Chapter 3

His words echoed in Lorna's mind. You're a whore, a born whore. She got slowly out of the car and went into the house. No one was home yet, she saw with relief, and immediately entered the dark, cool den where Dan and his father kept their books.

She reached for the psychiatric dictionary and turned the pages to the P's, fearing that the place would fall open automatically after her many perusals of the particular entry.

She found it. Pompadour Complex: 'After the Marquise de Pompadour, mistress of Louis XV of France. A woman with a compulsive desire to be a prostitute. Often caused by a need to please the father.'

Lorna sat down heavily as her knees suddenly weakened under her. Each time she read this entry she received the same shock, as though it were the first time she had seen it. When was the first time? A few months ago, she had listened to Dan plead a case against a dirty-movie producer. He had referred to the man as a 'rank scatologist' and Lorna had looked up the word. She discovered that it meant, more or less, that the defendant had a dirty mind and she was disappointed. She had wished for something evil and mysterious; her very wish was so intense that it frightened her, because she thought the defendant was so sexy. She had imagined herself naked under him, her legs wrapped around him, thinking how horrified Dan would be if he had known. When the word turned out to have such a simple meaning, she felt betrayed, as betrayed as she always felt when Dan didn't satisfy her in bed. ' Evil, an escape from petty morality and boring sexual convention, a descent into a maelstrom of lust and wantonness with a man who could match her . . . that was what she had wanted. She had not found it in the entry under scatology but as she fluttered the pages of the big book she had found it under another entry, one that she just happened to come across. Pompadour Complex.

Since then she had crept like a thief into the den to read and reread the entry, unable to keep away from it.

It was like reading her own diary.

A need to please the father. . . .

How could this big dry book know how much she had loved-and pitied-her father? Loved him because he had been gentle and sweet, an art teacher and painter who saw beauty everywhere, unlike Dan and the judge who saw nothing but ugliness. She had pitied him because of the way her mother treated him. How frigid her mother was! She hated sex and wouldn't sleep with Daddy. And how that man needed sex! Needed it terribly, the way all creative personalities do. He was romantic and easily stirred, and he lived in a frustrated hell because he was too decent and too shy to get what he needed from another woman, and too fastidious to go to a whore.

His work began to suffer. His painting grew flat and dead because of all the bottled-up life in his body. He could no longer paint the nude models at school because he could not look at them objectively; he saw them as naked women, not as things of beauty that his talent and creative imagination could reproduce on canvas.

One night, broken and full of despair, he had come into his daughter's room. He often did that; they used to sit and talk, feeling deliciously guilty, like two children away from the cold and demanding mother who treated her husband like a child as well.

This night was special, because Lorna's mother was away visiting. Daddy had sat on her bed as usual, but this time she smelled liquor on his breath and it astonished her because she knew he never drank. Fear gripped her; she thought of the town drunks, ruined men whose entire personalities underwent violent changes. They beat their wives and children, deserted them. Lorna would love for Daddy to beat Mother up but she never wanted him to change toward her. She knew why he was drinking; she was fifteen and old enough to understand that he drank because he didn't have a woman, because his work was suffering from that same lack of a woman in his bed. Lorna had heard his nightly pleadings and her mother's hateful refusals. "Is that all you think about? I'm a wife and mother, not a chippy! I keep a lovely home for you and you dirty it up with paint. You're not going to dirty me up too!"

Suddenly, remembering her mother's words and looking at her father's tortured face, she felt a burst of hot joy. Her Daddy could dirty her up as much as he pleased! She loved him, wanted to be good to him and good for him, be so necessary to him that he would never leave her or hurt her. She wanted to be his inspiration and make him a great artist. She could be everything her Daddy would ever need in a woman!

She looked at his face in the moonlight. How handsome he was. All girls think their Daddies are handsome and Lorna was no different, but now she saw something else that she had never noticed before. His mouth was full and soft and the hairs that grew up out of his pajama collar were thick and curly. How nice and hairy he was, and how good that hair would feel against her own bare breasts if they were to lie down together on her bed.

Lorna made a gesture of pushing back her long hair, and as she did so she deliberately let her hand sweep the strap of her nightgown over her shoulder. She leaned forward, one full, perfectly shaped breast nearly exposed. The nipple burned and tingled as the lace brushed against it like a fleshy caress. Suddenly she realized with a frenzied burst of delight that the faceless man who fucked her so beautifully in her fantasies was her Daddy. She had never dared let her imagination put in the features, and now she knew why. It was forbidden, but she loved forbidden things!

She saw her father's eyes slide unwillingly to her big fully matured breast. He seemed to stiffen; his neck straightened and his head rose like an animal scenting danger. She wondered if his cock had stiffened, too. Her pussy was wet for it, swollen into two soft welcoming doors as she thought about her big handsome Daddy climbing between her legs and finding her hole with a nice stiff prick. She shivered.

"You're growing into a beautiful girl, Lorna. How I'd love to paint you just as you are now. You look like a lovely Roman girl in half toga. They wore them . . . like that, you know? With . . . one breast exposed. It must have been a beautiful thing to see. Too bad we're so foolish today about our bodies." He sighed and made himself turn away. "If everyone thought like artists we'd be better off."

Lorna heard the bitterness in his voice and knew he was thinking about her mother. She fought down the panic she experienced as he turned away from her. Daddy must never reject her, she couldn't bear it if he did.

"Would you like to paint me, Daddy? I'd pose for you, you know I would. See, look?"

Slowly he turned his head and watched her lower the other strap. Both breasts bobbed free as the gown fell with a soft crushing sound to her waist. Lorna waited, watching her father eagerly and feeling the prickling of her excited nipples as they grew hard and wrinkled with passion. She wondered if he could see how dark they had become; it was light in the room with the moon's glow and he had an artist's eye. She was sure he noticed.

He spoke nervously, his voice strained and sounding as if he had a desperate need to swallow.

"Lorna . . . I-you're like something out of Titian with that red hair of yours. My God, I talk about you as my little girl but you're not a little girl anymore, are you? You're a woman, a grown woman with the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen."

"Touch them, Daddy. You make things beautiful with your touch. Make them even more beautiful by touching them."

"Lorna!"

"Yes, yes, do it! I love you, Daddy. I love you more than she does, more than she ever could! She's killing beauty for you but I'll make it come alive again."

His hands shook as they cupped her full orbs and jiggled them gently, as if he could not believe he was actually caressing such a perfect pair of female beauties. Lorna pressed herself forward into his palms as though she wanted to drive the nipples through them like nails and link him permanently to her. His head shook back and forth as if he were shouting No! but his lips only murmured her name.

"Oh, Daddy, that feels lovely. I am a grown woman, aren't I? I feel, I respond, I have sex in me. Daddy, I've been as needing as you, I've wanted this for so long, but I never let the boys touch me. I keep comparing them to you and then I hate them because they're so different from you! Oh, Daddy, love me, really love me!"

He mumbled something that sounded like 'God forgive me' and then he pressed her back onto the bed and put his mouth over her thrusting tits. At the first touch of his gently licking tongue, Lorna grabbed his head and held it to her breast. Her body twisted and squirmed in slow, suggestive motions that dragged the gown further and further down her body until her belly was bared. Her father sucked eagerly on first one tit, then the other, with an expertise that she had always known he would bring to the bed. She felt his teeth in a delicious nibble around her soft flesh and sighed deeply as his flicking tongue covered her generous naked globes.

She rubbed her fingers in the thick tufts of hair at his throat and unbuttoned the first button on his pajama top.

"Let's take everything off, Daddy. I want to feel your wonderful hairiness against me."

She jerked the gown off and tossed it impatiently onto the floor and sat proudly naked before him, letting his eyes drink in her youthful loveliness. She lay down and stretched her arms over her head and raised one knee, just like the poses she had seen in his sketches. Her pussy was a neat patch on the base of her belly, but underneath, between her legs, it was a creamy, tangled mass of turgid flesh and hair. It was agony to keep her legs together so she opened her thighs a little. She knew he could see the dark, hairy recesses of her cunt lips and buttocks and she let him look, willing to do anything that would make him happy and free.

He seemed paralyzed, his hands at his pajama buttons, unable to move as he stared down at his daughter's beautiful nudity. Yes, he was peeking into her crotch, and his mouth was open in astounded delight. Lorna felt powerful and generous, like an ancient goddess rewarding a worshipper.

She spread her thighs wide and humped her hips at him in a twining, sexy motion.

"Models don't open their legs but I love to open up for you, Daddy. See in there? Is that a good cunt? It's a virgin, all yours. I hope you hurt me a little when you put it in. It's so hot for you, Daddy! I can feel it, all swollen and throbbing . . . it feels so big. Is it big? It feels huge."

"It's perfect, a little red oval of sweetness, angel."

He took off his pajama top and Lorna gasped when she saw the acres of thick hair on his chest.

"Can I pull down the shades and turn on the light to see you better, darling?" he whispered.

"Oh, yes, yes, I want that," she sighed, and spun her hips faster.

He moved swiftly, like an impatient lover now instead of a guilty father. She saw and sensed the difference and her whole body gave a tremendous throb of desire. There was a frightening moment of utter blackness as the shades shut out the moonlight. Then he reached for the lamp and switched it on.

They were bathed in a warm yellow glow. Lorna made a sound of surprise as the light flooded them and revealed, for a split second of mental horror, the meaning of their intentions. Then the horror faded and sex heat took control of her once more.

Her eyes lowered to the big jut of hard flesh in his crotch. His pajama bottoms barely covered it. Through the gaping fly she could see a cloud of dark curly hair and a long thick shaft of pink skin.

Her voice sank to a singsong murmur as she held out her arms. This was a sensual man, one who would be as wildly free in sex as he was in his art. She knew that there was buried deep in him a voluptuous wild devil, and she would reach him!

"You raise a beautiful hard, Daddy, it makes my mouth water! I didn't realize you were so big. Is that all for me? Why don't you let me see it? Don't torment me with it like that, show it to me. Take off your pants and let's be naked together."

The cloth dropped down his legs and his fiercely erected organ sprang free. She stared at its enormous flared head and the veins that dotted the shaft and experienced a captivating fear. That thing was going all the way up her pussy and it was going to hurt like hell! Exquisite pain, throbbing, sliding, thrusting pain, her first fuck from her Daddy's huge, perfect cock.

It bobbed enticingly up and down as he kicked away his pants and walked to the bed. Lorna bent her knees and spread her legs as wide as she could, ready to take him, but he smiled and shook his head.

"I'm a better lover than that. I want to play with you some more first, really get you excited.

Has anyone ever tongued you down there in that pretty slice?"

She shook her head.

"No one's ever done anything to me. I want you to do it all."

He lay between her legs and curved his arms around her thighs. He gazed down into the oozing folds of her twat, his face only inches away from the succulent hair pie of his virgin daughter, so close that she could feel his harsh breath on her burning mucous flesh.

His thumbs hooked over the edges of her red-fringed outer lips and pulled them apart. He sighed raggedly.

"The loveliest sight in the world, the envelope of love. You're beautifully put together, angel. Nice springy firm lips, a good supply of love nectar, and a big clitoris. Will you let me feel your maidenhead? A man can't really feel them with his prick, it's too big and he's too excited. I'll just use my little finger."

As he fingered and pulled her most intimate regions Lorna was hard put not to climax then and there. She gasped as she felt his fingertip press against her vaginal entrance.

"There it is! A perfect virgin's veil. It's thick, angel, I can tell you haven't fooled around with the boys. You saved it for me, you really did?"

His voice was awed and worshipful.

"I dreamed about you fucking me, Daddy. We did everything together, all the positions, everything. And I put your cock in my mouth, too. It was so real I could almost believe it was happening."

He trailed his finger up through the slushy folds of her cuntal valley. Lorna arched and squealed. His face was ecstatic with gratitude.

"It's so long since I've made a woman feel good! Do you like that? Does it make your spine tingle and your rectum throb?"

"Yes, oh yes, everything happens to me when you do that."

"A finger moving in the folds of a pussy, very gently, lightly, not too hard, will excite a woman to a fever pitch. I know how to play with these little things, you know?" he breathed. "I have a light touch. Sometimes I've thought about you and wondered if you suffered, being grown up now, and felt the need for sexual satisfaction. I wondered if you ever did this to yourself? Did you?"

His fingertip circled over her thrusting clitoris and played lightly over the surrounding hood, pushing it back and exposing the sensitive little bud until Lorna pressed her heels into the mattress and raised her hips, until her body was a wriggling, eager shelf before his face.

"Yes, I did that, lots of times," she panted. "I pretended my finger was your cock sliding through my pussy."

He chuckled softly. "My little girl. I'm afraid my cock is a lot bigger than your finger."

She laughed. "Don't be afraid, I'm not. I want something big in there. I'm tired of my fingers!"

"Let me lick this lovely slot a little, then I'll make a real woman out of you."

"Yes, oh Daddy, you're wonderful! I want your tongue, your cock, everything!"

She lay back, and hooked her legs over his shoulders at his command. As her knees came up around his neck, he reached around her thighs and plucked her nipples with thumb and forefinger. Her Daddy knew how to eat cunt! She had read in a sex manual that this was the way a man was supposed to do it, so that the woman could receive the double pleasure of having her pussy and her tits taken care of at the same time.

At the first touch of her father's tongue in the hot slathered folds of her twat, Lorna gave a shuddering sigh that turned into a throaty groan of delight. He was really going at it as if she were a banquet! She twined her legs around his neck and kicked her feet in the air, unable to stand the sliding tongue in her box. He licked her thoroughly, from her slit all the way down to her tightly sealed vagina. He dug his tongue in her a little, so that she could feel the insistence of it against the hymen that he had discovered. Daddy was panting and groaning against her cunt; she could feel the scrape of his whiskers, the lovely fullness of his mouth, the hardness of his teeth as they moved up and down between her legs. He began to suck gently on her erect clitoris, pulling the little girl-prick into his lips and making it pulsate with sensations that dove into the small of her back.

"Oh, Daddy, it feels so wet and sexy! I never knew a tongue on my pussy would feel so good! I'm so hot for you, Daddy, I want a good fucking now, please do it now! I can't wait for that beautiful prick of yours any longer."

"You want me, you really want my fucking! Thank God for you, angel. Now! Now we'll fuck! I'm going to hurt you, I'm afraid, but the pain will soon turn to pleasure."

She was deliciously aware of the bigness of his entire body as he climbed up over her and settled himself on his knees between her eager welcoming thighs. He put both pillows under her wriggling buttocks to make this first penetration easier for her, then knelt between her open thighs with his rocky hammer of a cock poised up against her slot.

As the knobby head slid up against her parted lips his teeth bared in a grimace of pleasure.

"Just touching that hot female flesh is almost enough to make me shoot all over you, baby girl. Does that feel like enough man for you? The head is so big that it just about covers your little oval."

"It feels like a fist, Daddy, a big wonderful fist! Screw it against my vagina. I want it in me!"

"Here it is. . . . "

Lorna grunted at the first jolting pain that traveled up her legs and belly. Daddy was being gentle and patient, his hips wove in a circle into her crotch, jabbing, undulating, pressing, poking softly into her tight virgin cunt with his long rod of maleness. He held her thighs under his elbows like a wheelbarrow, pulling her toward him as he thrust into her. She came easily, moving her hips in a forward motion out to the thick hot stick that he bestowed on her anxious untried cunt. That thing on the end of his cock was unbelievable! It was bigger than any mushroom she had ever seen, and while it was hard with a tough flared ridge to it, the tip felt baby soft against her dewy vagina.

He jabbed it into her good and hard all of a sudden, and she felt his balls slap against her upturned ass. That felt good; the hairs and the rough wrinkled flesh gave her a tickly caress on her rectum that sent an electrical thrill up her spine.

Suddenly his arms tightened around her thighs and she felt certain she had split open, right up the middle of her body. The enormous head of his prick pushed aside the tight, puckery mouth of her vaginal entrance and jammed inside, tearing her virgin shield and ripping through it. Lorna squealed with pain and delight and bounced her ass up and down on the pillows as the long hard pike traveled slowly but surely up her channel. It filled her with an endless length of determined iron flesh, just like a pipe. She could not believe that human flesh could be so hard.

Little loose folds of her vaginal lips and strands of pussy hair went in with her Daddy's cock, so that she felt pinched down there as he began to fuck her in slow easy strokes. He drove the monster cock all the way up until she felt the thud of collision against her womb, then dragged it tantalizingly out of her until only the swollen head remained in her vagina. He kept up the rhythm, leaning into her legs, then arching back, until she caught his tempo with her own body and rocked effortlessly to him. He cradled her thighs so that she could grip his arms with the bend of her knees and move in sexy circling thrusts. In a few moments she forgot the graceful rocking movements and began to pant and gasp and throw her naked crotch into his groin with hard, desperate slams. She wiggled up and down on his stick, sliding her cunt over it, so that now she fucked him back in earnest.

"Now I've set fire to you!" he gasped. "Now we're really fucking. Angel girl, you know how to move that ass like the woman you are! How different you are from your mother! Ooooh, I'm coming! I'm emptying my balls into your lovely little pussy!"

"You're making it throb, Daddy! Ohhhh, it's better than what I gave myself! Sooooo much better-MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhh!"

He stroked desperately into her as he saw and felt the evidence of her orgasm. Her walls suckled his spraying cock and seemed to milk it of its jism as though she had it in her mouth and were sucking on it.

"I know that's not make-believe!" he cried. "You've got a beautiful vicious little snatch! Ohhh, my daughter, my woman! My love. . . . "

When it was over he lay on top of her, gently rubbing his hairy chest over her naked breasts until she laughed and rubbed back against him. Her legs circled his back and pulled his weight down on her. She wanted to be crushed by him, smothered by him, she wanted him to stay on top of her forever.

She would not let him move out of her legs, but instead reached down and found his wet cock and caressed it in her fingers until it was hard again. Then she put it in her cunt, guiding it up her now-learned channel until they were in the frantic throes of another good fuck.

When it was over, he kissed her sore pussy and washed the blood from her legs and his prick. Something about the ceremony absolved them both from guilt, and Daddy made jokes about Lady Macbeth and out damn spot. They were like a pair of conspirators in the night, swept along by forces that they could not control. Daddy took the sheet off the bed and stuffed it in the washing machine. The next morning, first thing, he washed and bleached it twice through to get the mark of their guilt out of it before her mother, a spit and polish housekeeper, could return and see it.

For three days, they were like honeymooners. Daddy painted her in the nude, leaving off the head because her mother or someone else might recognize her. "I'll put one of the models' heads on it," he told her, "and paint the pussy hair brown because no one has such a pretty titian pussy as my little girl."

"But Daddy, what are we going to do when Mother comes home?" she wailed. "I can't stop loving you just because she's here!"

"Well have to be careful," he said warily. "We can't betray ourselves in any way, not even with a look. She goes to so many of her damn women's clubs," he said bitterly. "That will give us time alone."

After the mother's return, father and daughter lay in separate rooms, awake and longing for One another. When they passed in the upstairs hall, while the mother was in the kitchen downstairs being the perfect cook and housekeeper, they embraced clandestinely. Daddy tweaked her tits and made her nipples burn with desire, and stuck his hand up her dress and played for a few ecstatic moments with her pussy. Sometimes he gave her a climax that way, both of them standing up; Lorna with her legs bent and spread, her back arched, clinging to him while she spun her hips wildly and clutched his tickling fingers in her steaming crotch. She pulled on his erect cock, pinched the tip until he had a violent spasm of quick relief into her hand.

But they could do no more. The mother was a civic-minded woman, always toing and froing, coming and going a dozen times a day. They could seldom be sure of her movements.

The tension in the house built up to unbearable levels. The mother, always a puritanical prig, now took on all the aspects of an avenging angel to the incestuous lovers. Lorna felt she knew, that she always watched them. Daddy grew nervous and irritable and began to drink. When the mother did go out to a meeting, he was afraid that she would return unexpectedly, or that one of her cake-baking cronies would drop by to swap recipes. People never bothered to knock in a neighborly small town, and a locked door would have been more guilty evidence than anything they could have done.

One day Daddy picked up the palette knife and looked at it strangely, in a way that made

Lorna at first terrified, then thrust her into a delicious state of anticipation.

Td like to kill the bitch," he growled. "Slice open her cold, miserable heart with this thing. Then I could have you to myself. People wouldn't think anything of a father and daughter living together, would they? We could always be together, you'd never leave me, and everybody would approve."

Lorna thought about his words. Everybody would approve, all the old biddies who would drop dead if they knew what was really going on between her and her father. They would say what a fine example of the younger generation she was, staying with her widowed father and looking after him, cooking for him, devoting herself to him. She could hear them now: "Such a good girl. You don't find many like that nowadays. A fine, upstanding girl, a devoted little lady."

It would be a way to gain exalted approval while she was committing the worst sin known to mankind. Something about this triumph of evil over goodness drew Lorna like a moth to the flame. To be good . . . and yet bad, bad, bad.

"Why don't you murder her?" she whispered to her father, one night in the kitchen while her mother knitted before the TV. "Not with the knife, they'd know you did it, know it was murder. But there are other ways! Kill her with her own wifely virtues!" she said viciously.

He looked up with a puzzled frown. His hands shook and he had to grip the coffee cup in both of them.

"How?"

"She takes such pride in her gardening. Lousy in bed but great in the garden. Those prize larkspurs are poisonous, you know. Grind up the leaves in the nutmeg mill. It will look like the citron she sprinkles on cakes and cookies I Those little green and red things, you know?"

He wavered. "But . . . but there'd be an autopsy, wouldn't there?"

"Acute indigestion. Do you think the doctor who delivered me would hesitate to sign a death certificate after all the years he's known you?"

He shook his head slowly. "She's too healthy. Her kind buries the rest of us."

A line from her English homework slipped through Lorna's mind. He is too full of the milk of human kindness. How could her marvelous Daddy be weak? A man who could get such a beautiful hard-on and put it in her to thrill her half to death-how could such a man be weak?

Her father did commit a murder, but the victim was not his wife. They found him in his studio, with a jagged cut in his throat. The torn and serrated edges of the wound matched those on the palette knife. It was difficult to tell just by looking what was blood and what was red paint. On the easel stood a nude portrait without a head. The naked body was swathed in red veils. In the background were red portieres and a red lamp, the plush accoutrements of a whore house. On the inner thighs of the nude woman in the painting were spots of red. At first it was assumed that they were paint, that they had been deliberately placed there by the artist with his brush, for what reason no one but Lorna knew. But the police laboratory later discovered that the spots were blood from the artist's throat that had spattered onto the legs of the model as he cut his throat before the easel.

The painting was signed and he had given it a name: Daughter of Joy.