, I look at the books that Daddy gives me. They have words that Daddy showed me how to read, but I don’t know what some of them mean, like “airplane” and “office” and “sky”. Mostly, though, they’re about fucking. I’m writing my own book, too.
Sometimes, I watch the films that Daddy gives me. They show Daddies doing all the things to their Girls that My Daddy does to me. They teach me how to be a Good Girl.
If I ever ask My Daddy where all the other Girls are, like the ones in the films, My Daddy just tells me, “Don’t be silly.”
“Don’t be silly,” he says. “Don’t be silly.”
Sometimes, I think that there used to be another Girl here too, a bigger Girl. I think that she used to hug me and keep me warm, but I don’t think she wanted to fuck me. I once told Daddy about this, but he got shaky and left My Room without even saying “Don’t be silly.” He kept my light on for ages so I couldn’t sleep, and he stopped giving me food. He didn’t come back until I banged and banged and banged on the door.
When he came back, I was really tired and really hungry. I said, “Please please please, don’t do that again.” My Daddy cried and said that he wouldn’t do it again, and then he put his cock inside me and said, “You like that don’t you,” and I said, “Yes, Daddy.”
Today, while I’m looking at Daddy’s Eye, I start to feel shaky and different again, so I get up and sit on the floor and watch one of the films.
“Show me that tight asshole,” the Daddy on the screen says. “Good girl.”
There’s another Daddy with him. They stand at different ends of the Girl and fuck her tight asshole and her nice smooth cunt and her mouth. They choke her and laugh and spit on her, and then they cum on her and then the screen goes black. Then two other Daddies appear with another Girl, and it all starts over again.
Lately, I haven’t been reading or watching much, because I’ve started to feel shaky and different. It started when I watched the Other Film.
The Other Film’s box looks just like the others: it shows a Girl with no clothes on. But when I watched it when My Daddy wasn’t here, instead of seeing Daddies fucking and hurting their Girls like the normal films, I saw a Girl speaking with another Girl.
They talked about Daddies. They called them “men”. They said that Daddies were Bad, and that when they put their big cocks into the Girls’ nice smooth cunts, sometimes the Girls don’t like it. They said that Daddies shouldn’t fuck Girls like they do, an
d that if a Girl says “No,” it means that the Daddy should stop. Then the Girls kissed and it made me feel funny.
In the Other Film, when the Girls left their room, there were big things and small things and a little furry thing with four legs called a dog and lots and lots of cars, which I’ve read about in some of my books. When the Girls found some other Daddies, the Girls were Bad. They made red stuff come out of the Daddies, and that made them fall asleep.
I don’t think that My Daddy knows about the Other Film. I don’t think he would like it.
But I can’t stop thinking about it.
2. Serenity
I watch through our kitchen’s delivery hatch as my little survivor Phillip tussles with his toddling twin sister Lilith on the living room floor. Phillip weeps half-heartedly as Lilith looms above him, giggling and pushing his shoulders into the carpet with her pudgy hands.
My husband Stuart, showered but still in his blue pyjamas, stands at the window on the far side, surveying the neighbourhood. On Saturdays, like today, our street takes longer to wake up than during the week, when it is a constant tide of cars and people coming and going.
Stuart’s stocky frame is a silhouette before the morning sun that burns behind the glass. “Stop crying, Phillip,” he mutters. “Are you really going to let my princess get the better of you?”
The twins roll sideways, reversing their positions. Phillip starts to chuckle and Lilith’s laughter crumbles into frustrated tears. They’ll probably need their nappies changing after their scrap, and then our older son Declan will bathe them before we head out to the theme park.
While Declan supervises them bathing, I’m hoping that Stuart and I can have some fun of our own.
Phillip clambers between his sister’s legs, cackling as he pins her. He breaks wind with a gentle squeak. Their eyes lock in identical sibling surprise and they chuckle in unison; too young for a conversation, but old enough to see the hilarity of a good fart.
The oven’s digital clock tells me it’s just a few minutes until 10am, when my firstborn has agreed to be woken and dragged from his blankety crypt.
I head through to the lounge, where my husband Stuart is still standing at the window. I’m happy to see that my little survivor Phillip remains on top of his sister Lilith, squeezed between her thighs.
At Stuart’s side, I ask, “Did you print off the Castle Land vouchers? We need to make sure that…”
Without even turning, Stuart grabs a handful of hair from the back of my scalp. I gasp, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back. “Stuart, not in front of the…”
“Ssshhhh…they’re playing.”
I hear one giggle and one sob from the twins behind me, and then submit to a helpless warm rush. I lose myself to the darkness of my own eyelids, and when I open my eyes Stuart has turned towards me. A smile plays across his lips and his teeth glow against the beige of his freshly-shaven cheeks. “Honey. You have nothing to worry about.”
My legs shudder, threatening to give way.
“Relax,” he soothes, pulling my hair harder.
Out of view from the children, his other hand climbs the soft mound of my belly and cups my right breast. I want to remind him that we’re standing at the window and that anyone might see, but when he squeezes my nipple to a halfway a point between pleasure and sharp pain I merely bite my lip. His hand glides over to my left breast and gives its tip a similarly harsh pinch.
“Go and wake Declan,” Stuart says.
“Yes sir,” I breathe, warming to the familiar role.
This is going to be a fine morning.
3. Girl
I don’t want to be a Bad Girl, but while I’m watching the film today I get shaky and different. I want the Daddies in the film to stop doing what Daddies do.
I once said to My Daddy, “I don’t feel Good today. I feel different.”
When I said that, My Daddy told me, “It’s okay, sweetie. Things can be Bad, but feelings can’t. That means that Good Girls can feel Good, but they can’t feel Bad – they can only feel different. So there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”
And I said, “No, Daddy.”
That’s why I sometimes have to scratch my arms until I don’t feel so different anymore, because I’ve scratched the Bad away.
When the Daddies in today’s film start biting the new Girl’s tits, I pull the disc out of the machine. I take it to the toilet and shut the door and drop the disc in the water and flush.
I have a film where a Daddy puts a Girl’s head into the toilet and flushes it while he fucks her nice smooth cunt. The Daddy says, “Stay still, whore,” and he pulls her hair and spanks her and fucks her tight ass.
My Daddy always says, “That’s what Good Girls and Daddies do,” but when I think about it today it makes me feel really, really different.
Even though it makes me feel like a Bad Girl, I get the Other Film from under my bed and put it into the machine.
I skip to the bit where the Girls are talking together, when they kiss and they say that Daddies shouldn’t fuck Girls like they do. They say that Girls should only like other Girls, and then they kiss again. Then there’s the bit when they find the first Daddy, and tell him that they want to fuck him. When the Daddy gets out his big hard cock, one of the Girls bites it until red stuff comes out. The Daddy screams, but the other Girl hits his head with a TV. There is loads and loads more red stuff and then the Daddy goes to sleep.
Something in My Room goes CLA-CLUNK.
I turn.
My Daddy opens the door. When he sees me, he looks shaky and really, REALLY different. His face looks like it does when he cums, and he says: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
I tell him, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” even though I don’t feel sorry.
When My Daddy comes over, he looks like he is going to break me, but he doesn’t.
The Daddy on the TV is lying down, covered in red stuff.
My Daddy bends over and switches the TV off, but because I feel even shakier and even more different, I jump up and push his face into the screen, really, really hard.
The screen breaks with a CRUK and My Daddy says: “Ah!”
When My Daddy stands up, a bit of the screen is stuck in his head and his face is all red and drippy. He tries to spank my face because I’ve been a Bad Girl, but I step away. He can’t see me because of the red stuff in his eyes.
He has left the door to My Room open and I think about running through it and outside for the first time ever. My Daddy grabs my hair, though, like he sometimes does when he fucks me. He pulls me around to face him and screams, “WHAT DID YOU DO, GIRL?”
I’ve never felt this shaky and different before.
My Daddy rips my hair upwards, really hard, so I throw my hand out and hit the bit of broken screen that’s stuck in his head. Even though it hurts me, I think it hurts My Daddy more.
Daddy lets go of my hair. He wobbles and looks like he is going to fall down. He reaches up and touches the bit of screen in his head. As he does, I bend over like a Good Girl getting her tight ass fucked, but instead of getting fucked I pick up the TV with both hands. It doesn’t feel at all heavy when I lift it above me.
My Daddy makes his cum-face again. I drop my arms. The TV hits his head, really, really hard. It goes KSSSHHHH.
My Daddy shouts, and then he stops shouting, and then he falls down with the TV still on his head. He stops moving. There is broken screen and red stuff all around him. It makes me think about the Daddy in the Other Film, the first one who falls asleep and doesn’t wake up.
I suddenly feel different again.
REALLY different.
My arms are shaking, just like one of Daddy’s buzzing toys that he sometimes fucks me with. I feel like I’m going to puke again. I think about scratching the Bad away, or having a shower, or going to sleep, but I just stand there, looking down at My Daddy. He isn’t moving, not even a bit.
If he doesn’t wake up, where will I get my food? And who will fu
ck my mouth and my nice smooth cunt and my tight asshole? Daddy always says, “That’s what Good Girls do,” and even though I don’t like it, I still do it because I want to be a Good Girl.
I squeeze and pinch Daddy’s legs. He doesn’t move. I rub his cock but it doesn’t get hard.
I say: “Wake up, Daddy, wake up.”
I push the TV off his head. It goes KUNCH.
I want to slap My Daddy to wake him up, but there’s more bits of screen sticking out of his face now, and there’s so much red stuff over him that I can hardly see his skin. It makes me think of the film where the ten Daddies spit on and cum on a Girl’s head, and the Girl ends up covered in white stuff. The stuff that’s all over My Daddy is red, though, and it isn’t thick or bubbly.
I decide to copy what the Girl does in the Other Film. Maybe that will wake him.
I unzip My Daddy’s trousers and pull his cock out, and then bite it. I chew and I chew until his cock tastes different and it’s all red and a different shape.
Still nothing.
When I am finished, I spit a few times and drink some water in the bathroom. Then, because I don’t know what to do, but My Daddy isn’t here to stop me, I pick up a green crayon and a red crayon from my desk and I scribble all over the walls, circling My Room until I get to the door that leads outside. It is still open, and when I drop the crayons and look at it I feel like I’m going to fall over again.
I wonder, where are all the other Girls and the other Daddies?
“Don’t be silly,” My Daddy always says, if I ever ask him. “Don’t be silly.”
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