AUTHOR: T. A. BEAU

TITLE: My Mafia Dad Hunts and Rapes Me in the Woods to Prove a Point

SUBTITLE: A Noncon Dad/Daughter Incest Erotica Short Story with hunting/primal, virgin, vomit-inducing bloody blowjob, violent, asphyxiation (hand and belt), restrained (around a tree).

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: 5000 words

I lay down on my red and white checkered picnic blanket, enjoying the cool afternoon breeze against my skin and the soft swaying of the grass around me. In my hand is a book, an erotica to be exact, that I picked up a couple of months ago, and I’ve been obsessed with it ever since.

A slow smile spreads on my face as I get to the best part, where Chelsea is getting raped by her ex, and it’s so descriptive that I could picture myself in her position.

I bite my lip as my knees come together, squirming from arousal. Deep in my immersion, I grab a handful of berries that I had placed on the blanket next to me, then pop them into my mouth, savoring the sweet, refreshing taste.

Propping the book with one hand, my other hand slips down the bottom of my dress, raising it up slightly, letting my fingers wander to my pussy.

Pushing my panties aside, I dip two of my digits in and gasp, jerking at the sensation. “Mhm,” I moan, my eyes drinking in all the dirty words, all the explicit descriptions, wishing it was me.

The scene is about to end, but I keep reading it over and over again, trying to drag it out, just long enough for my orgasm to hit me like a pile of bricks. But it doesn’t last long.

Fuck. This isn’t enough. The book is falling apart right before my eyes. I need another one as soon as possible.

Right when I teeter on the edge, I hear a rustle from the woods, making my body tense immediately. It’s very subtle-like a twig snapping under the weight of a heavy object-but growing up in the mafia teaches me to be very observant and cautious.

I stand immediately, taking a quick glance around my surroundings. None of the guards are anywhere to be seen. My heart jumps in my throat at the thought of an intruder or any of my father’s enemies.

I’ve been kidnapped before because of mafia rivalry, and just the thought of it happening again gives me spine-tingling shivers.

Quickly, I pack up my stuff from the ground and turn on my heels, opposite the direction of the sound and towards my family’s cabin.

“Calm down,” I mutter, hurrying as my heart begins beating so loudly I can both hear and feel the throbbing through my ears.

Then I hear footsteps behind me, getting closer and closer. Without thinking, I start to run deeper into the woods blindly, doing my best to escape this mysterious figure chasing me.

The stranger begins running, too, and my body instantly goes into overdrive, dropping everything I have in my hands to gather more momentum.

Only after I drop the items in my hands do I realize I also dropped my novel. I contemplate going back to pick it up, but if I do that, I'll get caught for sure. My chest clenches in frustration and regret, but I decide there is no time for that. If I can escape and get home safely, I’ll buy another; I’d planned to get a new one anyway.

Unfortunately for me, that thought is enough of a distraction not to notice the bent root of a tree in my path. My feet catch on it, making me tumble down the grass and dirt, scraping myself in the process.

“Ah, fuck,” I curse, sitting on the ground after my fall.

I quickly examine my body, noticing tiny cuts and bruises on my arms and thighs and two bloody scrapes on my knees. Perfect.

Just when I try to get up, I notice the figure in front of me, moving closer. I freeze.

When the man approaches, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s my father. I’m about to sigh out in relief when I stop. Looking up at my father’s face, my stomach churns with anxiety and dread. Something is wrong. I can feel it. Even the air feels heavy with tension. I swallow. He’s definitely not happy.

My father, Enzo Rossi, the head of the mafia, stands at 6’2. His gray-black hair is slicked back, pushed away from his stoic face. His eyes, a stormy gray, stare down hard at me, feeling even more intimidating with the scar over his left eye.

He’s dressed in a black tailored suit and matching dress pants, and his muscles fill out through them, doing no justice to hide his menacing frame.

Other than his hair color, no one would be able to tell that he’s 50 years old. There is no giveaway to it. He’s very agile, brutal, and incredibly strong. I’ve witnessed him pummel a man into the ground, killing him instantly and leaving his face unrecognizable.

We might not have the closest father-daughter relationship, but he provides for me and protects me, so I try to stay on his good side at all times.

However, he looks pissed. And it seems like his anger is directed towards me. I notice he is holding my book-the one I dropped earlier-and my face reddens with shame.

He sighs and gets closer to me, his big hands covering the book like it’s a thin sheet of paper to him. “You’re leaving in a week to get married to one of my business partners, a mafioso,” he starts in his heavy Italian accent, and I flinch at the sound of his voice booming through the woods.

“Y-yes, papa,” I stutter, feeling anxious already and swallowing dryly as I see him flipping through my book, briefly reading through the contents.

This is bad. This is honestly the worst situation I could ever be in. My father is an insanely strict, traditional man; if he finds out that I read erotica, he‘ll flip.

“A-and I accept it, papa! I don’t have any complaints at all!” I exclaim, trying to bring his attention back to me instead. I’ve always accepted the fact that I would get married off to a man I’ve never met; it’s my destiny after all, as the daughter of a mafia boss.

He gives me a brief, dull glance before turning back to the book again.

I’m screwed.

He shakes his head and kisses his teeth, giving me his full attention with that cold glare of his.

“You should know better, ragazza. As my daughter, you shouldn’t dare try to embarrass me or ruin my reputation.”

I cower at his tone but don’t dare look away from him. It’s disrespectful, and it would annoy him even further.

“Papa, I-”

“Shut up,” he cuts me off immediately, and I close my mouth. “I know what you have been reading, and I’m very disappointed in you,” he spits. “A wife doesn’t need to know all of that…just when to open her legs, cook, clean, and keep her mouth shut.”

Then he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You leave me no choice. I’ll just have to teach you myself so that you won’t embarrass me anymore.”

“I’m good, I promise! I’m obedient, I swear! I made a mistake. It will never happen again," I begin to ramble on, trembling under his dangerous threat. "Mother teaches me how to be a good Italian woman... I will be a perfect wife.”

His lips slowly curl up into a sneer. “Those are just empty promises and unfulfilled words. The only way you can understand that this…” he raises the book, “…is filth, is by experiencing it yourself. Reality is not fiction, girl. And it’s time for you to learn that.”

My heart sinks deeper in fear as he approaches me with strong, determined steps that shake me to the core.

He bends down and grabs me by the neck, lifting me up with such force that has me yelping in shock. With a heavy hand, he gives me a slap that reverberates through my ears and into my skull, winding me up so I see stars. Then, the hand on my neck tightens as well, closing around my windpipe, making it hard to breathe.

“You think that the fantasy of a book you read will ever come true? You are part of the mafia, cazzo,” his voice drips with venom and vitriol. “Know your place.”

“Pl…ease,” I wheeze, feeling lightheaded already. Any more pressure, and he might snap my throat into two. Not that I put it past him.

My pleas seem to irritate him further as he continues to slap me mercilessly, sending my head flinging from side to side, stinging with each hit. I can’t see my face, but I can tell that it’s all red and splotchy from the force.

I’m on the brink of passing out when he finally releases me, throwing me uselessly back on the ground. I cough and splutter helplessly, gulping in air and rubbing at the skin of my neck. His hand has definitely left a print there.

“Come here, ragazza,” he spits, and before I can process what’s happening, I feel a stinging sensation against my scalp. He grabs my hair tightly in his fist, dragging it towards himself without a thought.

I bite back a scream at the pain, stumbling to my feet to avoid him ripping my hair off my head completely. Even then, his grip is punishing and brutal, leading me to a place I can’t see yet.

Suddenly, I’m pushed against the rough bark of a tree, my face rubbing against the abrasive surface. I sigh with relief when he finally lets go of my hair, but my repose is short-lived as his hands grab the straps of my dress.

A shocked gasp escapes me when he tears apart the fabric with his bare hands, ripping it off me like it’s nothing. “Papa! What are you-”

A deafening slap cuts my words into whimpers. With his boiling aggression, he pops off the hooks of my bra, forcing it off me, and he rips my panties to shreds with one rough tug of his fingers.

Closing my eyes, I tremble, both from the cool air on my skin and the sheer amount of humiliation I feel, standing in front of my father, naked. My hands instantly go up to cover my breasts, but my father grabs them immediately, pinning them behind my back.