We're all watching TV; Kathy's 16-year-old daughter Samantha is sitting next to me on the couch. Wearing shorts.

I casually place my hand on Samantha's knee.

Samantha and Kathy stop breathing.

This is the first time I ever touched Samantha. Her knee feels so warm and soft and smooth. Kathy's my girlfriend, and they've lived in my house for two years.

Kathy looks at my hand, blanches, then looks away, flustered. She needs to believe my hand is an innocent, fatherly gesture. I keep my eyes on the TV, looking innocent.

Samantha glances frantically at her mother for direction and help. When she finds none, she quickly looks back to the TV. But the TV show they are staring at has been forgotten. My hand is the Tyrannosaur in the room; they're trying to believe it's Bambi.

I provide the money, so they live in a nice house instead of their old trailer home. They live in a nice neighborhood with good schools, not a crime-infested drug haven. I buy their health insurance. And they get nice clothes, good food, and vacations to nice places.

So they make sure I'm happy. Good idea.

I'm 42; Kathy is 36. She was pretty when she was younger, and she works hard to still look as good as she can. She cooks for me, and she puts up with me and my criticisms and angry moods. In bed I can fuck her when I want, or make her suck my cock when I don't want to touch her. I can tie her up when I want to feel control, or take her anally when she makes me angry.

She never complains about anything. She tried a few times but I taught her not to. And often I'm nice and we're all happy, but right now I'm being a prick.

Samantha's knee is arousing me.

This shows how desperate they are to keep me happy. If Kathy and Samantha will let me do this, where will they ever draw a line?

Samantha's being betrayed by her mother, and that betrayal will destroy more of her than my hand ever will. And Kathy's betraying the only person she really loves.

I know I have anger issues, but I hate how weak and vulnerable they are. And I can't stop taking advantage of Kathy. She makes it too easy. And now I'm taking advantage of Samantha.

And they're both letting me, so they can keep their nice house and clothes. Samantha is afraid of making anyone upset. They're both disgusting.

"I need a drink."

Kathy jumps up and scampers into the kitchen, leaving Samantha alone with me. To make me happy, Kathy just abandoned her daughter. The sacrificial daughter shivers once and then sits motionless.

My hand slides up an inch and onto her thigh. She glances quickly towards the kitchen, still looking for help, but she's been deserted. So she acts like she doesn't even notice, except her warm skin changes into cold, clammy goose bumps. I gently move my finger back and forth across one of her goose bumps, feeling its size, knowing I created it.

Kathy comes back with my drink, trying to pretend everything is normal. But she sneaks a quick look towards her daughter's knee and her face crumples.

Samantha is looking at Kathy with desperate pleading all over her face, but Kathy isn't looking at her. Kathy's smile is for me, and it's so fake it doesn't begin to hide her distress.

Kathy offers the drink to my right hand, the hand on her daughter's knee. I hold out my left hand. I see her despair, but she places the drink in my left hand. That was the size of her effort to protect her daughter. Samantha has given up hope of rescue and is just staring at the TV again.

If Samantha pushed my hand off of her knee, I don't know what I would do. Laugh and pretend nothing happened? Become violently angry? Order them to leave? Samantha could just leave the room and hope I don't follow her to her bedroom; she could slide away from me on the couch and hope I don't slide over and sit even closer than I am now.

She's afraid of making things worse, she's afraid of me leaving her mother. She's afraid of me becoming angry, and she's afraid of making her mother upset. Afraid, afraid, afraid. Poor girl.

But she's trapped into living in this house with me. Trapped into ignoring my hand. Trapped by my temper, my money, her own desires, and her mother's need. Trapped by having a young, desirable body.

Kathy should say something. What mother lets a 42-year-old man paw her 16-year old daughter while she's in the same room?

I'm trapped too, by my anger and lust. A woman I can use however I want. A maturing teenager with smooth skin who lets me touch her. How can I leave that? They imprison me with their web of temptations and deception.

I almost want them to make me so angry I throw them out. But I like being able to put my hand on Samantha's thigh. My hand slides down and over, to the inside of Samantha's knee.

She flinches but otherwise shows no reaction; she's still staring ahead and not seeing anything. She's locked into her mind by the horror of what her mother and I are doing to her.

Kathy is paralyzed too. I'm not surprised; they're both weak women. I say loudly, "Can we watch a different show?"

They both jump at the sound of my voice. "Of course," Kathy says too eagerly. Samantha grabs the remote off the table, my hand staying on her knee while she clicks through the channels waiting for my reaction. I nod yes when a sexy woman is on the screen.

Then we all pretend to watch this new show. After a minute, I move my hand one inch up the inside of Samantha's thigh. She grimaces. Kathy looks ill and starts wringing her hands pathetically.

As we pretend to watch, I make the smallest of squeezes, hardly detectable unless Samantha is paying close attention. She is. I make the smallest of movements along Samantha's skin, hardly noticeable. Samantha notices. Kathy can't see my movements; all she can see is her daughter's fear and misery.

On the TV, the hero is saving a young female from the villain.

Kathy stands up. "I have to go. I'm feeling really tired." Fleeing from the situation she doesn't know how to handle and can't stand to watch.

Panic flashes across her daughters face, but she's frozen in place. I say, "Don't go yet. This is the most exciting part of the movie."

Kathy sits back down. I like seeing her misery and how she can't save herself. I like how she obeys me.

Another painful minute passes, then I take my hand off her daughter's knee. They exhale in unison; both of their bodies relax a little.

They visited hell; they got the tour. They both hope this will never happen again, because that's all they can do. But of course it's going to happen again – how much self-control can they expect from me when they didn't complain or fight? But they think it's over for now. Like weak people everywhere, they only think about the present and avoiding trouble.

I put my hand back on Samantha's knee. They both tense up and stop breathing for a moment. Kathy bolts from the room without my permission. Abandoning her daughter to me. I can see the pain on Samantha's face. This isn't something a 16-year-old should have to face by herself.

I study Samantha's closest breast. I know how soft it would feel if I prodded it with my finger. Some day I'll accidentally swing an elbow into her breast. Mmmmm. The next day or week I'll brush against her nipple as I walk by her too closely.

Before that I'll accidentally touch her hand as we both reach for something at the dinner table. I'll offer to shake her hand congratulations and she'll look at my hand with disgust, but it's rude not to shake, so I'll feel the soft warm skin on her hand. She'll get an encouraging pat on the arm. I'll pretend to brush something out of her hair or off the shoulder of her T-shirt while she flinches.

I'll do it in front of Kathy, so Samantha sees her mother giving me unspoken permission. Samantha won't want to think about her mother's betrayal, and that will be more reason not to think about what I'm doing to her. And that betrayal will help Samantha give up.

One day I'll put my arm around her in a friendly way as we watch TV, just the two of us, and she'll be anxious the whole time that my hand might accidentally touch her breast. And nothing will happen that first time, but the next time my hand will accidentally brush against her breast.

And she'll tell herself those were accidents. She won't tell Kathy, because Kathy already abandoned her. Instead, she'll keep it inside, where it will eat her up and make her even weaker.

And one day my touch will be one second longer than accidental. Horror will run through her sexy young body – horror at that particular touch, horror that it's getting worse. And she'll think, That's only a little bit more. Then she tell herself, I'm not going to ruin our lives just for that. And finally, There's nothing I can do about it.

I suppose there isn't. What if she resisted me one day? I'd just keep trying again and again as if her puny resistance never happened, and eventually I'd wear her down or catch her at a weak moment. Maybe I'd start talking about how Kathy and I might get married; she wouldn't want to ruin that. Or I can take out my anger and frustration on Kathy while Samantha's watching, making her feel guilty.

And when she finally gives in, she'll learn the most important lesson of all – it's hopeless for her to resist.

I take my hand off her knee. This time she doesn't relax. Good, she's learning. I say in a kind, caring voice, "You look so tense, Samantha. Let me give you a foot rub."

She cringes again. I move down to her feet, take off her sandals, and give her an innocent foot rub. My hands on the skin of her feet. Probing carefully. Rubbing softly. Massaging in a way that would look relaxing to anyone watching. In a way that would look sexual to anyone who knew what to look for.

Her eyes are still straight ahead. She doesn't see anything on the TV, or maybe she's lost in the story. Either way her mind is running away from the scene her body can't leave.

When I'm done with her, I say, "You can go."

She startles. "Okay," is all she says, her voice breaking. She stands up quickly, bends over to pick up her sandals – displaying a nice rear end I'll rub some day – then scurries out of the room.

Now I'm sexually aroused, I can't stand myself for what I just did, and I'm angry at everyone and everything. And I want more.

I turn off the TV and swallow the rest of my drink, then go into the kitchen and make myself another. I'll go upstairs and tear off Kathy's clothes and be a little rough with her. That'll feel good. Then I'll decide what to do next to her. She has no lines, I took them away from her a long time ago.