The little flame that Dad planted

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A close father-daughter relationship requires maintaining distance. Living alone would damage the relationship. After finishing high school, she went to work. Because it's unsafe for a girl to live alone, she lived with her father in

a shared apartment—one bedroom, two beds, and a curtain in the middle. Several groups of people lived in the apartment, men and women, sharing a bathroom. This arrangement saved on rent. Both of them left early and returned late, each with their own lifestyle, similar to some of their roommates. Their lives were quite busy.

One day after work, I took a hot shower in the bedroom when my father suddenly came home early to get something! He saw me naked, and I was incredibly embarrassed. But what happened next shocked me. Instead of avoiding me while I was showering, he started taking off his pants, closing the bedroom door, and suddenly pounced on me, pinning me to the bed. In my panic, I tore off half of my bra strap, and then he started frantically kissing my breasts. I struggled frantically, telling him he couldn't do this, that I was his daughter. But he had completely lost his mind, like a wild beast, disregarding everything, pinning me down and subduing me. He said he would make me behave and wouldn't hurt me. Then, he flipped me over, spread my buttocks, and I felt a sharp pain in my back, almost fainting!

"Don't worry, this won't get me pregnant, and it won't break my hymen," Dad said as he did it. So this was what he meant by not hurting me. He pinned me down so I couldn't move, thrusting for who knows how long, before ejaculating a hot stream inside me, making me feel like I was about to pee or defecate. It took him a long, long time to pull his horrible thing out, and only then could I breathe. I burst into tears, a wail like the earth splitting open. Dad held me tightly, covered my mouth to stop me from crying, and said all sorts of nice things to coax me, to scare me, so the landlord wouldn't hear me making a scene and stop renting us the room.

After we made love, I realized Dad had ripped off my bra straps, the cups were askew and couldn't cover my breasts, my nipples were showing, I was completely naked. My father took off his pants, but before he could even take off his shirt, his genitals were completely exposed. He and I were entwined on the bed, a scene so shameful and indecent. I cried to vent my anger, but I couldn't get away from him. I promised him I wouldn't cause trouble anymore, and he promised not to touch me. I took the opportunity to push him away, draw the curtain, and wipe away his filth from my body while tears streamed down my face.

I was both ashamed and angry. My father's behavior was so beastly, making me feel like I was dying. His penis felt like a burning stick, inserted into my rectum, igniting a fire inside, burning until dawn… That burning sensation spread throughout my body, only subsiding slightly a few days later, and then my father came again. Although I showed him coldness and even disgust, and wore three pairs of underwear and tight jeans to bed as protection, my father always found a way to conquer my heart again. My father had become a different person, a man I had never known before. He acted pitiful, with a pained expression, saying he couldn't take it anymore, that it was tough for a man working away from home. He pulled down his pants right in front of me, showing me his large, ugly thing, begging me to "suppress his lust." He said, "Just this once, I promise I won't get pregnant, and I'll try to make you feel good."

My heart was too soft, and I let him have his way again. He pulled down layer after layer of pants, pinned me to the bed, and vented his desire on me from behind. Because of my cooperation, letting him do as he pleased, the impact lessened. I felt something hard and thick being inserted, slowly going deeper, all the way in, then pulling out again, rubbing against the walls of my rectum, the rhythm becoming more and more rapid. I couldn't hold back the strange, uncomfortable feeling and cried out, "Ouch, ouch!" Then I heard my father's groans in my ear until he ejaculated, then he slowed down, and the swelling in my anus quietly eased.

His fire was extinguished, but a flame remained, licking my anus, burning hot. My mind and body were in pain, but he was my own father, so I could only endure it silently.

My father's sexual demands became more and more frequent, twice every three days. He even took down the curtain between our two beds, saying we no longer needed to hide. In reality, in that cramped space, there was no privacy between us anymore. He had long since stopped caring, often appearing in the room with his arms bare, wearing only adult underwear to cover his private parts, or even urinating in front of me with his bottom exposed. Aside from sleeping in separate beds, my father treated me like his wife.

I asked him to only do it from behind, and he naturally agreed. But every time we made love, he still disregarded my wishes, touching my breasts and kissing my lips! I didn't think making love with my father was enjoyable, but when I didn't struggle and tensed my body, not only was penetration easier and the pain less, but he would also make me feel itchy all over. Later, he got some lubricant, applied some to my anus first, and begged me to cooperate.

Oh, the pain of penetration was gone, no, it still hurt, but it turned into sexual pleasure, sending a chill down my spine and making me feel disgusted and ashamed. The tone and expression he used when he spoke to me changed from that of an elder to that of a pursuer, even more like a little man. He never threatened me; most of the time, he would beg me in a humble voice. I could tell what I wanted with just a look, and he would immediately do it for me. He never treated my mother this way. When he scratched his head and grinned foolishly at me, I knew he wanted to have sex.

"Want it again? You're not human!" He admitted without hesitation, replying, "I'm not human." Then, grinning, he hugged me, kissed my lips, and touched my breasts. I slapped his left cheek, and he turned his right cheek, letting me slap him again. I wasn't as nimble as him and didn't bother to fight back, so he quickly pulled me onto his bed, enjoying the satisfaction of offering my naked body to him.

He tried every means to please me, telling me that he had asked a friend to buy me a designer handbag from the special economic zone. When I asked who it was, he couldn't say. I showed it to my colleagues, and they all confirmed it was a fake. I threw the bag back at him forcefully, saying, "Take your counterfeit back, don't deceive me." Dad tried to make excuses, saying he didn't know anything about buying women's things, but I was very fierce towards him and scolded him. He was so intimidated that he didn't dare touch me, a thousand apologies, ten thousand regrets. "I

'll get you the real thing another day." Dad has never crossed my last line: vaginal intercourse. But there were many other agreements to discuss.

Dad, pushing his luck, wanted to undress me completely for sex, but I insisted on not being fully naked.

Dad said, "Who doesn't undress completely for sex? It's more fun and exciting to have sex naked," and demanded I perform the full service for him. My refusal to be fully naked meant I wanted to save some for when I have sex with my husband… Dad's counter-suggestion was, "If you don't want to undress completely, could you wear some eye-catching sexy lingerie?" He'd somehow gotten several sets of cheap, low-quality lingerie to him. I said, "Maybe low-class prostitutes would wear these. Unless it's high-end, high-quality, I won't wear it." Actually, even if he was willing to spend the money, he had no taste. The consequence of my refusal to wear the lingerie he bought me was that I would have to return the white, innocent body he gave birth to to me. I was already resigned to my fate; he'd already made love to me, and I'd gotten used to his clumsy attempts to undress me, so I wasn't ashamed anymore.

I told his stinking mouth not to kiss me. Why did kissing him feel so awkward? He greedily sucked on my tongue and I swallowed his saliva, making me feel lewd. My father was the first man to kiss me. I only knew that kissing should be romantic, and that a woman's first kiss and first time were equally precious, offered to the one she loved. But he wouldn't give up without a kiss. He used the same tactic, pleading with me. He said, "A kiss between father and daughter won't bother anyone, and then we can make love. It won't feel too abrupt." Yes, a naked man and woman embracing, yet not allowed to kiss. Why? Because a couple's love is conveyed and affirmed through kissing. Refusing to kiss was to prevent my father from developing feelings for his lover. But, under his relentless pursuit, I finally couldn't escape. I opened my lips and let the hungry beast lick my lips wildly. I closed my eyes and kissed my father. His saliva-covered mouth slid from my temples to my entire body, even my inner thighs, his tongue tentatively exploring my labia hidden by curly pubic hair. My legs went weak and parted slightly, giving him another small glimmer of hope. He stared intently at my thighs, pretending to be a block of wood, that he was any man.

This made me yield to my father's caresses again. This was originally something else I hated. Kissing, kissing, his hands roaming all over my body—I couldn't tolerate it. I slapped his right cheek, and he turned his left cheek to beg for a slap too.

I slapped him again and again, and he didn't flinch. Slapping his hands couldn't stop the hands that were playing with my breasts; he was hit and scolded, yet he acted like a lapdog begging for favor. I raised my hand, too lazy to hit him anymore, and laughed at his pitiful appearance. This shameless father hugged me, and I couldn't do anything about it, letting him enjoy my nakedness as he pleased. His large hands and fingers rubbed, kneaded, teased, and flicked my chest and thighs—uncomfortable, but as he said, it felt good. His touch made my nipples throb, a sensual reaction. My father wanted me to know that while he initiated and even forced me to have sex, it couldn't be one-sided; I should share some of the benefits.

Sex had become a regular activity between my father and me. We had an agreement, including a requirement for a certain level of intimacy.

I would let my father touch and kiss me enough, warming me up before we made love. I would kneel, my buttocks raised, waiting for him to apply lubricant to my anus with his finger. When he was free, he would say things like how much he loved me and the dirty words I used, things I didn't like to hear. I would tell him, "Old man, that's so cheesy. Stop it, don't do that."

My father said, "I'm not very educated, I don't know how to be literary. But some truths, I have to say, we've definitely fallen for each other a little."

I couldn't see him at his peak of sexual arousal, only heard him say he felt so good. I would raise my buttocks to meet him, contracting my anus, responding to his caresses and thrusts, feeling incredibly embarrassed. On one hand, she told herself that doing this was to solve her father's needs and repay his kindness in raising her; on the other hand, she felt that continuing like this with her father would be unfair to her mother at home.

That tiny flame that's burning brightly in my heart, come and extinguish it! (

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The little flame that Dad planted

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