I was bored with the book I was reading and decided to take a look out of my hotel room's one and only window. This wasn't one of Victoria's "view" hotels and, admittedly, not one of its better neighborhoods. The only view I got was of the low-key drug dealing and hustling taking place in front of the convenience store across the street.
I heard some fumbling with the outside door before it opened and my daughter, Brenda, came breezing in. Brenda never just "walks in" anywhere; years of modeling and acting work have turned her into a girl who "makes an entrance" everywhere she goes. She absently ran some fingers through her dark black hair and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
"I'm back!" she announced.
"How was the photo shoot."
"Great. They painted me! I want you to get a picture of it. I hope the shirt hasn't screwed it up too much. Thanks for bringing me."
"You know I'll take you anywhere, anytime," I told her as she vanished into the bathroom.
"Still," she called out around the corner, "it must get to be pretty old by now, doesn't it?"
"Never," I replied even though it was partially true. Brenda had been going to auditions, tryouts and cattle-calls since she was four years old. In those days, her mother and I would have walked through fire to make sure she got to her assignments. Now that Brenda was seventeen, these calls had taken on a more routine flavor ... just another errand. Anne and I were both proud of her, of course, but Anne asked if I could make the drive up by myself this time. Besides, Brenda needed a guardian. There was no way she was going to be allowed across the border by herself.
She walked out of the bathroom, naked from the waist up. Across her breasts was a very impressive painting of a feathered dragon, done mostly in oranges and reds.
"Isn't it neat?" she beamed, handing me her camera. "Take some pictures before I wash it off."
We tried turning on every light in the hotel, but it was still pretty dim, and the artificial light was giving her skin a greenish cast. She looked at the photos and frowned.
"I don't suppose you want to stand by the window," I told her.
"There's drunks and druggies out there."
"Fuck 'em. I guess they get a free show." She stood in the light of the window while I snapped five or six pictures. There was no whistling or cat-calling from the group outside. They probably didn't even notice.
"How did they get you to do nudes, anyway?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, even in Canada, I think you have to be eighteen."
"Naah, it's art. Besides, I fudged my birthday a little on the release. Who cares? It's not going on the cover of Vogue or anything."
Brenda continued to turn and pose. Looking back on it, it always seemed inevitable that she would go into modeling. On top of her natural beauty, Bren was always something of an exhibitionist. Getting her to wear clothes at all during the summer months was often a struggle. When she first found out about nude beaches, she begged Anne and me to take her to one until we finally did. We gave her the usual parental admonitions not to keep these vacations private.
As I took the pictures, I was paying less attention to the dragon and more attention to her body. She had certainly developed, a lot, in the last year or so. She was very high-breasted, like her mother. But, where Anne's breasts were almost perfectly rounded globes, Brenda's had a decidedly conical form to them; high and firm in that fleeting youthful perfection before gravity and children would start to change them forever.
Her nipples were incredibly ...
Stop that. This is your daughter. Think about something else.
"I'm going to shower this off," Brenda announced, stepping out of her pants. "Can we get something to eat later?"
"Restaurant downstairs is open all night," I replied. "And there's always room service."
"Good. I feel like I have to practically starve myself for these things. Won't take a minute." She bounded into the bathroom again, and my last look at her was of those lovely long legs, leading up to the perfect cleft of her buttocks.
Stop!! Stop this. It's not healthy.
I tried to read again, but I found myself re-reading the same paragraph. Anne and I love to fuck standing up in the shower. Picturing Brenda's naked body under that cascade of water, the soap running down, to ...
Jesus!! What's the matter with you? You are her FATHER!
It felt like an hour, but it was only a few short minutes before she came bounding out of the bathroom, wrapped in one of the very plush terry robes the hotel furnished. Instead of dressing right away, she flopped herself down on one of the two slender beds and started gazing intently at her fingernails.
"I'm ... slightly drunk," she announced.
"Yep. Before the shoot, they thought a glass of wine would relax me. I thought four or five glasses would be even more relaxing. And here I am. I've got a pretty good buzz on."
"Put something on, and we'll go downstairs and feed you."
"I really don't feel like it."
"I thought you were hungry."
"I don't know. It's hard to tell. Maybe I'm horny."
"Well, it's a pity Patrick isn't here," I said. "I could take a long walk and you could solve your problem." Patrick was her boyfriend ... her "fiance" if you asked her, although Anne and I didn't take that declaration very seriously.
"Yeah, well, he isn't."
"Can't help you there."
"Mom isn't here, either."
"Does that bother you? She would have come, you know."
"Nahh ... it's all right." She hummed and looked at her fingernails some more. "Would it freak you out if you knew something ... intimate ... about your kid?"
"Is something bothering you?"
"Nothing's bothering me. It's just personal. And I would prefer you didn't tell mom." Brenda's voice was getting more slurred and indistinct. I imagined the wine was really starting to catch up with her.
"I won't tell. Go ahead."
"I'm definitely a sub."
"Good for you."
"A submissive," she added.
"I know what a 'sub' is," I told her.
"Yeah. Well ... I am one." She rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. The robe fell open enough to expose one breast and she either didn't notice or made no move to cover it.
"I mean ..." she continued. "I really am a submissive. I'll bet, if someone told me right now to do something, I'd do it."
"You know what. You are dancing around on very thin ice."
"I mean it. I'm a sub. If you told me to do something, I'd do it."
"This isn't funny," I told her.
"It isn't meant to be."
"You're drunk. You're on dangerous ground."
"I was just saying..."
"Here is your first order: shut up."
"Yes, Daddy. Whatever you say." She didn't look at me, but she let her robe fall all the way off her shoulders. She started to pinch and pull at her fantastic nipples.
Oh, Jesus. Oh, God.
"Your second command," I said, my voice thick, "is to start playing with your pussy."
"Yes, Daddy." One hand trailed down to the dark triangle of hair between her legs. She parted her thighs to give me a better view. Her eyes were still firmly aimed at the floor, but she started rubbing herself in earnest.
"Can you see good, Daddy? Can you see my clit?"
"No," I said, sweat dotting my forehead. "Get over here and show me."
She stood up, her robe completely falling off of her now, and crossed over to me as I sat in the armchair. She kneeled on first one, then the other chair of the arm until she was straddling me, her pussy inches from my face. She parted the folds of her labia until her pink little bud winked out at me. "Can you see it now, Daddy?"
"Yes, I can see it fine."
"Am I rubbing it good, Daddy?"
"Yes, you're doing a real good job." I was starting to stammer. My breath was coming in ragged gasps. I felt like some Jekyll-and-Hyde character. One side of me was hoping she would masturbate, pass out, and wake up embarrassed and more than ready to forget the whole thing. Another side of me was actively thinking about throwing her on the bed and fucking her senseless.
"I think I might come, Daddy," she panted.
"I'm not surprised."
"If you pinch my titties, I'll come faster."
"Pinch them yourself, you little whore. You're acting like a real slut, you know that?"
"You're being very bad."
"Pinch them. Let's see you come."
She obediently reached up with her free hand and started to pinch and pull at one breast. Her other hand was a blur over her crotch. She kept making little mewling and yelping noises until, with a loud "YESSSS!!" she doubled over in orgasm, losing her balance on the chair and ending up on the floor. Infoluntary convulsions shook her body.
"Oh, Daddy," she purred. "Oh, that was so good."
OK, I thought. You can leave this. Just pick her up, put her in her bed, and walk away. It's over.
Instead, I stood up and pulled off my pants. My erection tented out in my shorts. I roughly reached down and pulled my cock free of the restraining fabric until my uncut hardon was in full view of Brenda's astonished eyes.
"Get on your your knees and suck this, you little tramp," I growled.
And I knew there was no turning back.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/incest/one-night-in-canada.aspx">One Night in Canada</a>