Bad Romance

"No," I whimper. "Don’t..."

It’s almost enough to get me there. Just another second.

“Stop!”

My bedroom door bursts open.

“Laura?” Marcus’s eyes go wide as he takes in the scene: his wife’s daughter lying naked on her unmade bed, legs spread wide to reveal a vibrator pulsing against her pussy.

Embarrassment floods through me. I yank the comforter over myself. “Daddy, can’t you knock?!”

Blinking, he tears his gaze away from my pussy. “I’m sorry. I thought someone was trying to hurt you.” He eyes me warily. “Who the hell were you talking to?"

"Nobody."

"But I distinctly heard you say Stop."

"I wasn't talking to anyone!" The vibrator hums in the awkward silence that stretches between us. I switch the device off. “It’s just something I say, okay? Can we please drop it?”

My stepdad’s gaze sweeps the room before returning to me, and the comprehension in his stare sends a chill down my spine. My nipples pucker. I chalk it up to the aroused and shameful state I’m in.

“Why would you say something like that?” he asks.

I hide my face in embarrassment. I've never told anyone about my rape fantasies. Not even my closest friends. It's too embarrassing. What sort of person wants to be forced to suck a cock, or be tied up and fucked hard until they come stars while screaming no and stop?

A lot more than you’d think, actually. I stumbled across a book in my college’s library that said rape fantasies aren't so much about rape as they are about handing over control. No one can actually want someone to rape them because, by definition, rape is an unwanted assault. It's about playing out a scenario—in your head or in real life with a partner—where you can relinquish power while still calling the shots.

Unfortunately, I don’t have anyone in my life that I trust enough to play out a scene like that. The only man I could ever imagine trusting with my whole heart is my stepdad, Marcus, but it’s not like I could ever ask him to role play with me.

Marcus and my mom have only been married for a few years, but in that time, I’ve come to love him like my own father. He’s always there for me, no matter what I need or when I need it. Still, I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. It’s too shameful.

“I don’t know why I said it,” I lie.

He can’t quite look at me. “Does saying it make you feel...”

I wait for him to finish his question. When he doesn’t, I ask. “Does saying it make me feel what?”

“Never mind,” he says. “It’s none of my business.” He lingers in the doorway. Why won’t he just get out of here? “Do you want to order pizza tonight?”

“Sure, fine.”

He moves into the hallway, then calls out, “Do you want me to shut the door?”

“Yes,” I beg.

The door closes, and finally, I take a breath.

“Shit.” I can’t believe my stepdad just caught me playing with myself, and to my most shameful fantasy. I am beyond mortified.

When the pizza shows up, I slip downstairs, snag a couple of slices and take them back to my room. The last thing I want to do is give my stepdad another chance to ask me about what he caught me doing.

I spend the rest of the evening doing homework and trying not to think about what happened. At the very least, I can be glad my mom is away for the weekend so I don’t have to worry about Marcus telling her what happened.

Around ten o'clock, he knocks on my door.

"Come in,” I say.

He peeks his head into the room. "Hey, sweetheart. I have to run back to the office for a few hours. Are you okay to be home by yourself?"