Grounded

"Alright, dear. I'm going out shopping with Sally from down the street. I'll be back for dinner."

"Okay. Have fun," Greg said, smiling at his wife. She paused, one hand on the door, and looked back at him.

"And remember, our naughty little girl is still grounded."

"Yes, m'am."

She smiled and slipped out the door. Greg kept the smile on his face until Sally's car pulled away from the curb with his wife inside, and then he let it drop.

He wasn't likely to forget that Polly, their daughter, was grounded. She had been grounded for over a year. It was getting to the point where he was wondering if he needed to do something about it, maybe call the police--but how would he explain that he had let it go on this long?

It had started when Polly had come home for spring break her freshman year at college. She'd been all smiles and excitement, talking about how much she loved her classes, how she was thinking of declaring her major before the end of the year. Chemistry. She wanted to be a pharmacist.

Thinking back, even then, his wife had been a bit strange about things. A little fake in her enthusiasm, a little too quick to ask whether Polly could really handle such a complicated subject.

Then, two days into spring break, the video had come out.

Polly said the guy in the video was her friend, that she had trusted him. She hadn't realized he'd been filming their...encounter.

None of that mattered to her mother. Her little girl's naked ass was plastered all over every free porn site on the internet. She snapped.

Polly hadn't gone back to college.

Since that awful week, she'd been grounded to her childhood bedroom. Her mother had bought some handcuffs that kept her secured to the bed, and had brought out boxes and boxes of old things from storage--Polly's old stuffed animals, her princess bedding from when she'd been in middle school, clothes she hadn't worn in years. Greg's wife seemed to be fixated on turning back time, turning their daughter into an innocent little girl again.

"She's safer this way," she'd assured Greg, the few times he'd dared to question this plan. "It's only for a little while. Only until she learns."

Greg wasn't entirely sure what Polly was supposed to be learning. Maybe not to experience arousal any more; his wife certainly seemed fixated on punishing her for it. She often inspected Polly's crotch for evidence of wetness, and if she didn't find any, sometimes she would rub her there until it happened anyway, just to have a reason to punish her. Punishments involved spanking the girl's clit cruelly with a ruler, or rubbing fresh-cut peppers over the dripping folds of her pussy.

Greg was often obligated to stand by and observe, to agree with his wife whenever she asked him to back her up on the necessity of such discipline. The image of his daughter's dripping, twitching pussy had become seared into his mind, the sight of her swollen, tortured clit haunting him.

Greg knew that his wife wasn't well. He was starting to understand, too, that despite her words, this insanity wasn't likely to end any time soon.

But he had to admit that it was kind of nice to have their family all under one roof again, to have his little girl back.

He got up, thinking to check on Polly before he started watching TV to pass the time while his wife was gone. As he made his way upstairs, he heard a tell-tale rhythmic creaking noise.

He knew what he was going to find when he got to Polly's room; he'd caught her at it once before, humping her pillow. He could hardly blame the girl--she'd been tormented for over a year without release. He could only imagine how pent-up she must be.

Greg paused in the hallway, considering. Maybe it would be kinder to just leave her to it, to let her find whatever comfort and satisfaction she was able to while his wife was out of the house.

But the rhythmic creaking of her bed called to him, burrowing into his brain.

Besides, he reasoned, his wife would likely be able to tell when she got home. It would be obvious that Polly had relieved herself. She'd be less desperate. They'd both be in trouble then. And who knew what his wife would do if pushed? He wouldn't put it past her to take some drastic action, to maybe try to sew Polly's pussy lips shut or to glue a shield over their daughter's clit. She'd alluded to both options in previous conversations with him.

He stopped in his bedroom on the way and slipped a couple of supplies into his pocket, then walked down the hall and opened the door to Polly's room.

Polly had one of her stuffed animals between her thighs this time. She was lying on her side, squeezing her knees hard to cram the stuffed dog against her pussy and rocking her hips to grind into it. She didn't even hear Greg come in at first; her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth hanging open, breathing in short little gasps.

"Polly," he said, and she jumped, her eyes flying open. She froze for a second, then shuddered, her hips shifting again helplessly. "Stop that. What would your mother say?"

"Please don't tell her," she said immediately, her voice shaking. She opened her knees and kicked the plushie away, and then squirmed like she was trying to right her skirt, but it was way too short. Her mother had squeezed her into a little girl's ballet costume, a pink satin top with a tulle skirt; Polly was slim enough to fit into it, but her breasts were squished obscenely into the top, her adult hips were too wide for the skirt to properly cover her dripping sex. It was meant to be worn with bottoms, of course, and Polly wasn't wearing any.

"I won't," he assured her, stepping into the room. "But if I keep catching you like this..."

"Please, dad," Polly begged. "I just--I'll be good. I'll be good. Don't tell her."

"Okay. It can be our little secret," he assured her, stepping into the room. "She's not home right now."

"Thank you," Polly whispered. She squirmed again, still trying to get the skirt down to cover her private parts, but it just hiked it up more, so she stopped. The tight fabric across her stomach made it visible how her muscles were quivering. Greg wondered if that was because she'd been close to orgasm, or if she'd just been trying for so long that she'd been tiring herself out.

He took a step closer to the bed, and reached down to place a hand on one of her breasts where it was pressed into the satin fabric, spilling over the top. Polly sucked in a startled breath when he rubbed his thumb over her nipple.

"Dad--?"

"This can be our little secret," he repeated, brushing his thumb over her nipple again and watching the way her stomach trembled and her toes curled into the pink bedding. "You can keep a secret, can't you, Polly?"

"I...I..." she stuttered, then trailed off in a low groan as he rubbed a circle over the stiffening peak of her nipple.

"You can, can't you? Mom doesn't need to know about this, does she?" he prompted. Polly shook her head, her eyes closing again.

"If you...do you mean...will you..." she stammered, apparently unable to fully voice her desperate plea for orgasm to her own father.

Greg didn't answer, because he didn't want to lie to her.

Instead, he took his hand away from her chest and went into his pocket, pulling out what he'd retrieved from his own bedroom earlier. Polly's eyes went wide when she saw him unwrap the condom, but she didn't voice any objections; when he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, her feet flexed involuntarily, and he saw her pink little pussy twitch.

He was already more than halfway hard just from watching her squirm, from touching her breast. He stroked himself the rest of the way to hardness as Polly watched, her face flushing pink. He rolled the condom on, and she took a breath, then rolled onto her back properly, bending her knees up and spreading her legs. An invitation.

"That's it. Good girl," he said, and climbed onto the bed between her knees. He grabbed the discarded plushie, still a little damp from her desperate humping, and slid it under her ass, lifting her to a more convenient height. Then he slid his cock slowly into her waiting hole.

Polly turned her head to the side and muffled a loud cry into her arm, her pussy clenching on him. He paused for a moment, afraid he'd made her come by accident, but she made another, more desperate noise and rocked her hips, trying to urge him on.

He rocked into her, filling his daughter's needy cunt in slow, gentle movements.

"Oh," she whispered, like she was afraid of her mother overhearing them, even though she wasn't in the house. "Oh. Oh. Oh...dad..."

"That's it. Nice and tight," he groaned as he buried himself fully in her, feeling Polly's body squeeze rhythmically around him. "That's so good. Good girl."

"Please, dad," she begged, trying to rock her hips. "Please move?" He shook his head, and she gasped in desperation, clenching on him.

"Go ahead and keep squeezing me, sweetheart," he urged her. "That's it. Just like that." It was hard to resist his own desire to move, to fuck her pussy hard and fast, but he was sure she was close; if he made her come, there'd be hell to pay with his wife. After a few seconds, he pulled out halfway, exposing enough of his cock that he could squeeze and stroke himself a little. "Mm."

"Dad," Polly whimpered as she felt his hand moving along his shaft, bumping only very lightly against the lips of her pussy. "Why are you...please, please, please don't do it like that?"

"I have to, baby. You just lay there and be a good girl." He groaned. He was already close, his body over-charged with pleasure at finally being able to claim his little girl, of being able to come inside her cock-hungry pussy.

"Please, please, I need to come so bad," Polly gasped finally, her knees shaking as she wrapped them around his hips, trying to urge him to thrust into her. The flush in her face had gone a deep red, the blood rushing through her body in response to her desperate arousal. "Please, dad?"

"Shh. This is just a treat for daddy," he assured her. "This past year has been so stressful, daddy needs this. Oh, yeah, good girl, keep clenching for me. Just like that."

"Dad..." Polly whimpered. Her pussy was twitching and dripping urgently down his cock, making his hand slick as he stroked himself, her hole squeezing on the sensitive head of his cock. She started to rock her hips again, getting whatever sensation she could out of rubbing the head just inside of herself, and made a too-loud noise of shocked pleasure at it. "Ohh-hh..." Greg put a hand on her hip, pinning her down, and she squirmed desperately. "Please, please, please, dad!"

"Shh, I'm almost--yeah," he groaned, stroking himself faster, and then finally letting go and sliding all the way into his daughter again as his balls drew up and he sprayed hard inside the condom. Polly sucked in a deep breath and arched her back when he suddenly filled her again, her fingers digging into the bedding and her cunt going tight and quivering around him.

"Please! Please! Just--" she thrashed and tried to rock her hips as his cock twitched inside of her, emptying itself in her velvet tunnel as she dangled on the edge of orgasm. "Ohh, fuck, please!"

"Language," he reminded her, his voice rough with his satisfaction. When he pulled out of her and let go of her hips, Polly began humping the air and then grinding back down into the plushie under her, her pussy visibly clenching on the empty air. It was swollen and gaping, flushed as red as her face, an obscene contrast to the innocent pink mesh of her skirt rucked up around it.

"Dad, you can't do this to me," she begged. "Please, just--just rub me a little? I'm almost there, please?"

"You know what your mom would say about that kind of dirty talk," he reminded her. He pulled the plushie out from under her hips, and Polly started to cry, fat tears running down her cheeks. "Oh, sweetheart, you're alright. Don't cry."

"Dad," she cried. "You can't, please, I need to come so bad!"

"Little girls don't need to come. You just need to focus on making your mother happy." He tugged on her skirt, pulling it down to cover her sopping, swollen pussy as best as he could. "Now don't let me catch you getting up to any monkey business with these stuffed animals again, or with your pillows either."

He made sure to place the stuffed dog up near her head, far away from anywhere that she could grab with her legs to get it down between her thighs again.

"Please, please, please," she begged, her voice breaking, tears running down her face as she twisted against the cuffs holding her to the headboard and squirmed her thighs together.

"I suggest you stop doing that. If you're wet when your mother gets home, you know you'll be in trouble."

With that advice, he left her, closing the door on her quiet sobs.