My Daddy is a small town doctor, in fact he’s the only doctor in our little village of Janisville but I can assure you, he has no shortage of patients. He’s well respected and well liked, he draws from around the entire county where many people like Daddy and me enjoy the rural life. We don’t live in town; our home is on ten acres about twenty minutes out.
Daddy is not only the doctor; he serves on the town council, is the county medical examiner and, when he was younger was even a volunteer paramedic. I understand why folks like and respect him; he’s earned it.
Carlton Watkins, M.D., my Daddy is fifty-four years old but I think he’ll live to be a hundred, he takes health and diet and exercise seriously, walking at least two miles every day. He’s a small man, 5’6” tall and maintains his weight at 130 pounds. His hair is still black with only a hint of gray showing at the temples and his piercing blue eyes require no corrective lenses. He cuts quite a figure. He is fastidious in his dress, I’m not sure anyone in town has ever seen him clad in anything other that a Brooks Brothers suit and Allen Edmonds wing-tips, well, I’ll make an exception for Saturdays when he might arrive in pressed Levi’s to buy gardening supplies.
And more than just appearance, Daddy is an out going, gregarious soul with always a greeting, a handshake or, for the ladies, a little kiss on the cheek; and the ladies fawn over him. Trying to arrange dates, dinner parties or maybe a drive to the big city for supper and a play. He deftly sidesteps all, asserting that his heart still belongs to my long deceased mother, his wife Lorelei. He does enjoy lunch or coffee with folks, he revels in good conversation but even though often at those lunches alcohol might be imbibed it never touches his lips. Though he is abstemious he makes no one uncomfortable and will frequently pick up a tab.
The people that know Daddy think he is a prince and who can argue and I haven’t even mentioned that he’s a deacon in out church.
I’ve introduced you to Daddy so, let me tell you about myself. I’m Lori Watkins and yes, I am named for my mother I’m twenty-two, already the mother of two and currently pregnant with my third. I live in my Daddy’s house as I always have and, I imagine, always will. I keep the house, do the cooking, laundry and other domestic chores and care for my two children along with being Daddy’s hostess on the occasions that he entertains.
Honestly, how can I argue with the townies, Daddy can be a prince. Sometimes he makes me feel like a kept woman.
He lavishes clothes, electronics, God, whatever is popular on me, he bought me a Lexus for my sixteenth birthday, I drove it for five years and he traded it for a BMW for my twenty-first.
And my children, there are already pre-paid college funds and trust funds for both of them as there will be for the one I’m carrying and as there will be for any that follow and I expect more to follow, after all we truly believe in large families.
That’s all I have time for now, I need to get supper started but maybe we can talk again.
Quickly I boiled some pasta, heated olive oil and toasted garlic slivers in it and threw in a dozen large shrimp while some garlic bread was toasting, I tossed a salad, dressed it with a balsamic vinaigrette and had dinner ready then I mixed a small pitcher of martinis, the gin must be Hendrick’s, two drinks exactly, and poured a glass of white wine. I was ready for Daddy’s arrival and I was safe.
Daddy and I would eat in the dining room, the children would eat at the table in the eat-in kitchen, and I’d made macaroni and cheese for them earlier.
He was boisterous in his arrival; hail fellow well met, love, hug and kisses for all, he sat in his recliner, I gave him his first martini, took off his shoes and massaged his feet. He sighed his satisfaction. When I finished I put his slippers on for him.
I sat on the ottoman at his feet and took a sip of the wine. The only alcohol I was permitted while I was pregnant was wine but Daddy insisted that I drink a glass a day. He finished his drink, I took his glass to the dishwasher and got a fresh frosted glass from the freezer for his second martini, Daddy insisted on that.
Yes, Daddy catered to me, bought for me, lavished gifts on me, even took me on his travels, I’d been to London, Paris, Rome and the most fascinating, Istanbul. He paid for the care of my children when we traveled, hired a nanny so he could show me the world, God I loved him and it hurt so much.
“Ready to eat?” I asked. I gave him my hand as he pulled himself up from the recliner. I served, we ate, he commented, delicious Lori, simply delicious.
I was so happy I’d pleased him. I wanted to make him happy, I loved him and he cared for me; he mentioned that I was into my seventh month: he wanted to examine me. He rose from the table, took my hand and led me down the hall.
We had a large house, four thousand square feet along with a covered pool. Most was designed as living space but Daddy kept a small office and exam room as his home office; that’s where he led me.
I knew what to do. I stripped and climbed on the examination table, he’ d made it for the accommodation of female patients visiting at our home, the stirrups came up and I slid to the bottom of the table, I was no stranger here. Daddy snapped on vinyl gloves, brought the goose necked lamp down and did an external exam, simply looking for any abnormalities, he found none; next he performed a bi-manual exam, he inserted two gloved fingers, checked that everything was where it was and in place then progresses to the rectovaginal exam, definitely not my favorite; a finger in my vagina and another in my anus but I’m healthy, progressing in my pregnancy perfectly. I don’t bother to dress; just a robe and I go back to the living room.
Daddy is waiting when I come back in, “Your pregnancy is perfect Lori, you’ll have another absolutely perfect baby,” he was smiling so proudly as he said that, like a proud papa.
“I’m so glad Daddy,” I said, then I asked, “Can I sleep in my room tonight Daddy, I don’t feel well, my tummy isn’t good.”
I felt fine, I just needed to get away for a little while; foolishly I phoned friends, chatted act like I was on a holiday, it truly did feel like a holiday, I nearly rejoiced.
Daddy woke me up the next morning; it was early, earlier than he usually rose. He was his normal controlled self when he asked me to come to his room.
I’m twenty-two, I’m seven months pregnant, so what do you think can happen to me?
Still, he led me to his bedside, he sat down but he held me in front of him like a little girl about to be chastised, he said, “Lori, you weren’t truthful with me last evening were you?”
“Daddy my tummy really was upset.”
“Well you recovered pretty quickly, talking to your friends and all.”
He had a hold of my hand; beside him on the bed laid my grandmother’s mother of pearl hairbrush; I’m twenty-two, I’m seven months pregnant, he guided me over his lap, my little baby bump between his spread legs, he certainly doesn’t want to harm the child, and he struck, he beat me, the hair brush flew, I moaned then I begged him to stop then I cried and finally I just collapsed. He wanted to break me, he did, he always did, he always won, I just lay sobbing.
He hadn’t even bothered to take my panties down as he usually did when he spanked me, I waited for his orders, he simply told me to go to bed and wait, he’d be there later.
Trembling I lay in his bed, I thought yes, he is a prince, the Black Prince of Darkness and I thought back over the years.
From my father’s recollections I learned that my mother had endured a very difficult pregnancy with me, Daddy seemed to think it had sapped her strength, she died two years later of heart failure and, of course Daddy had never remarried. To the outside world Daddy was that prince that everyone imagined him to be but at home it wasn’t like that at all. His expectations were almost unattainable; one housekeeper after another was tried and fired and my performance had to be perfect, anything less was unacceptable and subject to punishment. When I was twelve he discharged the final housekeeper and told me,” You’re the woman of the house now.”
Later that evening he enumerated his expectations.
When he told me his expectations I wasn’t disappointed, I could do it, I could run the house; I was twelve years old.”
Three nights later I awakened in the middle of the night, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt worse. I staggered to the bathroom then to Daddy’s bedside.
“Daddy I’m so sick,” I moaned.
He awakened, pulled me up beside him and felt my forehead.
“Oh Baby, you have a fever, let me check how bad it is.”
He got up, went into the bathroom and came back with a handful of things. The only thing I was sure of was a glass tube stuck into a jar of Vaseline.
“I want to get your temperature,” he told, he pulled me over his lap and took my temp rectally; it was a little over 101.00 and Daddy was concerned, he wanted to get it down, he used an old tried and true remedy.
Daddy kept a coat / hat rack in his room, a couple of things hung on it but that wasn’t it’s real purpose, it was there as a hanger for enema bags and now a full warm one was hung; hung for Lori.
Daddy put me over his lap, I was twelve yet be handled me like a baby, he filled me with the water and helped me to the bathroom; in bed I slept a troubled sleep.
Daddy took my temperature the next morning, again across his lap, again still high but not as bad as last night. He fixed me a breakfast of tea and toast and told me to stay in bed and rest until he got home.
When Daddy came in he was still concerned about me, he took off his suit and sat on the bed beside me, he felt my forehead; you still feel feverish he told me, he took me over his lap, lowered the back of my panties and took my temperature, my fever was down but still there, he gave me another warm water enema.
Three days, a thermometer morning and evening, an enema each night and then on the forth day Daddy announced that I was cured. It was a day to remember, a noteworthy day in my personal history, a life changing day.
We had a nice dinner, Daddy had brought home take-out and we both ate like little piggies. I’d recovered from whatever malady had attacked me; Daddy was, of course, the conquering physician and the star of the show and I was his reigning princess.
While I’d been sick he’d taken me into his bed so he’d be there if I needed him. Tonight he told me, “Sleep with me one more night Lori, I want to be sure you’re okay.”
We went up to bed together, he held me and rubbed my tummy while he talked to me. He wanted to know how I was feeling; he asked if I had any abdominal pain. He was rubbing my abdomen; it was making me feel funny.
It felt good, it felt decadent, I knew I wasn’t supposed to be feeling what I was feeling and then Daddy’s hand went down into my panties. He scared me then he made me feel so good, his fingers touched me, danced across me and I made juices, between my legs I felt like Daddy had melted me. I didn’t even try to stop him, why would I, when I felt my panties being taken off. Daddy opened my legs real wide, then he got between them.
“This is going to hurt Princess,” he said to me.
He thrust into me, passing through my tight vaginal passage and breaking through my maidenhead, I cried out in pain when he tore me but then I was happy, so very happy; my Daddy was breeding me. I decided I’d never use any birth control with him; I wanted his babies in my belly; I had the third one now and wasn’t so anxious for more but I knew I’d have them, Daddy liked it when I was pregnant…no periods to deal with.
Twelve, so darn foolish, Daddy’s perfect, well maybe he was, maybe he was until that day then his expectations changed. If Daddy was perfect Mommy had to be, too, and there was no room for error.
I was in Daddy’s bed every night now; I was like his little wife. He treated me lovingly but he also made love to me nearly every night. I was getting a little break, I was having my period and was sleeping with my panties on; a rare event.
I thought he’d done it in his sleep and perhaps he did, Daddy pulled me back against him and I could feel his erection pushing against me. He lowered the back of my panties and he put himself between my cheeks. He didn’t try to enter me, he just rubbed until he came, he put the back of my panties in place and we both went to sleep; still, what he’d done had scared me; and perhaps with good reason.
I was still on my period the next day, I was feeling crampy and told Daddy that I wasn’t feeling well, that I was going to bed early, he asked me to wait a moment, he’d go with me, maybe he could rub my tummy for me. I’ll have to admit, the thought of his hand on my achy tummy sounded good to me.
When we got into bed I was feeling sweaty, hot; he thought I was a little warm, he took me across his lap and checked for a fever. I was slightly elevated, Daddy attributed that to the fact I was menstruating but after he’d checked for fever he kept me across his lap and rubbed my bottom. After what he’d done, what had happened last night I got a bad feeling, a very bad feeling.
We lay together, nothing happened, no earth shattering events; I hadn’t taken care of my evening ablations, I needed to pee and change my tampon then get into my nightie.
The door opened, Daddy had never stolen my privacy yet he was now.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“Go away Daddy,” I told him.
He waited until my bladder couldn’t hold on then he stepped close so he could watch, he spectated and listened to me as my urine cascaded.
I thought he’s made me suffer the maximum embarrassment I could until he said, “Change your tampon then lets go to bed.”
He stayed while I removed and replaced the damned tampon then he took my hand, helped me off the potty and led me to bed.
On the bedside table I noticed there was a bottle, in the dark I couldn’t read the contents still, it was ominous.
At the bedside Daddy turned me, there was the big overstuffed chair that was the catch all for everything we discarded, his clothes, my clothes and a round pillow. He picked up the pillow and handed it to me saying that I might need it then walked me towards the chair.
What he was saying to me, unbelievable, “You’re almost perfect Baby Girl, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you, you’re twenty-eight days of absolute perfection.” And those words rang ominously in my ears, the rest of the month, what about the rest of the month, I soon learned because he added, “But the month is at least 30 days long.”
Daddy’s hand was against the small of my back, he guided me towards the chair, the side of the chair, the arm of the chair.
I knew what was going to happen but I was in shock. He put his hand between my shoulder blades and gently pushed me down. The arm of the chair doubled me over at the waist and I lay there, waiting. I didn’t know whether to run, scream or wait, I knew, I absolutely knew that my Daddy was going to sodomize me; I waited.
I had a little nightie on; he flipped it over my back. He was looking at my panties; like it really was my choice he asked if I only wanted them pulled down or did I want them off.
Fuck it I thought, “Off.”
I felt him drag them over my hips and down my legs then I heard his zipper go down, I’d seen him pick up the bottle from the bedside table, I felt a cool lotion on my anus before I was penetrated by a finger then I felt Daddy’s weight, he was pressing down on me from behind then,
“Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” as he forced himself into me; he made me cry it hurt so badly.
“God baby Girl you’re fantastic. I’ve never felt anything so unbelievably tight, even when you were a virgin there’s no comparison.
He was talking while he pumped his cock up my ass, it hurt, Oh God did it hurt but I’d live with it, I lived with everything else he did to me, I was young, he could do no wrong, he was my Daddy but gosh he was making me hurt. I’d gone potty a short time ago, I knew it was him in me making my tummy hurt, making me cramp.
I was twelve, twelve years old when he started on me. Now I’m twenty-two and have two children; I’m pregnant with my third. Daddy is a wonderful grandfather but then he’s also a good Daddy to my little ones, after all he’s both.
Am I concerned? My oldest is nearly eight now, she’s a little girl and she’s cute. Daddy likes to hold her in his lap; I’ve seen his hands working to make her feel good. He’s gotten her to where she’ll jump into his lap and spread her legs so he can rub her. He’ll probably have her by the time she’s ten and, if I have to I’ll hold her and help him, after all he is my Daddy.