“Again!” Kim said, defiantly.
He slapped her again.
“Harder!”
He slapped her harder.
Kim liked pain. She liked it when her father hurt her a little. More than a little, in fact. As with the choking, he had been totally freaked out by this revelation, when they had begun their illicit relationship, but he’d gotten used to it pretty quickly. It was just another element in the strange box of sexual fetishes his daughter revelled in. He couldn’t believe how outrageous she was. How filthy. It was like someone had designed his perfect sexual partner and created her in human form. Except, of course, Ray had done the creating himself. With a little help from Annie.
Her cheek was glowing, and there was a tiny cut on her lip. She ran her tongue across it, tasting her own blood. She smiled at him once more.
“Thank you, Daddy.” She whispered.
He lunged forward and they kissed. An urgent, deep, open-mouthed kiss, their tongues meeting violently. For a minute or more they made out. She continued to jerk him off, her hand gripping him tightly, squeezing him with all her strength. Eventually they pulled themselves apart, both of them staring at each other, hungry with lust and desire. Then she spat on his dick, more for effect than lubrication, and resumed her oral assault. The rhythmic gurgling sound began once more.
By then, Annie had retreated to the side of the house, out of sight of the incestuous lovers. She’d seen enough. She leaned back against the wall, looking up into the sky. Her mind racing, her thoughts an explosion of confusion and horror and disbelief.
How could he?
With our little girl.
How could he do that?
How could she?
One thing was patently clear from the scene she had just witnessed; whatever was going on between her husband and their daughter, it was obviously consensual. Kim was not being raped or molested. She was joining in with gusto. Perhaps it hadn’t always been like that? Perhaps Ray had been grooming her for years, brainwashing her into believing this was normal behaviour? Annie didn’t really believe that, or, more accurately, couldn’t bring herself to believe that, but what was the alternative? How on earth did this begin?
She walked, almost stumbled, back out to the front of the house, and got into her car. She sat there for a few moments, a wave of nausea washing over her. For a second or two she thought she’d have to get out and throw up, but finally the feeling passed. Then, after breathing in and out a few times, trying to settle herself, she turned on the ignition, reversed onto the road, and drove off.
For half an hour or so she didn’t know where she was heading. The car just aimlessly passed through familiar suburban streets. She was essentially driving in circles, the same signs and storefronts visible through the windshield. Eventually, she found herself outside a diner. She stopped, her head resting on the steering wheel. She couldn’t move. She felt like her body weighed a hundred tons.
What do I do? She thought to herself. Do I go to the police? Do I get him locked up?
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