Back in the safety of his room, Bill collapsed in to his chair, his hands shaking. What had he done? How could he ever face her again. He couldn’t. Not tomorrow. Oh god, he thought to himself, she’s my daughter!
[Note to my reader: this story immediately continues the narrative in Lucy’s photograph . If you’ve not read that, my first story, then give it a try first, then come back here to see how the story develops.
He shot the laptop a glare, as if that was the cause of all his problems. It was the laptop’s fault. It had tricked him.
_ _ _
He’d been in his study, as he was most evenings, finishing off a letter to a client, when he’d heard Lucy head to the bathroom. Moment’s later he heard the hum of the shower starting up. Knowing she’d be in there for a few minutes he quickly fired up a browser to look at a bit of porn, have a quiet play and maybe “relax” a bit before he went to bed.
In such circumstances he often just used the same site - a reliable source of free porn of the types he liked; nothing too extreme, just pictures of women and girls, sometimes getting fucked, sometimes sucking cocks, sometimes just showing themselves off to the camera. The last ones were a mystery to him. Some were clearly staged, but many looked genuine - girls’ private photos, sometimes meant for “hot or not” sites, but many probably only intended for some stud at school or college, but which had ended up on the ‘Net for all eternity. How did these girls ever think it would be anything different? Yet still they seemed to do it.
He didn’t understand it, but he loved them. All the images had their appeal, but these particular ones had an extra appeal to him. Trusting, or naive, these girls were sharing a secret with the camera. The idea that he was seeing something special, something hidden somehow made their impact all the more intense. In contrast to the total lack of inhibition of porn-starlets, no matter how cute they were, the thrill of being let in to a private moment - a snatched photo in a bathroom, or a webcam shot of a girl posing on the floor, surrounded by discarded t-shirts and images of pop-stars torn from magazines - gave Bill a buzz that reminded him of his youth, cut short before its time by his responsibilities as a father.
On this particular site he recognised a couple of contributors to look out for and would just put their albums on slideshow, enjoying the novelty and surprise as each new girl slid in to view. He’d sit back and imagine these girls stripping for him, as if they were dancing for him here, in the privacy of his study.
He’d start by loosening his pants and getting his cock out and “comfortable” - that’s what he called it. He’d choose one or two albums and, laying back in his chair, he’d stroke himself slowly, trying not to rush, even though he knew that was not alone in the house, but determined to make a little time for himself each evening.
Another girl, another beautiful body. But this time the girl’s face was disinterested, almost absent minded as she lay on her bed, probably in front of her boyfriend and less than enthusiastic about being snapped. He let it cycle on, keen to find a picture worthy of his release, which was so close now he could feel the tightening in his balls, his purple head almost buzzing and he slowed his strokes to sharp intermittent tugs that kept him on the brink.
At last the loading bar reached maximum and the the picture changed once more. Oh, this one looked good. It was another self shot he guessed - taken on a phone camera to judge from the graininess, and larger too, so more recent. So large in fact, the girls head was cut off on the laptop’s smaller display.
She had a tattoo, but it was a small one, a word in Chinese or Japanese, and neat enough not to be offputting. But oh, how her body was delightful!
This was the one - she
was going to see him cum this evening. He paused the show and began working himself harder as he prepared for the explosion.
Slender and firm, the girl’s stomach was perfectly flat, falling away into the line of her shorts, the zip undone, but showing nothing more than a fraction of her neat bush. Bill stuck out his tongue and imagined he was running it across her smooth skin, feeling the rough line of the lace frill he could just make out, imagining the coarse hair of her snatch on the soft tip.
His breath coming now in short gasps, Bill imagined teasing the girl out of those shorts, revealing... What? What would she wear? Plain cotton panties, white and innocent? Secret pink lace, an exotic counterpoint to her dowdy, almost scruffy clothes? Would she be wearing a little g-string? Something that he could just pull aside as he drew her astride him? Something thin and flimsy that would let him enter her easily as she lowered herself on his engorged purple shaft?
He wondered what she would feel like. In his life he’d had precious few partners - being a single parent had meant putting denying such urges as much as possible. Lucy’s mother’s hot sex had been such an intense experience it blotted out any recall of the few fumbled experiences before she had singled him out. The handful of women since had been so infrequent that each was a distinct tactile memory.
The first inch was always the most intense - how a woman opened up to him told him everything he needed to know. How would this girl feel? Would she resist him? Make him rub at her and tease his way in? Or would her dampness spread out and blossom and allow him to slip straight inside her warmth? He looked at her smooth stomach and imagined the slick velvet feel of pussy enveloping him, a firm but yielding embrace picking out every vein and sinew of his cock. He imagined her groaning as he eased her down his fat cock that had so beguiled Lucy’s mother.
Bill imagined holding her little waist close as he helped her rock up and down on his lap, his fat prick filling her hole. He wondered what her voice would sound like as she urged him to fuck her, his hips stabbing up to oblige her wishes as she ground her swollen pussy against him and her slender arms wrapped around his head, pulling his face into her body. In his mind he gripped her bum, pure fantasy fleshing out what the picture couldn’t provide, and he imagined heaving himself up to meet her urgent thrusts.
He looked up, at the sight that would satisfy his tongue while her pussy satisfied his cock.
The girl’s breasts were perfect - his type exactly; a gentle curve, no sag, pert, round, pink nipples atop delicate aureole, no sign of any disfiguring enhancements, just a pure balance and shapeliness. For some reason, even the presence of tan lines excited him - her modesty meant that she resisted baring her chest even where it might be acceptable, and yet here he was, able to see them - able to run his tongue over them.
Urgently now, he scrolled up, keen to have her eyes on his cock as he came so the girl could see the reaction she had caused in him. His left hand was frenzied, the familiar twitching in the base of his cock as his muscles, signalling the height of his desire, began pushing his cum up, a rushing torrent of ecstasy.
The girl’s shapely chin came in to view. A sweet, strangely familiar smile. His own small, gently rounded nose...
The girl staring back at him was Lucy. His own daughter. Bill’s stomach twisted as he realised what he was doing. Something in him screamed to stop - this was wrong, looking his daughter in the eyes as he worked out his seed was wrong. But something else, something deeper within him said: no - with this image she is available - the feelings her body are giving you are too real, too strong - it is... too late.
In that instant, in the time it took for his neurons to register disgust mixed with lust, Bill came, a thick rope of spunk shooting up, then dropping over his clenched fist and smearing his chair.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and worked out the rest of his cum as he studied his daughter’s perfect form. She looked so like her mother it unnerved Bill. Dressed, he’d trained himself to ignore that fact, but in her nakedness, the similarity was unbearable - Lucy’s likeness to the woman who’s divine body and sexual power had cast a shadow over his entire adult life lit something inside him. Her gentle smile, her confident pose, the firm, slender body that invited you closer - no, impelled you to explore it. These were all things that had trapped him once, and here they were, drawing him in once again.
Bill had sat in shock for a moment or two. Once his passion was spent and the last shivers of his intense orgasm had subsided, he’d not been able to bare to looking at the image. His sense of betrayal, the idea that he’s let his daughter down, was tempered with an awareness that he so desperately wanted to look again. Shame had filled his soul as he’d fought to erase from his tongue the fantasy of Lucy’s delicate nipples, the firm buds playing between his lips as - No! Stop!
Instead, Bill’s attention had been drawn to the mark on her hip. A tattoo! She’d done exactly what he told her she couldn’t. Before her birthday she’d made noises about it, about how, once she was 18, she'd be able to get one done. And instead he’d asked her, then told her that she couldn’t. That she’d one day regret it. And she’d disobeyed his order anyway.
So there, in the grip of anger rushing to push out other more dangerous emotions, Bill had grabbed his laptop and he’d gone to challenge her.
_ _ _
And so it was now Bill sat alone in his room, the shame engulfing him. Far from making him feel better, he’d made the whole thing much, much
How could he face her now? She’d know. She’d know what he’d done!
And what’s more, the flat image on the screen was supplanted in his memory by what he’d seen. His daughter. A naked goddess. A heavenly image from his youth made flesh.
Her mother’s body returned to haunt him. To ruin him once again?
Slowly, with no defenses left to counter himself, Bill raised the laptop’s screen once more...
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