Daughter's Prison - part 1

My name is Janine Simms, Janey for short. I am 30 years

old. I live here in Georgia, in the midst of the Savannah

marshlands. I live with my younger brother Timmy, and my

daughter Hope. We live a quiet but peaceful life.

For all these years, I have been silent about what had

happened to me, trying to forget; but of late, the

memories have been coming back, filling me with haunting

pain. I figure the only way I can ever escape these

memories is to tell my story to someone else. And

so...here's my story.

I grew up in the woods of Pennsylvania, the eldest

daughter of Rupert and Erin Simms. I had one younger

brother; Timothy-he was the most adorable little sibling.

Our parents were normal rural parents.

Sundays we'd all attend service like all the other

families in the area, Mom was an active member of the

church choir. We were everything you'd expect from the

average American family. That all changed during the

winter of my fourteenth year. Mom got stricken with

cancer, at the young age of 36. I had just turned 14

years old, and Timmy was 3. It was now only us two kids

and dad.

When Mom died, we all took it really hard. But we never

really shared our grief together, as a family. Timmy was

only 3, so he was too young for her death to really

impact him, and as for Dad, well; he just got really

moody, and spent most of his time outside the house.

While he had never really been the warmest father to us,

even while Mom had been alive, he was almost distant now.

Many nights, he would come home drunk, the smell of booze

and cigarettes all over his clothing. For the most part,

it was just me and Timothy at home. I wound up having to

do most of the housework. I was only 14 then, and most of

the times, it was just us two fending for ourselves.

My body started to really develop about the time I turned

fifteen. I think Dad also became aware of my development

then, because I began to notice him eyeing my chest-at

first furtively, but then more and more openly as time

went on. We were never really a cuddling type of family,

so I knew things weren't quite okay when he started

asking me for hugs, or when Timmy and I would be watching

a movie in the living room, and he'd walk in, sit on his

couch, and pat his lap and ask for his little girl to sit

in Daddy's lap.

A few months after my fifteenth birthday, I'd come home

from school to find him still there, snoozing on the

couch with a newspaper and an opened can of beer.

Usually, he would have left for work about a half-hour

earlier, and I would come home to find Timmy sleeping. I

would usually do my homework and cook dinner for Timmy

and me. Dad usually got home around midnight. For some

reason, he was hadn't left for work today. It turned out

that his construction company had laid him off for

drinking on the job.

Well, from that point on, he was at home a lot of the

time. After a few weeks, I started getting worried about

when he would find a job, and then the weeks turned to a

month. When we were really low on money for groceries, I

finally got up the courage to ask him if he'd found a job

yet, since we needed money for groceries. Rather than

reply, he'd reached into his pocket and tossed a check at

me, before turning back to the television and his can of

beer. It was an envelope, containing a welfare check for

the month of July.

With Dad hanging around the house all the time now, I

began to feel more and more uncomfortable with his roving

eyes. He started commenting frequently on how I'd grown

into such a fine woman; meanwhile his eyes would be

staring at my chest or my buttocks. He took to finding

opportunities to brush against me 'accidentally'.

Once, after dinner, while I was washing the dishes, he

came up behind me, asking if I needed help with the

dishes. Before I could refuse, he'd slipped his arms

under mine from behind, and was pressed up against me, so

that I had to lean forward toward the sink. With a start,

I could feel the heat of his groin right up against my

buttocks. I remember gasping, and him chuckling, as he

gave a quick grind of his groin against me. Then he'd

left the room.

By the time I turned sixteen, my father had still not

found a job. Every now and then he'd go for interviews,

just to satisfy the welfare agencies, to show them he was

earnest in trying to find employment, but he stayed

unemployed, and lounged around at home. Dad became less

subtle in his overtures toward me. Frequently, he'd

comment on how nicely my chest was filling out, or he'd

eye my crotch with such intense scrutiny right in front

of me. At every opportunity, he tried to cop a feel of my

breasts, or grope my buttocks, always trying to make it

seem like an accidentally.

"Dad, I'm trying to doing homework... " or "Dad...I need

to cook dinner..." These became my frequent excuses to

get him to stop. However they became less and less

effective. As the months went by, he started getting

bolder and more demanding.

Once, on a Friday night, while watching TV after dinner,

after Timmy had gone to bed, he said "Jane, come here and

sit on your Daddy's lap. I haven't hugged my little girl

in such a long time."

The way he said it, in that tone of voice, I knew he

wouldn't take no for an answer. I remember walking

reluctantly over to him, and then facing away from him,

gently seated my right buttock on his left thigh, so that

I was only partially up against him. Even then, I could

feel his hairy thighs against mine, since I was wearing

shorts at the time. What came next was a shock for me,

since he had never done anything so obviously sexual

before.

I remember gasping out loud, startled, almost losing

balance, when suddenly, his thick hands were encircling

my hips. Chuckling, he lifted me high and up and twisted

me around until I was facing him, with my legs to each

side of him. Grunting appreciatively, his hands still

tight around my waist, he pulled me downward onto him,

settling my pelvis down right against his, so that our

crotches were fused together.

Now, both my legs were to each side of his legs, so that

I was in effect, straddling him. Gasping in fright, I

tried to lift myself off of him, but I had no purchase to

push against. My feet were off the floor, and when I

braced my arms across the arms of the couch to lift

myself, he just pulled down on my hips, settling me down

again.

"Now that's a good girl," he moaned, as he grounded

himself against me. Through his boxer shorts and my own

shorts, I could feel the hard bulge of his manhood. As he

crushed my crotch against him, he began humping back and

forth. With each forward push of his hips, he'd pressed

down on my hips, so that I could feel his bulge through

the thin material of our clothing.

"Daddy! Let me go! I'm too old to be sitting on your lap!

Please!" I whispered frantically, in tears. I didn't want

to wake up Timothy, but I was scared to death.

"Soon... baby... soon..." his words began to come in

gasps, as his buckling quickened in pace. In

embarrassment, I could feel his penis through his shorts.

It felt huge. His constant rubbing caused a wedgie in my

own shorts, and I could feel my panties riding up into my

crotch, between my lips. After maybe a minute of heated

crotch grinding, he groaned loudly. His hands came up

behind my back, pressing our bodies close together. I

could feel my breasts mashed flat against his massive

chest, even as he gluing our crotches together.

The large bulge of his manhood, which I could feel

pressed through the thin material of my shorts and his

boxer shorts, was wedged right up against my crotch.

Stunned, I could feel it throbbing wildly, as if it had a

life of its own. I could feel the heat of his groin

through the thin layers of clothing, as it spasmed.

Groaning, he held me motionless against him, while he

finished his orgasm.

After a few minutes, his grip on me slackened, as he

exhaled noisily, leaning back onto the couch. Sobbing, I

remembered scrambling off his lap, and running up the

stairs to my room, and quickly locking the door behind

me. It was only when I was inside, huddled on bed, that I

realized my entire crotch area was all damp.

I knew from the sex education classes at school what had

happened, but the reality of it didn't make it any more

palatable. Removing my shorts, I examined my panties.

They were soaked wetly with my dad's cum too, so that

they looked sheer, making my enflamed vaginal lips

visible. I remember thinking that I had my father's sperm

soaking through my shorts and panties, and my crotch was

now damp with it. Scared, I rushed to the bathroom and

wetted a towel to wipe myself clean.

The next day, Dad acted like the whole thing had never

happened. And as far as I was concerned, it didn't

either. Incidents like these, I learned to put in the

back of my mind.

These incidences didn't stop though. Rather, they became

more and more frequent. He might be passing by me in the

hallway, then without warning, he would reach forward

with one hand, cupping my crotch and wriggling his

fingers through my pants to massage me down there. Or

other times, when I'd come out of the bathroom cloaked in

a towel, he'd be there waiting, eyeing me.

As soon as I walked passed him, he would pull on my

towel, leaving me naked in the hallway. I always ran into

my room then, amidst his chuckling. Thankfully, he never

pursued. I learned then to take my showers when he was

asleep, or he was outside the house.