I guess I made it easy for him to slip my panties off.
"Put your hand on my cock, Melody," he said, and as he moved my butt slightly away from the center of his lap and sought to guide my hand to the stiff peter there, I realized for the first time that he had unzipped his pants.
In fascination I stared down at the prick to which he had guided my hand. It looked huge. My fingers looked very white and very tiny against its slightly brownish skin, and the head of it was a strange purplish color. It was warm in my hand. Almost like a child with a new toy, I found myself exploring the workings of this recently discovered treasure. The smooth outer skin of it slipped easily up and down over the hard central core as my fingers sought out its secrets; the feel of it within my hand was strangely pleasant. My father suddenly grabbed the back of my head, turned my face toward his, and crushed my lips in a brutal kiss.
The feeling was even better now. His tongue was in my mouth. I sucked it. His finger had slipped inside the narrow pink slit of my pussy. I opened my thighs wide for him. His finger moved faster. I could taste the booze on his breath, but it was somehow made pleasant by what he was doing between my legs. He was fingering my pussy the same way I fingered it whenever the warm feeling got to be too much. I knew that before long the warm feeling would turn into a sizzle, then go away and be replaced by that wonderful feeling I got whenever I fingered myself. And my fingers moved on his peter. I recall thinking that I'd do that to him until he did whatever it is that men do, and that it would be over. That's how much I knew.
"We'll go in the bedroom to fuck," he said suddenly. He lifted me easily off his lap and stood up, weaving slightly. "Bet you ain't never had a prick that size rammed up you, huh, Melody?" he said thickly, grinning down at the big peter I still clasped in my hand.
It was then that I really knew fear.
It may sound unbelievable — but until that moment I'd had no idea that he meant to put it in me, or even that that was how fucking was done. I felt my knees shaking. I stepped away from him, releasing his peter. It was impossible. That big thing would split me wide open. My pussy was just a little slit that felt good when touched — I had no idea how deep — and a stab of that big peter would surely kill me.
In terror I ran toward my bedroom. He caught me at the door.
"Why, you cock-teasing little bitch!" he shouted as his fingers dug into my shoulder. He was behind me and his arm circled my neck, holding me against him. "Think you're gonna play that game on me, huh?" He forced me into the semi-dark bedroom. "Think you can play cock-teasing games on your old man, huh? Like hell, you can!" He threw me across the bed.
"I didn't know," I said stupidly. It was the first thing that popped into my mind. He laughed crazily as he flung himself on top of me.
"Didn't know, my ass!" He was crushing me. "Think I ain't seen you wiggling your ass for anybody who wants to watch? Think I don't know you're puttin' that pussy on any boy with the balls to ask?" He put one hand on my cunt, his other hand seized both my wrists and pinned them to the bed, above my head.
"Ain't none of them can give you a cock like this one, though," he panted. He was between my legs and I struggled desperately as I felt his tremendous peter brush against my thigh. He held me with little trouble. I felt hard flesh touch my pussy. I tried to squirm away.
There was a brief sensation of pleasure as I felt the outer lips of my pussy being parted by the smoothly rounded knob that I knew was the tip of his peter and then... the most excruciating pain I have ever known! I felt myself being torn apart, just as I'd feared. Searing fire raced through the inside of my pussy. Blood pounded at my temples. Lights flashed before my eyes. I tried to scream, but he had his mouth pressed to mine, kissing me. The smell of his breath was making me sick to my stomach. He moved inside me.
The rod of his peter was reaching deeper and deeper into my pussy with each movement of his hips, burning me as if it were a white-hot poker, and I could feel a warm and sticky fluid seeping out of my slit, onto my thighs, over my butt. Blood. He didn't notice.
I could feel the walls of my pussy rubbing smoothly against the slippery stem of his peter as his driving rod pried them wider and wider, and the pain turned into a dull ache that pulsated in time to the drive of his hips. He released my wrists.
"Nothin' takes the fight outta you like a good piece of cock, does it?" He grabbed my legs and raised them high. Once again he kissed me. His peter moved faster inside me. His breath came faster.
The pain inside me was being replaced by something else. Not pleasure, exactly, but by a feeling of warmness. A feeling of doing something that is natural and easy. I suddenly realized that my hips had lifted and were making crazy little figure eights. On their own. Daddy's breath came in great gasps. He bucked and heaved above me. Then, with a great shove that completely buried his peter in me, he gave a loud cry and fell on top of me. I felt the steady pumping of a warm liquid inside my pussy. It seemed to ease the ache.
Mom never knew about that night. I at least had sense enough to wash the blood from the sheets before she saw them, and though she may have sensed something was wrong by the funny way the old man acted during the next few days, I'm sure it never occurred to her that he'd actually fucked me. She probably knew he wanted to. That was all.
The old man, when he sobered up, was all sorrow and remorse. "I was drunk, kid, and it'll never happen again," he said. And, "Just don't tell the old lady, huh, kid? It won't happen no more — I promise!"
Of course, I didn't tell, and for weeks, whenever Mom wasn't around, all I heard was that whining promise.
He broke that promise less than two years later.
I was in my bedroom, dressed in nothing but my bra and panties, and I knew he was sneaking looks at me through the open door. That gave me a strange sort of kick. I guess that it came from knowing that every bounce of my tits and each wiggle of my ass would make him remember the night he'd fucked me. It was a kookie sort of way of getting back at him. Making him pay the price.
My tits had filled out tremendously since that night. They were round and full. The tops of them swelled creamily upward over the top of the black lace bra that was too skimpy to contain them. The light red fuzz around my cunt had turned into a thick bush that padded the front of my panties, and a few stray tendrils creeped from beneath the elastic at my thighs. I remember wondering, as I stood there in front of the mirror knowing he was watching, if the old man wasn't mentally kicking himself in the butt for not waiting. Probably, I decided. I was a hot piece and knew it. Enough boys had told me so.
"Either get some Goddam clothes on or close the door," he said suddenly, startling me. He was standing in the doorway.
"I thought you liked to look," I said, taunting him as I'd found I could get away with doing since that night. As I turned toward him, I saw his eyes involuntarily drop to the darkly shadowed vee of my cunt. I picked up a brush and ran it through my hair. "You sure do enough looking," I said. "Or maybe you were going to rape me again?"
It was stupid talk. All of it. But I'd found I had a hold over him because of the way he'd raped me, a hold that let me get away with almost anything, and I used it. I guess it was my way of getting back at him for the pain he'd caused me that night. This was the wrong night to try it.
"I told you to get some Goddam clothes on!" he shouted angrily and I should have noticed that his voice was somehow different tonight. I didn't. Like a fool, I posed with my hips cocked, my eyes lowered sexily, my breasts lifting as I slowly stroked my hair, and said, "Why, Daddy dear, you talk like you'd like me to walk through that door and tell your wife about how you taught me the facts of life. Do you?"