Ch. IX: Familial Devotion
by Whispersecret ©
Copyright 2000 by the author. All rights reserved.
Frank turned off the TV. He wasn’t in the mood for Letterman tonight. Since he didn’t have a glass, he tilted the bottle of bourbon and chugged a couple swallows. He savored the burning sensation of the liquor searing his throat. He’d had the bottle since the night Rockwell had made him fetch that brandy like a damned servant. It was still almost two thirds full.
Today was Friday. He’d been cooped up in his room for a week. This was not what he had planned.
He never wanted to be in business. His wife had always run the show. He was only there as a figurehead, and that was the way he had liked it. Now that she was gone, he wanted no part of it. He’d given it a try, but failed miserably. That was why he’d sold the whole fucking company to Rockwell.
Now he was supposed to be a free man with no responsibilities. No more company obligations dragging him down. No shareholders’ meetings. No corporate lawyers and accountants pestering him about every petty little thing. Nothing but a big fat bank account and free time. But no. He was locked up in his own house, being treated like some sort of criminal with an armed guard and rations. He hadn’t even been outside for days.
He took another swig of bourbon. At first he’d spent his time calculating how he could get revenge on Rockwell. The man had to pay for what he was doing. No one treated Frank Sheridan like this and got away with it. Frank concocted plan after plan, but none of his crazy ideas seemed plausible. He knew he wasn’t a mental giant, and he wasn’t really eager to spend the money he’d made from the sale of the company just to get back at Rockwell, when his plans for revenge could easily backfire. So, Frank finally resigned himself to ride out his confinement and when it was over, to take his money and set himself up on the French Riviera or some other exotic place where women pranced about the beach half-naked.
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Yeah, Frank thought, taking another swig, the Riviera. He could picture himself laying on a lounge chair, baking in the sun and watching the young French beauties, their sun-browned tits jiggling as they paraded past. On either side of him would be his two well-paid mistresses. They would be young and nubile, one blonde and one brunette. He would promise to buy them whatever they wanted, and in exchange they would be his sex slaves.
Frank started getting hard thinking about it. Gulping down some more bourbon, he looked through his collection of porn videos. There was nothing there he hadn’t already seen about a hundred times.
Then he remembered the tape.
The cassette recorder was on the dresser when he’d left it. His dick throbbed as he remembered the hot recording of Rockwell and Fiona. He’d just give himself a quick little jerk off before he went to bed.
Mindful of what had happened last time, Frank took the recorder and brought it into the bathroom with him. The most he could do was shut the door. He couldn’t lock it because they’d removed that mechanism days ago.
After turning on the shower, he pressed play. Rockwell’s rough voice came out of the tiny speaker.
"Let’s fuck, Fiona."
Oh, yes. This was almost his favorite part.
"This time you tell me how you want to do it."
He quickly laid the recorder on the counter and shucked his clothes. Stepping into the shower, he soaped up his dick and started stroking.
"I don’t have to make you do anything at all, my dear. You’re soaking wet for me, and not just because of the shower. Your clit is throbbing against my finger—"
"Oh, fuck!" Frank moaned as he pumped his hand. The fact that he was in the shower too was especially delicious. Precum oozed out of the head of his penis. This was better than he remembered.
"--your heart is racing. I think it’s quite obvious you want me to fuck the hell out of your ass."
Frank moaned loudly as he stuck his hand out of the shower and grabbed the recorder to crank up the volume. He could barely hear it over the sound of his own shower going. When he had it turned up to full blast, he could hear Rockwell reminding Fiona how many times she’d cum and how much she’d liked it. He slowed down because he knew his favorite part was coming up and he wanted to time it right.
"Stand up and turn around."
This was it. Panting hard, Frank stepped up the pace of his jerks. With his left hand he massaged his balls and used his imagination to picture the scene being acted out on the tape. In his mind he saw their wet naked bodies. Rockwell fucking Fiona from behind, like an animal. Grunting, humping her wildly. He could practically see the flesh on her hips shake as Rockwell pounded into her.
Once again when he heard Rockwell’s harsh shout, Frank came, thinking about the man’s thick cum filling his daughter’s fresh hot cunt. Frank’s prick jumped in his hand as he ejaculated onto the wet walls of his shower stall. His heart was racing and his legs felt weak as he rinsed off.
When he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, to his shock he found Fiona standing there with a plate of his favorite cookies.
"Fiona, baby girl! I was—I was just taking a shower." He walked to the bedside table and picked up the bottle. Seeing her so soon after he’d cum shook him up. He needed a drink to brace himself.
He knew his face was flushed, so he said, "I made the water too hot." Then he gave a little laugh.
She put the plate down and sat on the bed, frowning. "Gus let me in so I could give them to you. They’re white chocolate chip." Her voice sounded a little strange, but he thought he might have gotten some water in his ear during his shower.
"You know I love your cookies, honey." He took one and ate it, making a big show about how scrumptious it was.
"You know, Daddy, I’ve been thinking. I think you were right when you said Rockwell made the tape himself."
"Of course, I’m right." Relief washed over Frank. Fiona believed him. He took another drink to wash the cookie down. Bourbon and chocolate didn’t go well together, but he didn’t have a choice.
"He’s the sick one, not you, Daddy. But I just can’t understand why he would tell me such a disgusting thing."
Frank sat down next to his daughter. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He could see her bra through the cotton. "I told you, he’s a lunatic. I mean, what kind of sicko thinks about that sort of stuff? Jerking off to the sounds of your daughter getting raped…"
Frank draped a fatherly arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. She laid her head on his shoulder at first, but then he felt her stiffen and pull away.
She was looking at him with horror. Her mouth hung open and she scooted away from him.
"Oh, my God," she said in a low voice. "How did you know he said that? That you—you masturbated to it?"
Frank just stared at her. Shit.
"When I was here before I didn’t say anything about masturbating!"
"Fiona, listen to me."
She lurched off the bed. Damn it, she was overreacting. Frank lunged for her, grabbing her by the arms.
"Let go of me, Daddy!"
"Not until you listen to me."
Frank struggled to push her down onto the bed; he had to make her listen. She fought him hard, and he ended up having to straddle her stomach, one hand holding her wrists, the other over her mouth. By the time he had her immobile, her shirt had ridden up and his towel had come off.
Frank stared at her. He forgot all about explaining his actions. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. He felt the skin of her waist between his thighs, and as he leaned over her to hold her wrists, his testicles brushed against her. Frank felt his dick start to stir again.
Fiona’s eyes widened and she began to struggle anew. Her terrified squeals were muffled under his hand. Since he couldn’t move either of his hands, he shifted his hips so his penis rubbed against her stomach. Blood coursed through his veins straight to his dick. He suddenly felt like he was thirty again, full of vigor and ready to fuck.
"Come on, Fiona. Just let Daddy do it this once. Please, baby girl."
Frank squiggled his way down her body. The string tie on her sweats had come undone, and as he moved down, her pants inched off her hips. He couldn’t believe his luck when he saw she wasn’t wearing any panties. Still, it wasn’t going to be easy when she was fighting him like a cornered animal.
"Stop it, Fiona," he said harshly into her ear. "I don’t want to hurt you, honey. I just want to make you feel good. Don’t you want me to make you feel good?"
He tried to push his knee between her legs, but she was holding them tightly together. "Just let Daddy have a little bit of what you’ve been giving Rockwell. Come on, honey."
Miraculously she parted her legs. Frank shifted his weight immediately, but then felt a sharp pain. She had tried to knee him in the groin, but only partially succeeded. Without thinking, he swung a fist at her and clipped her on the chin hard enough to daze her.
Frank was upset that it had come to this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. She was his daughter. He loved her. Now she was going to have an ugly bruise on her chin.
On the bright side, at least now she was acquiescent.
Licking his lips, Frank yanked the cups of her bra down and clutched her tits. He felt a surge of fiendish heat in his groin. Not knowing how much time he had, he shoved her legs apart. Her pussy was beautiful, so pink and pretty and bare. He took his dick in his hand, and leaned forward.
‘Get off of her, Frank, or I’ll blow your fucking head off."
Rockwell stood in the doorway, his hands wrapped around the handle of a gun, which was pointed straight at Frank. Behind him, the hulking guard had another bigger gun trained on him.
"I got him, sir," Whitcomb said. "Go and see if she’s okay." The guard waved the barrel of the gun at Frank. "Move away from her, dickhead. I want to see you face down on the floor."
Frank did as he was told. His penis had shriveled up and he longed to grab the towel to cover himself up, but he didn’t dare reach for it.
Shoving the gun into his waistband, Rockwell hastened to Fiona’s side. As he knelt on the bed beside her, she blinked groggily. Then her eyes widened in recognition.
She surged into his arms and buried her face in his neck. "He—he tried to—" she broke off sobbing.
"I know, baby, I know. Shhhhh…"
He held her tightly and kissed her hair, thanking God that he’d arrived in time. Whitcomb had called him that afternoon and said that Fiona had been in her father’s room and they seemed to have reconciled. Rockwell got a sick feeling inside and dropped everything to return to Virginia. When he got here, he was furious with Whitcomb for having deserted his post to come meet the car. Together they raced up the stairs to Frank’s room, where they found Frank about to shove his prick inside his daughter’s limp body.
Fiona drew some deep breaths, trying to quell her sobbing.
"Everything you said was true, Rockwell. Everything. I should have believed you."
"It’s all right, Fiona. He’s not going to hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you. The police are on their way and he’ll be punished."
She lifted her head, looking suddenly determined. In a tight voice, she said, "Damn right, he’ll be punished."
Before Rockwell knew what was going on, Fiona pulled the Glock out of the waistband of his pants and stood up.
She aimed the gun at her father’s sprawled naked body. Frank saw her and cringed on the rug.
"Oh my God," he wailed.
Fiona’s hand shook so badly, Rockwell wasn’t sure she’d actually hit the bastard even though she only stood three feet away. He heard the faint sound of sirens in the distance as he took a careful step toward Fiona.
"I hate you, Frank," she said in a shaky voice. "I should shoot you here and now and be rid of you forever." She swiped the tears from her face with her free hand.
"Fiona, no! I’m your father! Please, honey!"
"You’re a lousy excuse for a father!" she cried.
Rockwell took another step toward her, his eyes glued to her finger on the trigger. As much as he wanted to see Frank Sheridan dead on the floor, it would mean a hell of a lot more explaining to the police and a big bloody mess to clean up.
"Fiona…give me the gun," Rockwell said softly. "Please, love…"
Her arm drooped a little. He came up behind her and slowly closed his hands over hers on the gun. "Come on, Fiona, let the police take care of him."
She nodded silently. Gently he lowered her arms and took the gun from her.
To Be Continued...
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