(Simone) Calculations of an ice queen*

Simone was tired. Bone tired. It had been another long night with Dad. Of course she didn’t MIND letting him screw her from dusk till dawn. Easing the frustrations and anxieties he built up when she was away. In fact it was fairly incredible, to be tossed around by his muscular form as he ploughed into the very depths of her sensitivities. Let the so-called ‘backseaters’ have their fill of immature boy-cock. Her classmates fight over the next preening idiot who’ll ditch them at a moments notice. Every night she fucked a MAN. And was proud to do so. A daughter’s first duty was to her father. Wasn’t that what the old priests always preached? It wasn’t like she was a miracle child either, like Gracey and Alz. The chances of her getting pregnant were basically zilch…

Still… she did wish he’d do a little more with himself during the day… just to burn off some more energy. He worked out a lot, she knew. But that just seemed to get him more pumped to ravage her… The lithe girl joked to herself that she could tell how many reps he’d done by how many times she woke up to him entering her overnight. Her legs were always open to him after all, sometimes she couldn’t tell if she was dreaming about him penetrating her, or if it was really happening. Her darknesses only seemed to consist of one or the other, these days. Even in class she sometimes caught herself daydreaming about what would inevitably happen the moment she got home...

She felt the presence approaching, several long seconds before the warm rain hit her… Another one. They were coming thick and fast today. She bit back her lip as the remaining few spurts flew, one shooting wildly off-target and splattering onto her workbook… more notes ruined. The fabled ice queen held her patience. Waiting for the right moment. Putting up with the fleshy friction as the head of a stinking penis was rubbed painstakingly clean against her cheek. Then she struck. Pouring all her life’s frustrations into one cold, calculated and condescending glance. She could practically feel the moron shudder under the weight of her glare. This is what they all came for, after all… To be squashed beneath her heel like the pathetic nobodies they were. She had to truly envision them so far below her to achieve it. Had to see them all as nothing but ants and minor irritants, even as their ejaculate dripped from her chin. It was a strange and terrifyingly alluring moment of power. To unleash all her truly despondent apathy toward them. Out in one finely sharpened beam. They adored her for it, she knew. They grovelled after her as if she was actually some kind of ethereal goddess, completely unshakeable however far they pushed her…

And push her they did. Ever more and ever more. Once she had taken on the performance, it had now taken over everything they saw of her. They’d raised her up so high in their tundral estimations... that she had **** but to keep climbing further, lest they catch up and finally break through that iron curtain. None of them realised how much it took out of her: to appear infinitely unfazed by all the messed up ways they worshipped her. Some seemed intent on breaking her down, showing her up. Some seemed simply **** to believe they could not. All of them made the farce harder and harder to keep up with. Even her closest friends couldn’t seem to see where the ice-queen ended and her true self began anymore. To be honest, neither could she. Yet she could not stop! She had nothing else. She wasn’t the high-class daughter of a family of six. She wasn’t heir to the impossible ideal of producing TWO children at once. She was just another loner. Her father’s only comfort. If she was going to succeed in this world of erotic division, she needed to find her own angle to do so. This was her one shot. And she was going to damn well throw herself at it.