Part VIII
Paul smiled distantly. Ana's struggles had ceased, for the most part.
Earlier, she'd managed to splash half the water out of the tub, but now her
efforts were concentrated solely on breathing. As they should be, he thought to
himself.
Ana's hands were chained behind her back, her ankles were chained
together, and another chain encircled her neck. A fourth chain was pulled taut,
connecting the ones at her ankles and neck, forcing her to arch her back and
not permitting any freedom of motion. She was lying on her back this way in
the bathtub, which presently was filled with water to above the level of her
head. Her earlier splashes had been a futile attempt to raise her head above the
water. Paul was holding his hand over the opening to a tube that ran to her
mouth. He counted slowly to fifteen, then released, watching Ana's chest
expand and contract violently under the water.
They'd been doing this for about an hour. Ana's force of will was strong,
but Paul thought she would give in soon. The next time he covered the tube, it
would be for twenty seconds. Ana wouldn't enjoy that. And if she still didn't
give in, he'd increase the time to thirty seconds. He smiled. Ana was strong,
but not that strong. She'd give in.
He glanced at the clock. It had been half an hour since he last brought her
up out of the water. Paul pulled the tube out of her mouth and dragged her
head up. Ana immediately began to cough and gag, spitting out water. She
groaned, but said nothing - she'd learned that lesson the last time he'd let her
up for air.
"Ana, are you ready to tell me what I want to hear?" She looked at him
miserably, rivulets of water coursing down her face, mingling with tears, her
eyes red-rimmed and watery. "Ana, did you hear me? I want you to answer
me. Are you ready?" She moaned, a low, desperate, mournful sound, but said
nothing. Paul shrugged nonchalantly. "All right, have it your way."
He pushed her head back below the water and inserted the tube in her
mouth again. After a minute or so, he held his hand over the top for twenty
seconds. It wasn't so much, really, what he was asking of her. He just wanted a
simple admission of love, that's all. That shouldn't be so hard for a daughter to
admit to her father.
She'd come home from school, bedraggled, scratched and bruised, with
cum dripping down her thighs. Paul's cock twitched just looking at her,
knowing what she'd been put through, enjoying the sight of his own daughter
defiled that way. He'd drawn her into his arms, felt her body shake with sobs.
He'd also slid a finger under her skirt, between her thighs, and felt her hot,
swollen clitoris, eliciting a desperate moan from the girl. Good, he thought to
himself. She hadn't managed to have an orgasm. He'd expected she wouldn't.
He'd put her into the bath, then -- not chained, as she was presently, just a
regular bath. He'd cleansed her, while she cried and cried, spilling out the long
sordid story of her day (of course, he'd already known the details, having
arranged it, but he listened nonetheless). He soaped her up and rinsed her off,
then drained the water and filled the bath again.
"Ana," he'd said, "you must know that I love you. I wouldn't keep you
here otherwise." It wasn't completely untrue, but Ana's eyes betrayed her
feelings of outrage at the sentiment. Her father continued on. "I love you, Ana
my dear. Do you love me? Do you? I want to hear you say you do." Her eyes
darkened, and a crease drew together in her forehead. Paul's cock twitched
again. He hoped she would refuse him. To his delight, she shook her head
slightly, her lips pinched tightly together. "Ana, I want to hear you say that
you love me. I'm your father, and I think I deserve at least that much."
Ana stared back mutely. She would not admit to loving this monster of a
man, who had torn her from her home and put her into bondage, torturing her,
putting her through the most deviant and disgusting rituals. She would not tell
him she loved him. She despised every inch of his person. She tried to forget
how badly she'd wanted to come home to him after the boys in the schoolyard
had taken her. That wasn't love, that was desperation. She hated him. Paul was
staring at her, his features suddenly cold and harsh.
"Ana, darling, I'm starting to think you enjoy punishment." It was then
that he'd chained her and pushed her down below the water, allowing her to
breathe only through a slender tube. Ana was panicked by that already, even
before he began blocking the air supply for long seconds at a time. Now, after
an hour, she was starting to think he meant to kill her this time.
Paul looked up at the clock again. She'd been down this time for only
about twenty minutes, but he felt that the repeated oxygen denial was wearing
down her defenses. Besides, he'd developed a raging erection and wanted to do
something about it. He yanked Ana up out of the water again, giving her a
minute to stop gagging and coughing up water.
"Ana? You know what I want you to say. I can keep you here all night
like this. I can hold off your air for longer and longer. Would you like that,
Ana? Do you want that?" Ana tried to stare at him defiantly, but the quivering
of her lower lip betrayed her. She couldn't go back under the water. She'd die.
Soon, the rest of her face crumpled, and she let out a long, heart wrenching
sob.
"I love you! I love you! I love you, please, I love you, please just don't
make me go underwater again, I love you, I love you, I swear it!" As she
sobbed, unable to look at him, Paul smiled at her tightly.
"Good girl. I don't want you to forget this moment." He glanced over her
taut, slick body, chained into immobility, and smiled again. "Ana, as a reward
for being a good girl, I'm going to allow you an orgasm." Hope burned anew
in her eyes, although she tried to mask the emotion that swept over her. She
wanted - needed - an orgasm, desperately. Paul smiled to himself. She'd have
an orgasm before the night was over, but somehow he doubted that she'd enjoy
it.
