No - But the paint starts coming off

The minutes stretched into an eternity, each one marked by the soft, rhythmic snoring from the man using his daughter's lap as a pillow. Sofie's entire existence had narrowed to the point of contact: the scratchy, abrasive texture of her father's evening stubble against the most sensitive skin of her mound. Every exhale he took sent a warm, damp puff of air directly onto her painted labia. She was a statue of pure mortification, her body rigid, her breath held in her lungs until they burned, then released in a silent, shuddering gasp.

Robin sat beside her, a coiled spring of tension. The blanket was a flimsy shield, a psychological bandage on a gaping wound. He could still see everything in his mind's eye: the way her father's hand rested possessively on her hip, the way his fingers, curled in sleep, lay just inches from the crease of her thigh. He watched her face, pale and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat in the dim lamplight. He saw a single tear trace a clean path through the dried paint on her cheek, a silent testament to her agony.

Viki, perched on the armchair opposite them, was a study in morbid fascination. Her hand was still clamped over her mouth, not to stifle a laugh this time, but to hold in a gasp. Her eyes darted between the three figures on the couch, a silent, chaotic movie playing out just for her.

Then, Mr. Henderson shifted.

It wasn't a major movement, just a sleepy resettling of weight. He turned his head slightly, nuzzling deeper into his "pillow." The effect on Sofie was electric. His stubble, now moving sideways, brushed across her sensitive lips with a horrifying, intimate friction. A strangled, silent whimper escaped her throat. Her body jerked, a full-body flinch of revulsion.

Disturbed by the movement, her father's grip tightened. His arm, the one slung across her stomach, slid further upward. His hand, seeking purchase, brushed against her yellow-painted breast before settling more firmly, his palm now cupping the soft swell, his thumb resting millimeters from her nipple.

Robin's breath hitched. He saw the new horror dawn in Sofie's eyes. He looked from her panicked face to his best friend's hand, now full-on groping his own daughter in his sleep. He met Viki's gaze across the room. Her eyes were wide, a silent scream of "Oh my god." She made a tiny, frantic gesture, pointing at Mr. Henderson, then at her own eyes, and finally shaking her head violently. He's asleep. He has to be.

Sofie wasn't so sure. A new, more terrifying thought began to worm its way into her panic-fogged mind. Was this an accident? Or was he... pretending? The way he always seemed to find a more compromising position, the way his hands roamed... it was too calculated. Too perfect. The possibility that her own father was consciously violating her, even in this passive, "sleeping" way, was a sickness that spread through her veins like ice. Had he known she was painted naked all evening and pretended not to notice? Oh god... nothing could be more humiliating!

Another shift. This time, he pulled her closer. His face was now pressed so firmly against her that she could feel the shape of his nose against her pubic bone. His other arm, the one on her hip, slid lower, his fingers now dipping into the curve where her buttock met her thigh. He was holding her like a lover, not a daughter.

The panic was a physical ****. It made her heart hammer against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror. And with the panic came the heat. A slick, clammy sweat beaded on her forehead, on her upper lip. She felt a trickle of it snake down from her temple, along her jawline.

Then she felt it somewhere else.

A cool, wet sensation on her inner thigh. She risked a glance down. Through the blur of tears, she saw it. A thin, rivulet of electric blue, snaking its way down her leg from the crotch of her "shorts." The paint was running.

Her blood ran cold. The sweat. The heat from her father's face, the friction of his stubble, the moisture from his breath... it was melting her clothes. Her only protection was dissolving.

She caught Robin's eye. With how his member was pressed against her cheek through his shorts, she had tried not to meet his eyes thus far. But now her own were wide with a new, deeper terror. She flicked her gaze down to her leg, to the tell-tale blue streak, then back to him. The message was clear and ****.

Robin saw it. His face went slack with horror. From his vantage he could also see a glistening moisture building around her breasts, her hips. He leaned forward infinitesimally, his voice a breathless, **** whisper. "It's... sweating."

Viki saw it too. Her hand flew to her own mouth, her eyes popping. She leaned forward, mirroring Robin's posture, her own whisper barely audible. "The paint... it's coming off!"