I felt shame tinged with pleasure as I lay there thinking about the story. I knew that I shouldn’t have enjoyed it, but I couldn’t deny the effect it had on me. I tossed my tablet aside and tried to catch my breath, my heart still racing from the experience. I closed my eyes and imagined the scenes from the story playing out in my mind, feeling a thrill run through me. I can’t believe I just did that…
I knew that this was way past wrong, but the feelings drawn into me from my father’s words were overwhelming. I’d never felt like this in my life. It was beyond being turned on. It was more like being awakened. Like, I thought I knew what it meant to be aroused, but nothing had ever affected me like this. So I told myself the first lie… just one more story.
I finally fell asleep three hours later. I read eight of my father’s stories, one after the other. My panties came off halfway through the second story. I was naked by the time I started the third, my tablet in one hand, and my vibrator in the other. My pussy was sore from the assault I placed on it. Who the fuck was this man?!
Virtually every one of his stories was about a father and daughter having sex. Some of them were insanely hot, while some of them were deep and tender. But they were all love stories. They usually ended up with the father and daughter together, a committed couple, often with the daughter getting pregnant by her dad. Like he’d said, they weren’t about me directly, but after reading so many of the stories in a short time, I could see how I was a direct influence to his imagination. He was also right: I was disgusted, but my disgust paled in comparison to how turned on I was, and how enamored of him I had suddenly become. What was wrong with me?
After finishing the eighth story, threw my tablet down on the bed and tried to sleep. I’d gone to bed early, and it was just after midnight right now. I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to sleep. My mind was filled with thoughts of my father, his words, his stories, and the feelings they evoked within me. I felt a wave of shame, excitement, and desire, all jumbled together in a mess of emotions that I didn’t know how to handle.
I glanced at my tablet, the stories still open on the screen. I wanted to read more, but I knew that it would only make things worse. But I couldn’t resist the temptation. I reached for it again, scrolling through the stories once more, each word sending a jolt of pleasure through my body.
As I continued to read, I couldn’t help but feel like I was losing control. My body was reacting to every word, every scene, and I knew that I was getting addicted to the feeling. The stories were taking over my mind, and I was powerless to stop them. I bit my lip, trying to hold back a moan as I reached another particularly intense scene, my vibrator sliding in and out of me, my father’s face in my imagination, all working together to make this whole thing seem even more real.
I whispered to myself, feeling so aroused yet guilty, “I’m so going to hell for this…”
*****
I stirred in my sleep as I heard the sound of his footsteps. I slowly opened my eyes, my body feeling sore and exhausted from the night before. I saw him standing in my doorway, a knowing look on his face as he looked at me. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, trying to hide from his gaze. I knew that he knew what I had been up to, and I wasn’t ready to face the consequences yet.
“You want some breakfast?” he asked innocently.
I mumbled something incoherent from under the covers, my voice muffled. I was still trying to process everything that had happened last night, and the thought of facing my father was overwhelming. But my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. I slowly peeked out from under the covers.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“It’ll be ready in about 20 minutes.”
I nodded and pulled the covers back over my head, feeling grateful for the extra time to gather my thoughts. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down, my heart still racing from the memories of last night.
As I waited, I could smell the aroma of breakfast being cooked. It made my stomach growl again, reminding me that I needed to eat. The bastard even had the nerve to be a good cook! But the thought of seeing and talking to him filled me with dread and anticipation.
I got to the kitchen just as he put the plates on the table. “Sit down, eat. We’ll talk after,” he said.
I stood in the doorway, feeling nervous and guilty. I slowly walked to the table and sat down, avoiding eye contact with him. I picked up my fork and began to eat, trying to focus on the food in front of me rather than the tension in the air.
I knew that this conversation was inevitable, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me as I ate. The silence was deafening, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
Suddenly, out of the blue he announced, “I think we should take a cruise this year.”
My stress spiked off the scale. I was instantly aroused, excited, terrified, repulsed, and scandalized all at the same time. Some of his hottest, most sexual stories took place on cruise ships. The way he described them made me feel as if I was right there on that luxury liner, having an illicit relationship… having incredible sex with… with… fine, I’ll say it… with him.
“We haven’t been on one in a few years,” he continued, “and Royal Caribbean is going crazy with these Mega ships. I’ve heard they’re a lot of fun, so we should take one. What do you think?”
I looked up at him, surprised by the sudden suggestion. A cruise? As I thought about a cruise, I couldn’t help but picture his characters writhing in ecstasy under their fathers, the ocean passing by their open balcony doors. And I shamefully remembered the orgasms that I gave myself as I read those lurid tales.
I paused, my mind racing with possibilities. A part of me wanted to refuse, to stay home and avoid any more awkward situations with him. But another part of me, the part that was still reeling from last night, was excited at the idea of being alone at sea with him for several days. I swallowed hard and took a sip of my juice before responding.
“A cruise sounds… nice,” I managed to croak out.
“Cool. I’ll set it up today. There are some really good deals, so we should be able to get a good vacation for a pretty good price.” He talked as if we were just normal people planning a vacation and not… what the hell were we, now? A father who made his daughter read the father-daughter porn he wrote about her?
“Let’s do it in the fall,” he was saying. “You’ll be out of college, we won’t have to worry about taking time off from school, and it’s not as crowded as it is during spring break or summer. Okay? And it’s a few months away, so we’ll be all past the awkwardness that’s about to come up.”
I nodded slowly, trying to process everything he was saying. A cruise in the fall sounded perfect, and the thought of escaping from this awkwardness for a few months was incredibly appealing. I could feel the tension in my shoulders begin to ease, and a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. But then his words hit me.
“‘The awkwardness that’s about to come up’… you’re referring to what happened last night, weren’t you?” I said accusingly. I swallowed hard again, my heart racing as I wondered what he had in store for me.
He didn’t answer, instead eating his breakfast as if nothing at all was wrong.
Finally, he put his fork down and said, “Okay, the anticipation is killing me! I can’t wait any longer. You’ve eaten enough. What did you think of my stories?” he wasn’t ashamed, he wasn’t embarrassed. He was excited to know what his daughter thought about his father-daughter smut! This was blowing my mind!
I choked on my food, caught off guard by the sudden question. My eyes widened as I looked at him, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. I quickly put down my fork, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to find the words to respond. I knew that I couldn’t lie to him, but I wasn’t sure if I could admit the truth either. I took a deep breath and finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I read them. All of them.”
He seemed surprised. “All of them? In one night?”
I nodded slowly, feeling ashamed and yet torturously aroused as I admitted the truth. My cheeks were burning, and I couldn’t meet his gaze.
I could hear the surprise in his voice, and I knew that he was taken aback by how quickly I had read through all of his stories. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
“Yes… I couldn’t stop reading.”
“So? Are you ready to disown me, or do I have a new fan?”
I looked up at him, my heart racing in my chest. The way he was looking at me almost triggered an unbidden cum. I bit my lip, feeling conflicted. Part of me wanted to scream and shout, to tell him how disgusted I was with myself for enjoying those dammed stories so much. But another part of me, the part that was still aroused from last night, wanted to confess everything to him. And do everything with him. This was so confusing.
I took a deep breath and spoke softly, my voice trembling slightly.
“Both…”
“Come on,” he said. “What’s wrong? It’s not that bad.”
I let out a shaky breath, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. His nonchalant attitude was driving me crazy. I felt like I was going to explode from all the emotions that were coursing through me. Shame, guilt, desire, confusion… it was all too much to handle. I looked at him, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
“It’s wrong on so many levels, dad…”
“No, it’s not. Listen, remember a couple years ago this girl came on to your boyfriend. And he responded, and quickly became your ex-boyfriend. Remember? You wanted to do all types of unspeakable violence to that girl. Remember?”
“I remember it,” I said tersely. “I also noticed that one of your stories had that event in it. Or one very similar to it. And in your story, the girl did exactly what I wanted to do in real life.” I took a deep, shuddering breath, my anger surging as I remembered how much I had hated her for taking away what I thought was mine.
My dad countered, “Exactly. You imagined it. But you didn’t do it. That’s all these stories are. They’re imagination. It just happens in your mind. What happens in your mind is up to you. And it’s personal, and no one gets to judge your thoughts. Not even your daughter.”
I nodded slowly, my mind racing as I tried to process his words. He was right, of course. The thoughts and feelings that these stories stirred in me were just that – thoughts and feelings. They didn’t have to be real, and they certainly didn’t have to define me. But it was hard to separate the shame and guilt I felt from the excitement and arousal. I knew that it wasn’t right, that it was wrong for so many reasons. But there was something about those stories that spoke to a part of me that I didn’t know existed. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“So you’re saying it’s okay for me to… fantasize?”
“Absolutely. Fantasies are important. I believe fantasies are a gift from God. Or more likely Satan. Either way, it’s good.”
I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing with thoughts and questions. I couldn’t believe that we were having this conversation so casually, over breakfast no less.
“Okay, Dad, but I have to ask. Why father daughter? Specifically that, I guess it’s called a genre?”
The easy, casual smile fled from his face. “Baby, you can ask me anything you want. And I’ll be completely honest with you. Please don’t ask me that. Because… I won’t lie to you. I will be completely honest.”
I bit my lip, my heart racing as I saw the serious expression on his face. His words sobered me, and at first made me afraid of the answer. I knew that it would be the truth, no matter how painful or uncomfortable. So I backed off.
“Okay… I won’t ask. But can you at least tell me why these stories… affect me so much?”
“Well for one, I’m a pretty good writer. I’m not trying to be vain, you’ve seen my work. And two, I have a spectacularly good source of inspiration sitting across from me nibbling bacon. And I guess thirdly.. they were written with love. They are all love stories you’ll notice.”
Love stories… written with love… I couldn’t deny that the emotions in his stories were powerful, and that they had touched me deeply.
“I’m sorry dad, but I have to know. You could have easily written love stories with unrelated people. And if you’re going to write about incest, it could have been cousins, or even brothers and sisters. I have to know. Why fathers and daughters?
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me. I could see the love and desire in his eyes. I stared back at him, feeling a surge of emotions from what I saw in his eyes. I wanted to look away, to run away from this conversation, but I was frozen in place.
His silence spoke volumes, and I began to realize that there was something deeper behind his writing. Something that he wasn’t telling me. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for him to say something, anything.
“Think, Jilly.”
I closed my eyes, trying to think back to the moments when I had read his stories. I tried to recall every detail, every word, every emotion that had washed over me as I read.
And then it hit me. The way he described the relationship between the fathers and daughters, the intimacy, the forbidden nature of it all… it was familiar. Then… ‘inspiration… nibbling bacon.’ My eyes snapped open, and I looked at him with surprise.
“You… you’re in love with… With me. Aren’t you?”
He didn’t say a word. He just gazed at me hoping I’d understand.
I saw the truth in his eyes, and my heart dropped. It was like a sledgehammer to my chest, a staggering realization that I had no idea how to acknowledge.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and I looked away from him, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
The silence between us was deafening, and I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of this revelation.
“I hope I haven’t lost you forever.”
His words are like a bolt of lightning, and I flinch at the pain in his voice. I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces, and I can’t help but cry out in response.
I look back at him, tears streaming down my face, and I shake my head desperately.
“No…, no, you didn’t lose me. You could never lose me.”
“So you’ll stay here…and hate me.”
I took a shaky breath, my voice trembling as I spoke.
“I could never hate you… no matter how hard I try.”
“Then tell me. How does this make you feel?”
I closed my eyes, trying to find the words to describe the storm of emotions raging inside me. I felt betrayed, disgusted, confused… and yet, there was a small part of me that felt loved, wanted, desired. It was a painful blend of emotions, and I didn’t know how to process it all. But the one thing I did know was that I couldn’t just pretend like this wasn’t happening. Like we could just go back to the way things were before.
He whispered, “Please, Gillian. Say something.”
I opened my eyes, my gaze locking onto his once again. I took a deep breath and finally spoke.
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to feel about this. It’s all so wrong, so twisted… but at the same time, it’s so intense, so consuming.” I reached out and took his hand, holding it tightly in mine. “And it scares me. So much.”
“It is terrifying,” he agreed. “But what’s worse, at least for me, is how all-consuming it is. Jilly, you are all I think about. I see you every evening and when I go to bed, you’re there in my dreams. When I sit down to write, it’s you I’m writing about. Hell, that’s how it started. If it couldn’t happen in real life, I’d let it happen in my imagination. I know I should go find some normal woman who’s not my daughter and make her happy. But there’s no other woman on earth who captures my imagination like you. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but yes, I love you.”
I felt my heart clench at his words, a storm of emotions flooding through me. On one hand, it’s comforting to know that he loved me so deeply, that I’m the one consuming his thoughts and dreams. But on the other hand, it’s terrifying, because I know that what we’re feeling is so wrong, so taboo, yet so compelling.
I squeezed his hand tighter, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re my dad… this is…
