Pretty Thing Ch. 01

I open a can of coke, light a cigarette, and settle myself in to tell a story that needs to be told. It won't be a nice story with a happy ending, and it won't be a tragic story with death and sadness to send you back to your lives happy that you escaped the fate of our hero or heroine.

No, it is her story. She told me through a winter we spent together, travelling. It was a good story to listen to, and for that reason, I'll share it with you. It is, at times, a difficult story to listen to, and if you are of a sensitive nature, I would tactfully suggest that you close the book now, you won't appreciate it.

But, for those of us who can...appreciate it...I will tell you the story of the pretty young thing, and you may decide for yourselves if it was worth reading, or not.

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She was a pretty young thing, built small, like her latin mother, her skin was supple and darkly tanned, her hair long and dark, shiny with the lustre of her femininity, budding and new, like her small firm breasts and the new shapeliness of her hips and thighs. Once she had turned 18, her beauty had blossomed.

She had grown up hearing and seeing her parents and their friends do things others might have found odd, but to her it was normal to hear her father suddenly growl while eating dinner, and for her mother to strip out of her clothes without saying a word and go to feed him each morsel while letting him pinch and twist her nipples, and poke his fingers between her legs till she was quivering and gasping, chewing his food and eating as if he didn't have a care in the world as he idled the time away, sexually torturing his tantalizing wife while enjoying the meals she prepared and fed to him.

No, that was a pretty normal night for the pretty thing. She never understood it, really, just knew that it happened, like the sun coming up, or the dog sniffing at her crotch when she came in the door. She also noticed that her father had been watching her more and more lately, especially when he played with her mom at the table. He usually let the pretty thing leave the table when his dinner entertainment grew too...messy, but ever since her 18th birthday he'd made her stay, watch.

The night before it really changed, he'd made her sit in the hard wooden chair at the table, her knees spread as she sat, long after dinner had ended. He'd played with her mother, but hadn't followed her upstairs afterwards, he'd let her leave the room and go to bed, leaving the pretty thing alone with her father, sitting on the hard chair, her knees spread so that her daddy could see the white panties underneath the short skirt.

He'd smoked a big fat cigar and had sat watching her, anticipation in his every feature, like he was celebrating something and could enjoy it all night long, and then he...waited.

When she started to squirm, he started to smile.

When the sweat broke out on her face, he nodded.

Finally, she couldn't stand it any more and whispered..."Daddy? Daddy, please, i...i need to go pee..."

He chuckled softly, took a drink and sucked on his cigar, just watching her, and then said the most astounding thing to her..."Go ahead, but don't get out of that chair"

She looked at him for a moment, understanding slowly dawning on her pretty face, horror at the thought of peeing all over the chair and herself and the floor, and she just stared at him. "But...but Daddy, the mess..."

He put his drink down, and she swallowed, seeing the hard look come over his face. "You'll do as you're told, young lady, if you know what's good for you."

As she sat there, squirming, he proceeded to tell her that she was going to start learning what it was to be his daughter. How he would teach her what a nasty slut she really was, and that the nastier she learned to be for him, the better he would like it. He told her how he would teach her to be the best nasty little slut in town, and then he would get other nasty men to use her and pay him for the privilege. He told her that they already paid good money for her mother, but that he thought he'd get even more with the things he had in mind for the pretty young thing.

He smiled then, seeing her sweating and squirming, her hands between her legs, trying to stop the pee from flowing and he got up, walked over to her and pulled her hands away. He squatted down, holding her arms to the sides, and watched as a patch of wet grew in the white cotton panties. He laughed out loud as the slow patch of wet grew faster until her panties were drenched, and a small puddle of yellow pee puddled on the hard wooden chair. A trail started flowing towards him and as he watched, rapt, it dribbled off the chair and onto the floor in front of him.

He was silent for a moment, letting the moment drag out, watching her face as it turned bright red, horror and shame written there for him to see, all his, and he knew. Knew that she would do anything he told her to do.

And oh, the things he was going to make her do for him.

And anyone else who would pay.