Chapter 11: Pussy Pills

"Well, Mr. Torch, I have some good news," good old Dr. Malkewitz explained as he scribbled something onto a pad of paper, "All your tests are normal. All you need are a few nights of good, uninterrupted sleep."

George narrowed his eyes. He was trying to appear exhausted, but it was hard to control his normal body language.

"The divorce has been hard," George said, his voice simmering. "I don't sleep much."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," the doctor acknowledged distractedly. "Of course. That's why I'm prescribing GH Pro. It's a new drug on the market. I've had wonderful results."

The doctor tore a page off of his pad and handed the note to George. He took it and looked down at the doctor's sloppy handwriting.

"What does it do?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's a sedative, Mr. Torch," the doctor explained. He was flipping through a manila folder, now, but he continued: "Take it thirty minutes before bedtime and you'll be out like a light. After thirty days, if you're still experiencing such elevated levels of insomnia, we'll consider other causes, but I think that a week or two on this will have you right as rain."

The doctor smiled.

George frowned. "It says, 'take one or two at bedtime'," he pointed out.

"Oh, yes," the doctor said. "Try one at first. You're what, says here... ah. Six-four, two-ten? One should be enough, even with a man your size. But if it isn't, you can safely double the dosage."

"What if that don't work?" George demanded.

The doctor shrugged. "Well then, you'd be inhuman. But seriously, if 200 milligrams doesn't knock you right out, give me a call. I'm sure I could get published in the New England Journal of Medicine with such a case."

He was laughing. George wasn't. But he did manage to force a smile. After all, he'd just been given what he'd wanted.

"Before you leave, George, there's something I wanted to ask you."

George paused on his way to the door and looked back at the doctor. "Yeah?"

"It's about Amy," Dr. Malkewitz began. His expression was one of concern as he gently asked, "Have you... told her, yet? About her mother, I mean?"

George's eyes narrowed. "The agreement was to never tell her, Doc. Why would it change now?"

"I know, I know," the doctor said quickly. "I understand that. But it occurs to me that with Mary and you... separating... ah. Well, perhaps she would like to know the truth after all these years?"

George stared at the elderly little Jew intently. He could feel guilt riding up in his stomach and it was a feeling he hated more than anything in the world. "She don't need to know. She has a good life with me, you hear? I've raised her right and been a damned good dad! I've held up my end of the bargain and so has her mom. And if she ain't about to break our agreement then neither am I, and you'd better not think about--"

"No, no," Dr. Malkewitz quickly interjected. "I'm not going to breathe a word, of course. When I signed that nondisclosure agreement all those years ago, I knew I was making a lifelong promise to keep my mouth shut and I keep my promises. I'm just... suggesting... that maybe Amy would like to know that her mom isn't six feet under like you've been saying her entire life? Especially now that the only mom she's ever had has left her, that's all."

"You know what, Doc?" George spat. "Keep your fucking opinions to yourself."

With that, George stormed out of the office and nearly forgot to make his co-pay before charging outside to his truck. The nerve of that little Jew, George thought, to give him parental advice! He didn't know Amy! He didn't know what a great life George had given her!

And he didn't know that Amy was such a little slut that she would never be accepted into her real mom's world, anyway.

Fuck him, George thought as he gunned his engine. He headed straight for the nearest drug-store where he had a prescription to fill and a case of beer to buy.

Over a month had passed since George began monitoring his daughter with the wireless spy cameras. The first eight or nine days had shown him what a slutty little brat she was: always going straight to that dildo of hers, always fucking herself as if she deserved such pleasure. As if she'd earned it.

Since then, Amy had stopped using the crimson rubber monster entirely. She'd stopped being isolated, too: she had a new best friend. The girl, Elissa, was a cute little bitch, George thought. The incredibly skinny girl had long black hair and smooth, pale skin, and she wore the strangest dark outfits which happened to be disturbingly erotic. George had only met her twice but was convinced that she was somehow behind his daughter's sudden lack of interest in masturbation. He refused to think about what that might mean.

She's probably a whore, too, she looks like a whore, George would tell himself. Probably helps her find real cock.

The girl was on Christmas break, now. Winter had fully hit Cleveland, and work was slow. His douche-bag-of-a-boss couldn't even ride him anymore, since there really wasn't anything to do most days. After all, the ground was frozen and construction everywhere had mostly ground to a halt. Lately he was lucky to get 20 hours of work in a week. The Union made up the difference with its 'interim pay', but that could go on for only another 60 days. Besides, without his overtime, George was always pissed at his paychecks this time of year. Thankfully since Mary had left him he'd been able to save a lot more, even with Amy's dramatic increase in allowance.

The constant lack of work had left George with plenty of time to fantasize about the night he'd first fucked his daughter. God, how he wanted to do it again. But he was still too afraid to out-and-out rape the girl the way he had that second time, even given the evidence he had of her total perversion now.

It was too risky, he would tell himself. Way too risky. Fucking the bitch when she was conscious meant she would know, and if she knew she might eventually snap and report him to the cops. Then another part of him would start thinking that, no, of course she wouldn't tell the cops. She didn't last time. She liked it, she was a slut, a little teenage nympho who probably wanted her old man to give it to her good again...

It was unfair. His daughter was a little slut but he wasn't allowed to touch her? It was bullshit. And that was why he had gone to see Dr. Malkewitz. It's why he'd lied to the old Jew about not being able to sleep. Even back in 'Nam, he'd always slept like a baby. He'd wanted him to do exactly what he'd done: prescribe sleeping pills. But they weren't for him. They were for her.

Two days of plotting passed and now it was just past midnight on a cold Friday and George was cracking open his tenth beer, but Amy still wasn't home. He was mad. Not at her, though. He'd told her she could stay out as late as she wanted. He was mad at himself for being wrong, since he'd figured the girl would still come home by her regular curfew.

The slut might stay out till three, George glumly realized. And it was his fault. Why had he told her she didn't have to get back until "whenever"? Well, because the later she got to stay out, the more fucked up she would probably get on her own. That had been his logic, anyway.

Or the more fucking she'd get before coming home, he now realized. At this very moment his little girl might be getting fucked by some hormonal 18-year-old--

George froze. He heard something outside. He listened closely and a moment later he heard the front door slowly swing open.

George jumped out of his chair. "Amy, that you?" he called, trying not to slur his voice.

She didn't respond, but he heard her footsteps approaching. In the glow of the TV, which was the only illumination in the room, he saw her. She looked chilled to the bone: she was wearing her thick leather coat, her earmuffs, and the coat was zipped up, even. But she looked positively frigid.

"It's me," the girl chattered.

"Join your old man for a beer," George said, walking around the couch and into the kitchen.

"I—I'm fine," the shivering teen replied. "I—just need to sleep."

George quickly grabbed one of the special beers, one of the ones he'd prepared for his daughter. When he got back to the living room he caught her trying to leave.

"Come on," he called after her. "Have a beer with me. You're freezing... this will warm you right up."

The small girl seemed reluctant at first, but George's hardened gaze convinced her to join him.

"What'd you do tonight?" George asked the girl from the recliner.

"Nuthin'," she yawned. She took a small sip from her beer.

"You did something," George pointed out. He was doing his best to sound friendly but damn was it hard! He'd had too much to drink, plus she looked so damned sexy in that leather coat that he couldn't help but grow hard and stare at her lustfully.

Thankfully Amy finally spoke. "Elissa and her brother were having a little Christmas party, nothing big, just watched some movies and... you know, talked."

George nodded, and then Amy spent the next few minutes blathering about her new friends and how great they were and how good they were, etc. This gave George a chance to get his thoughts straight. His eyes roamed his little girl's body. She hadn't taken off her coat yet, or even her earmuffs, and she didn't seem to mind. It was sort of frustrating, since he wanted to see more of her body, but it was somehow sexy, too. His little girl, all bundled up for winter. Her skin looked so soft and smooth that it was all George could do not to reach out and touch her face: her skin was flawless, only now beginning to warm up, and he wanted to be the one to warm it up for her.

"Right, Dad?"

George snapped out of thoughts. "Definitely, hell yeah," he said, without any idea what he was agreeing to.

Amy was upending her beer already. George jumped from his seat and strode toward the kitchen, then returned from the fridge with another special beer for his daughter but with a bottle of water for himself. He was done with beer for the night.

"Thanks," Amy murmured dazedly as she accepted the can. She was looking even more exhausted than earlier, George noted as he took his seat again.

George watched as she drank. Her thin, flawless neck gulped down a few swigs from the aluminum can before she continued talking. He no longer even pretended to listen. Everything she was saying was bullshit, anyway, just a bunch of teenage drama. What he was interested in had nothing to do with her friends or the bullshit intrigue of teenage politics.

She'd unzipped her coat, finally, and her skin had returned to its natural hue. She was definitely warm because the girl also kicked off her boots and threw off her earmuffs before removing her jacket. Her long red hair was light and free around her face, a face so angelic that George couldn't help but stare.

And at her breasts. God, such great tits. Amy was wearing one of her typically too-tight shirts, and George was getting a great look at her just-pubescent cleavage. He chugged at his water.

Moments passed. It was quiet but for the soft buzz from the muted TV. George paused. All he could hear in the room was the deep breathing of his little girl, suddenly.

As quietly as possible George leaned forward and took the beer away from his daughter's limp hand. The can was half empty. That meant she'd ingested one and a half of the special beers.

She'd just taken one and a half doses of GH Pro. If Dr. Malkewitz was right, she should be completely comatose.

Slowly, anxiously, George knelt down next to his unconscious daughter. He paused and pressed his finger against her face. Nothing. Not even a flinch. Everything was quiet except for his beating heart and her shallow breaths. The 14-year-old had totally passed out.

The pills had worked like a charm. Earlier that evening he'd broken open a capsule of the medicine and dumped its contents into a just barely cracked open beer, then he'd done it twice more. He'd had three ready, but had only needed two.

His fingers were trembling now that he had her. She was passed out. She was his. Just like that first time, she wasn't going to know about anything he did. She would wake up feeling hung-over, probably, and maybe remember talking to him, too. But from now until then she wasn't going to remember a God damned thing. He was free to do to his daughter whatever he damn well wanted.

His hands went to her jeans first, and unbuckled them. She breathed out as he did. He stared at her face: peaceful, passed out. He looked back at his hands, which trembled as he slowly unzipped her pants. His racing heart and the metal-on-metal grind of her unzipping jeans were the only sounds in the dark room. After her fly was completely open, revealing her pastel-blue panties beneath, he undid her belt.