Chapter 9: Big Brother

George couldn't believe it. Turned out he'd been right the entire time. Drugs? No, his little girl wouldn't do drugs. She would never want to become a junkie. But sex? Porn? Obviously his daughter had no qualms about becoming a little slut.

Become a slut? She's always been a slut! George kept reminding himself. Night after night he saw the evidence: her, on her bed, that crimson colored dildo of hers shoved deep between her legs. George had actually come home from work early after the first time, just to sneak into her room. His search revealed little he didn't already know about, of course, but when he actually saw the thing his girl had been fucking herself with the night before, well, in real life it seemed way too big for her to take. It was at least as big as his cock. She obviously liked them big.

And he'd watched her squirm on it for almost an hour, through the spy cameras he'd had installed.

The connection to the computer hadn't paid off much—what she had on there revealed little about the extent of his daughter's perversion, only a few short clips of porno movies and a bunch of text files George wasn't about to waste time reading through. But the cameras, those had definitely been worth it. They proved just how slutty a pervert his daughter was when she thought no one was watching.

Well, he was watching now. And what he saw was his 14-year-old girl brutalizing her cunt with a massive dildo, practically every night.

It'd been a week since he'd started watching. The first time, the very day the cameras had been installed, George couldn't believe it. He'd been angry. He'd nearly charged down the hall and demanded she stop. But then he'd realized that, if anything, her behavior simply proved that what he'd done to her months earlier was okay. After all, she was obviously a demented, sex-obsessed whore. So what if he'd fucked her? She probably would have enjoyed the first time had she been awake. As for the second time, he'd always suspected she'd enjoyed that, and now he was positive that she had.

As he watched his ripe looking girl do herself on her bed he would jerk off, sure. And on the third night of his spying, despite Eddy's warnings, he began to record her. Why not? No one would know, and it sure gave him great masturbation material. Besides, he wasn't going to do more than watch—he'd made a promise to God and to himself.

Still, it was hard to resist the temptations that went through him when he saw her fucking herself. Sometimes she did it on her knees on the floor, in the middle of the room, doing herself from behind with the rubber monster and occasionally slapping her own ass while she did. Other times he'd see her pert, just pubescent body on her bed, her legs spread wide, her tits jiggling enticingly while she rammed herself with the thing and moaned and panted in shameless lust.

It was all just... incredible. How could she do this to herself almost every night? What went through her head when she did this? What kind of degraded, perverted thoughts could keep a nasty little slut like her going for so long, so often, so actively?

I need to fuck that again, he often told himself. But he couldn't. He'd made a promise. He risked everything if he did. But still...

"Torch!"

George turned his head away from the 2 x 4 he was supposed to be cutting.

"What's the matter, Torch?" his short, squat little shit of a supervisor demanded as he waddled toward him. "What the fuck are you doing just standing there?!"

"Sorry, boss," George said tightly. He hated this man passionately. He was a miserable little shit, with his white shirt and cheap tie and ornamental hard-hat—he was one of those middle-class failures who somehow found jobs bossing grunts like him around.

"You've been fucking up a lot lately, Torch," the piece-of-shit said. "You better get your act together. I'm tired of this lazing around bullshit, you hear me!"

George glared at the small round man but rather than say what he wanted he turned back to his saw, which immediately drowned out the piece-of-shit's voice when it fired to life.

God, what a fucking asshole, George thought. But the worst thing was that the dickwad was right: he had been screwing up. This morning, for instance, he'd been late to work. Earlier that week he'd left early. And today he'd been assigned an easy task, to help cut 100 crossbeams to specification, but still he was way behind.

It's that slut-of-a-whore brat's fault, he thought angrily. His fingers tightened around the handles of the blade. Thoughts of her and her tight little body and slutty fucking behavior was blocking out all reason.

The asshole left him alone, eventually. But at around three that afternoon one of his co-workers, a buddy of his, interrupted his work. Apparently the brat herself, his daughter, had stopped by the worksite. George pulled off his dusty gloves and followed his friend toward the front of the construction site. Sure enough, there she was.

She was garbed in her winter-outfit, the leather coat and earmuffs, but she still looked like she was freezing. Stupid girl, George thought. She was too thin and frail for weather like this, and was obviously more concerned with showing off her body than staying warm.