Filthy Daddy

Then, it happened. The bead of blood on Della's lip had grown big enough to drip. And Della, my sweet little girl who I love, put out her small tongue in a gesture as innocent as it was obscene; and slowly, sensuously, she licked the blood from her lip. Her eyes closed for a second as if she was relishing her own taste; and as her mouth opened again, a naked and insatiable craving shone from her so brightly I was dazzled.

"Daddy," she said.

And that was the end of it. The putrid coating growing round my mind, my soul, was suddenly unresisted, and then it was all-encompassing, a foetid yellow-green gauze sweeping up over my vision. Through that film of corruption, I could see Della clearly now, a worthless piece of fuckmeat fit only to be pleasured or punished at my whim. I understood now. This dirt wasn't in me, it was me: my familiar self plus the invading sickness made up the man I was now, not Della's Normal Daddy but Della's Filthy Daddy. And I already had a strong idea of what kind of man the Filthy Daddy would be.

The swollen hardness of my dick was one damn good clue.

Della was still giving me that slutty come-on gaze. My physical colour vision was back to normal, but still I was seeing her through the diseased murk. What could I see? Her need, the harsh bite of it - a need deeper and darker than she could even yet know. It was so clear what I would do. Right now, I guessed, she was dealing with some spiritual dirt of her own; the way she looked at me didn't make a lot of sense otherwise. But it didn't matter. Desperate for my touch, or pleading for mercy and release, it didn't matter. Della was mine.

Della sat up, then flopped forward so that she was kneeling in my presence. Then, quite carefully, she put her hands to her bra cups, and squeezed - pushing her tits up, presenting them and offering them to me.

"These are yours," she breathed. "Oh God, I want you. I want - "

"Shut the fuck up," I ordered, rising and striding to where she knelt. "I don't give a shit what you want. Those tits are pathetic." That's not really true. They're pretty nice for what they are. But Della's just too slight-figured to ever grow boobs worth mentioning. The main thing that made her tits pathetic was the trashy skank they were attached to. So when I reached her I batted her arms away from her chest, gave her face a sharp slap, and put my hands round her throat to pull her to her feet.

"Daddy!" she gasped. "Don't - " I tightened my grip. I had my piece to say, and I wanted her quiet while I said it.

"Oh babygirl," I said, "oh Della. You're mine. I own you. Your pussy is mine. Your arse is mine, your mouth is mine. You're my worthless little whore, my babygirl-slut, my fucktoy. Are you ready, bitch?"

By now her face was red, blood was flowing again from her split lip, and she'd gone bug-eyed. Without realising, I'd been forcing her back as I spoke, and she was right against the wall. I had a flash of the mental image from earlier, of some faceless stud getting off in her twat while thrusting her up against the concrete. It didn't mean much to me now. It was just more proof of what she was. I relaxed my grip on her throat and she coughed instantly before drawing in a huge breath as she slid to the floor.

"Useless cunt," I remarked. "Can't even stand. Fuck me but you're trash." And I spat on her. Most of the spittle landed on her hair, but a bit hit her face. Maybe that would help her learn. So I hawked up all the phlegm I could, and spat it all out from above as she gazed up at me. A glob of white mucus fell into the corner of her right eye, two stringy threads attached to it that wrapped across her nose and cheeks and her gaping mouth. After a moment she flinched and raised a hand. I said, "Leave it, bitch." And she did. I grinned. Only one thing more was needed to complete her degradation. "Della love," I said, "babygirl, tell Daddy what you are." While I'd showered her in saliva, the lustful expression on her face had been fixed. But now it seemed her arousal faltered. Perhaps the Dirty Daughter had only made a temporary appearance. Oh well. Not like I cared. I was harder right now than I'd ever imagined being.

"Tell me you're my goddamn whore," I said. "Say you're Daddy's slut." The look on her face had shifted to alarm. My teeth clenched. I'll give you something to be scared of! Quick as a flash I swung my hand towards her and she flinched in anticipation of the slap - but instead my closed fist connected with the side of her chest. She squeaked in pain - and, perhaps, a little rekindled heat? "Say it," I growled. "Say you're my disgusting whore."

"I'm your whore, Daddy," Della said, her voice catching. "I'm Daddy's disgusting slutty whore!"

I don't recall how long I kept her at it. I do know I had her work through the whole script, agreeing to everything I wanted to make her face about herself. "I'm a stupid fucking cunt, Daddy." "I'm a nasty bitch, I'm my Daddy's little tart." "I'm your cockwarmer, Daddy, I'm a come-bucket for my Daddy and I fucking love it!" Whenever she was slow on the next line she'd pay with a blow to wherever she was least expecting it - or with whatever other tactic I could think of to debase her yet more, to break down any shred of pride she might have. Daddy's fuckhole didn't need anything like that. And the content did, I confess, escalate as I pushed and dragged her round the house, my hardon raging as she shrieked out her arousal and degradation. Sometimes I'd shove two fingers into her mouth and finger-fuck her throat till she gagged and retched, mumbling her mantra round my knuckles all the while. Sometimes her babble was punctuated with squeals as I pulled roughly at her cute tits through the shredded mesh blouse. Sometimes I took her mouth with my own, tongues locking as we blindly groped - to kiss and caress or to bite and tear, it didn't matter.

At length I found myself dragging Della up the stairs with one hand holding her slender wrist behind her back, her arm twisted to within an inch of agony; my other hand gripping her hair and yanking her along, as my cock throbbed against her buttocks. A strange heat flared in my hands each time I held her by force. It was power and dominance and getting what I wanted, and by now I was fucking aglow with it. A trickle of moisture was moving down the inside of Della's leg from out of her ruin of a skirt, and not just sobs but enraptured gasps were breaking up her declarations of worthlessness. I didn't know what she was saying right then because at some point I'd started just bellowing, "Bitch, stupid fucking tart," over and over again as the blinding rage built once more. Now I realised where I was taking her: my bed.

About fucking time. I shoved her into the bedroom hard enough that she fell again, ending up laid out on the covers, mumbling, "Use your cunt, Daddy, hurt your bitch, take me, take me please Daddy, treat me like the whore I am..."

I smiled. It was time to tear this bitch apart. "Are you ready, baby? Are you ready for me?"

"Oh God Daddy," she wailed, "please, please, my pussy is so hungry, please fuck your babygirl whore, fuck meeeee - "

I'd already dropped my pyjama pants and shirt. Now I leant over and grabbed two handfuls of laddered mesh, and ripped the blouse away from her supple white body. Then the bra, a flimsy piece clearly meant for display, came away with one flex of strength I'd not known. Her nipples pointed up from her small pink areolae. One side of her left boob was starting to show a deep-coloured bruise.

There was no point waiting one second longer. She was begging for me. I jumped onto her, seized her hands and pinned them down above her head as she moaned. I didn't bother about her shoes or about the skirt; it was bunched up so high her pussy lips were in full view. Her legs spread apart for me as I pushed my groin downwards. My prick was at the entrance to my daughter's boiling twat. Time froze in that moment, and I marvelled at the mess below me: debased, perverted, despoiled, Della, oh Della my little girl! How did you come to this: lying, clothes shredded and beauty smeared, bruised and bleeding in incestuous passion? My own role in things seemed distant, unreal. Then time unfroze, and my cock slammed home hard into her pussy. She screamed. I didn't pause but began thrusting vigorously in and out, my hips hammering against her again and again almost beyond my control. Her own waist began to rise off the bed to meet each blow of my dick.

"That's it," I sneered, "fuck your Daddy, take it you bitch, squeal for me, slut!" She was so tiny, so frail, an unglazed china doll whose paint had run in the rain. I found I could hold bother her small wrists down with just one hand, so with the other, I started to hurt her more in time with my merciless drilling. Between thrusts I would slap her cheek, or bring my fist down onto her taut, tender belly, or squeeze her throat and then sharply release. Our rutting had made the slick wetness of her cunt turn to foam, and as our sexes squelched together she moaned and moaned with uncontrollable shame and joy. I had never felt anything like this whore's tightness round my cock, as I slid in, out, in, out, roaring slurs at her in my ardour. "Bitch! Fuckmeat! Piece of fucking shit!" I felt a rush of elation as I realised she was weeping again, and drooling, even as she cried out in lust and pleasure.

The next time I pulled back, I caught a look in her eye that gave me a twinge of irritation. It was almost as if she was feeling - satisfied? The irritation grew. Did she think I was doing this for her enjoyment? This tart needed putting in her place. So I withdrew, let go of her hands, and flipped her over on the bed before pushing my cock back into her. The new angle seemed to please her. "Yes, oh Daddy yes," she groaned, but I ignored her: she would learn she was for my use, no matter what it took. As I thrust faster once again, I began laying into her small but tightly muscled arse-cheeks with slaps as hard as I could make them. On my third swipe she screamed out in orgasm. Was that the first time she'd come? I'd not really been paying attention, but now I felt my own climax approaching. I left her reddened backside and leaned forwards, my whole weight pushing her down into the mattress.

The skin of her shoulder was right in front of my face; to her shrieks and to my own surprise, I bit into her, squeezing a knot of muscle with my teeth. Della's whole body was shaking, with pain or with another come, as I fucked her faster and faster, blood pounding in my ears. "Oh yes, oh God Della, oh God - " I yelled. Once I opened my mouth I could see the mark my teeth had left on her pristine back. The wrongness of it, the sheer fucking evil of what I was doing to my daughter, made me feel like my cock was about to burst. I was close. Savagely I grabbed two handfuls of Della's hair and pulled her back into me as I pushed into her tight cunt one final time. I came. "Take my jizz, bitch!" I howled as a rush of bright oblivion rose up through groin to brain. The world burned. Pulse, pulse: my hot semen spurted deep into her twat. I held her there for a moment as the orgasm subsided. Then dropped her, and pulled clear.

"Thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank you!" she sobbed. But I couldn't bring myself to care. She'd served her use now. I was tired. I pulled her head towards me, and wiped off my still-hard cock on her face. Then I threw myself down beside her on the bed. I took one last look. Her lovely face was covered in the slime of our congress, cunt juices mixed in with sweat and come and her own tears. She nestled into my chest, still making nigh-incoherent noises. I let her. I was spent.

***

When I woke, Della was still there, arms and legs wrapped around my naked torso. With the corrupt desires that had driven me now sated, the full reality of the events of the evening started to sink in. I braced for a wave of guilt, horror, and regret to hit. Surprisingly, it never came. I was still the new me, the filthy daddy. The dirt on my soul was silent now, but still there. I understood better then. The rancid stain lying over my perceptions was there for good. Everything I saw or heard, every thought, feeling or desire, would be filtered through this slick taint of corruption from here on out. I smiled. This is perfect.

Della breathed slowly, deep in slumber. She was perfect; innocence paired with depravity, virtue turned to muck. My imagination came alive with thoughts of the days ahead, and what my baby fuckdoll and I could do to one another. The debased slut that lay there in Della's place would be begging for a repeat of tonight before too long, I was sure. But there were other ways we could play, other pleasures our new perversion could set afire. Maybe I would whore her out and watch strangers abuse her polluted flesh. Or perhaps I'd have her act the good girl as I held her down and raped her. Maybe she could seduce one of her girlfriends into our debauched lusts and then I'd use them both together. So many possibilities for this filthy daddy and his dirty, horny bitch.

My eyes fell shut once more as I gently stroked the sweet tart of a daughter curled up peacefully against me. My last thought before sleep was the realisation that my soothing finger was gliding softly across her bruised and swollen left breast.