Chapter 14: My Eyes Are Bright

"Can't stop myself from laughing
"No matter how sad these things can be!
"My eyes are bright and--
"I—still don't even know you
"I—still wish that I could hold you
"I—still don't even know you
"I—I sometimes wanna die!
"Yeah, I sometimes wanna... die."
—Joydrop, 'Sometimes Wanna Die'

Amy sobbed until her tears dried up. She sobbed until it hurt to cry. Even then she continued to sob into her mattress while her father's sticky sperm leaked out from her pussy.

Most of it, of course, had made its way into her tight little box. Her period was due in two weeks, and now if she was late, she'd really be in a mess. She'd have no idea who her baby's daddy was. That asshole Russ? Maybe that nerd Drew? Or possibly, her own father?

No, she told herself, if she did get pregnant it wouldn't be her daddy's baby. No way. He'd had a vasectomy after she was born. Those things were 100% full proof. They had to be.

She lay in her bed reeling from what had happened for the next hour or so. This was going to be like the last time, she told herself. Her dad was going to feel guilty for what he'd just done and leave her alone for a good, long while. Last time he'd increased her allowance out of guilt, even. What might he give her this time? More money? More freedom?

The teenager heard her cell phone ringing from her purse. It was probably Elissa, wondering what had happened to her. She wanted more than anything to speak with her friend, to bring some semblance of normalcy into her suddenly shaken world, but she knew she wasn't in any condition to talk. She'd call her back later, when she'd completely recovered.

Eventually Amy sat up in the bed and crawled out of it. She looked down at her naked pussy: red and puffy and sticky with sperm. She sighed and sniffed then walked awkwardly toward her dresser. After pulling on a pair of blue-cotton panties and a bra, she began looking for the rest of her clothes. Being dressed would make her feel normal again. Later on, if she was right and her dad was drinking away his guilt and shame downstairs, she'd probably be able to sneak away to Elissa's place after he inevitably fell asleep in his recliner.

Just then she heard footsteps down the hall. She froze fearfully in place: so he hadn't gone downstairs yet! He hadn't been drinking the last hour or so! Was he going down there now, or was he coming to her for seconds?

Her teeth began to chatter and tears formed in her eyes when she heard the footsteps stop in front of her door. When he entered, she began crying again.

He didn't have that crazy look of intense anger in his eyes anymore, which was good. And his muscles weren't flexed and tense like they had been. What made her almost cry was what he carried in his hands: a roll of duct tape and two indistinguishable CD's.

"What the fuck you doing?" he said, his voice a lot calmer than before but still menacing.

"G-getting dressed," she whimpered.

"No," he replied as he headed toward her computer desk, "you can just wear your undies for now. No clothes."

"What do you mean?" she suddenly wailed. What the hell was he talking about? Stay in her undies? He did plan on fucking her again after all! It was the only explanation! How could he do this? Why wouldn't he just leave her alone like after the last time?

"SIT DOWN!" he screamed at her with all the ferocity he'd displayed earlier.

Once again the 14-year-old child was shocked into obedience. She rushed to her cum-stained mattress and sat on it, tears once again streaming down her face. She did her best not to make any noise but it was hard.

He was doing something to her computer. He was sitting in her small, dainty white chair, looming over her teen-girl desk and fiddling with her PC's tower. She watched in confusion as he put a CD in the drive, mess with the keyboard and mouse for a bit, then replace the CD with the second one he'd brought with him. He seemed to be copying some files onto her computer. Her heart was full of dread as she imagined what those files might be. When he was done he took the keyboard and placed it on top of her computer's tower-case, then pushed her flat-paneled monitor back until it was against the wall.

What the hell was he doing?

"Get over here," he ordered her.

Too scared to disobey, Amy did as her father said. She got up on wobbly legs and cautiously approached her dad, who was now standing next to her chair.

"Sit," he commanded.

Again, she did as he said.

Without a word he knelt down and grabbed her right ankle. She gasped as he roughly pulled it over to the front-right leg of her chair and began to tape it in place. He wrapped the duct tape quickly around her slender ankle several times, binding it to the outside of the chair leg. He was so quick she didn't have time to react.

When he got up and moved to her left side, she began to cry again. "What are you doing! Stop it, stop!"

He ignored her. She wailed on as he fastened her left ankle against the outside of the front left leg of the chair. When he finished with that he violently gripped her left wrist and wrapped it behind her back; seconds later he had her right wrist twisted behind the chair, too, before binding them together with the strong tape.

She was bound to the chair, now. She threw her head and cried, her mind panicking. What was he doing with her? What kind of sick game did he have planned?

Suddenly he was standing behind her, and she felt herself, along with her chair, lifted up from the ground a few inches. Moments later he'd moved the chair forward. The edge of the desk poked into her belly as she struggled against her bondage without thinking. It was all to no avail. He'd taped her ankles to the chair legs with several layers; her wrists were also bound behind the chair's back with an equally unbreakable amount of tape.

The confused and panicked teen didn't even notice at first that her father had left her like this. All she could do was sob and struggle. Eventually she realized that neither was doing her any good, so she forced herself to relax. She had to calm down and get her bearings.

He'd bound her to her chair and forced her against her desk. But why? She felt her nose itch and began to tremble with discomfort. She couldn't scratch it. Then she realized her butt was still sore from the spanking she'd received the previous weekend from that... well, that guy. Whoever he was. But she couldn't so much as shift her soft young ass an inch in either direction to relieve her discomfort: that's how tightly her dad had bound her.

It was weird, but she was almost relieved when her daddy returned. After all, she couldn't imagine being left in this position any longer! It was too weird, too awkward. So he'd had his fun binding her up, she figured, and now he would undo her. He might fuck her again but that was better than being left in this state, the traumatized girl reasoned. Anything would be better than this uncertainty.

"Daddy?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Here's the deal, baby," her father said from the doorway to her room. His voice was soft and matter-of-fact. "You're a slut. I think we both know that by now. Don't bother denying it."

She might have tried, but she was in such a vulnerable position she could barely gather up the courage to simply say, "Okay."

"You're a fucking girl—a child!—and you're a slut. Now turns out you're a whore. Well, next thing you'll be getting knocked up or infected with some disease. That's what'll happen, baby girl. It's what'll happen unless I do something."

Her neck had been strained over her shoulder for so long that the soreness there finally caused her to drop her head forward. Maybe he saw this as defeat, or as some kind of admission of guilt, she realized, but she didn't care.

"I know you don't want that, babe. And I ain't gonna let it happen to you. Question is, how do I keep you from being a sluttish whore, 'specially since it's your nature?"

She bit her lower lip but refused to offer a response. Even after all he'd done to her it was hard to accept that he thought so little of her.

"I'll tell ya how," he said, his voice suddenly closer. "I gotta keep you in line. I think I gotta make some rules, and force you to follow them for once. It'll be for your own good. Can't change the fact you're a slut, I know that now. But we can control it."

His voice had grown so close Amy was sure her dad was just inches away now.

"But," he whispered harshly in her ear, "you don't think you're a slut, do you? Deep down inside you still think you're a good little girl, don't you? Answer me."

"Yes," she whispered.

"We ain't gonna be able to make things right until you realize the truth," he said after a pause.

Suddenly he stood and grabbed the computer monitor on her desk and pulled it forward. The large 19" LCD flat panel screen was a lot closer than she was used to viewing it at, as there was no keyboard separating her from it and she had been pushed all the way into her desk. What was he doing?

"I knew you had porn on your computer, baby girl, mostly pictures and those stories. Well I never bothered with no stories. But you had a few movies and I've added a whole lot more of 'em from my own machine. Now you're gonna watch 'em. You're gonna watch all of 'em, over and over, until I get back. A good girl wouldn't get turned on by 'em, a good girl would get disgusted, but you ain't a good girl.

"You're gonna watch 'em, and you're gonna love 'em," he said cruelly. "But you ain't gonna be able to fuck yourself with that dildo of yours this time."

Never had the girl felt so utterly helpless and humiliated before. Her dad was going to force her to watch porn? Over and over he'd said? She was in no mood for sex but she knew herself, she knew she'd eventually get worked up. She knew her dad would be proven right. She'd get horny as hell and not be able to do anything about it because she was taped down into this goddamned chair!

"Please, Daddy, let me go!" she begged in a panic. "I am a slut, okay?! I am, I know, I'm not a good girl, pleeeasse!"

He ignored her. Already she saw that he was using the mouse to open up her movies folder, which she immediately saw had a lot more files in it then it usually did. He saw him click a few buttons and then select "Play All".

"No!!! Daddy, my wrists hurt, please, let me go, don't make me do this!" she begged.

He still didn't respond even as she continued to profess what a slut she was, that she'd do anything he wanted, that she'd never be bad again, etc. She felt him gather up her long hair and pull it behind her head, then tie it into a crude ponytail, probably so that it wouldn't interfere with her view. Then she saw him bring the computer's speakers forward and turn the volume up. Next she heard him walk away for a moment and turn off her bedroom lights—even though it was a cool bright day outside, her window blinds blocked most of the natural light plunging the room into a dark, warm glow. The only thing lighting the room now was the computer monitor.

He returned to her side. He was on one knee, looking up at her with a hard expression on his grizzled face. It wasn't anger she saw there, and it wasn't hate. It was resolve. His hand came up and cupped her right breast through her light blue bra and squeezed it softly. She sobbed at his touch.

"Shh, don't cry," he said. "This is for the best. You trust your dad, now, baby girl. I'm gonna make you into a responsible little slut, not some fucking teenage whore who fucks strangers for clothes at some God-damned mall.

"I'm gonna leave now," he said, standing up. "Gonna go up to the Barely Luck, watch some grownup sluts do their thing. Guys from work'll probably show up after the shift is done, and I think they're going bowling later. I probably won't be back until late.

"When I do get back," he finished, "if it looks like you tried to escape, or that you tried to knock the monitor over, or anything like that, I'm gonna chain you to the hot water heater in the basement and leave you there until Sunday."