The Pit: Chapter 1 [Incest, father/daughter, non-con, snuff]

*Disclaimer: This story is a work of erotic horror fiction. The author does not condone the acts described. All characters are 18+. The story contains descriptions of violence against women. Do not read if this may upset you.*

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**The Pit**

Roy Mitchell slapped a mosquito, rolled bloody ruin down his neck, and figured things couldn’t be much worse.

“Scout!” He cried into the trees. He whistled. “Here, boy!”

No answering bark came.

“Scout!”

The sun was all but set, and the dusk between the trees was the color of cobwebs. Scout, the boxer-pit bull mix his wife and daughter had *insisted* they adopt, had disappeared this afternoon, less than forty eight hours since the papers had been signed. He knew Ariel, his daughter, didn’t have the wherewithal or the attention span for a goddamn dog, and he hadn’t been shy about saying as much. Only thing that held her gaze for longer than eleven seconds was her smartphone, where most of what she did, it seemed to Roy, involved teasing boys with pictures of herself wearing too-tight clothes.

“Teenagers,” he cursed under his breath. Ariel had just turned eighteen two days ago. The dog was her present. It had cost money that Roy didn’t have, since he’d been let go at the start of summer. Ari’s younger sister, Kailey, was working at summer camp. He was certain Ari had already told her about the dog, sent her pictures. And now the dog was gone.

The dog. His job. His security. His life’s savings. The love and trust of his wife and children. All gone. Slurped up by some invisible, inscrutable thing he hadn’t seen coming. Wiped away as though by some cosmic law bent against him.

“It’s fine,” his wife, Heather, had told him. “You’ll be working again soon. We’ll be fine. But we can’t let the girls know. You know how they worry. Just act like everything is normal and, before you know it, it will be.”

He wasn’t working, though. Eight weeks, now. The only money coming in was Heather’s, and she worked for the school board, which may as well have paid her nothing at all, for all the good it did. The savings were almost gone. And now, all he could think about, wandering through the woods, looking for a dog that didn’t know its name, was that he should probably just kill himself. Isn’t that what a man was expected to do, when they ran out of money? When he could no longer provide for his family? He should take the gun, the one in the nightstand drawer, an ugly little Glock 22, and put it in his mouth and—

*You’re being ridiculous,* Heather would tell him. *We’ll be fine. We just have to get through the summer.*

But he could see it in her eyes. In the taught skin around her mouth. In the fresh wrinkles carving themselves across her forehead. They were not fine. They were not going to be fine. And summer had just started.

There was a rustling in undergrowth up ahead, just past a dense copse of trees.

“Scout?” He cried.

Nothing answered.

He broke into a jog, wedged his body through the trees and found himself in a clearing.

He stood for a moment, trying to process what he was seeing.

For the past eleven years, they had lived here, next to the woods, and he had never actually bothered to explore them. It was enough that they were there, he told himself, that they lived far enough away from everyone else that he didn’t have to talk to anyone he didn’t want to talk to. That had been the definition of the *success* Roy had worked so hard for over the past twenty years. Now, all of that was crumbling. Soon enough, the bank would take the house and—

*Alright, enough.* He told himself.

Of course, since he had never explored the woods, he couldn’t say for certain whether or not the strange hole in the earth, or the obelisk jutting from the pile of black stones on the far side of it actually belonged there. But it didn’t feel like they did. Something about them felt…wrong.

“The hell…”

He took small steps closer to the edge of the pit until he was able to lean forward and see into it. There was nothing to see. Just darkness. And a light rush of air that prickled against his skin, as if it were tainted with electricity, or radiation.

*Aw, hell*, he figured, *poor dog must have fallen in.*

“Scout!” He cried into the pit. There was no echo.

He picked up a small branch from the ground by his feet and dropped it in. He waited and listened. Even after several seconds had passed—an uncomfortably long amount of time—he still could not be sure he had heard it hit the bottom.

He looked up at the obelisk. A dull gray thing, it was carved all over with symbols he did not recognize. The stone—weathered and pitted and worn—looked ancient. But the stonework was advanced, lending a fluid, organic look to the thing. The symbols followed vein-like ridges that curved and coiled up the obelisk’s shaft to its flared, bulbous tip. It made him uncomfortable, looking at it. It seemed to add heat to his blood, and he could hear it roaring in his ears like a river gorged on the rain.

The sun was nearly gone, now. Only a tiny blood orange sliver remained above the horizon.

He shook his head, turned around, and started home.

The image of the dark pit stained his mind. He began to imagine something crawling out of it. Something covered in black oil and too many fingers. He didn’t know where it came from, the thought. He knew it was wholly ridiculous.

Even still, he started to run.

#

Roy woke early from a sleep polluted with dreams. He wouldn’t quite call them *nightmares*. In them, he was not afraid. In them, the black, greasy thing from the pit followed him home. In them, the Thing pulled Roy’s body to red wet pieces in his bed and consumed them next to his sleeping wife. In them, the Thing walked down the hall, to Ariel’s room, and walked in…

He didn’t remember the rest. But the dreams lent an ugly sense of déjà vu as he made his own way down the hall and entered Ariel’s room.

She was still asleep, and he paused in the doorway.

The oscillating fan she used—more for the white noise than anything else—was shaking its head slowly in the corner. In her sleep, Ariel had kicked the sheets into a messy bundle at the foot of her bed, and she lay uncovered on her stomach, limbs and blonde hair splayed every which way, like a crushed spider.

She was a small girl, just barely five feet tall, and wouldn’t likely get much taller. She was thin and lithe, her features pointed where they weren’t soft and ample. Her body had developed enough that boys had been a continuous headache for her throughout high school, though she never settled on any of them. Never even went on a date, unless he counted the homecoming dance with Russel Willis last year as a date, which Roy did not, especially since he had picked her up early because she had called and asked him to, bored out of her mind. That night, she had come home and worked on her science fair project instead. For all the shit he gave her, she really was a good kid.

Her salmon-pink pajama top had ridden up her stomach, and her shorts had wedgied themselves between her buttocks. For far, far too long did Roy’s gaze linger on the flesh of his daughter’s ass.

*Ass?* He chided himself. *I’ve never thought of it using that word before. What the fuck is wrong with me?*

He lowered his head, shook it, rubbed his eyes. He was just tired. That was all. Tired and stressed. It was just one of those demons that creeps in every now and then, like road rage, or going on a murder spree. One of those demon-thoughts that worm their way into the soul, when one is exhausted enough. And Roy was exhausted. He could be forgiven for that.

But when he looked up, his daughter’s arm had thrown itself over her head, revealing a cleanly shaven armpit, and beside it, breast bulging, straining against the thin pink pajama top.

*What would it feel like,* a voice that wasn’t his chimed in his brain, *to touch it?*

His heart was a heavy hammer inside his chest. Blood raced through him. His boxers tightened.

*What would it feel like,* the voice said, *to touch—*

“Ariel!” He hissed. “Ari!”

The voice slithered backwards, as if frightened by the noise.

His daughter breathed in sharply, pushed herself up onto her elbows and rolled over. Her stomach and navel were wet with sweat, and the pajama top was rolled up under her breasts. Again, Roy’s gaze lingered.

“Dad, what?”

He met her eyes, felt himself blush.

“I…um…” he had forgotten.

“What time is it?” His daughter fumbled for the phone on her nightstand.

Right. That brought him back.

“Your…your phone,” he said. “I need to borrow it.”

Groggy, and with her eyes still mostly closed, Ariel said, “My phone? Why?”

“I’m going to make a Missing poster for Scout,” he told her. “You’re the only one that took pictures of him.”

“Um,” Ariel said, “Okay. Can’t I just send it to you?”

“Fine,” Roy said. But something in him quivered. Something coiled around his spine, tightened.

*What other pictures does she have, huh, daddy?*

*Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, daddy?*

“Yes. Just send it to me. Email it. I’ll be in the office downstairs.”

“Okay.” Ariel tapped furiously on the phone. “Sent it.” She threw herself back into her pillow. “I’m going back to sleep. Bye.”

Roy backed out of the room and headed downstairs.

Sweat beaded down his forehead, rode his lashes into his eyes. It stung.

He squinted and wiped it away.

#

It was around noon by the time Roy returned from hanging the missing posters.

Ari was in the kitchen, still in her pajamas, sipping coffee. The air conditioning had been cranked to below freezing in his absence. The chill in the air felt like a slap across the face.

“Ari,” he said through gritted teeth. His daughter raised her eyebrows at him and sipped her coffee. He could see her nipples through the thin pink fabric. The shirt really was too small, and it showed off her flat, tan stomach. “Did you turn the AC up again? Like I’ve asked you not to?”

She rolled her eyes. “It was *boiling* in here, dad. I woke up sweating.”

He sighed, placed his phone and keys down on the counter, and walked over to the thermostat. It read 60.

“Jesus,” he muttered, and nudged the number back up to 72, where it belonged.

“Any luck?” Ari asked.

“Not yet.” Roy turned around. Ari had her back to him now, rinsing her coffee cup out in the sink. His eyes fell to her long, shapely legs, glistening from lotion recently applied. He breathed in sharply as his eyes travelled north, as if they did not belong to him. As if they had minds and wants of their own. He stared at his daughter’s ass—

*There that word is again…*

–peeking out from her almost see-through cotton pajama shorts, and he could see that there was no underwear beneath them. He stared at the space between her thighs. At the deep shadows, there.

*Imagine it, daddy.*

*Just imagine.*

Ari closed the faucet and turned around.

Roy lifted his gaze in a panic. Ari’s eyes were wide.

*She saw.*

*She saw you staring.*

*What the fuck are you gonna do now?*

“Dad,” Ari said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up to her clavicles.

“Wh…what?” Blood roared in his ears, filled his face with white heat.

She arched her eyebrows again. “What are we gonna do?”

“About…about what?”

She uncrossed her arms, said “Ugh,” and ran her fingers through her unruly blonde hair. “About my *dog,* dad. About Scout.”

Relief flooded through him in a cleansing wave. She hadn’t seen. She didn’t know.

*Didn’t know what, daddy?*

*That you’re thinking bad thoughts?*

*That you want to fu—*

“Nothing more we can do,” he answered. “I hung posters up everywhere I could. As far away as the gelato shop on Vine, all the way downtown. If anyone sees him, they’ll call us. I put all of our phone numbers on it.”

“We should be out looking for him.”

Roy closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“You know, I don’t have the time, Ari. I have an appointment at the employment office today. Id you want to drive around and look, you can be my guest. Please do.”

*This is your fault anyway, you stupid bimbo bitch. You’re the one that left the door open. And the posters aren’t gonna do any fucking good, you idiot slut. Because your stupid fucking dog fell into a hole in the woods, and if it isn’t dead by now it’s got a long way to suffer before it does…*

The scouring language of his thoughts sent a shudder through Roy’s body, curdled the contents of his stomach.

*Something is wrong with me,* he thought. And he knew it was true. It felt like something bad. Something irreversible. Something wasn’t breaking so much as it was already broken.

“Dad, are you okay? You’re all…red.”

Just then, the phone vibrated on the counter. A picture of his wife smiled at him from the screen. He pressed the green icon and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hey, hon.” He said. “What’s up?”

“Roy,” his wife said, tersely. “Did you find the dog?”

A headache began to throb in the back of his skull. He smiled through it.

“No. Not yet. But I hung posters all over—”

“Goddamn it. Okay.” She sighed. “Listen. That’s not what I’m calling about. I promised Ari I’d take her to the mall, clothes-shopping. She needs an outfit for her new job—”

Roy looked up at Ari, whose arms were crossed again. It was warmer in the kitchen already, without the AC blowing at subarctic temperatures, and he was disappointed that he could no longer see her nipples through her shirt.

“Ari got a job?”

His wife groaned. “Yes, Roy. We talked about this, remember?”

He did not.

“She got a job at Rudy’s. Hostessing. She starts tomorrow. She needs an all-black outfit. I told her I’d take her but I’m not gonna be able to get out of here early, like I thought. Unplanned budget meeting. So I need you to take her.”

Roy winced. He hated the mall, especially during the summer. The noise, the children, the endless corridor of yawning, colorful chasms into which money inevitably vanished in awesome quantities.

“Doesn’t she have something…already? Doesn’t she have black clothes?”

His wife’s voice was low, simmering. “It’s. A. Treat. Roy. She deserves it. She went out and got a job all by herself, she’s allowed to get something nice. We can afford it. *I* can afford it.”

This struck Roy somewhere behind his heart. When he spoke, his voice was a croak.

“That was uncalled for.”

Another heavy sigh into the receiver. “She’s doing this to help out, Roy. She’s doing this for us.”

He looked back up at Ari. Her eyes were suddenly sad, fragile, and her posture was changed, diminished, somehow. She knew she was the topic of discussion and had reverted into the defensive body language of a child preparing for a scolding. He recognized it. Had seen it a thousand thousand times since she had been born.

*This is my little girl,* he thought. *I remember when I held her in the fucking hospital and now…*

*Now what, daddy?*

*Now what?*

Now she had to work her summer away just to help with the household expenses. Now, she wouldn’t spend one of her last free summers with her friends or at the beach or at concerts. No. Now he owed her something. More than he could ever repay. Now, he was certain, he had found the bottom of the pit he had fallen into two months ago.

*Don’t forget,* the voice inside him said, *you’re losing your fucking mind.*

*Don’t forget the bad thoughts, daddy.*

“Roy!” Heather snapped into his ear. “Are you really that busy today, that you can’t take your daughter to the fucking mall?”

“Okay!” He snapped back. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“I have to go,” she said. “Just use the Discover card.” And then she hung up.

Slowly, Roy lowered the phone.

“Was that Mom?” Ari asked.

He nodded. “Go get dressed and ready,” he said. “I’m taking you to the mall.”

Something in him warmed at her smile, honest and wide as it was, and as she crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him, he felt her breasts press against his ribs. He almost panicked, almost pushed her off him, as if he was afraid of what he might do if she got too close.

But, for the moment, the bad thoughts were silent.

For the moment, she was his little girl again.

He hugged her back, and held her. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut shampoo and dried sweat.

“Thank you,” he whispered into it.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

She released him, and bounced out of the kitchen up the stairs.

#

An hour later, when she came back downstairs, Roy almost told her to go back up and change. The outfit was simply ridiculous.

She wore a white ribbed tube-top that seemed barely capable of holding her breasts, which bounced perilously close to freedom as she hurried down the stairs, and she kept having to pull it up to prevent it from slipping off. She wore no bra beneath it, and the pale denim shorts she wore revealed a full inch of her ass-cheeks before practically disappearing into the crack. Sky-blue lace panties rose over her hips from beneath the shorts. Her lips were glossy with lip-balm, and her perfume was childishly sweet-smelling. It probably had a name like *Cotton Candy Dreams* or *Boardwalk Summer.* She had a small purse shaped like a sequined cat slung over her left shoulder.

“I’m ready,” she said, applying more lip balm before sliding it back into her purse. Her eyes met his, bold and searing at the center of eyeshadow and mascara, as if daring his to move. Daring them to roam where the shouldn’t.

*Don’t I look good, daddy? Good enough to—*

He opened his mouth to tell her, NO. To tell her to go right back upstairs and change. But something stopped him. He took his keys and phone off the counter, smiled and said, “Okay.”

He told himself it was respect. He told himself it was an unwillingness to spoil the day with a needless argument when things had started to level out between them.

But after they climbed in the car, he in the driver’s seat, her in the passenger, and she pulled her seatbelt across her chest so that the strap nestled snugly between her two breasts, separating the tube top into two full, bulging orbs, and her thighs spread out beneath her so that their insides kissed, he knew what it was that had kept him from speaking up.

He knew exactly.

#

The mall was a cacophony, a nightmare of noise and jostling bodies. They entered through the Food Court around 2pm, and the lunch rush was still in full swing. It took them nearly ten minutes just to navigate and shove their way through the clustered lines tangled in front of Chik-Fil-A and Sbarro. Someone—the frazzled, six-hundred pound mother of a spastic toddler flailing in his stroller, almost spilled her soda and dipping sauces all over Roy’s shorts while trying to carry her tray of food and push the stroller at the same time. Roy managed to dodge the brunt of the catastrophe, only catching a few sticky splatters on his shoes and ankles.

*I fucking hate the mall.*

In the wake of the panic, Roy realized he had lost Ari in the crowd.

He pulled out his phone and texted her, frantic.

WHERE ARE YOU?

He watched the three gray dots bob up and down on the screen until they were replaced with HEADED TO FOREVER 21.

He slid the phone back into his pocket and found a directory beside the elevators.

#

By the time he walked into the bright, hideous expanse that called itself FOREVER 21, Roy had three texts from Ari.

WHERE ARE YOU?

NEED OPINION.

COME TO DRESSING ROOM.

He stepped over the mounds of discarded tank-tops, crop-tops and t-shirts that lay across the floor like corpses in the wake of a nerve gas attack, slowly making his way to the white neon sign that said “FITTING ROOM”.

He poked his head in cautiously.

“Ari?”

“In here!” Came his daughter’s voice.

He followed it to a black-curtained cubicle.

“What’s up?” He asked. “Did you find anything?”

*Please, say you did and let’s get the hell out of here.*

“Maybe,” she answered. But I need your honest opinion.”

He sighed, shrugged. At least she was including him in this ritual in its entirety. That meant something, didn’t it?

“Okay,” he said. “Lemme see.”

The black curtain was swept back.

And with it, whatever fragile barrier had kept the bad thoughts from overtaking him.

His daughter stood there in a black t-shirt, its v so deep it almost reached her belly-button. The shirt was tucked into a pair of tight black pleather shorts, and she was wearing a bright red bra underneath that pushed her breasts up to her goddamn *chin*. She had shiny black pumps on her feet that made her taller, almost as tall as her father.

Heat rose in him, as he drank the sigh of her.

“Well,” she said, shifting her weight, causing her breasts to jiggle in their crimson cups. “What do you think?”

He swallowed, licked his lips with a dry tongue.

“Turn around,” he said.

She did so.

Roy almost moaned. The skirt was far too short. If she were to bend over, it would slide all the way over her tight, perfect ass.

“It’s…” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers in the dressing room mirror. “…perfect.”

She beamed, glossed lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. “Really?” She squealed.

He tried to ignore the blood rushing into his cock. Tried to remind himself of the peace he had felt earlier.

*This is my daughter. This is my fucking daughter. This is my baby girl.*

“Really,” he said.

“Alright,” she said. “Let me get changed and we’ll go. She turned to face him, tousling her hair . “I kind of wanted to hit up the Food Court for lunch. You think we could?”

What he wanted to do, in fact, had very little to do with the food court. What he wanted to do was step into the changing room, rip that top from her body, wrap his hands around her throat and force her to her knees. He wanted to plunge his cock directly into the cleavage formed by that expensive, red lace bra that held her perky pale tits. He wanted to fuck those tits wild while he choked her unconscious. He wanted to see the fear and pain in her eyes. He wanted to spit in her face and call her horrible things. Things like *slut.* Things like *tease.* Things like *cum dumpster.*

His cock ached in the confines of his briefs and khaki shorts.

“Um. Y—yeah. Sure,” he stammered. “You get changed. I need to find a restroom.”

And with that, he turned and bolted out of the store, kicking up stray piles of panties and taco-shaped body pillows as he went.

#

The restroom was empty. He slid into a stall, gasping for breath. Sweat slid down his nose onto the toilet seat. He wasn’t even aware he had started pawing at his cock, fumbling with the zipper until it was freed. He gripped the shaft and began stroking. He looked down, watched his hand work as if it weren’t his own.

*She’s my baby girl. My baby girl. My sunshine. My daughter.*

But these thoughts no longer doused the flames cackling within him. Instead, they seemed to fuel them.

His cock wasn’t large, by any means, but it wasn’t small, either. Six inches erect, he had long ago come to terms with its averageness. He figured Ari had likely sucked bigger cocks than this one. He figured it was damn near certain. He figured she could probably take her father’s cock down her throat without gagging, and the image came to him, his daughter’s lips wrapped around his cock, his pudgy, middle-aged belly slamming her in the face as he fucked her slut throat. In his vision, the force of his thrusts made her nose start to bleed.

When he came, it was to his daughter’s lips, glossed this time in a mix of cum and her own blood.

Short seconds after he was done, he started to weep.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

That was Ari, he knew, wondering where he was.

He managed to pull himself together, wiped the cum off the wall of the stall and flushed the paper down the toilet.

He washed his hands and face before he left, not knowing what the hell he was going to do with himself.

No. That wasn’t true.

He wondered *when* he was going to do it.

*I should kill myself,* he thought, *before I hurt someone. Before I hurt…*

The door opened and someone else entered the restroom.

Roy dried his shaking hands and hurried out.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jlhut5/the_pit_chapter_1_incest_fatherdaughter_noncon