AUTHOR: T. A. BEAU

TITLE: Raped by Dad for Upsetting Mom at a Halloween Party

SUBTITLE: A NONCON Dad/Daughter Erotica Short Story with humiliation, forced pussy and ass gaping (fist and dick), forced double penetration and forced breeding.

Copyright © 2024 T. A. BEAU

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the writer and the publisher.

WORD COUNT: 3800 words

It's midnight, and I can hear the party from a block away. The Boltons' famous Halloween bash, another year, another night I’ll have to pretend I don’t exist. I push through the heavy front doors, hoping it’s over, but of course, it's not. In fact, the party’s in full swing. People everywhere. Music loud enough to rattle the windows. Laughter, shrieks, and bad costumes fill the mansion like an obnoxious fog.

I hate this. I hate them.

My parents live for these things, especially my mother. Her idea of fun is flaunting her money, parading around the people she calls friends, who couldn’t care less about her if she wasn’t loaded. I move through the crowd, trying to get upstairs to my room. I don’t even want to think about what kind of mess I’ll find later-drunken fools messing up every corner of the house like they own it.

I should’ve stayed out longer.

Someone grabs my arm. “Cleo!”

I stop and turn, already dreading whatever this is. It's my dad, of course. He’s grinning like he’s about to show me off to the crowd. “Have you seen your mother? She nailed it!”

Oh no. Not this again.

I glance over at the living room, where a crowd has gathered. My stomach sinks. Standing in the middle, with a big smirk on her face, is my mother-dressed like me. And I don’t mean some cheap knock-off costume. No, she’s wearing the exact same thing I am. Ripped fishnets, combat boots, a black miniskirt, and a band tee I thrifted last month. The makeup, the choker, the heavy eyeliner-everything. She even dyed her hair black and styled it like mine.

She’s me. A mockery of me.

The crowd erupts in laughter when they see me staring, and my mother does a little spin.

“Cleo, darling! What do you think? Didn’t I get it just right?” she calls, beaming like this is all some hilarious joke.

I feel the heat rise in my face. I’d hoped the night was over, that I could sneak in and avoid all of this, but no. Of course, she had to make me the centerpiece of her joke. My dad claps me on the back, chuckling.

“Come on, she got the look spot on, don’t you think? Even called her stylist to get the same clothes after you left earlier!”

I want to disappear. “Really funny, Mom,” I say, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Maybe you should have put a little more thought into your costume this year. No one likes a mimic.” I turn to leave, but the laughing just gets louder. Everyone’s in on it. They’re all watching me-gawking at me like I’m the punchline of some cruel joke.

“That’s not very nice, Cleo,” my dad says, his tone darkening. “Your mother worked hard on this.”

I stop and glance back at him, his face suddenly hard, eyes like ice. That’s his go-to when I don’t play along with their charades-his way of reminding me who’s in charge here. But I don’t care. I’m done with this. I’m done with them.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before turning me into a joke.” I don’t bother to lower my voice, don’t bother to fake it like they do. Let them all hear me. Let them all know how much I hate this.

Without waiting for a response, I shove past them and head upstairs, the laughter and music fading as I climb. I slam my door behind me and throw myself on the bed, fists clenched. They think they can make me part of their ridiculous games? They have no idea who I am.

They never will.

I stomp up the stairs, and normally, my mom would complain, but now, the music is loud enough to mask everything. I still slam my bedroom door behind me, though. It makes me feel good.

Catching sight of my reflection in my vanity mirror makes me want to vomit. Why did she have to wear the exact same outfit? Now I feel disgusted with myself, and I start tugging my clothes off like they're burning my skin. I feel slightly better once I'm naked, but not by much.

I need my fucking weed.

The box is somewhere under my bed, where I tossed it earlier in the day before heading out, I remember that much. I turn on the flashlight on my phone and bend down beside the bed, squinting.

There! I reach for the silver box and am suddenly reminded why I should have gotten a rectangular one instead of a round one-it rolls away.

“What… the fuck,” I curse, squeezing under the bed to try and reach the damned thing. It takes one, then two more misses, before I finally get my hands on it.

Then I have a bigger problem.

I'm stuck.

“No, no, no, no, no, this can't fucking be happening,” I mutter, trying to pull back without hurting myself.

No dice. My nipple rings are caught in the floorboards somehow, and there isn't enough space for me to get my hands under myself. Fucking hell. I'm gonna need someone to lift the whole damn bed up.

I open my mouth to call for help, then realize my phone is literally in my hand. Plus, the music is loud anyway; nobody would hear me yelling.

My thumb hovers over the call button for my mom. But she's not… the strongest.

But then, it would be extremely weird for my dad to walk in on me with my bare ass hanging in the air.

I call my dad instead, and it rings and rings. He doesn't pick up.

I want to slap my forehead. “It's loud as shit out there, no way he'd hear his phone ringing. God, Cleo. You're so fucking stupid.”

Suddenly, I hear my room door open, the music swelling, then close. I can't even see the shoes to know who's there.

“Dad?” I call.

A booming laugh enters the air. Yep, that's him.

“Dad, please get me out, you can laugh later!”

His hand comes down on my hip and my words die in my throat.

“No.”

The sharp, cutting pain hits me from an unknown direction. Did he just… spank me?! What am I, 12 years old?

A few strands of my hair cling to my face from sweat as I resume struggling to free myself.

“Your mother worked hard on her costume,” he said, smacking my ass again. “She wanted to look just like her only daughter.” A harder smack. “And how does the ungrateful whore repay her? By embarrassing her in front of all her guests.” A smack so hard it brings tears to my eyes.

“If she didn't want to be embarrassed, she shouldn't have been a dumbass,” I shoot back. I can't believe it. The nerve of him to come in here spanking me like a toddler because I did something his wife didn't like?

“You're still running that whore mouth, huh?” he asks, but it's clearly rhetorical because he doesn't wait for a response. There's one last smack, and he steps back. “You’ll be sorry for how you treated your mother when I’m done with you.” I try to respond but shut my mouth when I hear the sound of a belt unbuckling.

What…?

He hits me again, this time with a belt and such force that a shriek of agony escapes my mouth. Sure, I like pain, but this is too much, and I was unprepared. And it's my fucking dad, not someone I want to fuck! I'm not a kid or a fucking horse being hit like this.

After a few more strikes and a few more whines, the feeling in my ass starts to numb.

He isn't going to win. I'll show him how well I could handle the pain. A grimace curls around my lips.

“What's that? No more cries?”

“Fuck you… you’re a sick pervert! Does it get you off seeing your daughter like this?” I growl out.

He stops whipping and drops the belt on the floor.

“Oh, Cleo… what am I going to do with you? You clearly haven’t learned your lesson.”

I hear the familiar sound of pants unzipping and my heart jumps. Oh God. This can't be happening. This cannot fucking be happening.

“What are you doing? Just lift the bed and let me out of here… I promise to be nicer.”

“That’s not good enough. You are 20 now, you should have known better than to prance around and not expect any consequences. No, no, no… words won’t fix this. But I know what will.”

I feel something hot rub against my hips. He's serious. My father is actually fucking doing this. I gulp and prepare myself for him to enter my soaking pussy.