Rita and I had two children together. Jack is now married with a son. He lives a couple of hundred miles away and we would only get to see him occasionally. Our second child was Ella. She still lived in the same city, worked at our local hospital and had moved out to live with her boyfriend, Jack.

When I was fifty-five, Rita died from cancer. It had been coming for a few years, so we’d grieved before we lost her and survived as most folks do. With the money from her life insurance and death-in-service benefits from her employer, I was okay financially. Our mortgage was already paid off, so it was just day-to-day bills. I carried on working for a few years, then went part-time before finishing at sixty. As long as I wasn't wasteful, I could live a reasonable life with what money I had. A couple of years after Rita died, I had tried dating a few times, but it was too much hard work to get back into that kind of thing. Meeting someone, getting to know them, all of the drama that went along with that. I found it better to stay at home with my hand and some porn for company.

It was about this time that Ella and Jack's relationship began to crack. She came to visit more often, either crying or spitting flames. Jack had slept with a woman he worked with. Ella forgave him, but he just did it again. And again. Finally, Ella listened to my advice and came home to her childhood bedroom. The first six months were hard. Her emotions were all over the place. Some days we were good; other days she sank into a deep depression and I worried for her. Slowly, Ella got over Jack’s infidelity until she came to me one day, holding out her tablet to say.

“I’ve joined a dating website and got two matches.” She spun the screen around so I could see. “This is Andy; he works in personal protection and is ex-special forces. This other one is Steve; he's a firefighter.”

I looked at the photos. Chiselled jaws, blue eyes, a day's growth of beard. Too good to be true. The photos have an AI filter quality. Probably one of them is a bricklayer, and the other a plasterer. Nothing wrong with those trades but plenty wrong with lying. Before I could say anything, Ella said,

“I’m meeting Andy on Thursday and Steve on Friday.”

“Two-timing already?” I said, with a laugh.

“No! I’ve been chatting with them online and have been completely honest. I’ve told them I’m fresh from a break-up and looking for friendship initially.”

I didn't think Andy and Steve wanted friendship “initially” but didn't want to stick a pin in Ella's excitement. 

“Can I see your profile pic?”

She tapped the screen and her profile appeared. Ella had been honest. The photo was recent, from Ryan's last visit. A head-and-shoulders shot of her as she sat in our garden, a bright, natural smile on her face. No filters, no Photoshop. She looked beautiful, and I hoped with all my heart that one of Steve or Andy would turn out to be honest.

But I doubted they would, and I was right.

Thursday, she was back home from the date at eleven. I asked how it had gone. Ella shrugged a noncommittal reply and headed upstairs for bed. She left for work early, and I only saw her briefly on Friday evening as she got ready for the date with Steve. She put in extra effort, and I waved her off with hope in my heart

She was back by half-nine. I had just sat down with a mug of coffee as the front door opened and then closed with a bang. She appeared in the living room doorway, took a look around, and then said.

“I hate men.”

“That bad?”

“Last night Andy just wanted sex. Tonight all Steve talked about was his ex-wife and how much he hated her. Not a word about me. Not even a speck of interest. I’m not that ugly, am I?”

“No,” I said. “You're beautiful.”

Ella stared at me. “You’re just saying that because you're my dad.”

I shook my head. Ella is 5’ 9”, brunette, with 36B breasts and a sweep to her hips and waist. The dress she was wearing clung to her body, emphasising everything good about her, from her long, slender legs to her dark brown eyes.

“I still hate men,” she said, but with less force, and turned away from me.

I didn't see much of Ella throughout Saturday. She stayed in her room most of the time. By early evening, I was settled in to watch a game show on TV when she came into the room. I was sitting in my favourite place, at one end of the sofa. Ella dumped herself at the other end, swung around, and lay down, her feet landing in my lap.

We watched the show, answered a few questions, and during that time I began to subconsciously massage her feet. When I glanced at Ella, her eyes had closed, and her face looked at peace. I couldn't help but look at her body as she lay there. Breasts formed delicious mounds within a light blue T-shirt. On her lower half, Ella wore dark yoga pants, the material clinging to her legs like a second skin. I tore my eyes from her mound, perfectly profiled by the Lycra, embarrassed that I had even looked there. Even though she's a woman, she's still my daughter. For a couple of minutes, I stopped and tried to concentrate on the television. But then my hands moved again to resume the massage, out of a need for connection with my daughter.

The skin of her feet is smooth, cool to my touch as my fingertips press into flesh and muscle. I worked up from her heel, testing the arch of her foot until I reached delicate toes with perfect, painted nails.

That's when I realised I was getting hard.

Her left foot was a fraction away from my erection. I didn't know what to do. If I made an excuse to leave the room, Ella would see my hard-on tenting out my jogging bottoms. Another glance showed her eyes were still closed. I shifted to try and get my hard-on away from her foot, but all that did was make Ella wriggle into a more comfortable position and bring her foot into contact with my shaft.

She didn't react. I hoped she wouldn't. I carried on massaging, working my thumb up the sole of her foot, circling to cover all her muscles.

Ella said, “Dad, what's that?”

“What's what?” I tried a bit of ignorance.

“That,” she said in a firmer voice.

Her foot moved, lifting slightly before pressing down gently along the length of my cock from heel to toes. I froze in place, hardly daring to breathe. Ella said nothing, but what she did made my heart jump. With light pressure, she slid her foot up my shaft, and as the head of my cock slipped beneath her toes, she drew the foot down until her heel rested on my balls.

My mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak. A glance showed her looking at me, face impassive. Her foot continued to move. Now she was massaging my cock, and I flinched as her toes curled around the bulbous tip to squeeze it. I put my hand on her leg, grasping it to hold her in place and stop this torment. I had no idea why she was doing this, only that my balls were aching for the first time in years.

And then she moved, withdrawing her foot and tucking her legs under her as she sat up close to me. Our eyes met. I didn’t want to say a word and break whatever mood we were in. Ella’s lips parted as she reached out, and this time it was her hand that rested on my cock.

“Ella.” My voice broke the silence.

“Dad.” She held my cock through my jogging bottoms, moving slowly to test both length and girth.

I put my hand on her knee. Looked at her. She breathed out a sigh that answered my unspoken question. My hand slipped onto her thigh, drifting further on smooth Lycra. Paused when it reached close to the top.

Ella’s left hand went around my neck, drawing me close. Soft as a summer dawn, she said,

“Yes.”

I cupped my hand to her sex. Even through the yoga pants, I could feel her heat pulsing to the beat of her heart. Her hand moved on my cock, faster now as I squeezed her mound and then worked my fingers into the shape of her body. Hot breath scorched my face as she leaned into me. I turned my head, and our lips brushed together, making my heart leap. Ella’s hand loosened its grasp on my cock and worked its way into the waistband of my joggers and briefs. Cool fingers found my hard-on. She worked my foreskin back, and I hissed in shock as she layered pre-cum down my shaft. My fingers tried the same on the waistband of her yoga pants, but the Lycra was so tight I couldn’t get much past the knuckles. Even then, her body was so soft and wet it felt like she was melting.

“Shit.” Ella pushed back from me, and for a moment I thought that was it. That she’d come to her senses and realised what she was doing with her dad.

And then I saw her hook her thumbs into her leggings and push them down along with dark blue thong panties. She kicked them off. I stared at her sex, a neat cover of hair cut to the shape of her panties, and a spilling labia, wet with desire.

“Dad?”

I knew what she wanted. My jogging bottoms and briefs went down, pushed off along with my socks. I thought for a brief moment and then took off my t-shirt. If this went as far as I was expecting, then my cum would only stain it. I sat back, naked, hard. Waiting for Ella to move.

She smiled. Put her hand on my chest and then ran it down onto my cock. Ella began to jerk me off as I reached for her. The heel of my hand ground into her clit as I opened her, sliding two fingers into her tight tunnel. Her arm went around my neck again, holding onto me for support as she pumped my cock. I fucked her pussy with two fingers, the angle tight, wishing Ella would lie back and spread her legs even as I wanted her to keep pumping my cock.

“Dad. Please.”

My fingers popped out of her pussy with a slurp. I brought a coating of her cream up to her clit and bathed it, my finger dancing lightly across the swollen button. Ella sucked in a lungful of air, her grasp on my cock tightening, her hand moving fast to match my touch. I was going to cum, and wanted her to orgasm at the same moment.

It didn’t work out that way. My body betrayed me, sweet fire bursting from my cock. Cum threaded the air, splashing back onto her hand, spattering onto my thighs. Cum coated fingers slid over my still-hard flesh and made the agony even better.

I’d lost my rhythm on her clit, but now found it again. Her hand left trails of cum in my hair and on my back as she clung to me. I pulled her T-shirt up, trying to expose a breast. Ella helped me even as she began to gasp that she was cumming. I dragged down a bra cup and twisted a fat nipple between my fingers.

“Oh, oh, unnhhh…”

Ella clawed at me. Nails dug into flesh and her teeth caught at my collarbone. I took my hand off her sex and held her close, listening to her heartbeat, as a voice in my head told me how bad this was. How so, so bad this was. I closed my eyes, told the voice to be quiet.

“Ella?”

“Yes?”

“We’re kind of messy.”

“Hmm.”

I sat back.  God, she looked so beautiful. Hair tangled, face flushed, one breast exposed, and naked from the waist down. As I looked at her, she looked at me, reaching out to scrape a nail down my softening cock. I shivered as she smiled.

“Do you want to clean up?” Ella asked.

“Best to,” I said.

“And then talk?”

“Yeah.” I suddenly found myself avoiding her eyes. That voice was back, and with it more guilt than I could take.

I grabbed my clothes and got out of the room before she could say another word, then stumbled upstairs and shut myself in my bedroom. I hoped the shower would wash away the guilt, but if anything, it got worse. I was glad the wall mirror steamed up, so I didn't have to look at my reflection. I dried and dressed, then headed back downstairs to the kitchen, where I put the kettle on. This kind of situation called for a cup of tea. I could hear Ella moving around upstairs and eventually the creak of floorboards as she came down. I had two mugs of tea ready and was sitting at the dining table when she came in wearing a white bathrobe tied at the waist. From the way it moved, I knew she wore nothing underneath. My heart rate ticked up a notch, and I looked down at my drink.

Ella sat, and we sipped the hot drinks, me avoiding eye contact and Ella biting her bottom lip. The silence stretched out so long I thought we’d never speak to each other again until Ella said, “I’d forgotten how turned on I get when I have my feet massaged.”

That surprised me. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Do you remember when I was sixteen, during my GCSE exams, I asked you to massage my feet every night? You thought you were just de-stressing me, but I just knew it made me feel all warm and gooey."

“I'd forgotten about that," I said, searching my memories.

"It was the same during my A Levels," Ella added. "It was only when I was at uni and got intimate with a boyfriend that I realised that warm and gooey feeling was me getting aroused.”

I drank more tea, thinking back to those late teenage years. It made sense now she explained it.

“And you?” Ella asked. “Did you used to get turned on like tonight?”

“No.” I shook my head. “This was a first. Back then I thought I was taking your mind off the exams.”

"So why now?"

And that is the million-pound question. Why now?

All I can do is shrug. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been physically close to a woman, and when I looked at you lying there, that’s what I saw. A beautiful young woman.”

“I’m thirty,” Ella said. “That’s not so young.”

“It is from where I am.”

We shared a laugh at that.

Ella said. “When you started massaging my feet, I knew what was going to happen. I should have stopped you, moved away, but I couldn’t. I needed that touch. I needed it so bad.”

My cock was getting hard again. Surprising me because I thought I was past all that. Ella’s robe had shifted a little, and I saw the curve of her breasts. I had a moment to think about what would happen if anyone found out about this, and a moment later I didn’t care. I stood and moved around the table. I knelt before her and took one foot in my hands. Ella put her hand on my head, stroking my thinning hair. The robe parted at her waist, and I could see her pussy again, the lips already spread in arousal. Ella released the belt of her robe and slipped it from her shoulders. Her breasts were perfect, dusky pink nipples hard.

My hands moved on from her feet, along smooth calves to firm thighs. Her legs parted, letting me stroke my way to her wet sex. I spread her labia with one hand, teased her clit with the other, and leant close to lick and suck at a nipple.

“Dad, we have to,” Ella whispered the words as my tongue drifted across smooth flesh to her other breast.

I could barely stand. Pulling Ella up, I turned her to face the table. The mugs went to one side as Ella bent over. Her arse was a perfect curve, her legs spread wide in readiness. I had one thought, trying to stop me, and then my cock was probing between her thighs, pressing into the hot flesh of her sex. Ella’s hand found me, guided me. Her body sucked me in, a hot, wet glove that almost broke me. I grabbed her hips and clung to her, legs shaking as I sank deeper until my body pressed onto her. I didn’t move, buried to the hilt; I didn’t want this to end.

Then Ella rocked forward and back, taking me. Her movement tripped a wire in my head. I made a sound that could have been a word but was more like a roar, and then I was fucking her, driving Ella against the table where the edge ground into her clit and made her scream.

I exploded into Ella. White light blinding me. Pumping cum into my daughter as she pushed back and took as much of me as she could. I was drained, exhausted, collapsing forward onto her. The table scraped across the floor, and we almost fell together as my cock popped out of her. I let go of Ella, not wanting to bring her down with me, and managed to do a controlled drop to the floor.

“Oh, god.” Ella sounded shocked when she turned to look at me. “I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance.”

“Try explaining that one to the A&E doctor,” I said from the cold tiles. “My Dad broke his hip when the dining table slipped as we were having sex on it.”

“God, don’t joke.” Ella knelt next to...