My Succubus Daughter Ch. 04

Author's note:

I'm very glad you are still here. This story is much more of a slow burn than I am used to writing, and the stairway to heaven (pun somewhat intended) is turning out to be quite the steep climb. Rest assured, the goal is in sight, and I am doing the utmost to make every step pleasant.

In this next chapter, we switch back to Ophelia's POV. Please enjoy, and by all means, leave a comment. I simply cannot get enough feedback, and I love reading your thoughts about the portion of my insanity I commit to the written form :)

No-Ca

Dad is a kind guy. I wasn't sure at first, but that's clear now. Too kind, maybe. For a while, I felt like he kept me around 'cause he found me distressed and pathetic, which I totally am. I was also afraid he would find me unsettling and creepy.

Thank goodness I was wrong.

Last night, at long last, he finally allowed me to make him happy. Directly, me, not through Cynthia or some other woman. Me!

Gosh, it's gonna be so hard letting him go back to her. I would keep him all to myself if I could, but... Cynthia needs some loving too, and Lucifer knows how much she deserves it.

One thing surprised me, though. Miles is not at all content with just me pleasing him. He feels compelled to return the favor at all costs.

Let's be clear: I love getting my pussy licked as much as the next gal, and Daddy is a good listener. He does okay, considering his lack of experience. He also promised that he would improve and that he would practice as often as his schedule allows, and he would let me. That is quite often.

After trading some sweet and overdue love, we go to sleep together. I was not gonna let him return to the sofa, that's for sure.

This feels good. Incredibly good. For the first time in a while, I am not thinking about Mom bursting through the ground and grabbing my ankles to drag me back home. I wonder if she noticed that I'm gone yet. It's going to be a while before she needs me for her next event or whatever. I bet I got a few weeks at least, maybe a whole month. And even then, she will probably just shrug it off and forget it. Unless she takes my little escape as something personal. Then she might get petty... and vicious.

I snuggle closer to Dad. He holds me tighter, like he knows I'm scared. That's a stupid idea, but it makes me feel better, and helps me fall asleep.

Despite me having put in real effort into draining him dry last night, I still wake up with a huge erection poking at my back; the kind only a loving and sloppy morning blowjob can fix.

Initially, he looks terrified, like I'm gonna bite it off or something. Then he puts on a strange face which looks... I don't know, resigned maybe? Does it not like it? I really thought he did.

He puts his hand on my head, and chases off all my stupid ideas again. He caresses me. Speaking all sweet and soft, he tells me how good I am, how happy I make him, how lucky he is to have me here, and how sad it will be to let me go.

I want to tell him I am not going anywhere, but he is close to cumming, and I am not pausing for anything.

After I gulp down all his cum -- a whole delicious lot of it -- he insists on taking care of me. I tell him it's okay, that I have already taken care of myself, a little white lie. He has none of that. Says this can't be one-sided; otherwise what is left of his conscience is gonna kill him. I don't want him to die.

He fingers me with his delicate, gentle hands and surprisingly long fingers. His technique is so-so, but nothing a few directions from me can't fix. He asks me if he could help me cum faster and harder, so I tell him to whisper to me his sexual fantasies.

He is super embarrassed, but makes the effort for me. He tells me all about Cynthia, her daughter Laura, her colleague Gabriela, even her dear Sammie and her friend Melanie. Lucifer's beard, I can't wait to meet those two.

I want details, of course. He tells me how he would like Laura to ride his cock while Cynthia did the same with his face.

Hot.

He really likes Gabriella's legs, from hip to toe. Her butt too, which he would looove to worship. I insist I could make mine bigger if he liked that, but he keeps saying no. He says I am perfect the way I am. Cool, but... come on! There is so much untapped potential here.

Then there are Sammie and Melanie. He recently found out the little nerd has a crush on him, m and he described how he would make her every fantasy into a reality, the anal sex first and foremost.

As for Melanie, the girl needs some serious discipline. He would spank the little brat, teach her some respect, and some love. He would rip her fishnet stockings and give her little pink pussy a long and very intense licking.

While he paints me this pretty picture, I keep my hand on his and help him find the right keys of my piano, until the piano gushes all over his fingers like a fucking fountain.

After some cuddling and kissing, he asks me about my own fantasies. With hindsight, I should have expected that. I still blushed like a friggin virgin.

"I want my Daddy to fuck me here," I tell him, pushing his fingers as deep as they can go, showing off how wet the inside of my pussy is, how hard he just made me cum.

"I'm afraid that won't happen anytime soon," he says.

"But why not?" I whine.

"I believe I must hold this one line."

"No, you don't," I grumble at him. "It took me fucking forever just to get you to do oral."

"I barely resisted forty-eight hours," he chuckles.

"That's forty-eight fucking hours more than I'm fucking used to."

That makes him chuckle harder.

I don't want to fight. We just had a wonderful night, and a pretty great early morning, so I drop that. Still, I'm super confused. I don't understand what game he is playing, but I desperately wanna win.

It is almost lunchtime, and his stomach grumbles. A shame he can't feed on sex the way I do; otherwise, we could go on forever. That would be awesome.

Unfortunately, he needs actual food, as does my human half, that same half Mom is so embarrassed about and desperately wants me to fix. She made me that way, a nd yet for some reason that's my problem.

No, no, no. Fuck that and fuck her. I don't want to think about it.

"Daddy, how about I take care of breakfast today?" I propose. "Or brunch. I think this is more of a time for brunch."

"Absolutely not!" Dad jokes. "You are my guest; you must do nothing but relax."

"I don't wanna be your guest, Dad." I meant to sound helpful, but that came out more like whiny.

"You are correct," he says. "You are my precious daughter, and you are all mine to spoil."

"Dad..."

"Fine, fine. Since you insist, I will reluctantly consent to you helping me make pancakes."

We get to the stoves, side by side. Daddy patiently shows me how to prepare the paste, butter the pan and even flip the pancake.

"Does it need to go on the ceiling?" I ask him, staring at our breakfast stuck above our heads.

"Uh, yes. That is indispensable for it to acquire the proper... consistency."

Oh, Daddy. You do love to flap your thick, fat vocabulary on your baby-girl's face.

"I'll get it." I crawl up and recover the pancake.

"Thank you," he says, only mildly freaked out, which is progress, I guess. "Now, why don't you try it? Just make sure to fling them all the way up to the ceiling. I cannot stress enough how critical that is."

I laugh out loud.

I am not much of a cook, but I would make a not-half-bad juggler. The pancakes are ready; all we are missing is a little syrup.

"I forgot to buy it," Dad facepalms. "I'll go ask Cynthia if she can spare some. I'll be right back." He grabs keys.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I ask.

"Um... I don't think so."

"Think better," I tease him.

He looks around like a lost puppy.

"Would you like a hug?" he asks.

That is a silly question. I always would like a hug. But that is not what I was talking about.

"Her panties, Dad! You have to return her panties."

"Oh, right..." He looks around for them and gives up quickly. "I'm afraid I lost sight of those at some point."

"I know where they are." I look at him with mischief in my smile. "I will tell if you promise to fuck my pussy when you get back."

He looks at me as if I just stabbed him.

"Honey..."

"I was joking," I lie. "But you do owe me a decent kiss, plus some oral."

"I believe that to be more within reason."

I return the panties, which I had stashed away last night. I suggest using them again; Cynthia would love that. Dad is tempted but refuses. Pancakes might get cold.

"I'll be right back. And, honey."

"Yeah?"

"No turning invisible and no spying, okay?"

Damn! That is exactly what I was planning to do.

"Okay." I fake contrition.

--

Daddy's back in less than five minutes. I honestly expected Cynthia would drag him in to fuck him. Instead, she contented herself with a quick make-out session. I feel selfish now.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Dad puts down a bottle of syrup and a few other things. "I was not sure what your favorite topping was, so I asked her for some additional options. Would you like some ham? Cheese maybe?"

"Daddy's cum."

He chokes, chuckles, and laughs nervously. I fucking gorge myself on his embarrassment. He gawks at me, telling himself that surely, surely I was just kidding. I look back at him, ever smirking and chewing on my lip.

"Uhh... erm..." He is not as enthusiastic as I hoped. "Why don't you try the cheese first?"

The cheese and ham are actually not bad at all, though I would have much preferred my first option. I suppose Daddy and I are not that far, yet. We'll get there, though. I'm going to fucking drag him up every step of that stairway to heaven. Look at the way he smiles at me while he eats. He always looks just about to apologize for something, like he feels guilty for the tiniest bit of pleasure. I'll give you plenty of pleasure to feel guilty about. I'm going to fucking erase the word shame from that clever little brain of yours.

"So," I begin. "Did Cynthia like what we did with the panties?"

Dad blushes. "She wouldn't say."

"She wouldn't need to, I smirk.

Daddy finishes his first pancake in three mouthfuls. No surprise there. I made him work hard.

"She asked me about you, by the way," he says.

"'Bout what?" I pretend not to be bothered by it.

"If you had anything planned for the night," Daddy says. "Her daughter is in town, and we thought she might show you around."

I lay down my fork. I'm not that hungry all of a sudden.

"Everything all right, honey?" he asks.

"Uhhh, yeah, yeah." I force myself to eat more. "You two can't wait to be alone again, can't you.

"No. No, no," he says in a hurry. "I just thought you would have liked to spend some time with someone your own age."

"It's okay, Dad. I understand."

I pretend not to notice his forced smile while I eviscerate my pancake.

"So... should I tell her you will go?" he asks.

"Why not?" I shrug. "I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Honey, I--"

He bites his tongue. I hate it when he does that. Like he needs to think carefully about what to say next. Like, he needs to be extra-delicate.

"You don't seriously want to spend your Saturday night trapped in this tiny cubicle with me, right?" he laughs. I don't laugh back.

"Maybe I do," I say instead. "But don't worry, I get it. I'll stay out of the way."

He falls silent, regretting his every word, just like I regret mine.

"I'll tell Cynthia you are not ready for something like that," he says. "Maybe next week."

Great, now instead of just jealousy, I got guilt punching me in the stomach. It's a bad brawl, and there's gonna be no winners.

I trace back Daddy's mental picture of Laura. I know it's not one hundred per cent reliable, but if she is half as hot as she looks to him, I wouldn't mind spending the night with her.

"Is Laura hot?" I ask, pretending not to know the answer.

"I suppose she is," Daddy says, scratching the back of his head. "As beautiful as her mother."

"Single?"

"I believe she has a boyfriend."

I shrug. That never stopped me.

"I'll go out with her," I say.

"You don't have to if--"

"On one condition," I demand. "I want pics."

"O-of what?"

"What do you think?" I tease him. "Also, don't think for a moment I forgot about your promise. I expect you to keep it or I will never talk to you again."

--

Going out turns out to be a good idea. Not only Laura is as hot as Daddy thinks she is, she is also pretty cool. Too bad that she or any of her friends aren't into girls. That's okay, though. I have never met a straight woman I could not make at least a little curious.

We go clubbing, and dance the night out, meet plenty of people and have an amazing time. Laura expected me to be shy and new to all of this. She got another thing coming, all right.

We probably consume several hundred dollars worth of alcohol and didn't pay a single cent. Well, Laura and her friends did. I had to stay sober. It turns out I cannot drink in this country. Which is insane, considering back home DUI is basically mandatory. It's fine, I don't need fuel to start a fire.

I dance the whole night through, make out with about a dozen girls, and take a selfie with each one. Daddy loves girls kissing. Shame I can't convince Laura to try that with me, but it's okay, I am persistent.

With this much sexual energy to sip from, I could keep going forever, but then, after taking yet another selfie with a cute little asian, from Singapore I believe, I notice seventeen missed calls from Dad. I was supposed to be home two hours ago.

Laure planned to drive us, instead we have to come back all pressed together in an Uber. I take another selfie, for Dad, hopefully that will be enough to forgive me.

As I walk back inside, I brace for a not entirely undeserved talking-to. I get none. Dad hugs me, sighs in relief, and asks me if I had a good time.

"I had tons of fun," I admit. "Thank you for... you know, gently pushing me into it."

"You are quite welcome," he says. "I'm sorry for all those calls, I was just... I may have gotten a tad overly concerned. I know you can take care of yourself."

"I can," I say. "But it's nice that you care."

I slip out of my clothes and my disguise. Daddy blushes, exactly as I hoped. I am glad he is getting used to my real self; I'm even more glad he is not getting used to my naked body. I love the way he tries not to smile every time I show it.

I invite him into the shower, and this time he accepts. We have a pretty decent make out session under the hot water. I have to say, I am surprised. Dad has turned into a far better kisser basically overnight. He is also more daring with his hands than this morning. He explores my body with much needed abandon. Too bad I can't make him hard again. Cynthia had all of him before me, that greedy black Venus.

After the shower we go to bed. Daddy is beat, but still wants to make good on his promise. I tell him it's okay. We can do it in the morning. We fall asleep in each other's arms.

--

We start the day at noon, with some very overdue cunnilingus. I get my wake-up session while staring at pictures of Cynthia with her mouth, pussy, and ass full of cum. Lucky bitch. She'll make it up for me soon enough.

After squirting all over Daddy's chin, I let him rest, and fix brunch for us. Daddy finally looks relaxed and smiles at me from the other end of the table. I smile back, while still scheming how I will get his cock inside my pussy.

"Tomorrow we will start moving downstairs," he announces. "Soon you will have room to breathe."

"I'll be out of an excuse to squeeze in with you," I tease him.

"You don't need an excuse for that, dear," he reassures me. "But I believe it's good for you to have space should you need it."

"And you can have Cynthia over."

That sounded meaner than I wanted. Dad is about to explain something but I cut him short.

"It's cool," I say. "I want you to be with Cynthia. She deserves it. You both do. I just... want to be included. That's it."

"You will be," he promises. "Though, not like that, I hope you understand."

I smirk. That is nothing I can't fix, Daddy. Don't you worry.

"You still got a lot of work this afternoon?" I ask, hoping for a no.

"I am mostly done," he says. "I still have to solve this thing."

"What thing?"

"It is kind of a long story," he says. "I'm trying to resurrect the theater club from the ashes I reduced it to last year."

"Cool," I mumble. "What's the problem?"

"The administrator has asked for... guarantees, so to speak. Rightfully so, I should add." Dad sighs, while I get my phone. "I'm supposed to present a plan for tomorrow, find someone who can assist with the production and I am not sure how I should go about this."

"What's his name?"

"Douglas Umbridge, vice-principal. I am wary of asking the parents for support again," Dad goes on while I tap on my screen. "This is a taxing and sometimes thankless job. Most people who happen to have adolescent children are overworked as is. I would--"

"Douglas D. Umbridge?"

"The very same."

"Well, shit."

I stare at my browser, and by Lucifer, this is a lot.

"Ophelia, what are you looking at?"

"This guy is one major asshole," I say. "Capital S sinner. No need to tempt him into anything. He already did all the work himself. All we have to do is wait for him to get hit by a bus or something."

Dad grows agitated, confused, angry even, but still not sure he should be angry.

"What exactly do you see?" he asks.

"On a surface level, not much, but this app puts together a pretty neat profile." I show him the screen. "This is a guy who likes to follow kids from up close, very careful about deniability. He also covers his tracks well. Never looked at porn once in the last six years."

"Clearly a monster," Dad jokes, but does not smile. "Anything else?"

"Mmm, to get more I would need to pay the monthly soulscription. I'm pretty short on that kind of cash."

Dad recoils. "That is probably for the best."

He goes quiet again. He did not like what I had to say. Lots of suspicions he doesn't speak out loud but I can still hear.

"What exactly do you need from this guy?" I ask.

"His signature on my project," he says. "Without it, we are stuck. We are behind schedule already."

"I'll get it."

"You?" He worries, not about what I am planning, but for me.

"Trust me, Dad," I smirk. "You get me in his office, and I'll get him on his knees."

--

Monday afternoon, I walk into the school corridor like a queen. I must thank Laura and her friends for lending me my whole attire: a nice blazer, blouse's a little big but I fill it up in all the right places, the pencil skirt has just the perfect cut. Only problem's the shoes. They are a whole size too small, I have to shapeshift my feet accordingly, as if these heels were not enough of a bitch already. Worth the pain, though. Just listen to my tap-tap-tap.

Teachers, staff, students, they all turn around and gawk. 'Who is she?' They wonder. 'Where's she from? What is she doing here? Will she talk to me if I try?' I'm sorry to disappoint all of them, but I have a meeting to attend.

"There you are," Daddy greets me outside Umbridge's office.

"Sorry I'm late," I smile at him. "I had a bit of trouble with the shoes."

"Are you sure this is the right attire?" he observes, a little hypocritically I gotta say.

"You don't like it?"

"If anything, I like it too much."

"Is that what you are afraid of?" I cast my arms around his neck. "That the vice principal will like it too much?"

He double checks no one's around, and lays his hands on my hips. For a moment I hope for a kiss, but he looks more concerned than enticed.

"I can't say I like this idea," he admits.

"You're jealous." That's so cute.

"I would not call it jealousy," he insists.

I give him a quick kiss.

"Let me do what I do best," I tell him. "I'll get your club going and your show on the road. Your pupils will have their chance to shine. And about this Douglas guy..." I wink at him. "I'm going to tease him to death, but it's your balls I'm gonna drain tonight."

With that promise of head, I head in.

"Um, he's still on the phone," Dad warns me.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

I open the door wide and roll in as if someone just pushed me. How clumsy.

"Oops, sorry!" I tell the slimeball behind the desk. "Mr. Umbridge, yes? We had an appointment at three, I'm a little late." I cover my mouth, turning red in embarrassment. "Sorry, I did not see you were on the phone. I'll be..."

Poor me. I am so nervous, I almost let my tablet slip. I catch it mid-air and in doing so I let the cleavage run forward, hinting at the fact I am not wearing a bra. Whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying, Douglas is not hearing one word of it.

"I'll call you back." He puts the phone down.

"Miss Danielson, I assume, do come in. Don't stand on the door." He stands and extends his tendril.

"Ophelia." I shake his tentacle.

"What a stroke of luck!" the smileball says. "We were looking for an Ophelia, all the better if she happens to be a Dane."

I laugh cheerfully and giddily at this sad and pathetic attempt at a joke.

"No, no, no. I'm not an actress." Though I would totally kill as one. "I'm actually very stage shy. I prefer staying behind the scenes and telling people what to do."

"What a shame," the serial sinner says. "So what exactly can I help you with?"

"Well..." Dad intrudes, still in the doorway. "Ophelia is majoring in theatre management. I thought she could support the project as part of her--."

"Uncle, please," I interrupt him. "Mr. Humbridge will think we are taking advantage of him."

"No harm done," the creep says. "I am fully confident Miles would never propose anyone for this position unless he or she was fully qualified."

"I'll send you my resumé."

My fingers dance on my phone, and a whole page of meticulously tailored lies is deposited in this creep's inbox. He checks my credentials with one eye and my thighs with the other.

"You have been part of a theatre club since you were ten," he comments.

"You'll see I also co-directed two very successful plays," I point out.

"Yes," he tries to focus. "Your teachers commended your commitment, energy, and endless enthusiasm."

"I'm not afraid to get down and dirty."

Dad starts to cough, and cough, and cough. Douglas ignores him.

"Well, you certainly seem to know your stuff," he turns to me. "I assume you have come with a detailed proposition, yes?"

"Of course," I giggle. "Allow me to present it to you."

I place my tablet onto his desk and manage the screen through my phone.

"You will see here that we addressed all your concerns one by one," Daddy says. "We included the projected budget, and it is lower than last year's. We intend to do less with--"

"Is that a Marzocco?" I ask, pointing at Douglas's beloved espresso machine.

"Indeed it is," the overjoyed swine says. "You know your coffee, miss."

"I was a barista for six months. Workation in Rome. I learned how to make a killer cappuccino. May I?"

"I would ask for nothing better," the slag says.

"You want one too, uncle?" I ask.

"I'm good, thank you."

I get to work on the machine, while Dad continues with his presentation and the sleazebag pretends to pay attention to it, and not me.

"I also prepared the rehearsing schedule, carefully tailored around sports practice and events," Dad goes on explaining.

"Yes, yes." The pig nods, paying attention solely to my butt. "I see you did your homework. That's very good." I hand him his cup, with the cream shaped into a cute little heart. "Thank you, dear."

"It's a pleasure." I would spit in it, but he probably would be into that too. He is working hard not to eye my legs. I make it even harder for him by leaning against his desk.

"So, what do you say?" Dad asks. "Will you sign the project?"

"I will, Miles, I will," the scuzzbucket promises. "There is just one small matter that needs to be addressed: the casting."

"I didn't think that--"

"I gave it careful consideration," he raises his hoof to interrupt my beloved daddy. "Since I am willing to sponsor the project, that means it will also have my name attached to it -- I hope you understand that I would like some guarantees. We need to select the actors prioritising the project and not the actors themselves, pardon my French."

"He's got you there, uncle," I giggle. "I got a ready solution for that, though. Wanna hear it?"

"I'm all ears." He has such a punchable smile.

"I was thinking we could include you in the process," I say, making his smile wider and even more punchable. "Now, I know I'm asking a lot. I'm sure you are a very busy man, but you clearly have an eye for detail." I hop on the desk, letting my legs dangle down.

"That I do," he says, staring more than he himself would like to. "And I would have the final say on everything?"

"Well--" Daddy starts.

"Of course!" I cut him short. "My uncle is a big softie, and I still have much to learn. To steer this ship we need someone with a firm hand."

He shifts his little eyes between me and Dad.

"You don't mince words, Miss Danielson," the slimelord says.

"Oh, please, call me Ophelia." I go on giggling. "Miss whatever sounds old."

"How old are you exactly?"

"I'll turn nineteen next month."

"You are very mature for your age."

I feel the urge to kick him in the face, and I am not the only one. The lust this piece of shit emanates is so thick and slimy I almost fail to feel the burning rage coming from Dad. I never felt him angry. Oh, shit! One of my shoes fell off. Damn, I lost my concentration for just a second, and my foot got back to normal.

"Oops." The dog stares at my toes for a moment. He conceals that well, but I can feel he would love nothing better than smelling my toes and tasting my tights. Instead, he limits himself to collecting my shoe and putting it back on. He lingers on my calf a couple of seconds too long. "There."

"Thank you," I manage to say without barfing.

Dad stands up. I don't know if he is about to go through the door or jump this creep. I can't let him do either.

"Hey, that's a cool trophy," I point at a silver cup behind him. "What's it for?"

"That one?" He pretends not to know what he knows perfectly. I bet he has been waiting months or years for someone to ask this dumb question. "It's from my boxing days."

"You boxed?" I silently tell Dad to calm down, which he does, very slowly and reluctantly. "That's so cool."

"I was just an amateur." Oh, the false modesty. "I did score a knockout or two, though."

"Well, Mr. Umbridge," I beam at him. "With your help, I'm sure this year we'll knock them dead."

--

We walk out of the office, victorious. This kind of victory has a bit of an acquired taste, though, and Daddy does not seem to like it as much as I do.

"That went well," I try to break the ice.

"It sure did," he is willing to admit. "Dare I say, exceedingly so."

"You'll be able to do your project," I remind him. "Lots of aspiring actors are gonna be happy."

"I hope so," he half smiles. "I'm not sure how many students will get aboard after last year's fiasco."

"I can help with that, too," I say, leaning onto him. "I know how to gather a crowd."

"I'm sure you do."

I take a step back. I did not like his tone.

"Is everything okay?" I confront him.

"Of course it is," he says.

"Doesn't sound like that," I persist. "Sounds like you are really pissed."

"I am not," he lies, poorly.

He pales, looking around like some cornered animal.

"I did this for you!" I tell him.

"Honey, please--"

"Don't you honey please me," I warn him. "If you think for a moment that--"

"We can't talk here!" He implores. "Just... just follow me, okay."

We go to what I assume is the the teacher's lounge. Crappy place. The coffee machine in the corner is no Marzocco, poco ma sicuro.

"You seriously are mad at me for what happened in there?" I get back to it.

"No, no, no!" he keeps on lying. "How could I... why would I be mad at you?"

"Oh, Dad, please!" I grumble. "I can read most people like open books, and you are the worst liar this side of the Styx."

"That is very fair," he admits.

"You didn't like what I did."

"I..." Look at him, the English professor at a loss for words.

"You think I enjoyed it?" I challenge him to say yes.

"Well, you could have fooled me."

I head for the door. I would fucking phase through it but I'm too fucking pissed to fucking focus. Fuck! The shoes.

"Honey!" Dad comes to my rescue, too late.

I dance a clumsy jig before falling like an idiot.

"Are you okay?" Daddy helps me up, and I quickly find out that I just twisted both my fucking ankles. This is so fucking embarrassing I could die.

"Jesus Christ, honey. Lie on the couch."

"No!" I whine. "Open the window, I'll fly home."

"Don't be silly, everyone will see you."

"I'll turn invisible."

"What if you fall again?"

"I don't wanna be here!" I punch him with the ferocity of a bunny. "You are mean."

He sets the shoes aside and tries to soothe my ankles. Left one hurts as fuck.

"Can you walk?"

"Um..."

"I'll carry you to the infirmary. Come on."

He picks me up like some damsel in distress, though I guess I am a damsel and I am in distress. He heads for the door, when somebody barges in.

"Oh, là là, qu'est-ce qu'il se passe ici?" One handsome black man steps through the door. Tall, fit, old but gold. If Dad should be jealous of anyone it should be this guy.

"Yes, what is going on?" I stand corrected. The woman behind him is even hotter. A true wide-hipped and long-legged Goddess, a latina Chun-Li. Dad should be jealous of her.

"Um, hi guys!" Dad stutters.

"I suppose this is not what it looks like," the handsome bold bad boy says.

"I twisted my ankle," I explain. "Ankles, actually. It's the fucking shoes. Too fucking big. I borrowed them for the interview."

"It is fine, mademoiselle. There is no need to be vulgar."

"I beg to differ," Daddy says. "Marc, can you help me take her to the infirmary?"

"There is no need, I'm fine!"

Very reluctantly, Dad lets me stand on my two naked feet. They hold, barely.

"You sure you are okay?" Chel from Dreamworks asks me. "I can take you to the infirmary, if you need."

"You can friggin take me all the way to El Dorado!" is what I want to tell her, but still have enough sense to only say: "I'm fine, but thank you."

"Who is this exquisitely charming young lady?" Marc asks, and gets a death glare from his angrier, far more attractive colleague.

"Marc, Gabriela," Daddy says. "this is Ophelia, my..."

"New assistant," I conclude for poor Daddy. "For the theater club."

"Oh." Marc admires me, though not like most guys. He looks at me like I'm some statue in a museum. "So there will be a theater club, oui?"

"Oui," I answer. "Thanks to yours truly."

"Really?" Gabriela raises an eyebrow. "You solved that quickly."

"I can be pretty convincing," as you will eventually find out.

"Well, it is getting late," Daddy says. "I was just about to accompany Ophelia back to--"

"I can walk, thank you."

I take one step, and it turns out, I can't.

"Whoa!" Marc saves me from the floor.

"That's it," Gabriela saves me from Marc. "I'm taking you to the infirmary, and away from this creep."

"Are you talking about me or Miles?"

Marc is joking, of course; Gabriela knows it, only Dad doesn't.

"Well, this is stupid." I turn to Dad. "I'll see you home."

"Home?" Marc and Gabriela ask together.

"Long story," I say. "Can we go now?"

--

Gabriela helps me get there, slow and steady. We turn many heads along the way, which she does not like. I do, though. I only wish I could give our audience something spicier to cheer at.

"Here we are." Gabriela helps me inside and onto the small bed. "I'll call the nurse immediately."

"Did you get the shoes?" I ask. "I borrowed them from a friend -- new friend, mind you. I'll kill myself if I lose them."

"I saw Miles taking them," she reassures me. "May I ask you what's your relation?"

"He's my daddy," I explain. She raises an eyebrow. "Well, my sugar-daddy." She raises both eyebrows. "Nah, I'm messing with ya. He and I are family. Distant. He didn't know about me before last week."

I may be saying a little too much. Dad and I agreed on a cover story, but I am already off script. I better at least try to get back on track.

"I'm majoring in theater management," I go on. "I found out through Mom that I have a second cousin, slash uncle, slash something, who teaches English and is at the head of a theater club and I thought 'why not?'"

"And you are staying at his place?" she asks.

"'Course." I shrug. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Um, no reason, just..." She shakes her satin-like jetblack hair. "No reason at all, forget it."

The nurse hasn't shown up yet. I hope she doesn't.

"So, you're Gabriela?" I ask, dangling my wounded legs. She gives me an inquisitive look. "D-Miles told me of you."

"He did?"

"Yep." I check her out again. I can understand why he fantasizes about her so much. "You don't wanna know what he said?"

"Good things, I hope."

"Oh, yeah." I snicker. "Want me to be more specific?"

"Would he be comfortable knowing you told me?" she asks.

"Heck no."

"Then I believe you shouldn't tell me."

What an anticlimactic ending to what was building up to a pretty sweet reveal. I guess I'll have to wait.

--

The nurse eventually shows up. By then my left ankle is so swollen I need it bandaged and braced. I can't walk home, so Dad calls us a ride. I accidentally see the price on his phone. Damn steep, and now I feel as guilty as fuck. Those damn heels.

He carries me all the way up, and lands me on the sofa. He helps me redo the bandage, applies some ice, and won't let me move a finger for the rest of the night.

He gets dinner ready, while all I can do is scroll on my phone for ideas on the project. I find a few places to shop for costumes, props, and lighting. It will be a bitch getting everything on the miserable budget Jabba the Hutt was willing to grant us, but I like a challenge.

"Can you help me to the table?" I ask Dad once dinner's ready.

"You are eating on the sofa," he tells me, dragging a chair for himself.

"I believe I should apologise for what I said before," he says.

"Damn right you should," I grumble.

He looks down at my ankles, and my legs, and everything above, full of guilt.

"I phrased that very poorly, as I tend to do all the time." He shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you, in any way. I'm only mad at myself."

Lucifer, here we go again.

"I should not have let you do this for me... many a thing I should not have let you do for me." He lets his head fall. "I am so sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry." I grab his hand, and wince from the pain. "I want you to be happy about it." Then I add, far more gently. "I was glad to do this for you. You get that, right?"

"I do get it, I swear," he says. "It's just... Good God, you deserve a better parent."

"I don't want a better parent, I want you." I accompany his hand to my legs. He doesn't pull back. "When will you get it through your head?"

"Probably never," he chuckles. "I am aware of how inconclusive that may sound. The truth is, I am wholly disoriented."

"Me too." I sigh. "I never worked so damn hard to seduce anyone."

"I would hardly call this hard." He chuckles at his own dad-joke.

"I'm fucking serius!" My pride hurts as much as my ankle. "Like, married woman, straight her whole life, three kids. I made her mine in one evening."

"That is... very impressive," he says, though he doesn't seem very impressed.

"Must be the whole incest thing," I say. "Which is strange because I can tell how horny you are getting just by -- hey, hey, hey! Don't stop."

"Sorry, honey." He keeps massaging me.

This is so nice. So fucking nice. I'm getting so horny. I could just ride him 'till sundown, if only he would fucking let me.

"I want you to fuck me, Dad," I sigh. "Is it so fucking wrong?"

"I suppose it is in your nature, dear," he says. "I won't hold it against you."

"But you won't do it, will you?"

"I suppose it is in my nature to have scruples," he laughs, not at me but himself. "But I wouldn't worry, I'm sure I'll eventually crumble. I am a pervert, and exceptionally weak-willed."

"I hope so."

Why won't he just climb up my legs and strip me down? I know he wants to. He knows I want him to. What the heck is wrong with him?

"There is something I meant to ask," he begins. "Have you considered... you know, pursuing somebody else?"

I prop myself up and look at him in the eyes.

"You a netorase, Dad?"

"What? No!"

"It's okay if you are, at this point I'm down for everything."

"Honey, I'm not into that -- I think. I just don't want you to..." Again he goes on a treasure hunt for the right words. I wait for him with my arms crossed. "I want you to be happy."

"Then make me happy."

"I don't think this would." He lowers his head. "I mean, would I be any better than your mother?"

Why would he talk of Mom now? I look away, trying to keep her voice out of my ears.

"I misspoke," he says. "Again. Please, forgive me."

"She wasn't all bad, you know?" I tell him, just like I told myself a billion times. "She cares about me, in her own way. She wants what she believes is best for me... I think. She doesn't really want to hurt me."

Dad begins to laugh. It is a chilling laugh.

"I really am no better than her," he says. "Or Douglas."

"Oh, fuck him!" I blurt out. "You are the fucking solar opposite to that creep. Trust me, I know." I turn back to some ugly memories. "I've dealt with guys like him my entire life. They were literally my bread and butter."

Another long silence follows. This time it's me who must go find something to say. I go on a pretty long trek and come back empty-handed.

"I will never be able to be with you the way you like," Dad says, pricking my heart. "I mean, you will get me. I think we both know that. But I will never stop being ashamed of it."

"Well..." I sob. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Why don't you try to find that same thing within someone else?" he suggests. "You are fantastic. Anyone would be incredibly lucky to have you."

I want to interrupt this conversation so fucking bad. I want to jump out of the window and fly away.

"And you wouldn't be jealous," I whine. "Not ever one bit?"

"I would -- far more than one bit." He oozes embarrassment. "But I am willing to endure, for your sake."

"Well, I want you to die of jealousy," I hug him. "Tell me, what would piss you off more? If I fucked Marc or Gabriela?"

"Oh, definitely Marc," he chuckles.

"Good to know," I snicker. "Gabriela it is then."

"That might not be the easiest quarry," he warns me.

"Wanna bet?"

"No," he chuckles. "Maybe someone from the same generation as yours?"

"Dad, this will amaze you, but I tend to find age gap pretty damn hot."

He laughs, slowly slipping out of my arms.

"It is your choice," he says. "As long as you don't go break anyone's heart."

"I'll try." I cross my fingers behind my back. "Well, now I'm horny."

"I see," he says. "Wpuld you like me to take care of that?"

"Yes." I get rid of my skirt. "Don't break my pantyhose, they are a pres -- Hey!"

"I'm so sorry, honey," Daddy says, ripping a wider and wider hole between my legs. "I'll buy you a new pair tomorrow."

"You better buy me several," I moan. "I want you to do this every fucking time."

--

The morning after, my ankle feels much better. My pussy doesn't. I demand Daddy's tongue. He gives it to me, together with my breakfast. I could get used to this. He is getting better, a lot better. I'm still not getting any cock, though; not where I want it, anyway.

The nurse recommended absolute rest, and Dad takes it to heart. No going about whatsoever. I am basically bedridden. Dad has to go to work and I'm stuck here. Half an hour later I am already so bored I could scream.

I doomscroll for a while, a shitty way to spend time. I check Pornhub, Rule34, and F95 for anything fappable. It is all way too tame, too vanilla, too not my Daddy's cock. Fuck it, I'll use my imagination.

I spread my legs wide, lick my index, middle, and ring finger slick, and get to work. No need for foreplay. I go straight to business. I think of Miles, of course, of how he will finally let go of his stupid inhibitions and give his baby girl what she needs. I could make you so happy, Dad, if only you would friggin let me. That beautiful, thick, throbbing cock of yours does not belong inside Cynthia's pussy, or Gabriela's asshole, it belongs here, right on my cervix. I would take good care of it, Daddy. I would make sure your cum is never left accumulating in those juicy balls of yours but goes all inside of me where it belongs. Oh, Daddy, you sure cum a lot. Is that all for me? It's okay. I got plenty of room for it. Daddy, no! You know I hate condoms. Protection? Why would I wear a helmet during sex? You're so silly. Mmm, I think I'm cumming already, Daddy. Your baby girl is about to cum all over your beautiful cock. Fuck me harder, Daddy. Deeper!

I make myself cum and still feel the opposite of satisfied. I so regret returning to Cynthia her stupid dildo. I also made quite a mess. Mmm, that gives me a bit of an idea. I spread my lower lips wide and take a nice selfie for Dad. I send it to him along with a little poem.

My pussy is pink, my labia are blue

I used three fingers, I wish it was you

Hey, I got talent!

Well, that was mildly fun. What time is it? Ten? I've been here less than two hours? I'll fucking kill myself.

In my desperation, I look around for something to do. Dad does not even have a TV, let alone a console. Is he really just thirty-seven? Bah. The only thing he's got in spades are books. They are not for decoration either, unlike Mom's; they are all worn out. I grab a few and force myself to read a few passages. All boring as fuck, no surprise. One gets my attention though, the dude on the cover is damn hot. That's enough to persuade me to skim through it.

It's all very fancy, with lots of complicated four-or-five-syllables-words. I'm just about to drop out when I read something they really gets to me.

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.

I knew it! Mom fucking says this all the time. I knew it wasn't hers. It's from a friggin book! Oh, I'll read every damn line of this thing, learn it by heart, and slap it on that arrogant smirk of hers when I see her again. Which I hope is never.

The door buzzes. I let the book fall. No. No, no, no. It can't be. I have to get out of here. The window. Wings.

"Ophelia?" she calls me from the corridor. "Are you awake?"

I ground myself, let it pass, breathe slowly. It's not her, it's Cynthia.

"C-coming." I try to shapeshift into my human disguise but even that feels like a fucking trial.

"Is this a bad moment? Should I come back later?"

"No!" All of a sudden I don't want to be alone. "Let me put something on real quick, I'll be right there."

Come on, Ophelia, are you really that fucking clumsy? Focus, white skin, black hair, no tail, no horns. Fucking focus!

"Miles told me you were in a bad way," Cynthia keeps talking from outside. "I just wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine, just... Please don't go away."

There is a long, uncomfortable pause.

"Are you sure you are okay?" she understandably asks.

"Yes, I..." have an idea. "Just don't freak out, okay?"

"... Okay?"

I open the door.

"Oh." She looks at me perfectly perplexed.

"I'm trying a cosplay," I lie out of my sharp teeth. "Cool, huh?"

"Amazing," she compliments me, though more incredulous than impressed.

"Yep, I got a tail too." I show her.

"Wow, it looks... how do you move it?"

"With the hips." I sway with confidence.

"That looks like an incredible amount of effort."

"That's how I spent my morning," I giggle.

"Who are you supposed to be?"

"Um... it's not a specific character. Just a generic demonette."

"Well," she smiles. "You are going to steal many hearts and souls."

Wow, she's buying it. Damn, I'm awesome.

I let her in, and somehow this magnificent BBW chases away all my ghosts.

"I thought you might be hungry." She puts some groceries on the table. "Your father, bless him, tends to forget about lunch."

"I'm starving," I say. "Not that Dad forgot anything. He took good care of me, I swear."

"He better have," she playfully scolds him. "Otherwise, I'll give him a good spanking."

"He would probably love that."

She rolls eyes at my immaturity, but also gives me a look of tender complicity.

I am slowly grounding myself. I breathe easier, though I must resist the impulse to hug her.

"Mind if I take a quick shower?" I ask her. "I need to wash this off. B-but please don't leave."

"Not going anywhere," she reassures me. "I got some meatloaf I can warm up for you, Laura's favorite. I made a little too much last night."

"I would so love some meatloaf."

I get in the shower, leaving the door open. Cynthia doesn't peek, which is a little disappointing. I don't think she is entirely indifferent to girls, but clearly not her preference. Still, as long as there's at least one tiny seed, I can make it bloom.

I double check in the mirror that my disguise holds. I hide the horns, conceal the tail, turn my skin white, and my hair black. Only my eyes stay the same.

"Almost ready," Cynthia says as I walk out. "Would you like some gravy?"

"As much as humanly possible," I giggle.

"Glad to hear it, because it's kinda my -- Oh!"

"What?" I fake indifference. "Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Aren't you cold?" she asks, looking at my body, fully naked save for my panties.

"Not really." I simulate blushing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... I'll get one of Dad's shirts."

She does not prevent me from doing so. Damn.

"I'm still adjusting," I explain as we sit down. "Mom didn't really mind me walking around half naked." In fact, she complained if I did not.

"I can imagine." She laughs. "Must be a lot different with your father."

"Oh, yeah." I try not to laugh. "Toootally."

We have a nice lunch. The meatloaf slaps, and the gravy is fucking delicious. I ask for seconds, and thirds.

"Are you sure you did not skip breakfast?" Cynthia asks.

"Hundred per cent," I answer. "I just love to eat."

"Yeah." She glances at her body. "You and me both."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I protest. "That better not be self-deprecation I just heard."

"More like envy." She glances at me.

"You're kidding, right?" I seriously ask. "You're fucking gorgeous."

She devours the compliment the same way I did the meatloaf. "You are very kind to say that."

"Kind my ass!" I curse. "I would kill to have tits like those."

Her cheeks grow a few shades darker. Did I overdid it? Course correction? Nah. We are doubling down.

"I like girls," I say. Not a lie, just a misleading truth. "Like, a lot."

"I was sort of suspecting that," she smiles.

"I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"Not in the slightest." That's a lie, but a gentle lie.

"Are you super, super, super sure that Laura is straight?"

"I'm afraid so."

I smirk a wicked smirk. "What about you?"

"I was until this morning." She laughs at her own joke, then covers her mouth, as if trying to catch the words that just escaped from it. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. Please forget that."

"Forgotten." Like heck I will.

After lunch is finished, I immediately go about doing the dishes. She quite politely joins me, and we are done in a jiff; without breaking a single glass, no less.

"I really have to go now," she says, collecting her coat. "Will you be all right?"

"I..." I don't want to be alone. Not today. I just can't. "I was wondering if you would stay a bit longer. Would you like some tea?"

She gives me a patient smile.

"I have to take care of a few things. I'll come back and check on you later, okay?"

I should just say yes and thank her. What is wrong with me?

"Can I come with you?" I ask instead, dumb little slut that I am.

"On that ankle?" she asks, and I blush like an idiot.

I cannot hide my discomfort. Truth be told, I am not making much of an effort to. She notices, of course, and grows concerned.

"I guess I can stay a little longer," she puts down her coat, and I can breathe again. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?"

"It's stupid," I say.

"I don't believe that," she says.

"You wouldn't believe what I had to say either," I insist.

"Try me."

We sit down on the sofa and for a good while I say nothing. I can't tell her the truth; It almost killed Dad. Not gonna do that to anyone else, that's for sure.

"Honey, are you afraid of being alone?" she asks, and I nod. "Is someone after you?" I actually do not know. "Who is it that you are afraid of?"

"My mom," I confess. "Or any of her boyfriends."

"Boyfriends?" She puts emphasis on the plural.

"That's how she calls them."

During the long pause that follows, she makes a lot of terrible conjectures. I know for a fact that none comes even remotely close to the truth.

"Is that why you left?" she asks. "Did they mistreat you?"

I am fucking assailed by the urge to tell her. Tell her everything, about Mom, about her thralls, about what they did to me and... about what they made me do. I know I can't. That would drive her nuts. Shit, it's driving me nuts!

"Mom is not a bad person." Why do I keep saying that? Why? I can almost hear her laugh. "I'm sorry. This is a fucking metric ton of baggage I'm throwing at you."

"It's all right," Cynthia says. "I should not have pried."

"I'm glad you did." I can tell how uneasy I am making her. And I can tell she can tell that I can tell. "I should let you go."

"I'll go," she smiles. "When you are ready."

After a moment of hesitation, I let my head fall on her shoulder. She hugs me, and I fight the urge to cry. She is so warm. I feel myself sink into her softness.

"You are a good woman," I tell her.

"And you are a good girl," she tells me.

"I'm not," I almost laugh. "If you only knew what's in my head."

She laughs a warm laugh. "Try me."

She doesn't mean that, does she? Nah, no way. She can't feel things the way I do. Or can she? She likes making love, that's for sure. She is pretty sex positive for her age -- or any age, actually.

"It's stupid," I repeat myself.

"I bet it's not," she repeats herself.

"Well... I think you feel really nice. You smell really nice too."

"Oh." The compliment is not entirely unexpected, and not entirely unwelcome. "I'm very flattered."

"I hope things work out between you and Dad," I keep going. "It would be cool to have you around all the time."

"We can still be friends, whatever happens."

"Whatever happens?"

"Of course."

And now I'm horny again. I desperately wanna fuck her. Would she let me, though? Would Dad? Damn, girl. Keep it together.

"All right," I pull back from the hug. "Can I make one, I swear one, inappropriate comment? Then, I promise, I'll shut up forever."

She gives me another warm smile.

"One," she grants.

"You really have like the most amazing rack!" I manage to make her laugh. "I'm serious."

"I'm sure you are," she keeps being patient. "It is both a blessing and a curse."

"Some curse." I squeeze my own far less impressive breasts. "No wonder Dad loves them so much."

More silence, still loaded, but it is a far happier kind of loaded.

"I really, really have to go now," she says.

"Sure," I say back. "One last hug?"

"Granted."

I dive into her softness again. I want to drown in it. The hug goes on, and on, and on.

"Will you be okay?" she asks.

"I think I will," and this team I mean it. "Cynthia?"

"Yes?"

"Can I touch them, just a little?"

She recoils, and blushes, and ponders.

"Um, that would be..." She is conflicted, to my and her own big surprise. "Would that make you feel better?"

"Tons!" I say, and mean it.

"Oh, God." She laughs at what she is about to do. "One quick touch?"

I nod like a desperate, horny little puppy.

I press my fingers onto her chest, they sink in as if I was squeezing warm, soft dough. She is wearing a bra, unfortunately. But we can fix that, I'm sure.

"They are so heavy!" I marvel.

"Like I said," she tries not to moan. "A blessing and a curse."

"Were they always this big?" What a well framed question. "I mean, of course they weren't. I meant--"

"I was a bit of an early bloomer," she says. "As was my mom -- and my daughter, as I'm sure you have noticed."

"Teehehe, guilty!" I admit.

I can already picture it: the four of us together. If I make it happen, Daddy would never say no to me, would he?

"I think that's enough," she says.

"Just a few more seconds," I implore. "I promise I won't make it weird."

"That ship has sailed, I'm afraid."

It has, but no one here regrets missing it.

"I'm sorry," I say, for the bigillionth time. "I am enjoying this a heck of a lot more than I should.

"You and me both." She bites her tongue, along with her lower lip.

"Yeah," I whisper. "That's okay. That's normal."

"Is this what -- Ahn!"

She moans while trying really hard not to. These beautiful tits of hers sure are sensitive.

"Where did you learn how to do this?" she asks.

"Well..."

Damn! Normally I'm a pretty decent liar, even by succubi standards. Why can't Ik I resist telling the truth?

"Mostly Mom," I confess. "And her friends."

She gasps in horror -- horror and something else. "Honey, that is terrible!"

"It's not!" I squeeze her a little too hard. "I know you'll think I'm crazy, but that was the best part of her parenting."

"Oh, honey..."

"I don't want to think about it. I want to think of you."

She gawks at me in utter terror, and curiosity, and terror of her curiosity. Just let it go, Cynthia. Let me take the reins, and I will lead you to beautiful places you never knew existed.

"Ophelia!" she gasps. "What are you doing to me?"

"I've wanted to do this since I first saw you," I admit. "Please, don't hate me."

"Your dad!" she whimpers. "We can't do this to him."

I pause, and pull away from her. She may be right. How would Dad feel about this? I mean, he is being intimate with her and me, but we made it clear that I'm okay with it. The other way around? Not so much. I should definitely slow the fuck down.

"You're right," I tell her. "I got carried away."

"S-so did I," she huffs and pants.

"You're not gonna tell Dad, are you?"

"Not in a million years." We laugh together.

"Final hug?" I gulp.

"Not final." She welcomes me back into her arms. "You can have as many as you like."

I press myself on her as much as I can, and stay there for a whole minute, then another, then I look at her straight in those big brown eyes and wait for her to push me back, to get up, to run out the door. She doesn't. I get close to her face, expecting her to recoil, but by the time my lips meet hers, they are already open.

She is an avid kisser. Once my tongue is past her lips, she can't have enough of it. Her nipples are so big and feel so hard compared to the softness of her tits. I need to feel them more. I want them back in my mouth.

"Am I your first?" I ask her. "Girl, I mean."

"Y-yes," she stummers. "I never thought -- I mean, I tried but didn't -- I had no idea."

"It's cool," I giggle and kiss her more. "I'll show you everything."

The first order of things: getting rid of hr blouse and her bra. I hop on her lap and rip her buttons open. She gasps, but does not complain. On the contrary, she gets rid of her bra before I chew through that too. I take both her nipples in my mouth.

"W-wait!" She pushes me back. "Yours too."

I take off Dad's shirts, showing off my much smaller but definitely firmer tits. She touches them as if she were discovering her own hands. We press our nipples together and start making out like we're both teenagers.

We continue like this until it is beyond evident that we both want more. I get to her side, still latched onto her nipple. At the same time, I let my hand slide down between the thickness of her thighs. Fuck, she's wet. Almost as wet as me.

"Wow." I took my fingers out of her panties and tasted her. "Is this all for me?" She won't admit it, staring at the absurd slickness trailing and glistening between my open fingers. "For what it's worth, I feel super lucky." I smile at her.

"M-me too," she smiles back. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met. I just can't believe you could be into," she looks down, "this."

"This," I sink fingers back inside her pussy, "is beautiful. This is fantastic. That's why Dad likes to fuck you so much."

"Your dad fucks me because--" She lets out a nearly pained moan. I think I found her G-spot. "He fucks me because he is horny and lonely, and so am I."

"Then let's be horny together," I propose. "All three of us."

The idea, so obvious to me, sounds downright deranged to her. And yet, it makes so much sense.

"Do you think he would agree?" she asks.

"We can wait for him and see what he has to say," I propose. "He should be here in a few hours."

"A few hours," she nearly cries.

"In the meantime, we can have a little warm-up, if you want."

"Yes, yes, yes!" she pants. "I mean, I guess that would make sense."

For the next five hours or so, I introduce beautiful, bountiful Cynthia to the countless possibilities and endless joys of lesbian sex. I start easy, sucking her nipple and masturbating her with my capable fingers. I caress her clit and vagina inside and out, making her cum harder than she ever thought fingers could make her. After that, we move on to oral.

"Tell me the truth, who's better at licking pussy," I tease her between her second and third orgasm. "Me or Dad."

"You!" she cries. "God, he tries so hard, but there is no fucking comparison."

Yep, that sounds right. Sorry, Dad, I'll give you a few more pointers next time you practice, on either of us.

After I make her cum the third time, she begins to feel guilty, and implores me to let her lick me. No need to ask me twice. I get on the sofa and let her go to town on me.

"Is this good?" she asks me every twenty seconds or so.

"This is great!" I encourage her. "Is this really your first time licking pussy?"

"It is," she says, still in disbelief.

"You could have fooled me." I caress her wonderful curls.

"I'm just trying--" She keeps licking, with the appetite of the starved. "Just trying to think what I would like."

"I must warn you," I snicker. "I'm a bit of a squirter."

"It's fine," she says, ashamed and anxious. "Whenever you are ready."

"You're sure?"

"I beg you."

I don't want her to beg. I hold on to her curls, curl my toes, and nearly drown her.

A couple of hours in, we are at a bit of a loss. She feels the need for something thick, big and hard in her pussy, and Dad is still not coming. I search around the house for something that might help. The best things I can find are a medium-sized cucumber and a bottle of shampoo. We decide to eat the cucumber; the bottle of shampoo is easier to properly sanitize. Shame there is only one, but it's okay. I don't mind waiting for my turn.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" she asks me, afraid she will squash me.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," I say, gazing at her glorious, so very worshippable ass hovering over me in all its divine perfection. "Your full weight, I mean it."

"I'll crush you."

"That's kinda the point. I lick my lips. "But don't forget to use the bottle."

It takes a lot of back and forth to convince her, and even when I manage, I still have to pull her down on me.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"The bottle!" I yell.

"Sorry!" She pushes the shampoo bottle inside my pussy. "Is this good?"

"Almost." I pull her ass on my face and finally go to town on her.

"Hey, that is my -- Ahn!"

Turns out her asshole too is very sensitive. Not sensitive enough to make her cum, but it sure does the job for me. With this treatment, I cum like a fountain, again and again. On my final orgasm, I shoot the bottle of shampoo across the room.

After that, we just cuddle on the sofa, kissing tenderly and fingering each other just a bit.

"God, I need cock," Cynthia moans. "When is your father going to be home?"

"Any moment now," I tell her. "One last round?"

"I... I don't think I can," she huffs. "M-mind if I lie down just a bit?"

I let her rest on the sofa. She is spent, poor thing. Methinks we both need to hydrate. I go to the kitchen and get a full pitcher of water. When I get back, I find her fast asleep.

I wait for her to recover, but I fear that's gonna take a while. I'm still horn, y though. Damn, when is Daddy coming back? Looks like all I have is this lousy shampoo bottle. Oh, well. I lay on the sofa next to Cynthia and proceed with some self-care.

I'm halfway there when I hear a quick jiggling of keys. The door opens.

"Hi, Dad." I wave at him with my one free hand.

--

I was hoping the scene could cause him to be overcome with lust and fuck me, to punish me; or at least have me jerk him off on the sleeping booty. Instead, Dad closes the door behind him, and stands in front of it for a minute or two. Very little of what goes through his head is lustful.

"Sorry!" I say, more playful than regretful. "It kinda happened."

"I had no doubt," he says, eyes wide and resigned.

He approaches the sofa, checking that Cynthia is indeed asleep and not out cold.

"Is she okay?" he asks, and I take that personally.

"She's better than me," I grumble.

"What exactly did you do to her?"

I give him an extremely detailed sum-up. It gets him riled up, of course, but not nearly as much as I wanted. There's something else clogging his brain.

"I see," is all he says in the end.

"Had you come home a little sooner, you would've found us both ready and eager," I joke. "Instead, you'll have to content yourself with only me."

"I..." he mumbles. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"What?" I sit up, cross my arms, and openly display my annoyance. "You're seriously mad at me?"

"What I am is very, very worried."

"Well, don't you worry," I grumble. "She is fine and so am I, thanks for asking."

He sighs and prepares for another lecture, for which I'm really not in the fucking mood.

"What happened here? he begins. "It just does not happen. None of this is normal."

"It's pretty normal to me." I shrug.

"Has anyone ever said no to you?" he asks.

"Just once," I hiss. "And it's his fucking loss."

I turn around, leaving Daddy to care for his girlfriend, or whatever she is. He takes a blanket and covers her. He double-checks that she is indeed all right, which makes my blood boil.

"You want me to be out of here?" I ask him. "When she wakes up, I mean."

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he says. "But I think Cynthia would rather not confront you."

"Why?"

He stares at me, unable to explain the obvious.

"Fine!" I scoff.

--

Cynthia eventually wakes and nearly panics when she sees Dad sitting next to her.

"Miles!" she cries out.

"Hey, easy there." He smiles at her. "Want some water?"

"W-where's Ophelia?" She sits up, and the sheets fall from her treasure chest. She grabs and pulls them up, trying to reverse what can't be reversed.

"I asked her to give you some space."

Daddy glances in my general direction. Cynthia follows his gaze but obviously sees nothing.

"Miles, I..." Cynthia's head falls in her hands. "I did something terrible. I don't know what came over me. I swear to God I didn't want to -- I mean, I did but... fuck!"

"You did nothing wrong," Daddy says.

"You don't get it, I--"

"Hush," he embraces her. "You owe me no explanation." He laughs at himself. "In fact, I should probably provide you one, but I have none."

"I don't understand!" she sobs.

"Me neither." Again he looks towards me. "I'm trying to make sense of it, t but I'm still in the dark."

"That girl," Cynthia says. "She's..."

"My daughter," Daddy finishes the sentence. "First and foremost, she is my daughter."

He helps her stand up and get dressed. She leaves without another word.

"Hey," Dad turns to me. "It's okay, you can come out."

I step back into the light, trying to hold on to my anger. It turns out, my anger is pretty slippery right now.

"Dad, I..."

He raises his hands. He does not need to hear it.

"We should go to sleep," he says. "Would you feel more comfortable if I took the sofa?"

"No!" I scream.

"It's okay!" he says. "Forget I asked."

We go to bed, and cuddle. His warmth helps me stay grounded; it soothes me. Then why the fuck do I still feel like shit?

--

I sleep poorly. My dreams are ugly and short. When the morning light comes, I'm already awake. Daddy still sleeps, fully erect, as usual. I don't think he deserves his morning blowjob, but then again I don't see why I should punish myself. In fact, I'm gonna do something different. For my sake, and not his.

I trap his cock between my thighs and start moving back and forth. My skin is dry by now, and the friction is probably not that pleasant. Daddy wakes up, and is obviously startled.

"Hoey, what are you--?"

"Shut up," I moan. "I'm still mad at you."

He lets me do it, but is working nowhere near as well as it should. I'll need lubrication, but I can't just get up to find some soap. I get rid of my panties and place him back between my legs.

"Honey, please--"

"I'm just rubbing it, okay!" I grumble. "No need to get all fussy."

"Sorry, I thought... go ahead."

I want to be angry, but damn, this small win feels disproportionately big. His cock is against my pussy, and I am so fucking wet that all friction is just gone. I go back and forth along his shaft, making both of us squirm in pleasure that is intense but could be so much more if I just adjusted the angle a little.

In fact, I could just let him slip inside me. It's always better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission; that's what... Mom always says.

I'm not gonna do that.

I make Daddy cum, and we make just the worst mess on the bed.

"Ufff, I'm afraid we'll need to wash these." Daddy chuckles nervously. I shut up. "We too should probably shower. Wanna come?"

I shrug and follow him to the bathroom.

--

We have breakfast, without much talking or touching, just like the shower we just had. I'm still horny; he is too, but we don't act on it.

"You know, now that you have an official role at school," he says. "I was thinking you could come to the cafeteria for lunch. The food is horrible, but at least you'll have some company."

I answer with a shrug.

"How are your ankles?" he asks.

"I'll walk."

He nods, and bravely runs away from the conversation.

He leaves for work early, and I am once again all alone with my thoughts, which is bad. They can be real assholes when no one's around.

I reach for my phone and, for the first time in my life, I realise I'm not in the mood to watch porn. I try to do something more constructive instead and browse for some toys. No more shampoo bottles.

I find a few interesting options, all very expensive, unfortunately. I would love a nice wand, but I think a thick, long, flexible double-edged dildo should be my priority. I checked the most popular design and, predictably, I don't like it. I want something that looks like a two-headed cock, big one too. There's one I really love, all black, huge flares on each end. It's just beautiful, but I don't think Cynthia would be ready for something like this, yet. Ah, this one's perfect. Bright purple, but clearly phallic, big but not terrifyingly big. Let's see... One-hundred-seventy-nine-ninety-nine, plus shipping and taxes. Fuck.

I can't use Mom's credit card. That would be like a fucking bat-signal. I'll have to find a job. I could also ask Dad, though I'm not sure he would be willing to spend that much cash on toys for her girlfriend and me. I would need to be very convincing, and I suddenly don't feel all that confident about my persuasion skills.

I drop on the sofa and wallow in misery. I knock my head against something rigid. It's Dad's book, the one with the hot guy. Guess reading is a good way, like anything, to keep the voices in my head shut the fuck up for a while.

I start reading from chapter two, the one that had the giving in to temptation line. This guy Henry is a real piece of work. Mom would fucking love him. The whole thing is a fucking slog to get through, but I managed to finish the chapter and even start the next one. I think this is the longest reading session I had in... a fucking long while.

I get to a point where this Dorian dude is looking at his portrait, all pissed that he'll grow old and wrinkly while his portrait stays hot.

"If it were I who was to be always young," I read aloud, for some reason, then my phone rings. It's Laura.

"Hey, dancing queen," she calls me. "You home?"

"I am." I sit up. "Wanna come by?"

"I kinda have to," she chuckles. "Mom asked my cousins and me to help you move your stuff downstairs."

I try to deduce from her voice if she talked to her mother; I guess not.

"We could be there in ten," she says.

"Sure thing." I check the time. It's still early. "I'll be here."

Laura's cousins, Cynthia's nephews, turn out to be quite handsome and very eager to help, especially after seeing me. We move everything downstairs before noon; it's not like Dad has a whole lot to transport. The books are the thing that takes the most time. We have to box all of them and bring them down. They are heavy.

"Leave that to us," one of Laura's cousins says. I already forgot his name. Cute butt, though.

Once everything is done, he casually asks for my number. I believe giving it to him is the least I can do. Unfortunately, Laura informs him that I am eighteen before I can give him anything, and that is enough to make him change his mind.

That makes me so mad. I could fuck the two of them. Hell, I could fuck the three of them, if I wanted to. I should. I'm sad and horny. And I still want to get back at Dad for being so... so...

"I cannot thank you enough," I say to the three of them. "Mind if I talk to Laura for just a sec?"

They leave us some privacy.

"'Sup?" she asks me.

"Just wanted to ask how's your mom," I say.

"Good," she shrugs.

I use all of my abilities to make out if she is hiding anything. She isn't. That, or she is the best fucking liar I ever came across.

"We're going out again on Saturday," she says. "You in?"

"Sure," I say. "Um, 'fore I forget, could you also give me your mom's contact? You know, just in case."

Another hour later, I'm walking to school. I decided to take Daddy up on his invitation, though I don't know how much of a good idea that is. The only thing worse than seeing him is not seeing him. Urgh, fuck. I'm already talking like that stupid book.

While walking, I tap yet another message for Cynthia. I tried to call her a few times, s but she won't answer. I wrote and deleted like seventeen different variations of the same damn thing. I decided to go with number eighteen, just because.

If you wanna talk, I'm here.

I'm also tempted to add that I am sorry, that I didn't mean to hurt her, that I just want things to go back the way they were, but it all feels so false that I decide it's better if I just shut the fuck up.

I get to the school cafeteria, but Dad's not there. Either he forgot to have lunch or already has. There's Marc and Gabriela, who are busy in polite conversation. He just said something he believed to be quite clever, but she doesn't see it that way.

I'm about to ask to join them when I feel a tingly sensation running up my shapeshifted tail. In the middle of all these hormones and horniness, I catch the scent of something extra spicy going on. Someone here is thirsting for mad love the way only adolescents can. I follow the sinful scent of unfulfilled desire all the way to the bottom of the cafeteria. There, sitting all alone, sketching in her sketchbook, is Sammie.

She is not nearly as curvy as Daddy pictured her in his head, but those glasses, that cute nose underneath, and those big eyes behind them are the same.

"Hi," I startle her. "Mind if I sit here?"

Her priority is to close the sketchbook shut.

"Of course," she says. "I mean, no. I mean, I don't mind at all."

She is such a dork. I don't know how I'll refrain from taking her here in front of everyone.

"Name's Ophelia," I reach out. "Co-Director of the theatre club."

"Co-Director?" She shakes my hand. I can feel on her fingers that she masturbates a lot, even for her age. "So, there's going to be a Theatre Club?"

"Thanks to yours truly, yes," I smugly smile. "You are Sammie Taylor, right?. From Miles's class."

"You mean Mr Macallister?" she asks, adorably confused. "Yes, that's me. W-why?"

"He told me you were very interested in the club," I say. "That means we are going to see each other a lot."

"Oh, yeah, I did say that." She lowers her eyes, down to her sketchbook.

"Everything okay?" I ask her, eyeing her small shrine of shameful secrets.

"Yeah, yeah, I just..." She takes a deep breath. "When is casting going to start?"

"In about a week," I shrug. "Did you have any part in mind?"

"They haven't announced what the play is going to be," she reminds me.

"Right," I snicker. "Wanna find out?"

She looks around as if I was about to hand her the answers to the finals, or a bag full of joints.

"It's not the... Scottish Play, is it?"

"Scottish Play?" I mumble. "No, no. Pretty sure it's Danish."

"Oh..." she goes quiet. "That's a tough one."

"Nothing I can't handle," I hope. "So, who would you like to play?"

"Oh, don't know," she chuckles. "Maybe a tree -- or a guard?"

"Come on, you got stage fright?" I ask. "I can tell how much you want to be in this."

That is not the whole truth, but I obviously cannot tell her the whole truth. What she wants, what she thirsts for, is my Dad. I bet this whole idea of joining the theatre club is all about getting into her teacher's pants. Let's make it happen.

"I don't know, I..." She looks in every direction except mine. "I would like to, but Jesus, everyone's going to laugh at me."

"I understand." I feel the urge to touch her fingers again. "What were you drawing?"

"Oh, you know... stuff."

"Can I see any of your stuff?"

I take her panicked look as a no.

"Okay, forget I asked." I let her off the hook, for now. "Look, Sammie. I'll be straight with you, Miles told me about you specifically for a reason. You are at the top of his class, and even if he did not say that explicitly, it's pretty damn obvious that you are his favorite student."

"Really?" she beams.

"Like I said, pretty damn obvious," I chuckle. "I could coach you, help you get over whatever's holding you back."

"You would?" Hope and mistrust punch out inside her pretty little head. "That would be fantastic, although I can't pay much."

"I'm a lover of the art," I very falsely claim. "You are going to pay me by doing a stellar performance."

"I..." she laughs at herself. "I'll do my best."

"Great." I start tapping on my phone. "I'll give you my contact; we can talk whenever you are ready."

I stretch out my hand again, and she shakes with enthusiasm. Not as much as me, though. Goodness, these fingers. I'm going to suck on them like pussy drenched lollipops.

--

The other quarry I am hunting proves, as Daddy would put it, much more elusive. This Melanie girl decided to skip class, and I can't find her anywhere in the corridors. I check the courtyard, but she's not there either. I'm just about to give up the search when I stumble upon a precious hint.

A puff of perfumed smoke tickles my nose, a chemical cocktail of blueberry and mint. It's coming from a second-floor window; one of the bathrooms, I bet. After double-checking, no one's around. I fly up and phase inside.

The bathroom reeks of vape, as if it was used for nothing else. I follow the fruity trail to the last stall and knock.

"Shit!" someone hisses inside. "Just a minute."

She flashes the toilet, panicky. She did not hear anyone come in through the door, after all. She then emerges from the stall, expecting to confront a teacher, or an administrator, or at least a janitor. Instead, Melanie finds me. She is nothing like Sammie, she is every bit as hot as my daddy pictured her.

Black shirt, black ripped jeans, black fishnet stockings underneath, black mascara and black lipstick, black nails, everything over pale white. She looks like she hasn't ventured into the sun for a year, not without a thick layer of creamy sunscreen at least. She's curvy, in all the right places. Full hips, thick thighs, while her shoulders, waist, and feet all look small in proportion. She is a delicious, ripe, juicy-looking pear.

"Who the fuck--?"

"Don't you know that it's forbidden to smoke on school grounds?" I tease her.

"You a hallway monitor or something?"

"I'm more of a bully," I grin. "Give me the vape."

She looks at me like a cornered vixen, uncertain but defiant.

"No?" she declares.

"If you won't, I'll take it," I threaten her.

We are about the same height, and the same build. And yet, I deliver my little ultimatum with a confidence she can't quite explain. She is not used to being put to the ropes like this, and decides to give up her disposable vape. I snatch it from her hand and take a frighteningly long drag. I blow all of the smoke straight in her face, and she resists the urge to cough.

"You really smoke this shit?" I ask her before flinging the vape out the window.

"Hey, what the fuck?" she yells, and prepares to do more than yell.

"Here." I surprise her again. "Try mine."

She gazes at my personal vape, a small treasure to her. That's not something she could buy on her allowance, that's for sure. She takes it, tries the buttons, and takes a tentative drag, then a long drag, and then another. By the time she lets the perfumed smoke out into the stale air of the girls' bathroom, all hostility is gone.

"This is the shit!" she mumbles in intoxicated stupor. "What is it?"

"The flavour's called 'Styx'," I smirk. "It's not available in this country. You can only find it where I'm from."

"And where's that?" she asks, taking one more drag.

"Below." I tease her further.

"You mean down under?" She blows the smoke aside, filling the air with pure vaporised sin.

"Something like that."

"You really ain't got the accent." She eyes me with suspicion.

"You can blame my mom."

She can't quite make out where I'm going with this, but dismisses the mystery with a shrug.

"You're Melanier Clover, aren't you?" I ask.

"What's it to you?"

"Name's Ophelia," I extend my hand.

She looks at my smile as if it was full of filed teeth, and at my hand as if each finger ended with a talon. She doesn't shake it.

"Come on," I grin wider. "I don't bite." Though she would probably like me to.

She shakes my hand, out of politeness, out of fear, out of curiosity.

"Well, Ophelia..." One more drag, the stuff is just too good. "The answer's no."

"No?" I do not like hearing that word.

"I'm not gonna help you push this stuff at school." She takes the longest drag yet, fearing it could be her last chance. "Whatever you heard about me, it ain't true."

"Really?" I fake disappointment.

"Really." She hands me back my vape

"Thanks for the freebie, though."

I look her in the eyes, hinting at how few fucks I give about the vape. I take her hand, brush her fingers, and close them on the vape.

"Keep it."

She shows off some remarkable self-control. With perfectly simulated indifference, she pockets the vape. Unfortunately for her, perfectly simulated is not good enough for me.

"Tell me, Melanie..." I step closer, and the vixen winces. "Do you believe in fate?"

That question puts her even more on her guard. I am sure she is running through a whole archive of conjectures inside her head.

"No?" she dismisses me.

"Go out with me this Saturday and I'll change your mind."

Her brain has a bit of a system crash. Guess it ran into some conflicting priorities.

"Look, I'll give you my contact." I send the info directly on her phone, leaving her puzzled about how in the world I managed to. Text me by six if you are in. 'Kay?"

I am tempted to give her a little preview of what I have in store for her. I am positive she would accept it. But there is no rush. I'm gonna taste this pear once she is perfectly ripe.

The rest of the week goes by quickly. Dad and I get settled in the new apartment, which is so similar to his old one that it almost feels like we did not move at all, only edited in a couple of bedrooms.

Laura gifted me some of her old stuff from when she was a teenager. Her old bed, desk and a whole lot of posters. I offer my best thanks, which she politely declines.

I do not use my bed much. In fact, I hang in my new room only during the daytime when Dad has to work. I chat with Laura a lot, hoping she will tell me about her mom.

Cynthia never answered any of my texts and Dad says she won't talk to him much either. She needs space, he says, and we will give it to her. I don't know what to think.

Sammie calls me one afternoon, asking me if my offer to coach her stands. It obviously does and, after asking Dad, I inform him that we still have a whole week ahead of us before auditions start. We agree to start Monday afternoon at school. Hopefully we will end the week at her place.

In the evening, Dad and I spend time together. He just can't believe that I actually want to just hang out with him and chill. Having dinner at the table and then watching something on his laptop, while we snuggle in bed. Truth be told, I can't believe it either. I always thought this could work as an interlude to sex but no. I kinda look forward to it, even if we don't fuck after.

Then again, we don't exactly stop at snuggling. Dad is finally coming to terms with the fact that his baby girl has needs and does at least somewhat provide. He sticks to his stupid no penetration rule, but never says no when I demand his finger or his tongue. He is getting damn good at getting me off. I just love laying on him while he masturbates me to his fantasies. I just want to make them all real.

Of course, I am not selfish, and I return his attention as often as he lets me. He has come to love my handjobs and has stopped being all weird about me swallowing his cum.

Once we are spent, we fall asleep in each other's arms, and everything is perfect.

--

Saturday morning, we wake up late. Since there's time, I decide to give him his morning blowjob after breakfast, or maybe during it, we'll see how it goes. I check my phone while Dad works the stoves. There's a message from Sammie, wishing me a happy weekend and looking forward to seeing me on Monday. I thank her and say I look forward to it as well. Should I add a kiss emoji? Nah, too early for that. Message from Laura: am I game tonight? Of course I am. No message from Cynthia yet, or Melanie.

"Everything okay, Honey?" Dad asks, setting a delicious-looking and deliciously smelling pancake in front of me.

"Couldn't be better," I beam.

"Glad to hear it," he nods serenely. "Syrup?"

"I think you should know by now what my preferred topping is." I brush against his crotch with the back of my hand.

"Um..." Oh, come on, Dad! Still playing hard to get? "Do give the Syrup a chance."

Honest to Satan, this syrup is fucking delicious. It's okay, I guess I'll have my fix of Daddy's cum after I am done with these pancakes.

"So..." He sits down, all smiles and happy glances. "What are your plans for the weekend?"

"I'm not much into plans," I brush against his calf with my foot. "I like to improvise."

"I... erm... love your spontaneity."

I bet he does.

"You got a whole lot of work today, right?" I ask.

"I'm afraid so," he admits with a sigh. "I kind of fell behind, with everything that happened."

"Yeah, I know." I think back at the shopping spree, and everything after that. "I was wondering if there is anything I can do to help. Like, tidy up a bit, do some laundry."

"On a Saturday?" he teases me. "I just want you to be out there, exploring, meeting people, making friends. Being a kid."

"Is that how you spent your Saturdays when you were my age?" I tease him back.

"Not really," he admits, and refuses to go into details. "I'm not an example to follow."

I know why you are saying this, Daddy. Having me strutting around, playing maid while you desperately try to concentrate? You're afraid you won't get anything done.

"Tonight I'm going out with Laura again," I say.

"I'm happy to hear it." He is annoyingly sincere. "Laura is a good person."

"Yep," I sigh. "Too bad she is straight."

"I think that is probably for the best." He chuckles, but it is a nervous chuckle.

"Any news from Cynthia?"

Daddy goes sad and sombre. Unlike me, he just can't fake nonchalance.

"She is not in a very talkative mood," he says.

"She's still not over this?" I ask.

"It is not something one gets over quickly."

"I don't understand what the big deal is," I say. "You are not angry, are you?"

"I believe I made that quite plain."

"What about her?"

"I... wouldn't say she's mad." He blushes. "Not exactly."

"Then what is the fucking problem?" I let my exasperation out. "Can't the three of us just be happy together?"

"It's complicated."

"No, it's not," I whine like a fucking brat. "You are making it complicated with all this..."

"Prudishness?" he suggests.

He's making fun of me. Dad, why do you have to be such a dick?

"Whatever," I grumble. "No morning blowjob for you."

He lets out a long sigh. I can sense his sexual frustration and by the seven fucking circles, s it is glorious. Shame he handles it so well. Better than me, actually.

"I suppose you too need some time to think."

"Yep," I say. "Guess so."

He reaches out to collect my plate, but falls back into his chair. He blushes, and lets a guilty smile escape his lips.

"H-honey," he stutters. "Didn't you just say--?"

"What?" I ask, my face frowning and my foot firmly planted on his rock hard shaft. "I didn't say a rock-hard footjob, did I?"

I feel his relief, but also his guilt.

"O-Ophelia." I do love hearing him gasp my name. "You don't have to do this."

"You're kinda forcing me to." I stoke that guilt. "I mean, look at how hard you are. As if I didn't suck you within an inch of your life last night."

"I'm sorry," he nearly sobs.

"Shut up, it turns you on. Doesn't it?" I go further. "Having me doing this for you?"

It's a very simple question, but I get no answer from him. He is utterly crushed between his conscience and the sole of my foot. Oh, Daddy. Why do you torture yourself like that?

"Don't move," I warn him.

I hop on the table. I have him move his chair back just a little, and pull down his zip with my toes. His cock peeks at me from under his white slips. I press his frenulum with my big toe, then cradle him with the rest of my foot.

"Do you like this, Dad?"

"I do, dear. Very much."

"You are so sweet when you are embarrassed," I giggle.

"Then I am sweet all the time."

"Oh, a dad joke," I tease him. "While your little girl is giving you a footjob, no less."

"Think of it as gallows humour, dear."

He is still not letting himself go. It will take a lot of work, scraping all that shame and guilt off of him. I want you to be happy, Daddy. I want you to be free to love me. Don't you worry, though. I'll take care of it.

"How do you like my feet?" I ask, going down on his shaft with my other five toes. "They are not too small, are they?"

"They are absolutely lovely, dear."

"I can make them longer, if you prefer them," I suggest, while trapping the head of his cock between my left bridge and right sole. "And softer too."

"They are absolutely the perfect size," he says, his breath growing shorter. "And could not be more soft."

I enjoy the compliment and the little game I'm playing. I gotta admit, this is more fun than I thought it would be. I do desperately want to feel his cock inside my pussy, but this is also not bad.

"I didn't take you for a feet guy," I tell him, pressing him between my soles.

"I believe you just made me one," he lets out a stuttering laugh. "There is no fingernail, thread of hair, bit of skin of you I do not find attractive."

Wow! I did not expect that compliment. Damn, I'm good.

"You must have your favorite," I tease him.

"I don't."

"What about this one?"

I pull my panties aside and show off my pussy. I have had more than a few pairs of eyes gazing at the perfection of my deep blue petals. None ever looked at me so enamoured, so mesmerised, so utterly lost.

"I bet this is your favorite, isn't Daddy?"

"I can't lie to you, dear."

This is close to a confession I'll get, t I'm afraid. Unless...

"You don't think it's weird?" I ask with fake insecurity, spreading my petals and letting a whole lot of nectar flow out. "See where the blue turns to pink? You don't find it gross?"

"No," he plays along. "My little princess has the prettiest of pussies."

Okay, that I really did not expect. I feel the flow of nectar increasing.

"Wouldn't you like to fuck it?" I ask with real insecurity.

"I would, dear. Desperately so," he says. "But I won't."

I pause my motion and press harder.

"Why?" I ask.

"I have to draw the line somewhere."

I can't tell if he is resigned or smug. Either way, I'm mad as heck.

"This isn't one of your porn games, Dad," I growl and grumble. "This isn't content you unlock. Whatever stupid line there was to cross, we crossed it."

"You are absolutely right." He has the balls to smile at me. "That is why I drew a new one. Yes, it is arbitrary, and most likely futile. Still, I feel it needs to be done."

"You are so... so..."

"Aggravating?" he suggests.

"Yes, that!" I wail.

"I know I can be." He sighs. "If you would prefer to stop, I would not blame you."

"The fuck we are."

I go back to masturbate him with my right foot; meanwhile, I grab the syrup and drench my left one with it. Once my cute little toes are all well glazed, I shove them straight into his mouth.

He seems surprised, but not unpleasantly. He delicately grabs my ankle, while suckling on each of my toes, and licking the space in between.

"Look at you, so fucking hard while sucking on your daughter's feet," I torment him. "You are such a hypocrite. Having me sucking your cock, jerking you off, eating all your cum, and now this?"

"I'm sorry!" he whines with my toe still in his mouth.

"Shh-shh, shut up. Use your tongue for something good for once, will you?" Am I being too mean? Nah, his cock is throbbing like crazy. "Glad you got the message. Now, lay back and let me show what you are missing.

With one foot in his mouth and the other on his cock, I start playing with my pussy. I spread it wide for him, caress the labia, slide my middle and ring finger in, and make a whole lot of pussy juice flow down onto the table.

"Can't you see how wet and ready for you I am?" I provoke him. "You would really keep me waiting even longer? You bad, bad, bad man."

He licks the last bit of syrup from my toes. I shove him back. Time to really punish him. I trap his cock between my soles and turn up the pace to eleven.

"You're gonna cum for me, Daddy?"

"I am dangerously close," he admits.

"I should just leave you like this for the rest of the day." That is one empty threat.

"I would deserve it," he admits.

"Yes, you would." I masturbate both of us even harder. "You're so lucky to have me."

"Yes, I know I am."

"Now, I want you to -- hey! What are you doing?"

Daddy grabs both my ankles. Pulls down my panties and spreads my legs. He places his cock on my pussy.

Oh fuck! He's gonna do it. This is really happening. I am... so happy I'm gonna fucking cry. Yes, Daddy, yes. Fuck your little girl. I take back every bad word I said to you; just give it to me. Stick your cock where it belongs. Fuck, he's clumsy. Why won't he enter me?

"D-dad?" I nearly cry.

"Sorry, I got a little carried away," he shamelessly says. "You like rubbing it like this, right?"

"Yeah." This time, I do cry. "I fucking love it but--"

"I know," he says. "This is the best I can do for now."

"It's okay." I swallow a couple of tears. "I'll pretend."

It is not all I want, but Lucifer's light is close enough to make me scream. A couple of minutes and I'm already cumming. I'm cumming hard. Damn, I don't want to do this alone. Faster, Dad. Use me! Use my pussy!

"I'm cumming, baby girl."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Fucking cover me."

The first rope of cum goes all the way up to my face, and those after all go almost as far. He cums, and cums, and cums, until he turns me into a beautiful mess.

"Uhh, dear," he gasps and pants. "I believe I should fetch a handkerchief."

"More like a towel," I laugh, while gathering some cum and bringing it to my mouth. "Good thing you didn't cum inside, 'cause otherwise we would have twins."

I sense a jolt of extremely intense, but also very fleeting arousal coming from him.

"May I suggest you take a quick shower?" he proposes.

"Mmm, depends," I smirk. "Are you showering with me?"

"I have to get back to work," he dodges. "Next time, dear."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

I suppose that is the best I can hope for, right now.

"Okay, but you better keep your word."

"I will, dear, I will."

"Good... Dad?"

"What is it, honey?"

"Sorry if I was mean to you," I say. "I was just playing. You know that, right?"

"Of course, sweetheart." He smiles. "It was, pun not intended l, hot as hell."

--

The rest of the afternoon, Daddy stays chained to his desk, reading, correcting, grading. It looks exhausting, not to mention boring as shit. I wish he was just done already, so he could play with me. The sooner he is done, the better.

I make sure he stays focused. I make him tea, fill his cup, give him a little affectionate kiss just to encourage him, french him hard, blow his cock and make sure he watches while I swallow all his cum.

He insists on 'reciprocity', but I don't let him. He'll make it up to me later.

It is almost sunset, and I convince him to take at least a quick break. We read the manga I bought him together. Well, not exactly together. First I show him my favorite part and have him read it while I jerk him off. I swallow his cum, of course; we don't want to ruin the pages.

After that, he does the same for me.

He is such a sweetheart, making sure his baby girl also has her fair share of orgasms, even if she does not ask, or expect, or even need all that much. I think the best thing about Dad licking my pussy, is just having him there, between my legs, taking care of me. I never thought anyone could make me this happy without getting me off. Though he does get me off, a lot.

"I'm cumming again," I warn him, and he tosses my legs around his shoulders like a lovingly enveloping scarf. While I am still squirting in his mouth, my phone buzzes.

It's Melanie. She's in.

"Yes!" I fistpump.

"Good news, dear?" Daddy asks as he licks me clean

"Fantastic!" I go down and get a kiss that tastes of me. "Fuck! I need to get ready. Gotta get my makeup and my -- oh, shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"I need to glast-minutet minute, purchase andone-hundred-seventy-nine-ninety-nineenty-nine dollars."

That sum is a bit of a gut punch to him.

"one-hundred-seventy-nine-ninenty-nine?"

"Plus taxes."

"Honey, that's..." He desperately wants to say yes, but "that's a lot of money."

"It's for a good cause." I try to convince him. "I kinda met a girl."

"Oh..." He smiles, jealous but not angry. "A girl your age?"

"Yep." I smile with sincere innocence, possibly for the first time in my life. "I want to do good by her."

"So, this money's for...?"

"A toy," I giggle. "Please, Dad. I'll send you pics."

"You d-don't have to send me pics, dear," he says, blushing, trembling, and hoping that I won't listen to him. "But you have to promise me you will treat her well, all right?"

"I just told you that--"

"You know what I mean, Ophelia," he patiently insists. "What happened with Cynthia cannot happen again. You need to control it."

"Control what?"

"I don't know," he sighs. "It."

I'm not sure what he means. I guess he wants me to go easy on her. I suppose I can try.

"Okay, Dad," I say, taking a deep breath. "I promise."

I feel the urge to cross my fingers, but resist it.