38 Scars
Chapter 4

Copyright© 2012 by Punky Girl

Incest Sex Story: Chapter 4 - When Leah Erston's mother dies unexpectedly, she is forced to supplement her family's income by taking up her mother's trade.

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   NonConsensual   Reluctant   Rape   Incest   Father   Daughter   Spanking   Sadistic   First   Exhibitionism  

I gave myself my third scar the day my dad turned me into a proper whore. It ended up being one of the most humiliating days of my life.

"We need $500," he told me bluntly.

He sounded desperate that evening. He had just returned from work and he was angry. He'd been angry a lot recently, but not like this. "I found a guy who'll pay it. You have to pretend to be a virgin because that's what he's expecting. Tell him you broke your cherry riding a bike, or some other bullshit ... just don't use anything sex-related as an excuse. He wants you pure. He probably knows you aren't, but he wants the fantasy."

My heart went cold. It's happening, I thought.

"Just remember that this sick fuck likes to diddle little girls," he said to me flatly. "He likes cute innocent children. So put something cute on. Not something sexy, something cute. And do your hair up in pig-tails. He'll like that. And don't cuss around him, or act like you know what's going on. Don't resist him, just act like ya don't know what you're doing, okay? You're supposed to be innocent and young and adorable, not a dirty little whore. Understand?"

It'd been a month since the daisy-dukes photo-shoot. The non-nude pictures from it had been extremely popular but few had paid for the nudes. Ten sets had been sold, totalling $750, but while those customers had sent a lot of praising fan-mail, no one had made any special requests yet. Dad had grown increasingly frustrated with the lack of paying customers. Now, obviously, he intended to use me in other ways to make some cash.

I looked up from the text message I'd been sending to a friend on my cell-phone and stared at him with a blank expression on my face. "Who is he?" I asked, my voice even and devoid of emotion.

"Dammit, Leah!" he yelled. He pushed his fingers through his golden hair and paced around the room. "What does it matter? He's agreed on $500. I need half that for parts for the Chevy or it'll be useless soon. What'll we do without a car, huh?"

I nodded thoughtfully. "What do you need the other half for?" I asked.

He stopped pacing and stared at me. "For everything else! Jesus, girl, do ya think electricity is free?"

For some reason, I didn't back down. I didn't just surrender. I always knew this was going to happen eventually: that he'd ask me to fuck someone for money. It'd been three months since he first raped me, three months since mother had died. Three months of being told I was a whore and a slut. So I wasn't surprised, but for some reason I decided to push the envelope.

"No," I told him flatly. "I won't do it. I won't let some random pervert fuck me."

As the words left my lips it occurred to me that whenever my dad punished me it was because I wanted him to. There was a sick part of me, a self-loathing part of my psyche, that thought I deserved to feel pain.

Dumb whore, I thought, go ahead and push him. Get him mad. Get what you deserve.

He gaped at me for a moment. Then he grew strangely calm. "Put the phone down and stand up," he said.

I stared back at him for a long moment. Say it! my self-loathing brain thought. Say it! Get him really mad this time. I deserve to be beaten to death. I'm nothing but a stupid whore, just let him end me.

"No," I whispered. I was shaking with fear but I tried to continue my texting as though the issue had been decided.

He seemed stunned for a long moment. There was silence as I typed in a smiley face to my friend Tara. I felt him walk over to me but I tried to ignore him. With every passing second I knew I was getting myself into more trouble but I couldn't stop thinking, I'm a dumb whore, I deserve this, I deserve to get beaten, I deserve it, I deserve it...

"If you don't do what I tell you," my dad finally said, "I know someone who will. Understand me?"

At first, I didn't. Then I gasped: "Molly?!"

He grinned at me with an evil look in his eyes. "She's a good girl. She'll obey her daddy. Is that what you want?"

I couldn't believe he would even suggest it. "She's only twelve!" I said.

He nodded. "But she'd make a better whore than you. She wouldn't question me. Say the word, and she'll be the one helping our family from now on instead of you."

He was right, I realized. Since our mom's death three months earlier, Molly had regressed emotionally. She'd never been very bright but now she had gone into full-child mode: she wanted to be taken care of, was clingy all the time, and she showed none of the rebellion or maturity I'd had at her age. If our dad told her right now to get dressed up in a pretty dress and go fuck some stranger she would do it with a genuine smile.

I have a way out, I thought.

Suddenly I loathed myself. How could I even consider sacrificing her for my benefit? I hated myself so much right then that I truly looked forward to the punishment I was about to receive. I deserve it. I'm a selfish, stupid, mean little whore, I thought.

With tears brimming in my eyes I threw my phone to the ground and stood up quickly. My wide blue eyes looked at my dad with my head bowed submissively.

He gave me a nod and then walked purposefully toward the kitchen while calling over his shoulder, "Strip down. All the way. Right now."

A part of me that I hated grew excited. Without any protest I slowly pulled off my tee-shirt. I could hear him rummaging around inside some of the kitchen drawers and I trembled with fear and elation at what sort of new punishment this might be. Just as I pushed off my panties he re-entered the living room.

"Hands behind your back," he said, voice calm.

My heavy breathing betrayed the fear I felt. My wet pussy betrayed my arousal. I placed my hands behind me and clasped them together. He walked up to me and told me to turn my back to him and I did so without any hesitation.

I deserve this, I thought in my fearful head. Whatever he plans on doing, I deserve it.

He bound my wrists together with a zip-tie. Feeling the painful plastic dig deep into my wrists made me gasp in surprise: I hadn't expected him to bind me. Once my wrists were secure he forcefully turned my small naked body to face him.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he said coldly. There was a quiet anger in his voice as he gripped my chin and forced me to look up into his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered. All defiance in my voice had disappeared. I felt my knees begin to shake.

"You're going to fuck this man, aren't you?" he said. His eyes were dead and serious and evil.

"Yes," I promised. "Please, let me go get dressed..."

"Not yet," he said. He held up what he had been hiding in his other hand: two paper clamps. They were the black-and-silver kind that were used to bind large stacks of paper together. I'd used them for school assignments, which is probably why we had some lying about. The color drained from my face as he slipped his hand off my chin and moved it to my right breast.

 
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