Chapter 6

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

When I arrived home last night, I wasn’t quite ready to deal with my father, so I told him briefly about the tournament, showed him my trophy, then retreated to my room with the door closed for the rest of the evening. I practiced in my head what I was going to tell him ... and how I was going to tell him that. Then I spent some time channeling in my mind various of those LA girls who are living life like they want, having lots of sex with each other and those two lovely boys, one of whom will turn 18 this week. I got more than just a single tingle thinking that I might be having sex with an adult in the near future.

I had a brief phone conversation with Beth in which I didn’t tell her what I was going to do today, but that I was going to change my home life ... drastically. She gave me an attagirl; not in so many words, but in how she said what she told me, which was that the LA would help me if I needed it. If what I interpreted from Dad’s various mutters and overheard less-than-mutters, I didn’t think I’d need help, but I was happy to have the LA in my back pocket, so to speak, as I fully anticipate using their implied support to buck myself up to get a home situation I want, rather than the one I have now. Wish me luck.

<Later>

“Dad, we need to talk.”

I thought about how I would introduce what would probably be a difficult discussion. It took me quite a while to figure that out, but when I thought of it, I ... yes, I did ... I tittered. What a fucking girly-girl thing to do, but I admit it. I almost tittered again when I said it directly to him.

He gave me an odd look, one that seemed, perhaps, scared ... or, at least concerned, and I took heart from that, so lit into him.

“I’m freaking sick and tired of you eyeballing me all the time and, particularly, muttering stuff under your breath, things that I can’t quite understand, but which have seemed suggestive in a sexual way. I want it to stop! I want to quit living in fear of being raped in my own house ... by my own freaking father!”

He tried to interrupt, to tell me he’d never do a thing like that, but I said, “NO! No, you’ll listen to what I say. Hell, you’ll do what I tell you, because the past few months have been scary for me. Interesting, don’t you think, that that timing is exactly the time I’ve been growing these!”

With that, I whipped off my top.

“You seem to be obsessed with my tits, so I’m going to tell you how things will be from now on. You want to see my tits so much, and you’re going to get your wish. But, Dad, you’re not getting your wish because it’s your wish. I’ve decided that I’ll live here like I want.”

I almost tittered, again, but it would have been an in-my-head-only titter, and I would have given that because I was almost surprised that his response was what I’d predicted. He was on his back foot, interpersonally. His lower jaw was hanging open and his eyes were riveted on my breasts. I kept the heat on. In fact, I turned the heat way up.

I dropped my skirt to the floor and stepped out of it and was naked in the living room for the first time ever.

“From today on, our house is clothing optional for me, but really, I mean that in a clothing-not-permitted fashion. I’ll be naked here all the time. I’ve developed an interest in my skin, all of my skin, breathing in the air, and I’ll be stripping as I walk in the door. Just keep this in mind, Dad”, throwing that title at him like a javelin, “that if you rape me, if you put a hand on me that I don’t want on me, you better kill me, because I will go to the police! I’m tired of living in fear in my own house! And I’ve told friends that if I turn up dead or missing to go to the police and tell them you did it! NO, Dad,” I interrupted him, “I don’t know why you changed how you did ... if it wasn’t my tits, but I’m tired of it! You’re going to learn how it feels to be a second-class citizen in your own house. You’re going to learn how it feels to be uncomfortable in your only close relative’s presence.”

My soul exulted that I was telling him what I wanted to say, but particularly because he was still on his back foot with mouth hanging open, so I kept my figurative thumbs on his figurative jugular.

“While this house will be clothing-optional for me, it will be nakedness-required for you! We’ll see how you do being uncertain of what the immediate future will bring you. So, strip, Dad. Now.” I gave him a few moments, then added, “No, Dad! You’ve been undressing me in your mind for months, now, so you’ll do it to yourself for real. Every time you return to the house from work or from ... wherever, you will enter through the back door and before you even open that door, you will have stripped to your skin: no shirt, no undies, not even shoes or socks. And while you’re naked in this house, keep reminding yourself that I have friends now, friends who will be concerned if they don’t hear from me regularly. School will be starting soon, and soccer practice starts even sooner, so my friends will notice if I’m not there.”

I was on a roll, so kept going.

“I will spend the occasional night at friends’ houses, and friends will occasionally stay over here, and I’ll give you a list of specific items I’ll need, both things for my room and personal things for me, all of which will make my new life here in our house better for me, and with the nervousness and concern I’ve put up with for the past few months, you’ll get those things I need for me or, at least, pay for a few of the more-personal requirements.”

I looked into his eyes, then coolly said, “You’re not naked, Dad. You can make yourself naked or I can do to you part of what I’ve been fearing you’d do to me, and, Dad, I’m still so angry that I’ll have no problem at all with ripping your clothes off you.”

That rang his bell, and he shook his head hard to fight off the effects.

As he opened his mouth to respond, I held my hand up and said, “No, Dad. You don’t need to engage your mouth in order to remove your clothes. Do it. Now.”

Exultation! That’s what I felt when he ducked his head shallowly, then began removing his clothes. His hands fumbled quite often, and he particularly had trouble with his button-down shirt, but he was soon standing naked before me ... with his penis not just erect, but throbbingly so, and I doubled down on my advantage.

“You may make yourself cum whenever you require, but not within my sight. I don’t want to...”

I did a quick reanalysis of this part of my ... diatribe ... No, it wasn’t a diatribe. I was taking control of the household, and, from the appearance of Daddy’s penis, he was enjoying this, maybe...

I asked myself, “Is he a submissive or is his cock ready to explode because he thinks he’s getting sex from me?”

I answered myself, “I don’t know, but I can ... you know ... imagine wanting sometime in the future to watch him beat off at my direction.”

I nodded at myself and changed my next words.

“If you need to make yourself orgasm, you will not do that where I can see it ... unless I order you to do it.”

Okay, perhaps my first thought was right. In my head, I thanked the LA girls for explaining some decidedly ... odd aspects of interpersonal sex, because his penis seemed to throb even more intensely at my last words to him and his deep, sudden inhalation provided more apparent confirmation.

I continued with, “Some other new rules. Your bedroom door is always open. The bathroom door stays open when you’re in it unless you’re taking a dump. And no peeing while standing up! I’m fucking tired of the mess you make on the toilet!”

I recoiled slightly when he responded, “Yes, ma’am,” not because he agreed but because he agreed in what seemed a submissive way. When I was devising my plan of attack and even some of the very words I had thrown at him, I had never suspected that he’s a submissive. Not “submissive,” as my grammar program wants me to use, but “a submissive,” as in a noun rather than an adjective. My mind whirled for a while, but as I began getting a mental grasp, I, again, thanked Beth and others in the LA for explaining during the tournament weekend so much stuff about sex and sexual relations. Suddenly, some of those poorly heard mutters made more sense.

HOLY FUCK!

I shook my head hard to clear the fog and returned to my mental checklist of items to enumerate for my father.

“I’m still quite nervous around you because of your past three months’ response to my boobs growing. However – and maybe, some day, I’ll explain an incredible irony about this to you, I promise to try very hard to overcome that nervousness.” I greatly moderated my tone, and asked, “Dad, can we get back to the relationship we had before I got tits? I thought you were a reasonable dad by standards of other girls’ fathers. If I promise to listen to you, will you return to being that dad I loved so much when I was a little girl? If not, can you at least return to the non-hurtful dad you were before I began growing these,” I finished as I cupped my tits.

Okay, I threw in an audible there at the end, although as I write this, I’m not sure why. I suspect that part of my rationale was a bit of what might be explanation of his behavior in the past few months related both to his former marriage and to his apparent sexual kink. Rather, what I interpreted as his sexual kink. I’ve certainly got reason to believe that ... apparentness is ... actualness, but I made a note to myself not to count on it, to protect myself if my interpretation of his behavior – this most immediately recent behavior, as well as previous behavior – is incorrect.

I finished with, “As a reminder, your bedroom door is always open, regardless. There are no circumstances I can now imagine that would allow you to close that door, but if I encounter one, I’ll tell you. In exchange, my door, too, will be open. Perhaps you’ll consider removing the doors, entirely, but if you don’t, they should always be against the inside wall of the respective bedrooms.

“I know this will ... the new rules will take some getting used to, so let’s both keep that in mind as we settle into the new status quo.”

I’d like to report that he got on his knees to beg my forgiveness, and that expectation might have been higher given what I think I’ve discovered about his sexual ... interests, but he said simply, “Okay. I’ll try very hard. Now, what is that list of things you needed?”

I mentally kicked myself in the head for forgetting that, but enumerated most of that list, then said, “I’ll write it down for you. At the top of that list are two big things. First, I’ll need a king-size bed, one that can fit two or three, perhaps, even, four friends staying over. Even above that, Dad, I’ll need an IUD, as I’ve become sexually active, and I’ll be having intercourse with my two boyfriends.”

He seemed mostly fine with my list up to the last two words, at which point he got agitated, although I’m not at all sure that he was agitated for a reason I wouldn’t like.