Chapter 11: Pussy Pills
"Well, Mr. Torch, I have some good news," good old Dr. Malkewitz explained as he scribbled something onto a pad of paper, "All your tests are normal. All you need are a few nights of good, uninterrupted sleep."
George narrowed his eyes. He was trying to appear exhausted, but it was hard to control his normal body language.
"The divorce has been hard," George said, his voice simmering. "I don't sleep much."
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," the doctor acknowledged distractedly. "Of course. That's why I'm prescribing GH Pro. It's a new drug on the market. I've had wonderful results."
The doctor tore a page off of his pad and handed the note to George. He took it and looked down at the doctor's sloppy handwriting.
"What does it do?" he asked suspiciously.
"It's a sedative, Mr. Torch," the doctor explained. He was flipping through a manila folder, now, but he continued: "Take it thirty minutes before bedtime and you'll be out like a light. After thirty days, if you're still experiencing such elevated levels of insomnia, we'll consider other causes, but I think that a week or two on this will have you right as rain."
The doctor smiled.
George frowned. "It says, 'take one or two at bedtime'," he pointed out.
"Oh, yes," the doctor said. "Try one at first. You're what, says here... ah. Six-four, two-ten? One should be enough, even with a man your size. But if it isn't, you can safely double the dosage."
"What if that don't work?" George demanded.
The doctor shrugged. "Well then, you'd be inhuman. But seriously, if 200 milligrams doesn't knock you right out, give me a call. I'm sure I could get published in the New England Journal of Medicine with such a case."
He was laughing. George wasn't. But he did manage to force a smile. After all, he'd just been given what he'd wanted.
"Before you leave, George, there's something I wanted to ask you."
George paused on his way to the door and looked back at the doctor. "Yeah?"
"It's about Amy," Dr. Malkewitz began. His expression was one of concern as he gently asked, "Have you... told her, yet? About her mother, I mean?"
George's eyes narrowed. "The agreement was to never tell her, Doc. Why would it change now?"
"I know, I know," the doctor said quickly. "I understand that. But it occurs to me that with Mary and you... separating... ah. Well, perhaps she would like to know the truth after all these years?"
George stared at the elderly little Jew intently. He could feel guilt riding up in his stomach and it was a feeling he hated more than anything in the world. "She don't need to know. She has a good life with me, you hear? I've raised her right and been a damned good dad! I've held up my end of the bargain and so has her mom. And if she ain't about to break our agreement then neither am I, and you'd better not think about--"
"No, no," Dr. Malkewitz quickly interjected. "I'm not going to breathe a word, of course. When I signed that nondisclosure agreement all those years ago, I knew I was making a lifelong promise to keep my mouth shut and I keep my promises. I'm just... suggesting... that maybe Amy would like to know that her mom isn't six feet under like you've been saying her entire life? Especially now that the only mom she's ever had has left her, that's all."
"You know what, Doc?" George spat. "Keep your fucking opinions to yourself."
With that, George stormed out of the office and nearly forgot to make his co-pay before charging outside to his truck. The nerve of that little Jew, George thought, to give him parental advice! He didn't know Amy! He didn't know what a great life George had given her!
And he didn't know that Amy was such a little slut that she would never be accepted into her real mom's world, anyway.
Fuck him, George thought as he gunned his engine. He headed straight for the nearest drug-store where he had a prescription to fill and a case of beer to buy.
Over a month had passed since George began monitoring his daughter with the wireless spy cameras. The first eight or nine days had shown him what a slutty little brat she was: always going straight to that dildo of hers, always fucking herself as if she deserved such pleasure. As if she'd earned it.
Since then, Amy had stopped using the crimson rubber monster entirely. She'd stopped being isolated, too: she had a new best friend. The girl, Elissa, was a cute little bitch, George thought. The incredibly skinny girl had long black hair and smooth, pale skin, and she wore the strangest dark outfits which happened to be disturbingly erotic. George had only met her twice but was convinced that she was somehow behind his daughter's sudden lack of interest in masturbation. He refused to think about what that might mean.
She's probably a whore, too, she looks like a whore, George would tell himself. Probably helps her find real cock.
The girl was on Christmas break, now. Winter had fully hit Cleveland, and work was slow. His douche-bag-of-a-boss couldn't even ride him anymore, since there really wasn't anything to do most days. After all, the ground was frozen and construction everywhere had mostly ground to a halt. Lately he was lucky to get 20 hours of work in a week. The Union made up the difference with its 'interim pay', but that could go on for only another 60 days. Besides, without his overtime, George was always pissed at his paychecks this time of year. Thankfully since Mary had left him he'd been able to save a lot more, even with Amy's dramatic increase in allowance.
The constant lack of work had left George with plenty of time to fantasize about the night he'd first fucked his daughter. God, how he wanted to do it again. But he was still too afraid to out-and-out rape the girl the way he had that second time, even given the evidence he had of her total perversion now.
It was too risky, he would tell himself. Way too risky. Fucking the bitch when she was conscious meant she would know, and if she knew she might eventually snap and report him to the cops. Then another part of him would start thinking that, no, of course she wouldn't tell the cops. She didn't last time. She liked it, she was a slut, a little teenage nympho who probably wanted her old man to give it to her good again...
It was unfair. His daughter was a little slut but he wasn't allowed to touch her? It was bullshit. And that was why he had gone to see Dr. Malkewitz. It's why he'd lied to the old Jew about not being able to sleep. Even back in 'Nam, he'd always slept like a baby. He'd wanted him to do exactly what he'd done: prescribe sleeping pills. But they weren't for him. They were for her.
Two days of plotting passed and now it was just past midnight on a cold Friday and George was cracking open his tenth beer, but Amy still wasn't home. He was mad. Not at her, though. He'd told her she could stay out as late as she wanted. He was mad at himself for being wrong, since he'd figured the girl would still come home by her regular curfew.
The slut might stay out till three, George glumly realized. And it was his fault. Why had he told her she didn't have to get back until "whenever"? Well, because the later she got to stay out, the more fucked up she would probably get on her own. That had been his logic, anyway.
Or the more fucking she'd get before coming home, he now realized. At this very moment his little girl might be getting fucked by some hormonal 18-year-old--
George froze. He heard something outside. He listened closely and a moment later he heard the front door slowly swing open.
George jumped out of his chair. "Amy, that you?" he called, trying not to slur his voice.
She didn't respond, but he heard her footsteps approaching. In the glow of the TV, which was the only illumination in the room, he saw her. She looked chilled to the bone: she was wearing her thick leather coat, her earmuffs, and the coat was zipped up, even. But she looked positively frigid.
"It's me," the girl chattered.
"Join your old man for a beer," George said, walking around the couch and into the kitchen.
"I—I'm fine," the shivering teen replied. "I—just need to sleep."
George quickly grabbed one of the special beers, one of the ones he'd prepared for his daughter. When he got back to the living room he caught her trying to leave.
"Come on," he called after her. "Have a beer with me. You're freezing... this will warm you right up."
The small girl seemed reluctant at first, but George's hardened gaze convinced her to join him.
"What'd you do tonight?" George asked the girl from the recliner.
"Nuthin'," she yawned. She took a small sip from her beer.
"You did something," George pointed out. He was doing his best to sound friendly but damn was it hard! He'd had too much to drink, plus she looked so damned sexy in that leather coat that he couldn't help but grow hard and stare at her lustfully.
Thankfully Amy finally spoke. "Elissa and her brother were having a little Christmas party, nothing big, just watched some movies and... you know, talked."
George nodded, and then Amy spent the next few minutes blathering about her new friends and how great they were and how good they were, etc. This gave George a chance to get his thoughts straight. His eyes roamed his little girl's body. She hadn't taken off her coat yet, or even her earmuffs, and she didn't seem to mind. It was sort of frustrating, since he wanted to see more of her body, but it was somehow sexy, too. His little girl, all bundled up for winter. Her skin looked so soft and smooth that it was all George could do not to reach out and touch her face: her skin was flawless, only now beginning to warm up, and he wanted to be the one to warm it up for her.
"Right, Dad?"
George snapped out of thoughts. "Definitely, hell yeah," he said, without any idea what he was agreeing to.
Amy was upending her beer already. George jumped from his seat and strode toward the kitchen, then returned from the fridge with another special beer for his daughter but with a bottle of water for himself. He was done with beer for the night.
"Thanks," Amy murmured dazedly as she accepted the can. She was looking even more exhausted than earlier, George noted as he took his seat again.
George watched as she drank. Her thin, flawless neck gulped down a few swigs from the aluminum can before she continued talking. He no longer even pretended to listen. Everything she was saying was bullshit, anyway, just a bunch of teenage drama. What he was interested in had nothing to do with her friends or the bullshit intrigue of teenage politics.
She'd unzipped her coat, finally, and her skin had returned to its natural hue. She was definitely warm because the girl also kicked off her boots and threw off her earmuffs before removing her jacket. Her long red hair was light and free around her face, a face so angelic that George couldn't help but stare.
And at her breasts. God, such great tits. Amy was wearing one of her typically too-tight shirts, and George was getting a great look at her just-pubescent cleavage. He chugged at his water.
Moments passed. It was quiet but for the soft buzz from the muted TV. George paused. All he could hear in the room was the deep breathing of his little girl, suddenly.
As quietly as possible George leaned forward and took the beer away from his daughter's limp hand. The can was half empty. That meant she'd ingested one and a half of the special beers.
She'd just taken one and a half doses of GH Pro. If Dr. Malkewitz was right, she should be completely comatose.
Slowly, anxiously, George knelt down next to his unconscious daughter. He paused and pressed his finger against her face. Nothing. Not even a flinch. Everything was quiet except for his beating heart and her shallow breaths. The 14-year-old had totally passed out.
The pills had worked like a charm. Earlier that evening he'd broken open a capsule of the medicine and dumped its contents into a just barely cracked open beer, then he'd done it twice more. He'd had three ready, but had only needed two.
His fingers were trembling now that he had her. She was passed out. She was his. Just like that first time, she wasn't going to know about anything he did. She would wake up feeling hung-over, probably, and maybe remember talking to him, too. But from now until then she wasn't going to remember a God damned thing. He was free to do to his daughter whatever he damn well wanted.
His hands went to her jeans first, and unbuckled them. She breathed out as he did. He stared at her face: peaceful, passed out. He looked back at his hands, which trembled as he slowly unzipped her pants. His racing heart and the metal-on-metal grind of her unzipping jeans were the only sounds in the dark room. After her fly was completely open, revealing her pastel-blue panties beneath, he undid her belt.
I can just pull them off, now, the man thought. His eyes were glazed with wanton desire. God did he want to see her pussy again, her tits again, those curves again. She'd grown, his little girl had, since he'd first fucked her almost eight months before. She was growing so quick. Soon she'd be a full-fledged woman, but right now she was still his little girl, and she was his. And he was dying to see her developments up close, not through some stupid fucking computer monitor. The cameras were good but they didn't even compare to real life.
His attention went to her top. His hands moved on their own: they gripped at the hem of her tight t-shirt and yanked it up. He was a little too overeager and he ended up jostling her body this way and that as he struggled to get the shirt off. If she woke up now, he thought, he'd just say he was getting her ready for bed. But Amy remained as limp as a rag doll, and her rhythmic inhaling, exhaling continued unabated. When he had the shirt over her head and he couldn't see her face anymore, George paused to stare at her bra. Forgetting the shirt for a moment he put his thick, trembling fingers to work on the light blue underwear that supported her still-developing tits. He had the bra open in a moment, and now he could really see how much she'd grown.
Wow, George thought.
Remembering the shirt, George got back to work. He spent the next few moments finishing undressing his daughter, his heart racing and his breath shallow the entire time. Her shirt came off, her bra was removed. Her pants were tugged off one leg at a time, then her panties were slowly peeled down her delectable teenage legs. Finally she was completely nude, completely naked. God, it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
Her whole body was limp. Her lips were slightly parted, and her chest heaved rhythmically with each breath. She was going to be a real stunner, George thought, a real model-type once she completely filled out. As it was the teenager did appear a bit awkward in some ways: her arms were just a bit too long, her face hadn't totally lost its childlike innocence, and her hips and waist still had to fill out some more. But God, this was almost better for some reason. It was fresh, it was real.
And it was all his.
George began to rub her pussy: God how spongy and soft it was! And she didn't flinch at all or acknowledge his touch in any way. She remained completely unresponsive.
In his fantasies leading up to this reality, George had envisioned taking his time, appreciating every last detail, maybe even tasting his daughter's cunt before properly fucking it. But now that he was here he couldn't resist, he couldn't wait. He continued to finger at her cunt, more forcibly now.
Every pleasure her body could ever give was now his, like it had been all those months ago, and he was ready to take it. And like before, he wanted to get her wet before sticking his cock inside her. But suddenly he felt something. It was on his finger, lodged deep inside her twat. Slowly he withdrew his finger and stared at it.
Cum. It was cum. There was cum up inside his little girl, and now some of it was on his finger!
George felt repulsed and disgusted. "I knew, I knew!" George hissed as he stared at his slimy fingertip. "I FUCKING KNEW IT!" he screamed.
This was the first real confirmation he'd had that his daughter was fucking and now, now, he had some strange guy's cum on his finger. She'd just fucked tonight! His daughter had fucked some guy this very night, just like he'd been imagining earlier. Just like his stupid cunt of an ex-wife had done: fucking someone else while he sat at home alone.
Did she think she was going to end up leaving him like Mary had, too? Was that it? Was this guy, whoever he was, promising her a different life?
His eyes were angry as he stared down at his bratty, angelic, whore of a daughter. Then he stood up and marched to the bathroom.
Not about to fuck some cum-slicked cunt, he thought. In a rage he found some Vaseline in the medicine cabinet and returned to his drugged and passed out daughter.
It didn't take long to put her body into the proper position. Now she was leaning into the sofa instead of lying across it. Her knees were on the floor (where they belonged) and she was still asleep, even though her ass was high in the air and her tits were mashed into the sofa cushions and she'd just been manhandled by him. He'd almost hoped she'd wake up as he positioned her body: he no longer cared if she remembered any of this. What a bitch. What a slut! How dare she.
Satisfied with his daughter's new position, George quickly unscrewed the top of the Vaseline container and took a big gob of the stuff onto his index and middle-finger. Next he placed those very same fingers at the crack of his little girl's soft ass and, after searching for a few moments, plunged them up her tight sphincter.
Oh, how warm and tight it was up there. It'd been a long, long time since George had ass fucked a woman. The last time, in fact, had been with Amy's mother. God had that rich bitch loved taking it up the butt. Not like Mary, his recent ex. She'd always been "exit only" when it came to her behind. What a mistake it'd been to marry her. What a waste of fucking time.
Satisfied that his daughter was properly lubed up, George got behind her and dropped to his knees. She seemed so small and fragile all of a sudden, as he gazed down at her limp body from this position. He stroked his Vaseline-free hand up and down her back, and marveled at its smoothness.
Why are you such a slut? he wondered. What made you act like this? Is it this body? Did you hit puberty and realize you could have any guy you wanted? Did the idea of controlling guys with your pussy turn you on? And did you masturbate first, or did you get your first orgasm from actually fucking? What got you addicted to dick, anyway?
He placed both hands at the 14-year-old's shoulder blades. "Or were you just a fucking slut at birth?" he asked softly as he felt down to her chest. He forced his hands under her, between her tits and the sofa, and cupped her flattened teenage breasts roughly.
It was time, George realized. Quickly, he stood up and removed his pants. Then he removed his shirt, too, never taking his eyes off his passed out slut of a daughter while he did. Finally he returned to his kneeling position behind her, gripped his cock with one hand, and moved it into position.
He began to press his incredibly hard cock against her unconscious asshole. If she'd been awake he'd have gone slow: as he recalled, women were always wracked with pain at first. But since she was completely drugged and passed out anyway, George didn't slow for a moment. There were no screams to stop him. Even if there had been, he realized, he might actually enjoy himself even more.
"Ungh," he groaned as he ground his pelvis forward relentlessly. Even with the lube, her tight teenage sphincter resisted him at first. But finally he felt the head of his cock pop into her butt and he sighed with relief.
He stopped for a moment and steadied his position before grinding his cock inward once again. He could hear his daughter's breathing change, and from what he could see of her face, she appeared uncomfortable. But she was still definitely out.
God, the feeling of her hot asshole as he pushed his meat inside it was almost too much. He was suddenly glad the slut had come home with a cum-soaked pussy: this was better. This was something he couldn't imagine she'd ever tried before. This was a first time experience he was giving her in secret, something she'd never know about for the rest of her days. He took a certain satisfaction in that.
It didn't seem possible that her tiny body could take the entirety of his long cock up its ass, but before George realized it, it had done just that. He stared down now at where his thick curls of scratchy pubes met the soft, flawless skin of her delectable rear-end. He couldn't resist the urge just then to give one of her cheeks a hard, firm slap with his open hand. Her white skin reddened for a moment in the outline of his hand, and he smiled before beginning to fuck his daughter.
He rammed her with hard, long strokes, relishing the feeling of her asshole loosening for him, relishing the feeling of its incredible warmth and tightness. His little girl, getting ass-fucked by Daddy. What a terrible little slut.
He knew better than to cum inside her, so just as his balls tightened up he pulled out and began to jerk his cock above her ass. He groaned as he saw her sphincter slowly regain its normal size, shrinking like one of those flowers whose petals close up at night. It was amazing, the elasticity such a young girl had. Her mother's ass used to remain gaped open for minutes, he recalled.
His face was red and straining as he finally erupted a few gobs of sperm onto his daughters round ass and back. More trickled out for a few seconds before George finally fell to the side and leaned back in exhaustion.
God, what a great fuck, he thought to himself. Now there was only the matter of cleaning up.
After resting for a while he went, in a daze, to the kitchen and returned with a soaking wet sponge and a towel. He used them to clean his cum from her little red butthole, her back and ass, and to remove the stains of Vaseline from where he'd touched her. Even while he moved her every which way, all she did was breathe softly, lost in a deep and terrible slumber.
Finally George gathered up the unconscious girl in his arms. It was time to lay her down in bed and call it a night himself. As he got halfway up the stairs, though, he began to worry.
What if she really hadn't ever been assfucked before? She was going to wake up with a terribly sore butt, and even a novice inspection would reveal that something had been inside it. He'd gotten rid of the Vaseline and the cum, but he couldn't get rid of the damage he'd temporarily inflicted inside her sphincter. What if she began bleeding? What if she went to a doctor out of panic?
Shit, George thought. I could have fucked her in the pussy, she would never have known the difference! She'd already been fucked there tonight! How fucking stupid am I, to fuck up a perfect opportunity like that? What's wrong with me?!
You're an idiot, came that voice inside his head again, taunting him, angering him. A fucking moron. You always have been. It's going to catch up with you this time, too. She's going to know something's wrong when she wakes up tomorrow—she's going to feel way too groggy, way too sick to chalk up to overdrinking. And yep, her ass is gonna be hurting like Hell. Her last memories are gonna be of you giving her beer, and it won't take long for her to put two and two together, you dumb shit. Do you really think she's gonna let you off the hook this time?
George was beginning to panic. He was angry as hell, at himself, at the stupid little cunt who'd made him do this tonight. He dropped her limp body onto her mattress and ran his hand through his hair. What was he going to do?
Just then an idea struck him. He rushed over to the girl's dresser, and rummaged around in the top drawer. A moment later he returned with her crimson dildo. He dropped it on the mattress next to her and then rushed downstairs.
He grabbed the Vaseline, her purse and coat, and the rest of her clothes, then rushed back up the stairs. This was going to work, he thought as he scattered the items around her bed. He went downstairs again and returned moments later with five empty cans of beer. He sprinkled their remaining drops on her and her bed before placing them all on her nightstand.
George grabbed his daughter's right hand and smeared it with some Vaseline before doing the same to dildo. That should be enough, he thought. That should do the trick.
She's gonna wake up and think she got drunk, grabbed her dildo, and fucked her ass with it, he thought, nodding his head in satisfaction. She looked like such a used piece of cunt right now, splayed naked across her bed, Vaseline covered one hand, a dildo lightly placed in the other. The cans of beer were what really sealed the deal, though, he thought proudly.
Exhausted, George crept out of her room and went down the hall to his. With his momentary panic subsiding, all the Vietnam veteran could think about was how tight that ass had been as he crawled into his bed and drifted off to sleep.