"Pop!" she cried. "What are you doing?"
He didn't reply. Breathing heavily, he clapped his hand onto the crotch of her panties and felt the pussy-juice there, the burning heat. Then he whipped his hand out from under her skirt, as if he'd been bitten.
"You got fucked, you slut!" he screamed. "You let that guy into your pants!"
Cindy blushed scarlet. Even at the best of times her father's coarse language embarrassed her, but now his crude words were poisoning the sweet and innocent memories of her first date. She hated him.
"I did not!" she shouted angrily. "I told you, he didn't even kiss me! Now leave me alone, Pop!"
George Cameron swayed drunkenly over his flushed eighteen-year-old daughter. He was still feeling the silky flesh of her thigh in his vivid memory, the incredible heat of her pussy as it radiated through the thin crotch of her panties. He gazed hungrily at the girl. She was beautiful, damned beautiful, just like her mother. She wasn't as tall as Linda, and her hair was golden rather than ash blonde, but otherwise she was the image of her sexy, flirtatious mother. She had the same good tan legs, the tiny waist that swelled out into round feminine hips and ass, the same big round wobbling tits…
Oh, Jesus, it'd been so long since he'd fucked a woman!
"Get away from me, Pop," Cindy was saying. "I want to go to bed. I'm tired."
George didn't move. He was drunk, so drunk that his sense of time and place were way off, and he was confusing Cindy with her mother, who'd walked out on him years ago when Cindy was just a baby. He arid Linda hadn't been mated very long, less than a year when she left, but he'd loved her blindly, slavishly. She was so beautiful, he'd wanted her constantly. He'd wanted to touch her, smell her, fuck her all the time. And then she'd betrayed him, run off, and he began to hate her memory.
"Slut!" he hissed. "Dirty, rotten whore!"
Cindy was really afraid now. When Pop got like this, drunk and mean, he'd beat her almost senseless with his fists, his belt, whatever he could lay hands on. She'd gotten used to it, of course, and when she saw his rage coming on, she locked herself in her room. But tonight he hadn't given her a chance.
"You dirty bitch!" he slobbered. "You'd fuck anything in pants. Why don't you just set up as a whore? You fuck the whole world anyhow. Everybody but me…"
"Pop!" Cindy cried. "Pop, wake up! It's me, Cindy. It's not Linda. I'm your daughter. I'm Cindy!" She was used to this, too, those rambling spells when he mistook her for her long-departed mother. He always said such terrible things, but she'd never learned just what it was that her mother had done.
George heard her words, and he recognized her as his daughter, but the rage was still there. "I don't care," he said. "You're a slut, too, just like her. You're just like your mother – don't tell me no different. You sneaked out with that guy, against my wishes, and you let him screw you. You did every dirty thing in the book…"
Cindy clapped her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear any more of his insane accusations. Oh, God, why did she have to live with this man?
George suddenly reached out and ripped her shirt right down the front, exposing her lacy pink bra. Cindy screamed and gawked at him in disbelief. His eyes were hot, hungry.
"He touched you there," George muttered, staring fixedly at his teenage daughter's round swelling tits. "He played with your boobs, didn't he, you whore?" He threw himself half over her, panting. "Let me see them titties," he gasped. "I wanta see 'em."
"Pop, for God's sake, stop!" Cindy cried.
She clapped her hands over her tits, but George simply seized her flimsy bra and tore it off, then shoved her hands out of the way. Cindy's sweet bare boobs almost made him dizzy with lust. She had bigger than average tits, like her mother, but not so large as to be saggy or outlandish. The ripe, creamy globes were the size of grapefruits, perfectly round and unblemished, topped with rosy pink little nipples. They stood tip firm and swelling even when she reclined.
George had never seen his daughter's tits before. He'd stopped helping her with her bath long ago, when she was a little girl, because he thought it wasn't right. Now in his drunkenness he was confused. Sometimes he remembered she was Cindy, his daughter, and that he was scolding her for going out with a guy, but other times he thought of her just as an anonymous slut who had to be punished. Now he gazed ravenously at her perfect young tits, and he felt an aroused tingling sensation in his balls, the twitching and swelling of his cock…
"Look at them boobies," he panted. "Shit, they're beautiful. Big an' white an' nice… I gotta touch 'em…"