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My Father's Slave: Tales of a Rape Victim (a Tabbi Von Waters Story)

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*Author's Note* 

This is my first story like this, so please give me consructive criticism. If you write something plain like "awesome" or just "upload soon" please note your message will be deleted.

Chapter One

Life hurts. I know this first-hand. Though on the outside I may look normal and I may talk normal, deep down I have blistering bruises and scars charring my heart. They hurt, hurt so bad I sometimes just don't know what to do with myself. I suppose you're wondering what in the world I'm talking about. I suppose you think I'm crazy, gone 'round the bend, perfectly off my head. But once I tell you my story, you won't think that anymore. Trust me. Hmm.....where to start? Oh, I know. I'll start with my father....

His name is Joey Von Waters. I hate my father's name but hey, what can I do about it? Well, my father was a pretty simple man who took after his name nicely. A plaid-shirt-blue-jeans-and-boots kind of man, my family (which consisted of my mother Giselle, me, and my sister Kai) almost never saw him since he was either working at the factory or at some bar doing who knows what. I loathed my father, his imbecile tendencies and his overall incompetence. And yet he was always known to be the Alpha of our family. How is it that the dumb one became the Alpha? See my mother, the Omega, would have been a much better Alpha. She was so smart and she cared so much, it was really a loss when she passed the summer I had turned 15. After her death is when our story really begins. Let's start (again) with my 17th birthday, probably one of the worst birthdays I have ever had.

**?**

"Well go on girl, open the damn thing," Papa barked almost immediately after I picked up my one and only birthday present. Jumping in fright I quickly tore off the wrapping paper and tried not to cringe.

Underneath the horrid dirt brown paper was a nasty looking pair of jeans. Papa wasn't exactly one for fashion, I'd known that all along, but these jeans were cut at the knees (rather roughly, might I add) and had been sewn through with so many patches there was barely any blue jean left. I held them up to my legs and realized that they were two sizes smaller than I was.

Papa smiled a wicked smile and I got chills down my spine. He'd done this on purpose. And now he was going to ask me the question that was only obvious he would ask....."Do ya like 'em?"

I pursed my lips. If I said no then he would probably smack me clear across the face, something I wanted to avoid at all costs. But if I said yes that would ruin Papa's little evil joke and I would, once again, be smacked. So, keeping my lips pressed together, I just gave what I thought was a rather neutral-sounding "Mm."

Papa didn't smack me but his smile did fade. With the point of a dagger menacing his voice he said, "Try it on." I raised my eyebrows at him. Was he really going to try and make me put these on? They didn't even fit me! But nonetheless, I started moving in the direction of the washroom. But Papa shook his head. "You can change right here."

That was when it all started. With that little statement it all began.Turning to look at him, I stammered, "B-but you're right here. It wouldn't.....it wouldn't be right, Papa."

He cocked an eyebrow at me, "Who said anything about shit being right? Go on, put them on."

I didn't want him to beat me, so I did as I was told. Slowly taking off my pajama pants, I stared silently at the floor as I made my first attempt at lifting the jeans over my thighs. I tried desperately again and again, but each time it was no use. Then Papa stood up, and my heart started beating faster. I felt it might burst from my ribcage and start beating in his face, loud thump after thump beating in his ears and scaring him to ribbons. Maybe then he wouldn't touch me. But of course my heart stayed in its little cavity no matter how much it didn't want to. He moved so close so that I could feel his belly against mine, his everything against my everything. I started to sweat, my heart beating so fast and so hard at this point that it was starting to hurt. My breath came out in little pants and I never once looked up at Papa.

"There now, no need to get all worked up. Just let me see those jeans...," Papa grabbed the waist of the jeans from me and my arms instantly became limp at my sides. My head screamed for me to do something, but I was stock still, paralyzed by my own shock and fear. With a rough yank upward Papa almost pulled the jeans in two, but they did not go up. He moved his hand behind me to grab my ass and my little pants of breath almost stopped altogether. The next time when he pulled he squeezed on me so hard I thought he might bust one of my veins. The more times he tried pulling up the pants the farther down his hand went until it was right between my legs, almost completely wrapped around my leg. His fingers were there and he kept moving them around and around, trying to arouse me. Circle circle between my legs, circle circle. Just as I thought the worst was about to come he moved his hand away and with one hard tug pulled the jeans up over my thighs so hard the seams all split simultaneously, leaving me standing there in my underwear and pajama shirt, the pajama pants on the ground and my jeans torn in two in Papa's hands.

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