He stood, and was amazed at what he had accomplished so far. His thoughts turned toward the door.
His hands turned towards his belt.
Quietly he undressed, and carefully, gingerly, climbed as unobtrusively as he could onto her bed, over her body.
And now his face was over hers. Her legs, one bent at the knee, he would gently begin to move with his own legs until his penis–yes, he insisted on emphasizing to himself, her father’s penis–was in position to enter. He knew this, finally would begin to wake her, and he was prepared. He knew she would respond in love to his acknowledgment of their silent communications earlier in the evening. But even if she did not respond positively, he was now determined.
Shaking a little, he placed his left knee in the crux of her bent right knee, and began scooting her shin away from its sister.
And finally, lazily, she opened her eyes. He had resolved, and followed through on his resolve, to not look away at this point–to show how firm and loving his intentions were, to respect her gaze by maintaining his.
He waited for her relieved smile to begin. She seemed to be taking in the situation. The head of her father’s penis was now touching the place she would now gladly open for him.
But, without a smile, instead of a smile, she opened her mouth and spoke. It wasn’t what she said that surprised him – it was the way she said it. Cool, calm, purposeful, unperturbed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
—
He realized she was so collected, she must have been awake for quite a while. She was ready for him. Had she felt every thrilling kiss? From her feet, to he pubis, to her chest, to her neck? Had she lay there silently, allowing him to do it? Did this confirm her invitation?
But there was nothing inviting about her face now. Accompanying her annoyed words and tone was an annoyed squint, a squint that lived on the border of anger.
He opened his mouth to speak. He had mentally rehearsed for this. He was to be firm but gentle. He would be clear and explicit about the subtext of their interactions tonight. Even if she denied it, he would make her see she owed him, if in fact her glances and manner of dress were deception.
He had decided, he would not take no for an answer. But he also was sure he would not hear one. She was to be happy he was giving her this gift, and if she wasn’t, he was sure he would convince her to be acquiescent, to understand, to perhaps even take satisfaction in doing him this service.
If not immediately, then over time, she would see that she was for him just as much as he was for her.
That was what happened in rehearsal.
When he opened his mouth to speak, however: “I, uh – well, I think it’s time – I mean, this is, we have to – I mean you have to – uh…”
By then it was too late. He suddenly gave out a nearly comical yelp.
—
Her hands closed more and more tightly on his balls. He was suddenly trying to get away when a second before he had been determined to be inside her. But he couldn’t get away – he couldn’t even try. It would only cause the pressure on his balls to increase. She had him – he couldn’t move. So he froze.
She turned up the pressure, and he whimpered, not even conscious of the shame and embarrassment he should be feeling at this moment.
His daughter looked at him angrily, her eyes slitted, her mouth an odd sort of smile. “We fuck,” she said.
“DAD,” she continued pointedly.
“When I SAY we fuck.” She squeezed harder.
“On my terms. Do you hear me, asshole?”
His eyes closing, his mouth pinched from the pain, he nodded as best he could, weakly.
She shoved him away by the balls, which hurt even more than what she had been doing before, but at least relieved the pressure. He skittered off her bed, his knees on the floor, but before he could regain his composure she had sat up and put her legs on either side of him. She grabbed him by the hair. She held his gaze. He now had a moment to look at her again.
Her powerful, young, masterful body was more desirable than ever before.
She was holding him in place. Certainly he was stronger than her but she had him by the hair and escaping from her grasp would not only hurt, but involve an entirely shameful struggle to escape from his own tiny daughter’s grasp. And what could he do next, anyway? He stayed put.
She was momentarily allowing him to gaze at her up and down. With one hand she was holding his hair, with the other she was spreading open her pussy lips. It was incredible – he almost came on the spot to see his daughter doing this.
And then she began to push his face in towards her, and she said the words to him:
“Suck my pussy, dickwad.”
And he complied. She closed her legs in around his neck and locked him into place.
—
He had imagined, in response to the secretive flirting he was sure they engaged in all evening, that they might spend a long night together. And they did. His daughter had indeed been ready. Very ready, just as he had hoped.
As he had hoped, but not as he had expected. As his expectations became less and less like reality, his heart sunk lower and lower–but what else could he do, now, but obey?
Later that night she did eventually allow him to put his penis inside her. But only after he had made her cum several times. He would make her cum with his tongue, or she would make herself cum while he licked her asshole. Then she would pull him up towards him, and play with his penis and nipples til he was almost ready to squirt his load, explaining to him how ridiculous and old he looked. And she would then send him back down to her pussy, fucking his face once more until she came again.
This went on til she finally got bored. She was tickling his dick for the last time that night, giggling derisively at its every twitch, After a couple of distracted sighs, she rolled her eyes.
“Alright whatever. If you have to do it, do it now and get off of me.”
She scowled at him, then lay back and looked up at the ceiling rolling her eyes again, ignoring him, grabbing her phone and paying attention, apparently, to anything else. He gingerly, slowly, as though it couldn’t possibly be true, crept from his daughter’s side into position on top of her. She didn’t take her eyes off of her phone.
He was at her vaginal lips. The shaking in his arms, in his whole body, came not from lack of strength or endurance but from the sheer audacity of what he was about to do — and the excitement that came with it.
There was no connection with her. This was no expression of love, or any kind of emotion at all. All the value he had built up into the thought of this moment–all of it evaporated with her turned-aside face thinking about everything in the world but him. He was a disgusting man using a body, nothing more. What he was about to do, he could have done with a manniquin. Realizing so truly what he was about, he felt shame.
His story about himself had evaporated, and he remained as ready–even more ready–than ever, to finally simply fuck the body of his daughter with all pretense cast aside. And so he did.