My Daughter, The Whore, Scene #01

Picture this: a man, Roger, sits casually in his living room, newspaper in hand, as the unmistakable sounds of passion echo from the adjacent room. He's unfazed, like it's just another day at the office. Suddenly, a loud, satisfied grunt signals the end of the tryst next door. Moments later, a man emerges, zipping up his fly, a look of contentment plastered on his face. Roger, played by the inimitable Dick Chibbles, looks up with a grin that's equal parts friendly and foreboding. "Everything satisfactory?" he asks, like a maître d' seeking approval for a well-cooked steak. The client hesitates, then drops a bombshell. "She seemed a bit...tired today," he confesses. Roger's grip on the newspaper tightens, knuckles whitening. "Did she now?" he asks, his voice a low growl, a storm brewing behind his eyes. The client, oblivious to the gathering tempest, continues, "Not as eager as usual." Roger's smile never wavers, but there's a new edge to it, a promise of something darker lurking beneath the surface. He apologizes, assures the client it won't happen again. "I will PERSONALLY make sure of it," he adds, the menace in his voice barely concealed. As the client leaves, Roger's mask of civility slips. He turns, fury etched onto his face. Storming into the bedroom, he finds Lucy, played by the captivating Athena Rayne, naked and spent, hugging her knees on the bed. She looks exhausted, her eyes distant. Roger looms over her, his voice a thunderclap. "What the fuck, Lucy?!" he demands. "He said you seemed tired!" Lucy jolts out of her daze, her eyes meeting Roger's stormy gaze. She tries to explain, her voice weary. "I know, I just...I really am so tired...tired of all of this...he was the third guy today." But Roger isn't having it. "I don't give a shit if you're tired!" he roars. "You know how serious our situation is." Lucy nods, numbly agreeing. She knows, she just can't do this anymore. It needs to stop. Roger takes a deep breath, reining in his anger. He sits on the bed, his voice shifting to a more patient, caring tone. It's a performance within a performance, a mask slipping over his fury. "Lucy...you know what they'll do to me if we don't square things away, right? You don't want me to go away, right?" he reasons. Lucy nods, resigned. "Then it's up to you to fix this." Lucy looks up at him, her eyes tired but compliant. "Yes, Daddy," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. It's a chilling moment, a glimpse into their twisted dynamic. Roger's tender demeanor vanishes as quickly as it appeared. "Good, so clean your fucking self up, you look disgusting," he barks. "You've got another appointment arriving in a few minutes...and you can't greet a client looking like...this." And so, the stage is set for Lucy's next performance. The doorbell rings, and Roger, ever the gracious host, answers it. He greets John, played by the enigmatic Tommy Pistol, with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. John is cold, his 'hello' curt and unsmiling. Roger, undeterred, explains the ground rules, his voice muffled behind the bedroom door as Lucy hurriedly applies makeup and slips into sexy lingerie. She looks good, put-together, but her eyes...her eyes tell a different story. They're exhausted, a soul-deep weariness that no amount of makeup can conceal. She sits on the edge of the bed, staring off into space, lost in thought. A knock on the door startles her. She takes a deep breath, and like an actress preparing for her cue, her expression shifts. The exhaustion is replaced by a seductive, flirty smile. Her eyes brighten, her lips pout. The weary, spent Lucy from moments ago is gone, replaced by a vibrant, youthful version. Lucy's game face is on. But Roger has other plans. He introduces John to Lucy, then drops another bombshell. "There's been a change in plans, Lucy," he says, his voice casual, like he's commenting on the weather. Lucy's eyes widen in horrified shock. "What are you...?" she starts to ask. Roger continues, unfazed. "John has asked me to stay...and watch." John takes over, his voice cold and calculating. "Yes, I love an...audience," he says, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity. "And there's really no better audience than a loving father watching his precious daughter get defiled in front of his very eyes." Roger coughs, clearly put off by the request but trying his best to hide it. "That's not a problem...is it, Lucy?" he asks, his voice laced with a vaguely threatening tone. Lucy hesitates, just for a moment, before burying her horror deep down. "No...of course not," she says, her voice steady, her smile still in place. She's up for whatever he wants. And so, the curtain rises on their twisted performance. The stage is set, the actors are ready. What will happen next? Will Lucy's exhaustion catch up to her, or will she rise to the occasion, giving the performance of a lifetime? And what about Roger, the doting father turned sinister spectator? The only way to find out is to watch the drama unfold. After all, the show must go on.