Bad Romance

“Daddy, I'm nineteen, not nine."

"Nine, nineteen or ninety, you'll always be my little girl."

I roll my eyes playfully. "Goodnight, Daddy."

“Goodnight.” The look he gives me right before he closes the door sends a warm shiver down my spine, though I can't put my finger on why it’s different from any other smile. I push the thought from my mind, relieved that things have apparently shifted back to normal between us.

My homework more-or-less finished, I shower and brush my teeth, then change into a tank top for sleeping. I never wear panties to bed, preferring the feel of the smooth sheets against my skin. I read a few chapters of an ebook on my phone and then fall asleep half an hour later than I'm supposed to.

It's still dark out when

I open my eyes again.

Staring into the darkness of my room, I listen for the sound that woke me. It was probably the hum of the garage door opening, or Daddy’s car door slamming. I hear nothing. I must've kicked my blankets off in my sleep, because I'm uncovered. A cold shiver skitters over my body like insect legs.

I reach for my sheet, and that’s when I realize my hands are tied to the headboard.

My pulse spikes. I try to move my legs, but they're tied, too. Then I see it: a tall, dark figure standing in the corner.

There’s someone in my room.

The figure moves toward me, passing by the window, and I know without a doubt that it’s a man.

"Help!" I struggle against the cords. "Daddy!"

The man stands at the foot of my bed. From the faint light streaming through the windows, I can see that he’s wearing a ski mask and dark clothes. He grasps my ankles. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. He smooths his hands upwards, over my calves, and as he reaches my knees, he climbs on the bed.

Fear grips me as his hands glide up my thighs, hips, belly. He cups my breasts, pushes them together, and lets them bounce back towards my armpits.

"No...” I whimper.

My nipples harden, tightening to stiff peaks inside my tank top. The intruder rubs his thumbs across my nipples. My clit betrays me by tingling in response.

I don't want to feel aroused by this, but I can't help myself. I love having my nipples played with. He pulls my tank top up over my breasts, exposing me. The feel of the air against my skin gives me goosebumps.

Propping himself above me with one arm, the man parts the curtain above my headboard, showering moonlight onto my chest. His hands are warm as he lifts my breasts by the nipples and shakes them.

I wince at the pain. "Please stop.”

He slaps my breasts, making them jiggle, then strokes my nipples gingerly.

It's the stroking that does me in.

"Oh, God." I whimper. "Don’t do that..."

Unwelcome arousal pools inside me. My clit pulses. I can’t believe how quickly my body went from frozen with fear to quivering with pleasure. I fight to keep my hips from bucking, but they won’t listen. The man chuckles, the sound an unsettling rumble, as he lowers his masked face to my chest.

His nose grazes my nipple. I gasp. He rubs his face over my breasts, the ribbed fabric tickling my nipples. I wonder if he’s going to roll up his mask to lick them. He doesn’t. Instead, he sits up, and I hear the soft slide of my bedside drawer.

There's a click followed by a hum.

He's brought out my vibrator.

The buzzing fills my head as he touches the whirring tip to my cheek. The bones in my face tremble. I start to hyperventilate. He glides the wand down my neck and chest, then presses the tip to my nipple. It’s like an electric current shot directly from my breast to my clit. I’m not prepared for the rush of pleasure that follows.

I flail my limbs, but it's no use. He's tied me down tight.

He withdraws the wand and then brings it back again and again. I squirm a little harder each time as the sensation in my nipples is echoed in my clit.