Ava's Immoral Soul Ch. 03

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

"Have you even been listening to me?"

"Of course I have."

Rob glanced uncomfortably at his daughter, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with arms folded beneath her rather lewdly displayed chest. She was looking sinfully curvy in a sapphire scoop necked top and a snug pair of jeans, with a distractingly shiny silver looped belt slung low on her broad hips. She was also looking severely unimpressed, leveling him with a highly dubious expression.

"And...?"

"Of course. Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want," he said, just as quickly tearing his eyes away from her. It had been weeks since the incident in the living room, and aside from his inability to look even in her general direction for more than two seconds at a time, things were starting to get back to normal. His meeting with the headmaster, at least, had ended well. Mr. Creeley had been reluctant to show more leniency to Ava at first, but eventually folded after two hours of begging. Yes, he had begged the headmaster to let his daughter stay in that school. No other school would even enroll Ava; if St. Magdalene's wouldn't keep her, the only alternative was home school.

While direct eye contact was unthinkiable, or difficult at the least, the thought of spending hours with her each day, knees nearly touching under the kitchen table, their heads bent close over a book, was utterly preposterous. In the end, the only way the school would allow Ava to remain enrolled was to strictly forbid her from any contact with the other pupil, Roxanne Stefanson. The girls had three classes together, so Ava's class schedule had been changed to meet that requirement. They were not allowed to socialize during free periods or in the hallway; the parents were expected to make sure the girls did not associate outside of school.

Rob had been all too happy to bow to the stipulations. Because he was worried she might say she was going to one friend's house and hang out with Roxanne instead, she was grounded to the house until she graduated. It was a brilliant idea, really. What he hadn't thought through was that this meant Ava was spending a lot more time at home with him. All of her spare time. And Jesus, was it an awkward arrangement. Even now, she was making him uncomfortable, and all she was doing was looking at him. Looking and smirking, her perfectly shaped mouth twisted with wry amusement. "What?"

"Whatever I want? Seriously, Dad, I just spent five minutes telling you about my day, and then I asked what the heck that poor potato ever did to you."

"Huh..? Oh."

"Yeah, 'Oh,'" she mocked, rolling her eyes.

"Whatever. Am I still under house arrest?"

"Dressed like that? Damn right you are."

For a second, Rob thought she was going to hiss at him. Instead, she gave him one long, mutinous look and stalked out of the kitchen, muttering under her breath. Chagrined that he had been caught not paying attention and flustered with her attitude, Rob put down his paring knife (as well as the potato he had been whittling into oblivion) and wiped off his hands, tugging open the fridge.

"Dinner's off, Ava. Call in a pizza, and then take that attitude straight to your room!"

"Fine!"

Gripping the handle on the fridge door tightly, Rob stared into the contents of it's frigid belly as he listened to his daughter storm into the office to do as told. There was a half finished case of Coors on the bottom shelf. He pulled out two and sat heavily at the kitchen table, gulping the first hurriedly even though the biting cold assaulted his throat.

Crumpling the can in a futile display of his frustration, he tossed the can towards the trash can (grumbling when he missed), and then folded his arms on the table, resting his forehead in the space between.

He had never been much of a drinker. In college, when most of his friends and dorm-mates were doing beer bongs and keg stands, he was attending lectures from guest speakers and whipping up new recipes to try on his future wife. Throughout a marriage as riddled as anyone else's with fiery spats and stupid, illogical fights, and all through the long, heart breaking months that lead up to Mary Anne's death (or even in the three years that followed), Rob had never turned to the bottle.

No, it apparently took one afternoon between his sleeping daughter's legs and a punishment gone horribly wrong to do that.

The problem was, he couldn't stop thinking about it. About her. Not as his daughter, but as a woman. A woman he lusted after, a woman who was invariably out of his reach. At work, he found himself daydreaming about her, the way she tasted, the musky, earthy scent of her, the way her glistening pussy contracted before his very eyes. Of those wicked red stripes that screamed out at him from the smoothly flaring curve of her ass.

No matter how hard he tried, when he looked at her now, he didn't see his daughter. He saw the rawly sensuous creature that she was beneath the mask of youth and relation; he saw a mouthy, willful beast that needed to have some sense savagely fucked into her. And for the life of him, he couldn't tell which was the reason that kept him up at night; that he wanted her so badly it made his teeth hurt, or that he couldn't in good conscience give her the god-awful fucking she so rightly deserved.

Rob had a feeling he would go crazy ten times over before he ever came to terms with it.

Giving in to the increasingly familiar state of annoyance, disgust and lust that was constantly trying to settle over him, he pulled himself upright in the chair and cracked open his second beer, nearly spilling it on himself when Ava burst into the kitchen, a flurry of movement and dark hair.

"I called in the damn pizza," she snarled, her wide set green eyes overly bright in the harsh fluorescent. "And I'm going to my room now, massah." Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she took two steps towards the door and then spun around again, one hand grabbing the frame for balance. "Oh, and just so you know, there is nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed!"

Rob could only stare after her, irritated, amused, and more than just a little baffled at her sudden outburst and immediate departure. He wasn't entirely surprised to hear her distant sobs as she flung herself up the stairs, even found himself counting the seconds until he heard her door slam shut in petulant rage.

"What the hell..?"

Grunting, he slouched his shoulders forward and swilled deep from the can, picking at a dried speck of food on the table with a broad, flat thumbnail. "Of course there's nothing wrong with the way you're dressed," he muttered in belated response to her outburst, before belching into the back of his hand. "All the sluts are dressing like that these days."

* * *

"Aaagh!"

Making a strangled sound in her throat that was a cross between a grunt and a heavily censored scream, Ava slammed her bedroom door and just stood there for a moment, her chest and shoulders heaving with each gasp that fueled her furious sobs.

Her dad was a complete and utter warden! And he was ruining her life!

Sucking in a great hitch of air, she wiped at her streaming eyes and then began yanking off her clothes, throwing them on the bed. She'd been playing the good girl lately, showing up for all of her classes, composing herself demurely around the Sisters and even turning in her assignments. She'd even managed to bring up some of her D's to C's. Her dad was a complete pushover -- and aside from that, he'd seemed even weaker since the ... thing ... that happened in the living room. She'd been absolutely certain that he'd lift the ban on her freedom and let her out for a little while tonight.

For God's sake, she was eighteen years old. She wasn't some brat in ruffled socks and pigtails anymore!

Still crying bitterly, she tugged on a pair of plaid lounge pants and a sleep shirt, allowing herself to think to the real reason she was so upset.

Ava hadn't had any real sexual gratification since her spectacular solo performance the night her dad... yeah. When he'd finally stopped sobbing on her shoulder, clutching her like she had life support written all over her, he'd taken her to her room and tucked her in, then just kind of stood there dejectedly, looking seven shades of lost and broken.

Ava had barely been able to keep her itching fingers out of her soaking pussy long enough for him to stammer a bewildered apology and bid her goodnight. The moment the door closed behind him, she dove headlong into an aria of unrequited passion, shoving her guilt and disgust behind the curtain as she skillfully brought herself to peak again and again. Unfortunately, each subsequent crescendo of lust was more dissonant than the last, until she found herself curled into a tight little ball, sobbing her heart out in a brace of pillows.

Physically, emotionally, mentally... it was all just too much for her. Her body was all too happy to sing its tune of need and desire, but she couldn't wrap her mind around that song being played for her own father.

And ever since that night, every time she dipped a probing finger between her legs, her guilty mind started with a flash of memory; the savage bite of leather contrasted by the unhurried caress of his hand. The force of his heaving sobs as he clung to her for comfort and forgiveness.

Her mood swings and violent unpredictability were worse than she had ever before experienced, and she held him entirely at fault.

Making matters worse, she wasn't even allowed to speak with Roxie anymore. When the two of them passed each other in the hallway, they were painfully aware of the ever watchful eyes of the Sisters or the headmaster on them. All they could do was lift their eyebrows at each other and move their shoulders in tiny shrugs -- a "what can you do?" gesture of defeat.

Ava didn't just miss the sex -- although it was definitely one of the biggest perks of the friendship -- she was starting to realize just how much Roxie meant to her as a friend and confidant. Her dry, warped sense of humor, her husky yet soothing voice; the way she rolled her eyes skywards and expelled Ava's name despairingly along with a cloud of smoke. The sex had even brought them closer, in a way, than any other friendship Ava had ever had. When someone knew your body as intimately as they knew each others, it was easier to purge the junk that cluttered the soul.

Ava missed her friend something fierce. And today, when she stopped by her locker to swap books for third period, she found a note that someone had slipped through the vent slats in the door.

Ave

My 'rents are on a second honeymoon in Paris. I'm having a little soirée at my place.

I miss ya, McBitchy. Think you can make it?

Your Partner in (near) Expulsion, R.

That little note had put her on cloud nine for the rest of the day at school. When she passed Roxie in the hall on her way to history, her friend lifted a brow in silent question, and Ava hadn't been able to stop the giddy grin from forming on her face. "I'll try," she mouthed just before feigning a dainty cough, hiding the grin behind her hand. It was the first time she'd really felt happy since getting caught in the locker room.

It didn't matter, though. As much as Ava wanted to, there was no way she could go. Throwing herself on top of her discarded clothes on the bed, she dissolved into fresh tears, their hot, salty sting serving as a cruel reminder of that truth.

And, as far as her lack of gratification went, Ava was seriously beginning to wonder if a total lack of sexual release could kill a person.

It certainly felt like a big part of her was dying.

* * *

Forty minutes later, he was standing awkwardly outside her bedroom door, curling his socked toes in and out of the plush wine carpet. He could hear her muffled, quiet little sniffles behind the door; she'd been at it since she ran up the stairs. It seemed like she might finally be running out of steam, or at least tears.

All he had to do was knock, for crying out loud. Tell her to stop her sniveling and come get some pizza. She could take it back upstairs and eat it if she wanted to; get enough strength to fuel a whole night of boo hoo's.

All he had to do was knock.

Despite all the beer he'd just sucked down in the kitchen, his throat was as dry and gritty as sandpaper.

It was ridiculous, the amount of courage it took to raise his fist; the remarkable restraint on his behalf to not just fling open the door and... and what? And nothing, he admonished himself silently. Rob was doing his damnedest not to think about the 'and what's' or 'what if's.'

He finally braced himself and rapped solidly on the door with his knuckles, three times in quick succession. "Hey. Pizza's here."

There was a sharp snuffle followed by a stretch of silence: he could just picture her tear-streaked, puffy, and sullen face peering up from a pile of pillows and stuffed animals.

"Go away," she finally said, her voice thick and grouchy.

Rob was dimly aware that his fists were clenching and unclenching, clenching and unclenching at his sides in tandem with his jaw. That little bitch, he thought irritably. That ungrateful little bitch. The tension that had been building in that flighty space within his chest was dangerously close to coming to a head; the chewed, gnawed, repressed and abraded part of him wanted nothing more at that moment than to barge straight into her room and drag her down the stairs by her damn hair.

Instead, he found himself saying as calmly as one could past gritted teeth, "Come on, Ava. It's time to eat."

"I don't care," came the pointedly unconcerned response.

Rob knew that what little remained of his patience was becoming a rapidly burning fuse. Forcing himself to take a deep breath and count backwards from ten, he snapped his eyes shut and said in an forcibly measured tone, "Young lady, you will come downstairs and eat at the table."

He cracked an eye open and growled when he heard her say, "Or what? You're going to ground me to my room?" She twittered a laugh that was the auditory equivalent of a slap in the face. "You go right on ahead. I'm not coming out."

This time, Rob counted backwards from twenty before speaking again. "Ava, I will give you five seconds to come out of that door."

"I'm not fucking hungry, okay? Just go away and leave me the hell alone!"

That. Was. It. After weeks of bottling everything inside, the lid was finally off. His fuse had officially burned out. With the way his muscles bunched suddenly and violently, it was like every molecule in his body was clamoring in on itself in a rush to be the first to prize off the chains of restraint. He hardly even noticed this physical reaction; he didn't even realize that the hand lashing for the doorknob was twitching and jerking like a frenzied puppet.

He could hear her scrambling around in there, probably to get to the door and lock it before he had a chance to get it open, but he had the advantage on her. She was barely getting her feet under her when the door flung open, every scalding, undiluted drop of his rage focusing on her in one hell of a flash-point glare.

With almost preternatural clarity of vision, he saw the quick dart of her eyes take in his expression and tight bunch of his shoulders; watched the way her mouth formed a silent, "Oh, shit," and then snapped shut, only to gape open again like a fish sucking air.

"Get your fucking ass over here," Rob bellowed, closing in on her with swift, predatory strides. With the look of a cornered animal, Ava yelped and dove back onto the bed, clambering over the lumps of colorful blankets and pillows to the other side. Rob lunged after her, his clawed hands narrowly missing her bare ankle as she nimbly rolled herself out of reach.

She shrieked, "No! Get away from me, you creep!"

Rob's all-out dive onto the bed ended up getting him tangled in sheets and her discarded clothes from earlier; as he struggled wildly with what felt like yards of fabric, he saw her dart towards the door from the corner of his eye. With an infuriated snarl, he jerked himself free of the confusion and sprang forward, landing on his feet with such force that the furniture trembled, and rushed her.

He tackled her so hard that he heard it knock the wind out of her; her lungs made a funny noise that for all the world sounded like he had taken them in both hands and squeezed them. They fell gracelessly, her arms and legs pinned askew beneath his own haphazardly angled frame, her face mashed between his heaving chest and the plush carpet.

She was either too stunned to move, or simply couldn't because she was winded. Rob, on the other hand, was an outbreak of movement, swiftly repositioning himself with a knee on either side of her ribs, planting his haunches firmly on her ass and pinning her securely to the floor.

Her face was turning a bright shade of red, her half visible mouth silently struggling for an urgently needed gasp of air; air that her lungs immediately rejected in a violent coughing fit the moment she finally managed to get it. While she coughed and sputtered, he dragged her hands back and stuffed them under his knees, effectively immobilizing her arms as well.

The racking coughs subsided, the crimson quickly fading from her face as she acclimated her lungs to the harshness of air again. Her hair was a silky mess, falling over her face, straggling out onto the floor, a good portion even trapped between their bodies. Rob was breathing as hard as she was, his body unaccustomed to such furious exertion, and he only panted harder when she came back to her senses and started wriggling and struggling beneath him.

"Stop it! Get off!" Ava's voice was high and shrill, matching the desperation in her exposed, terrified eye. The other was pushed, unseeing, into the carpet.

"Shut the fuck up," Rob growled savagely, gripping the twisted column of her throat with one hand to show her that he was more than willing to make her shut up if she didn't listen. Her pulse flickered wildly beneath his thumb, punctuated sharply with each jerky breath she took.

Something about feeling that heady rush of life, youth and beauty pulsing deliriously right there under his thumb filled him with a terrible sense of power. She was the one trembling now, her entire body shivering and twitching with a will of its own, crying out to him in terrified silence.

"You're driving me fucking crazy, Ava," he said through heaving breaths, aware of his own pulse in the pad of his thumb mingling with hers, a wildly off-beat tempo to her frantically pounding heart. Her body made one fierce, final jerk in an attempt to throw him off before going perfectly still save for her harsh breathing.

"Now you listen to me, damnit, and you listen good, because if you don't-"

"You're... what," she interrupted him, each word separated with a sharp gasp. "You're... going... to... punish... me?" She barked out a breathless laugh, and Rob leaned back a little, momentarily stunned by her continuing defiance.

She seemed to gather strength in his shocked silence and hastened to catch her breath, calming down enough to continue in a rough voice. "What's it going to be this time, then, dad? Another spanking? You'd fucking like that, wouldn't you? Going to pull my panties down again, you pervert? Stick a finger in my pussy this time? You would fucking like that, you sick bastard, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you?!"

"Stop it right now, Ava," Rob said, his voice coming out huskier than he intended. Ava laughed breathlessly again, squirming beneath him with her eyes tightly closed. If Rob didn't know any better, he would swear it seemed like she was trying to grind her crotch into the floor.