My Daughter is a Fart Queen Pt. 11

I woke up in Jess's bedroom. I hadn't seen it in daylight before, and it took a few seconds for me to remember where I was, what happened last night, and who I was with.

The other side of the bed was empty, which was a little unsettling.

I blinked, rubbing my eyes.

I heard a toilet flush and a door open. Jessica must've been in the bathroom. "Hey, Rob," she said, presumably feeling refreshed. "Good morning!"

I sat up on one elbow, stifling a yawn. "Hey Jess," I said.

"You want a cuppa?"

I stretched. "Yeah. Coffee'd be great."

"How do you take it?"

"Milk, no sugar."

"Stay here," Jess smiled. "No need to get up."

I lay back down. I reached for my phone. No calls, no messages, no nothing. No power. The screen was dead; it had run out of charge overnight. I couldn't remember that ever happening before. I'm usually quite fastidious with my phone. I didn't have my charger with me, obviously, and I wasn't familiar enough with my host to ask her whether she played for Team Apple or the Samsung Squad.

It's funny, hey. Even though Jess and I had sex last night, I can't bring myself to ask her what type of phone she's got. I should've remembered her digital allegiance from yesterday when I fixed up my number in her contacts.

If Belly had tried to get in touch with me, either last night or this morning, she wouldn't have been able to.

Jess brought two mugs of steaming coffee back to the bedroom. I propped myself up with a couple of pillows. She rested her cup on her bedside table before climbing back under the covers.

I wasn't sure what to say. Maybe she wasn't either. "Thanks," I offered.

I can't remember the last time I woke up in someone else's bed, and I started wondering how often Jessica ... umm ... entertained.

"No worries," she said.

I took a sip. Instant, but I'm not complaining.

We talked for a few moments, but I can't remember what we talked about. Her leg brushed against mine under the blanket.

I wouldn't say I felt awkward, but I didn't want to stay too long either. Maybe Jess had stuff to do today.

"I should get going after this," I said.

"Really?" She seemed surprised, almost crestfallen.

"Yeah." I held up my phone. "Ran out of charge overnight, and I'm expecting an important call."

I wasn't expecting any such thing, but a part of me needed to know Belly was OK.

"You can use my charger if you want, Rob. Have you got an iPhone?"

"Nup. Galaxy."

"Bugger."

We sipped our coffees.

"What time is it?" I asked, suddenly realising just how lost I was without my phone. Fred Flintstone had the right idea: a wristwatch sundial.

"About half past nine." Jess waited a beat. "Why? You running late for church or something?" she teased.

I played a straight bat. "Not religious."

"Good to hear, Rob. They reckon sodomy is a sin, so..."

I coughed a little at her words. It felt like she was flirting with me, waiting for a witty response, but despite last night's anal adventures, I didn't feel familiar enough with her yet. Besides, I'm never at my best first thing in the morning. "How are you feeling?"

I'm glad she knew what I meant by that. "Bit tender, to be honest. But I liked it."

I finished my coffee.

"Am I gonna see you again, Rob?"

There were a lot of things on my mind right now, but the last thing I wanted to say was no. "We live four or five blocks away, we've got the same local pub, the same local shops ... I'm sure we're gonna see each other again."

"Not what I meant," Jess muttered.

I left my empty cup on the bedside table. "We've got each other's numbers, too."

"So give me a call sometime?"

"Absolutely," I smiled. I threw the covers back and got dressed in last night's clothes. "Had a great time, Jess. I'll give you a ring in a couple of days."

We're standing at her door. She wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss. She's naked, I'm dressed. She presses her tits into me ... her tongue in my mouth, tasting like warm milky coffee ...

I need to go. I reach around, fumbling, craning my wrist in all directions, eventually finding the door handle. I prise it open.

"I'll be in touch," I say, waving my dead phone.

As I closed her front door behind me, I trudged home, wondering why I'd cooked up yet another set of excuses. Jess had clearly rolled out the welcome mat for me. She wasn't shooing me out the door, and she gave no indication of a busy day ahead. We seemed to have a few things in common.

Am I self-sabotaging?

We could've had breakfast together, followed by a lazy day in the sack. But she felt a little clingy this morning, and maybe that's what put me off.

Am I being too picky, too sensitive? Am I reacting to things I'm imagining?

But she's cute, there's no denying that. Belly's right: I've got a type, and Jess is it.

I stopped at a street crossing, watching traffic as I waited for 'don't walk' to turn to 'walk'. I could've turned around and headed back to Jess's building. But what would I say? As if I wasn't indecisive enough last night.

I opened my apartment door quietly, just in case Belly was sleeping off a big night. No signs of life. The spare bedroom door was wide open; she wasn't there. I headed to the kitchen, feeling thirsty. As I sculled a glass of water, I saw a note on the bench.

'Hey Dad, I came back but you weren't here. Called but got yr voicemail. Hope you're OK. Love Belly'

The dots above the 'i's in 'voicemail' were little red love-hearts.

I plugged my phone into the wall. My tummy rumbled. I made myself a couple of pieces of toast, munching as I waited for my device to reach minimum charge.

I dialled my voicemail. Thirty messages. Fuck. I never clear this shit out. Delete, delete, delete.

The last message in the sequence was from Belly.

'Hey Dad just checkin' in to see how you're goin', no need to call me back ...'

Beep.

I stared at the wall, wondering why I'd wasted so much nervous energy over nothing.

I needed to clear my head. I went out for a run.

*

When I came back, sweaty from exercise, my plan was to jump straight in the shower. I'd zoned out so much while running that I completely forgot about Belly moving in. It was a surprise to find my daughter lying on the couch, a bottle of Sprite by her side as she watched a football match on TV. "Hey Dad!" she beamed.

"Uhh ... hey, Belly. Good to see you." I felt a little flustered. I'm sure my face was red.

"Been for a run?"

"Shit, what gave it away?" I paused for a second, unlacing my jogging shoes. "Gonna hit the shower."

"Cool," replied my daughter.

I stood under the warm water, running my hands through my hair as I tried to think.

Nothing made sense.

I washed myself, turned off the water, and prayed Belly wasn't still lounging on the couch when I got out.

My prayers weren't answered. Serves me right for not going to church.

"What'd you get up to last night, Dad?" asked my daughter. Her Sprite was empty.

"Not much. After you left to go wherever the hell you went, I went to the pub. I didn't want to mope around here all night. I took my book and had a couple of pints."

I glanced at the footy game on TV. Essendon versus Richmond.

"You still readin' 'War and Peace'?" Belly inquired. She sat up and padded the other half of the couch with the palm of her hand, inviting me to join her.

"Yeah. Almost finished."

"What's happenin' in it?"

"Dunno, really. It's such a long and confusing book, I swear it'd make more sense if I read the Wikipedia summary."

Belly looked exasperated. "So why ... fuck, Dad ... why the fuck are you readin' it if you're not enjoyin' it?"

I tilted my head to one side, thinking. "Partly so I can say I've read it. The endurance factor, perhaps. Climbing the Everest of literature."

Belly sighed. "Just because it's got a thousand pages in it doesn't make it good, Dad. People who've read 'Atlas Shrugged' think they're fuckin' intellectuals, yet it's the stupidest fuckin' book ever written. There are so many other good books you could be readin' instead while you're wastin' your fuckin' time with Tolstoy. Life is short, an' I can recommend at least ten other books just off the top of my fuckin' head that you'd ..."

"Got me a root, though," I interrupted.

My daughter's eyes widened. "What?"

"I wasn't expecting to meet anyone last night. All I wanted to do was get out of the house for a bit, and I thought I might as well take the book with me. Turns out it was a conversation starter."

"Wait, Dad ... you scored last night?"

"Yeah," I said, suddenly regretting even bringing this up.

"Tell me!" Belly yelled. "What was she like? No, wait, let me guess ... if she's into Tolstoy, I'm imaginin' someone who works at the council library ... a quiet redhaired bookworm who was sittin' in the corner sippin' a gin an' tonic, wearin' a light, flowery blouse that hints at her deep, seductive cleavage ..."

"You're not gonna believe this, Belly. It was the woman from the beach."

"Bullshit, Dad."

I nodded.

"No fuckin' way. The hot jogger you gave a dodgy number to? An' she's into Tolstoy?"

I cleared my throat. "I don't know about that. Probably not. Like I said, she noticed what I was reading, and it ... started a conversation."

Belly ran her fingers through her hair. "Maybe she thought you were the Renaissance, Dad."

I smirked. "Maybe she did."

"OK, so that's why you weren't here this mornin' when I came back?" She scratched her chin.

"Guess so."

'So you were readin´ 'War and Peace´ to her in bed?" Belly waited a beat. "Fuck, Dad, wait until you discover Dostoyevsky. You can show her a little bit of crime an' punishment ..."

"Fuck off," I scowled.

Belly leaned towards me, grinning. "So, what happened?"

I filled her in on the basic details.

"Did you fuck her in the arse, Dad?"

Only my daughter would go there. "She wanted it." Hey, it was the truth.

"Oh my fucking god, Dad. How long for?"

"About half an hour, I reckon."

Belly gasped. "Sweet jesus."

"And then I came in her mouth."

"Fucking hell, Dad." Belly paused for a second. "Did you sleep at her place?"

"Eventually. She's about five blocks away from here, so at first, I said I needed to go ..."

"Eats, shoots and leaves," Belly deadpanned. "Typical bloke."

"Well, wait, hang on a sec, I wasn't sure what the protocol was, I mean, I haven't ..."

"The protocol?" laughed my daughter. "It's not a diplomatic engagement, you know. Were there photographs following dessert?"

"Shut up, smartarse. What I meant is, I haven't been in that kind of ... umm ... situation since ... since ..."

"Since you banged Mum?"

I frowned. "I didn't know whether this was gonna be a one-night stand, Belly, or if ..."

"But she's your type, right?"

"Yeah."

"And she's into anal, right?"

"She farted on my face, Belly, while I was eating her arse, and I swear, it was ..."

"Fuck me dead," breathed my daughter. "That's so fuckin' hot." I noticed her hand brush her thigh.

"... it was completely accidental," I continued, "and it seemed like she was thoroughly embarrassed about the whole thing, but that's ... that's what made it so fucking good."

"She didn't mean it?" checked my daughter. "She didn't mean to fart in your mouth?"

"I don't think so."

Belly's face seemed a little flushed.

We sat there for a moment, me suddenly wondering whether I'd shared too much. I tried to shift the focus of the conversation. "Anyway, what did *you* get up to last night? You looked so cute when you left ..."

"Awwww, thanks, Dad, that's such a nice thing to say." She waited a beat. "Wait. *How* cute?" she tested.

I wasn't sure what to say. "Well, I ..."

"How cute was I, Dad?"

I gulped.

"Actually, wait a sec. 'Cute' doesn't work for me," she stated. "Let's work with 'fuckable' instead. On a scale of one to the hottest pornstar you've ever gooned to, how fuckable was I?"

I swear my brain froze.

"Did you like the boots I was wearin'?"

My mouth went dry. "Well, yeah. I don't think I've ever seen you wear those ones before, and ..."

"I bought them with my Onlyfans allowance, Dad. I've been such a good girl lately."

Fuck, that's hot. My cock stiffened.

"And did you like my t-shirt?"

"Yeah, Belly, I mean ... you know ... of course I did."

"What did you like about it, Dad?"

"How ... how tight it was. How it showed your sexy tits off."

She shoved them in my face. "Did it make you wanna suck on' em?"

I remembered how her nipples poked through the cotton. I wanted to do so much more than just suck on them.

"What about my skirt?"

I remembered how short it was -- it was barely even a belt. If she wasn't wearing undies, passers-by would see ... well, they'd see just about everything.

"Did you like the skirt I was wearin', Daddy?" she pressed.

"Yeah."

She seemed a little flustered. "What did it make you wanna do?"

I gulped. "It made me want to eat your cunt."

"Fuck," she whispered, suppressing a deep, primitive moan. "Say that again, Daddy."

"I wanted to eat your cunt. Your sweet, beautiful, juicy, nineteen-year-old cunt."

My daughter's breath caught in her throat. "I'm so fuckin' wet for you, Dad."

I kneeled on the floor in front of her. I gently pushed her knees apart; there was no resistance.

She was dripping. She smelt like desire.

The footy game played on as I made her eyes roll back in her head. She moaned and squealed. I felt her hands running through my hair, gripping me, clutching my skull as her thighs twitched.

"I can't believe you fucked her in the arse, Dad."

"Yeah."

"The woman from the beach. Like, you don't even know her, an' ..."

"She wanted it." I took my face away from my daughter's cunt. "She lowered herself on me, and I thought she was tight, but that was only until ... until I realised ..."

The penny dropped. "Holy fuck, Dad, I'm gonna ... nnnnnnnnngggggghhhhhhhh ..."

Belly flooded my face. I pulled her closer to the edge of the couch, grabbed her ankles and threw her legs into the air. My tongue caressed her butthole. "Fuck yeah, Dad, eat my fuckin' arse."

She spasmed. She tasted so fucking good.

"Rub my tummy," she said, and suddenly I remembered what happened last night when I applied the slightest pressure to Jessica's abdomen. I pressed down lightly. "Ohhhhhh, fuck yeah. Just like that, Dad."

I looked up at her face. A wince, a scowl, a look of concentration ... eyes closed, pushing, forcing ...

I tongued her sphincter.

Her spine twisted, as if trying to expel something.

"Uhhh," she gasped as she farted on my face. "Fuuuuuuucccccccccckkkkkkkkk."

I licked her delicate hole, feeling it twitching under the tip of my insistent tongue.

She grabbed my hair, pulling me upward, over her. "I want you so fuckin' bad right now, Dad."

As I entered my daughter's arsehole, her head butted up against the wall above the couch. "Sorry about that," I apologised.

She rubbed the back of her head, pouting, pretending to frown.

She guided me into her arse and we were into it. I'd had so much anal sex lately I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to fuck a pussy. Right now, I didn't care.

"Fuck me, Dad," she gasped. She looked so beautiful, so innocent and yet so unbelievably slutty. I knew I couldn't last. Our eyes locked for a few moments, but suddenly, Belly's closed. I felt a deep thrum run the length of my shaft, and I knew instantly what had happened. She'd farted on my cock.

"Sorry about that," she whispered, looking cute and apologetic, running her fingers through her hair. Her jaw gaped open, and I caught a sweet glimpse of her wet, hungry tongue. "Actually, not sorry at all."

That's so fucking nasty.

I had no hope.

It was as if someone had hardwired my dick to the power grid. My hands gripped the back of the couch as I exploded inside her, my balls twitching uncontrollably, my spine melting, sparks and flames fritzing the base of my brain.

I kissed her deeply as my dick deflated. I felt her hands on my jaw, then the back of my head. I fell out, dribbling semen and her arse juice all over the floor.

We sat side by side on the couch, catching our desperate breath. The footy game was still in progress. My wet cock stuck to my thigh.

"You farted on my dick," I mumbled, my mouth parched.

"Yeah," she teased. "Did you like it?"

Did I like it? It made me explode like the fire of a hundred suns.

"I reckon I need another shower," I panted, flicking sweat off my brow.

"I'll go after you're done," smiled my daughter.

*

We're sitting on the couch again. The fabric feels a little damp. "So what *did* you get up to last night, Belly?"

My daughter grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Ooh, wouldn't *you* like to know, Daddy?"

Remembering what she looked like when she left, if she was hunting for cock, she would've scored more than she wanted. "I'm just interested," I said.

"Wait, so this isn't Daddy fretting about his precious daughter?"

It was time to inject a note of seriousness into the conversation. "I'm your dad, so of course I'm gonna worry. But you're here, seemingly safe and sound, so ..."

I let the end of that sentence hang.

"... but there's something a little bit different about our ... relationship ..."

"It's not a relationship, Dad," interrupted Belly. "How many times do I have to ...?"

I felt exasperated. "No, not like that ... I know ... like ... fuck ... can you shut up for a fucking second." I took a breath, trying to think of the right words. "I mean ... I'm your dad, and you're my daughter, and we ... like ... we ..."

Belly grinned, enjoying watching me torture myself.

" ... like, I mean ... you know ... we ..."

"Spit it out, Dad!" she clapped. "Come on, tell me what it is we do?"

"Well ... Belly, we ... we have ... sex ..."

"We fuck, Dad."

I stopped in my tracks.

She leaned forward, and I felt my daughter's hot breath in my face. "We fuck. That's what we do. We fuuuuuuuuuuck, an' you don't need to be so fuckin' coy about it. I suck your cock. You eat my pussy. You fuck my butt. I swallow your cum. That's what we do."

I never thought it was possible to get hard again so quickly, but ...

"I'm insatiable, Dad," Belly whispered, leaning close to me, kissing my cheek. "I know we just cleaned up from last time, but seriously, I'm good to go again." She lifted a cheek, fanning her waft in my direction.

Over the past few months, she's given me a serious fart fetish. I swear I wasn't into this before -- not once did I ever want my wife to fart on my face -- but my daughter's vicious stink presses every single one of my sexual buttons.

And she knows it.

She's gonna kill me, I swear. If not by asphyxiation, then from a sex-related heart attack. I've heard of creative ways for kids to score their parents' inheritances, but ...

"What did you get up to last night?" I asked again.

"Ooh, curious Daddy." She put her thumb between her teeth, grinning, biting daintily.

I waited.

"Nothin', really. Went to a club in town, danced, had a few drinks, kissed a few boys, led 'em on, teased the fuck out of 'em, then came back here and slept."

"Wait, but ... I came back from Jess's place, and ... and you weren't here?"

"Must've missed me by mere seconds, Dad. I slept in the spare room for a few hours."

"But when I came back this morning, you weren't here. I saw your note on the kitchen bench." I recalled the red love-hearts that dotted the 'i's.

"Yeah, that's 'cause I went out for a coffee and a bite to eat. And like I said, I tried to call you, but I got your voicemail."

I'd imagined my daughter in the middle of a pentagram at the centre of a candlelit Satanic hellfire orgy, hot wax dripping on her nipples ... she's naked, surrounded by an army of huge cocks ... Washington's enormous pole is wrecking her face, her cunt, her arse ...

"Don't know 'bout you, Dad, but I don't reckon I slept enough last night. An' I feel a bit worn out after a big week movin' all my shit in here ... plus sex just now ... I reckon I might take a lazy nap."

Looming right before my eyes is a serious and very important question that maps out our future living arrangements. Where does she nap -- in the spare room, or in my bed? It's important, because where she naps this afternoon will be where she'll expect to sleep tonight.

She stretched. "You tired too, Dad? Like, it's been a big fuckin' week, with movin' all my shit, an' ..."

"Yeah, Belly. I feel a bit worn out too."

"Can I ... can I sleep next to you, Dad?"

There was no way I was gonna make her sleep in the spare room, even though I knew, in this moment, I was blurring the lines again. "Of course you can."

We curled up in my bed, my daughter and I, on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I lay on my back, eyes closed, ready to drift off.

"Hey Dad?" Belly whispered.

I felt her fingers running across my chest. "What is it, sweetie?"

"Do you ... umm ... like ... I mean ... fuck, wait, what was her fuckin' name again?"

I wasn't sure I'd mentioned it the first time. "Jessica."

"Jessica," Belly repeated. "Cute name. Reminds me of an actor from a soap opera."

I shouldered arms, letting her first impression pass through to the 'keeper.

"But I ... I can also think of some pornstars called Jessica ..."

Fuck, Belly. Please don't.

"Like, there's Jessica Bangkok. Half-Asian, big fake titties, absolutely loooooooved dick and gave excellent head, and she did this thing where a dude would cum in her mouth and she'd suck him like crazy, like absolutely torturin' him, her cheeks' hollowin' out as she gets every last drop outta him, an' then she'd drool his load into her palm and suck it all back into her mouth. An' then she'd swish it around on her tongue, savourin' the taste, playin' with it, before swallowin' it. Sometimes, when I'm fappin', I imagine what it'd be like to suck dick with her. I mean, I'm nowhere near as good as her, but I'd love to kiss her after she'd made someone bust, snowballin' the bloke's fat load back and forth between us."

Belly, please, please stop. I know who you're describing. I know who you're talking about. I've fapped watching her so many times, imagining it's my load dribbling into her palm, waiting to be sucked back down and swallowed. I reckon I could bust a load watching her chew gum. Her fat lips, her pierced tongue ... I remember dreaming one morning that my dick was in her throat, and I was just about to bust when my alarm clock went off ... I hate Monday mornings so fucking much ...

"And Dad, like, I know your fledgling porn collection isn't what I presume it once was, but she was into the ladies too, so if you're ever in the mood for lesbo with a hot Asian chick who's into snatch as much as she's into dick, check her out. Only thing, Dad, she never did anal. So there's that."

"Thanks for the recommendation, Belly."

"Oh, and then there's Jessica Drake. Blonde, confident, big tits, did all this high-budget stuff, like sex on icebergs or in brightly-lit alleys with cops or whatever. Must've cost the production company a fuckin' fortune. She did a few DPs, but seriously, Dad, she loves cum. I'm thinkin' about your type, Dad, she's got long blonde hair, big tits, brown eyes, hungry mouth ... like, if you've never checked her out, maybe you should."

Yeah, Belly, I know who she is too. I thought we were gonna have a lazy Sunday arvo nap, but ...

"And then there's Jessica Darlin. I'm sure that's not her real name. She did a lot of interracial, Dad, she took lots of big black dicks deep in her arse, and ... like ... she literally begged for cum. I think she was a bit of a skank, but on the other hand, porn was a little bit grittier in her era, so ..."

I'm trying not to bone up, but when you're lying in bed with your daughter and she's talking about god tier pornstars ...

Suddenly, Belly ran out of steam. "I'm tired, Dad," she said, kissing me sweetly on the cheek. "I didn't get enough sleep last night," she said, rolling onto her side.

I heard her breath, crisp and deep and even.

"Scratch my back, please, Daddy?" she pleaded.

My fingernails lightly scraped my daughter's spine. Her pornstar reviews got me so fucking hard. My dick leaked and my balls ached.

Belly moaned the moan that said sleep wasn't too far away.

I was tired too, but I knew I couldn't sleep. Not after that.

I got up, ran to the bathroom (not easy with an erection) and jacked off into the toilet bowl, thinking about pornstars named Jessica.

My heart raced and my balls exploded, cannoning ropes of semen across the cistern. I took a few deep breaths, unravelled some toilet roll, and tidied up.

"Wondered where you'd gone," mumbled my still-awake daughter as I returned to bed. "Time for sleepyeyes now, Dad."

I lay on my back. Sleep hit me like a sledgehammer.

*

We woke around sunset. Or, to be more accurate, Belly woke up, then she woke me up. "Hey Dad?"

My eyes glinted open, catching late rays of sun.

"Do you reckon ... like ... do you reckon you'll see Jessica again, Dad?" I felt my daughter's fingertips tickling my chest.

I wondered why she asked. "Yeah, Belly ... probably ... y'know, I mean, she only lives a few blocks away from us."

Belly squirmed a little under the bedclothes. "Yeah, but that's not ... that isn't really what I meant."

"What *did* you mean?" I probed.

"Like ... I dunno ... umm ... like, do you reckon you'll fuck her again?"

"Don't know." It was the truth. Jessica was hot, and we had great sex, but something about the dynamic when I left this morning felt odd, almost as if she didn't want me to leave. I wondered whether I'd brought that on myself by leaving in the middle of the night as soon as we'd finished, and then came back unexpectedly a few minutes later. That must've felt weird for her. "Don't know," I repeated.

"Because ... like ... you can if you want," she said.

"Thanks for granting me your permission," I joked.

My daughter sat herself up on one elbow. "No, Dad, but ... like, that's fuckin' ... that's not what I meant ... I meant you're not gettin' any fuckin' younger, an' if you've met a fit bitch your own age who's into the same shit you're into, you ... maybe you should see where it leads. And the fact she's into anal is an unexpected bonus, I reckon."

Made enough sense to me. The only thing is, I didn't want to lose my daughter in the process.

Wait. Let me try to rephrase that. I didn't expect to lose Belly from my life, but the closeness we'd built over the past few months has been ...

I don't know if I could find the words to express what I felt in my heart. "Yeah," I whispered, knowing it wasn't even close to enough.

"So, tell me what happened last night?" asked Belly. "Like, how did you do it?"

"Oh, by the way, Belly, she plays hockey. She went to the Olympics, Rio 2016."

"Good for her, but right now who gives a shit. How did you two get it on?"

"Well," I explained, "she took me to her bedroom and then we had sex."

Belly punched my arm. "Fuuuuuck, Dad, you can be so fuckin' infuriating sometimes. No, like, how did it all... like ... unfold?"

I tried to recall. I was a little bit drunk, and so was Jess. "Well, she started to undress me, and I felt nervous for some reason. For a second, I thought about getting up and leaving, saying this is all a big mistake, but suddenly, it was like a switch flipped in my brain and I couldn't get enough of her pussy."

Belly's hand moved under the bedclothes. I knew exactly what she was up to. "What was her pussy like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Shaved? Hairy?"

"Hairy," I answered. "Vintage."

Belly's breath changed shape.

"She grabbed the back of my head and ..."

"Did you make her cum?"

"I lost count ... six times? Or maybe even eight? My face was saturated."

"Fuck," whispered my daughter, "that's marathon."

"And then she sucked my cock, just for a few minutes, making sure I was hard, and then she mounted me, and like I said, I totally expected she'd take me into her cunt ... but ..."

Belly trickled. A wet patch appeared on the outside of the bed sheet.

"And I reckon we fucked for twenty minutes at least, maybe even longer, but for some reason, it felt like I wasn't gonna be able to bust in her arse ... so I hauled her off me and came down her throat."

The wet patch got a little bigger. "I can't ... fuck, Dad, I can't fuckin' take it anymore. Have you got any lube?"

"Yeah." I grabbed a half-empty bottle from my bedside drawer.

"Gimme," she gestured, all hungry fingers. "No time." She squirted a generous dollop into her palm. She smeared it all over her passage, jamming a finger or two inside, before climbing on top of me. "Did she do it like this?"

Belly climbed on top of me, and I felt her expert anus wrap itself around my dick. "Yeah. Just like that."

I watched my daughter's thighs lift her hips up and down on my cock. "Fuck, Dad," she seethed, eyes closed.

There was no way I was gonna last half an hour. Looking at my beautiful daughter impaled on my manhood, her full, sweet titties bouncing up and down, I'll be lucky to last half a minute.

Belly's blonde hair framed her beautiful face. "I love you, Dad," she whispered, and it felt like the universe exploded.

I shot rope after rope of hot white seed waaaaaaaaay deep into her digestive tract. I felt her hands massage my chest and abdomen, tickling my nipples as I flexed and spasmed deep inside her.

"I love you too, Belly," I said, my flagpole still buried deep inside her.

She squatted down, taking my entire length inside her, squeezing, milking every last drop out of me. She lay down quietly beside me, presumably dribbling my hot load all over the bed.

Outside, the sun began to set. "I'm hungry," whined my daughter.

I ordered some pizza while she cleaned herself up. After dinner, we sat on the couch and watched a movie, drinking whisky, completely relaxed, perfectly in love with each other's company. Belly leaned back into me and I wrapped a fatherly arm around her.

The credits rolled. "Dad's got a girlfriend," teased my daughter, a grin a mile wide spreading from cheek to cheek.

"Shut up," I chuckled.

"Dad's got a girlfriend, Dad's got a girlfriend," she sang.

"I don't wanna get ahead of myself," I said.

"When are you gonna ring her? Or are you waitin' for her to call you?"

"I reckon I'll wait three days." I cleared my throat. "That's the standard, right? Too soon and you're needy, too late and you're not interested?"

"Are you interested, Dad?"

I stopped to think. "I ... I think so. I mean, things are never gonna be the same with Paige, and I don't want them to be either. I want your mum to be happy, and I want the three of us to always be close and together, but it's never gonna be how it was before."

"I know, Dad," whispered Belly. "I know."

"Your mum's met someone new, and it's only a matter of time before I do too, and ..."

I stopped in my tracks. I have a type. Blonde hair, brown eyes, big tits ... anal ... farting ... am I attracted to Jess because she reminds me of Belly?

I shut that shit down. Immediatement. I don't want that thought to be in my head. No fucking way.

Have you ever had a thought that you tried to pretend you never thought?

"... well, yeah," I continued, "I'll ... I'll probably give her a call on Tuesday, maybe she and I can get dinner after work or something, so ... let's see how it goes ... maybe you'll have the place to yourself that night ..."

"I could use the time to unpack." Belly held her empty whisky glass out as if to say 'refill'.

I reached for the bottle and poured her some more. "Good idea."

"If this goes well, Dad, like ... between you and her, I mean ... I'm ... I'm lookin' forward to meetin' her."

"One step at a time," I said. "Let's see how it goes."

"An' like ... Dad ... I mean ... you an' I, we can still have sex ... like, I mean, she doesn't ever need to know, and if you ever invite her here to spend the night, I'll sleep in the spare room an' I swear I won't make a peep ..."

I stared at her for a second.

"Well, I'll probably be listenin' to youse both, especially if you fuck her in the arse ... I'll be fuckin' myself with a dildo, wishin' I could watch ..."

"The walls are thin, Belly. Between the two bedrooms, I mean."

My daughter grinned. "Then I'll have to be quiet, won't I? You won't even know." She poked her tongue out at me. "Imagine that, Dad. You're bangin' this bitch in her poopchute and I'm in the next room fuckin' myself listenin' to you two goin' at it, tryin' not to make a sound."

Fuck.

She yawned, stretching her arms and nearly punching me in the face. "Anyway, time for sleep, Dad."

I checked the time on my recharged phone. "Yeah."

"Gonna take a quick shower before I turn in," said Belly, standing up. "You can join me if you like."

How could I resist? We told each other we were saving water, and that what we were doing was good for the environment.

Belly washed my prick and balls so thoroughly she made me cum. She watched my semen spiral down the drain, frowning at the waste. I washed her firm, bouncy tits, licking them clean with my tongue, before kneeling on the hard white tiles. Water cannoned into my face, and with eyes closed, I Brailled my way around her thighs and pubic mound, eventually finding her pussy lips with my fingers and her clit with my tongue. I felt her thighs tremble as she exploded all over my face.

Belly lifted me to my feet, my knees on fire, and washed my face clean. We kissed under the spray; our tongues colliding, she moaned into my mouth.

Reaching for the taps, she turned the water off. She dried me, and I returned the favour.

Climbing into bed, I checked my phone. No new messages. I couldn't help wondering how Jess had spent her day.

We slept soundly.

*

I got home from work on Tuesday night feeling horny. Belly wasn't here. I checked the kitchen for a note -- there wasn't one. Maybe she's at uni.

I shrugged. Still felt horny.

I wondered if Belly had uploaded any new content. I hadn't checked in a while. I hadn't needed to, and it ought to be obvious why. I started my laptop and logged on to Onlyfans, selling my soul to the devil for the umpteenth time.

Fuck. There's new content. I checked the date stamp -- she'd uploaded it just yesterday. My head felt light; my heart rate accelerated as I clicked play.

She's in the spare room of our apartment, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Cardboard boxes of all her shit were stacked against the wall, waiting to be unpacked. As the scene starts, she's facing away from the camera, looking into a random box. Whatever it was she was searching for, she didn't find it. She tries again with a different box; still no success. There's a frustrated frown on her face as she turns around to face the camera. Someone unwelcome has come into her room.

"What the fuck do you want, little brother?" she huffs. "Get out of my fuckin' room. This is my space, not yours. Go hang out in your own room, you little bitch."

Clearly no love lost between big sister and younger brother.

Belly leans forward, reaches behind the camera, and produces a pair of panties. She immediately suspects her little brother of stealing them. "What the fuck are you doin' with my fuckin' panties, you little perv?"

Little brother, neither seen nor heard, explains. They were in his clean pile of clothes by mistake, and he was merely returning them to her.

"Bullshit," Belly spat. "There's no way in the world Mum would've mixed up my undies with yours." She places her hands on her hips, her freshly washed panties hanging from an accusatory finger. "I reckon you've been jerkin' off into 'em. Haven't ya, you little fuckin' deviant?"

Little brother protests his innocence.

"Hmmmm," says a watchful Belly, inspecting her garment. "They look clean. No signs of cum stains." She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "But I wouldn't fuckin' put it past you to jerk off into my undies ... like, who knows what kinky fuckin' pervs like you get up to when they're all alone in their room."

Finally admitting a hint of a smile, she thanks her sibling. "Anyway, thanks for returning my panties, little brother. See ya." She turns her attention back to her unpacked boxes, but little brother isn't going anywhere. "Didn't you hear me? Get out of my fuckin' room!" she screams. "I've got stuff to do! Piss off!"

Little brother says something that piques Belly's curiosity.

"What the fuck did you say? If you were gonna beat off into my panties, you'd get used ones from the laundry hamper? Is that what you just said to me?"

Little brother confirms.

Belly looks exasperated. "You're ... fuck, dude, you're ... like, what's wrong with you? That's so fuckin' gross! Thinkin' about masturbatin' to your big sister's dirty undies!" She pauses for a second, calculating. "Wait a second. I bet you haven't just thought about it, little brother, I bet you've actually done it. I bet you're actually jerked off into a pair of my dirty panties. Am I right?"

Little brother says nothing, but big sister knows.

Belly's mouth gapes open in surprise and shock. "Oh my god, you're so fuckin' filthy. You know, that, don't you, little brother? Sneakin' into the laundry to take my dirty panties out of the hamper so you can jerk off with 'em? Like, that's so ... that's so fuckin' disgusting!"

She pauses for a second, thinking, her curiosity beginning to rise. "What ... like ... what do you do with my dirty panties, little brother? When you ... when you use them to ... masturbate?"

Little brother explains.

"You wrap them around your dick? Around your tiny fuckin' clitty?" Belly laughs in his face. "And do you cum in them?"

That's not all, explains little brother.

"Wait ... you sniff them?" Belly looks genuinely shocked. "You sniff my dirty panties while you tug yourself? You like the smell of pussy, do you? Like, I bet if it wasn't for you stealin' my undies, you wouldn't even know what pussy smelled like, would you, virgin? Because, dude, with a dicklet as small as yours, you ain't ever gonna get much pussy, so ..."

Little brother adds to his explanation.

"You sniff ... the other side? Wait, where ... you mean ... where my butt goes? Dude, that's so fuckin' gross! You're into the ... the smell of my arse?"

Little brother finally spills the beans.

"You fap into my panties knowin' I've farted in 'em?" Belly looks furious. "Is that what gets your little clitty hard, the thought of your big sister's stinky, wet farts?"

Watching the scene, I'm so close to busting all over my hand.

"You want me to put my fat butt in your face, little brother? Is that what you want? Would that get you off?" Belly unbuckles her jeans, revealing just a hint of her juicy crack. "See that, little brother? You want some more of this?"

Watching, my nostrils flare: I know exactly what my daughter's sweaty bum smells like.

Belly pulls her jeans down, exposing her milky white cheeks. She slaps them and they jiggle. "Is this gettin' your tiny dicklet hard, little brother?" She backs up toward the camera and spreads herself wide, exposing her puckered browneye. "Is this what you want?"

She squeezes a fart out. Her sphincter trembles and rumbles. "Sniff that fart, little brother. Sniff it good. Sniff the hole where my stinky fuckin' poo comes out of."

Little brother asks if he can play with himself.

"Sure you can," smiled Belly, walking away from the camera for a moment. We see her t-shirt, her jeans pooled around her ankles, and her naked snatch. "Besides, little brother, I'm keen to find out how small you are. I mean, I already know you're small, but I really wanna know just how tiny you really are." She watched, waiting for a few seconds, before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Fuck, little brother, is that all you've got? Are you fully hard right now?" She put her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. "Have you ever measured yourself, little bro? Because I reckon that's three inches, tops." She giggles some more. "Like, because that's not a dick, dude, that's an embarrassment."

She leans her arse back into the lens, dropping another one. "Sniff that shit, little brother. Get your face up in my stinky pooper. Jerk your tiny dicklet while you whiff my rancid fuckin' farts."

Little brother asks a question.

"No, shithead, you can't touch it or lick it. That's fuckin' gross. All you can do is watch an' smell."

Onlyfans doesn't deliver a sensation of smell, but I knew from the dozens of times I'd eaten Belly's arse exactly what she smells and tastes like.

"An' count yourself lucky I'm even lettin' you watch an' smell, little brother, because we aren't gonna be doin' this again. Never ever."

Belly drops another rumbler, right on her little brother's nose. "Inhale that fuckin' stink, bro." She spreads her cheeks wide. "That one was vicious. How good does it smell?" She waved the stench away with her hand. "I reckon I might need the toilet after this."

My balls feel swollen beyond belief. I'm so fucking close.

"You wanna cum, little brother? You wanna dribble cummies out of your tiny dicklet for your big sister's stinky, pungent farts? Is that what you wanna do?"

I stood up, aimed at the laptop screen, and using my daughter's warm brown sphincter as a target, I drenched it. My back arched as my hips gyrated forward, thick ropes of hot white cream firing from my balls, splashing against the screen, dribbling down toward the keyboard.

I regained sanity just in time. I grabbed a bunch of tissues and wiped down the screen before cleaning thick droplets of sperm from the keys. Slamming the lid, I hoped I hadn't glued it permanently shut.

I finished cleanup duty just as the front door opened. "Hey Dad!" said Belly, dropping her backpack behind the door frame. "What you up to?" she asked.

"Nothing much," I answered.

My heart was still racing, and I'm sure my face was beet red.

*

Thursday night. I'm at the pub, sitting on a stool. There's a cold beer in front of me, and I'm waiting for Jess to show up. I texted her yesterday afternoon, asking if she was free tonight. Her response was enthusiastic. I'm watching beads of condensation form on the outside of my glass as tiny bubbles rise to the surface of the amber liquid inside.

I'm not quite sure what I'm thinking about. Right now, I'm just watching the bubbles.

Belly knows she's got the place to herself tonight. Part of me's wondering what she's gonna get up to. She mentioned she'd spend the time unpacking, but I seriously doubted that. She'd probably cook dinner and make a mess of my kitchen, or she'd shoot some new content for her Onlyfans, or ... or maybe she'd organise an interracial orgy with Washington and a dozen of his big-dicked brothers ...

I took a sip, and no sooner had I put my glass back on the table than Jess walked in. She's wearing a black t-shirt, a red and purple tartan skirt, and a pair of 8-hole cherry-red Doc Marten boots. I remembered telling my daughter about the Big Day Out festivals of the 1990s, and judging by Jess's clothes, I'm wondering whether she ever went too.

"Hey," she said, smiling. "Good to see you."

She looks hot as fuck. Her tits look juicy, her lipstick is bright red, and already, I'm visualising how good her lips would look wrapped around my cock. Her blonde hair is tied back in a neat ponytail.

I don't wanna get ahead of myself, but it feels like she's into me. It feels like we'll eat, we'll drink, and then we'll fuck.

"Wait here, Rob. Gonna grab myself a drink. Back in a sec." I watched her lean over the bar, her short skirt riding up at the back.

I tried not to stare as she came back with her glass. "Hey," she exhaled, pulling up the stool opposite me.

"Good to see you again too," I smiled.

"I noticed you waited three days."

Busted. "Too obvious?"

Jess shrugged. "Yeah, but I know that's the thing. I wasn't expecting to hear from you the next day. I know how it goes. Too soon and you're needy, too late and you're not interested. That's the yardstick, right?"

(Are there any rules of thumb about how long women should wait to text men?)

"That's what I've been told," I coughed. "I was always gonna message you yesterday." I paused, sipping my beer. "Three days."

I studied the bubbles forming in my beer, not sure what to say next. Christ, I'm shithouse at this. I don't want this to be weird. I gulped my beer. I knew my heart was pounding. Nerves.

"What have you been up to these past few days?" she asked. A perfectly normal, innocent, open-ended question that left plenty of room for me to wax lyrical, providing an opportunity for us to get to know each other.

"I've been at work."

"Cool," she said. "What do you do?"

"I work in an office."

"Oh." Jess's face fell a little. She sipped her wine, nervously clearing her throat. "OK."

This is tragic. In future years, archaeologists will exhume the bones of this brutal conversation, wondering what forms of life died here.

I noticed lipstick marks on the edge of her wineglass.

"What do *you* do?" I asked.

Jessica provided a wide, expansive, panoramic answer about her occupation, touching upon adjacent edges of her life. She's in public relations for a new toll road being constructed in Sydney's northern suburbs. She's not an engineer or an expert in finance, but she gets to go to media events where they cut ribbons and turn soil with golden shovels and she gets to wear a hard hat and a high viz vest and stand behind politicians as they talk to news crews and she reckons it's a lot of fun. The pay is good, she says, but she mentioned it can be challenging at times juggling work and home responsibilities. She's recently divorced too, her ex recently moved to Melbourne to start again, but their son is still in Sydney finishing high school, and he's staying with her until that's done, and ...

I'm listening, but my concentration is wavering, and I don't know why. Maybe Jess picked up on it. "Sorry, Rob, am I talking too much?" she asks. (I hope she didn't mean 'am I boring you?')

"No," I splutter. "Not at all. It's just ... sometimes ... I'm not sure what to say ... it's been ... it's been a long time since I did this."

Jess raised her eyebrows.

I tried to elaborate. "A long time since I've ... umm ... been on a date."

Maybe it's been a long time for her too. Who knows. "Is this a date, Rob?"

My breath caught in my throat. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I'm carrying the cultural baggage of the prior generation. "Well ... umm ... I mean, I asked you out ... to ... to the pub, so ..."

"Would it be easier if this wasn't a date?" asked Jess. "Because maybe let's pretend it isn't. Maybe let's pretend we just met up randomly, and we're just two people talking to each other in the pub after work?"

"Yeah, that works for me," I replied, sighing with relief.

From that point, I relaxed into the conversation much more quickly than I'd expected or hoped. We talked about the relationships we'd each just left, and it was cathartic in some ways to get some feelings off my chest with someone who was in a very similar situation. I told her about how Paige and I first met, why we split up, and how she's travelling Japan right now, presumably getting herself back on her feet. I told her there was no animosity between me and my ex. No breakup is ever easy, especially after that long together, and while it was traumatic, it wasn't overly so. It sounded like Jess's breakup was similar. I kept watching her lips move as she talked, wanting to kiss them, wanting to feel her tongue in my mouth, her breath on my ear, her fingers moving south, her mouth wrapped around my dick ...

We talked about some of the bands and records we'd recently discovered and the music we'd loved all our lives. I asked her what her favourite film of all time was, she asked me for mine, and we spent the next twenty minutes talking about movies. I missed a golden opportunity to ask her about the Big Day Out; I let it pass, hoping there'd be another time. She mentioned a recent art exhibition she'd been to and asked me how 'War and Peace' was going, hoping the good guys were still on top.

I mentioned I had a daughter. "Her name's Belinda," I said, "but I call her Belly for short."

Jess seemed quizzical. "Not Linda?"

I smiled, lost in recollection. "Yeah, I know it's weird. Me and Paige always called her Belly, ever since she was tiny. I don't know why. She's enrolled at Sydney Uni, first semester. She's always been intelligent and curious."

"That's all you can ever want as a parent, right?"

Well, yes and no. "She's living with me at the moment. She's set up in my spare room."

"Same with me and my son." She raised her glass. "To families."

I grinned, lifting my pint, draining the rest of it. "To families," I echoed. Everything's feeling good. I'm enjoying the conversation. "You hungry?" I asked, patting my tummy.

"Yeah," grinned Jess.

I stood up. "I'll bring some menus over."

"They do good pizzas here," Jess suggested. "We can share. What do you reckon?"

"Absolutely. How about one supreme and one vegetarian?"

"Perfect!"

"And what are you drinking?" I asked.

"The chardonnay."

"Back in a sec," I grinned. I leaned over the bar, ordering our dinner and some fresh drinks. I brought our order number back to our table. "Food shouldn't be long," I promised, plonking our glasses down.

This is going well.

"Hey," Jess said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "There's something I need to get off my chest, and it's probably best I do it before our food arrives."

I frowned quizzically, sipping my ale.

"I'm really sorry for farting on your face."

I choked on a mouthful of beer. I inhaled, preparing to speak, but ...

"Wait, Rob, let me say this." Jess took a deep breath. "I know you said you were into it, but I still feel embarrassed because ... like ... that was our first time, and ..."

"It was the pressure, I reckon. When I pressed down on your tummy, I ..."

"I prefer it in the arsehole, Rob," interrupted Jess, leaning closer. "I always have."

Sweet jesus.

"I hope I didn't upset you. Maybe I should've explained ... I should've let you know before ... surprising you with that."

What the fuck do I say? "No, ... I mean ... umm ..."

"It's just that I reckon I have better anal orgasms than vaginal ones."

I had a vague memory of my daughter telling me the same thing.

"But I think that's the first time I've ever farted in someone's face, so ..."

It was so fucking hot when she did that.

"And the hottest thing ever is arse to mouth, so when you made me suck your cock after it'd been in my pooper ..."

This is 100% insane.

"And ... like ... maybe you're right ... the pressure ... I mean, I like to keep myself supple, and ... well, dildos come in handy, and I don't have a lot of sex these days, but I reckon you're the first bloke who's ever wanted to eat my arse after fucking it." She paused for a second. "Actually, I can't remember the last time a bloke ate my arse."

I nearly choked on my beer. "Really?"

"Why?" she tested.

"Because ... like ... your arse is perfect, Jess, it's ... it felt so good, your cheeks are so perky, and ..."

"Lots of time in the gym," she smiled.

"Fucked if I can work out why you're not getting blokes on the regular."

"Maybe I'm just picky. I mean, I love sex, but I'm not a slut."

"Yeah ... fuck, sorry," I said, "that wasn't what I meant ..."

I want her. I want her so bad. I want her right fucking now.

"So yeah," she continued, "like I said, I'm sorry for farting on your face."

This isn't the kind of conversation I'd ever expect to have in the middle of a crowded Sydney pub.

Breaking the mood completely, two cheesy pizzas landed between us. We ate with fingers, mozzarella stringing. We're talking, we're engaged, and beyond my belief, we're actually starting to laugh at each other's terrible jokes. We're leaning forward into each other. From time to time, I feel her fingers reach across the table to touch my hand. I'm enjoying Jess's company immensely, and it feels like she's enjoying mine.

I'm starting to wonder what happens after we finish dinner. I can't take her back to my place tonight, because Belly's there. And maybe she can't take me back to hers either, because maybe her son is there.

Fuck it, I'll pay for a hotel room.

We've both got work in the morning. She's gonna need to put her high viz vest on, cut some ribbons, smile at the media, whatever.

I remembered what it felt like when she sank down on my cock, taking it into her tight arse.

Stop thinking, Rob. There's no need to be so edgy. Stop worrying. What'll happen will happen. Just don't be a dickhead.

In the distance, on the other side of the pub, I see a bright flash of blonde hair.

Shit. No way. It's Belly. Fuck no. She sees me and waves across the room. "Hey, Dad!" my daughter yells, walking confidently in my direction.

I wave back nervously. I don't want this. Not right now.

She's gonna fuck this up. I can feel it.

Fuck off.

Please, Belly, please please pleeeeeeease fuck off.