The first time she saw her parents having sex, she was still in elementary school. It had come as a shock, to say the last, but confusion definitely hit harder. She'd woken up from what must've been a bad dream, and meandered down the hall to seek their comfort. Instead, she'd been met with strange, concerning sounds she'd never heard from them before. Nervous and uncertain, she had pushed open their door to peak inside, and that sight had only confused her more: neither of them had clothes on, and she didn't really understand what she was looking it.
She'd called out to them, bleary and confused, and they had scrambled to get back under the covers, faces red and breathing hard. They'd brushed it off and done everything they could to move the conversation past it and, as young as she had been, it had worked.
But then the years passed, and she mostly forgot about the incident: assigned it to the dustbin of childhood memories that she didn't quite understand. That all changed, though, the summer before she started middle school. She and her parents had gone to see some shitty rom-com at the local movie theater and there had, of course, been a scene with the two protagonists finally getting together after tiptoeing around it for a solid ninety minutes. It was then that she finally recognized what her parents had been doing that night so long ago and, just on the edge of growing up and having working hormones, curiosity began to take hold.
It wasn't long after that realization that Lucy started to indulge that wonder. If she ever got up to the go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, she would listen when she passed her parents' room just in case they were…well, doing something interesting. But, they were always reliably asleep by that point, so she started getting up to grab water only an hour or two after she went to bed, and it only took a few weeks for something to finally happen.
She was on her way to the kitchen, footsteps soft on the carpeted floor, when she heard it: a muffled moan. It was soft but deep and raspy: clearly her father, and it stopped her in her tracks. She'd never heard him sound like that, all strung out and breathless. This was finally her chance to see it for herself: sex. Not the sanitized, half-clothed movie version with actors and actresses, but the real thing with real people. In hindsight, she probably should've felt a lot weirder about it being her own parents but, at that point, she was far too curious to even think for a moment about the taboo nature of it all.
She took every step carefully, making sure to avoid the one creaky joist right outside their door, until she could press her ear right up against the wood.
"Just like that, John," her mother moaned, followed by a soft gasp.
Her father didn't say anything in response, but she could hear the quiet creaking of the bed as he kept up whatever it was that he was doing. She wanted to hear him make that noise again.
Lucy waited there for a minute or two, just to ensure they truly had no idea she was right outside, before taking a breath and moving her hand to the door knob. Her heart was pounding in her chest, running a mile a minute from the anticipation and the nerves of it all. She hoped they wouldn't see her: please, don't let them see her. She just wants to watch, she just wants to know what it's like. That's all. She'll be satisfied once she knows what this whole sex thing is all about, surely.
She pulled slowly, so slowly, and opened the door what felt like a millimeter at a time. All that she needed was a sliver of a view, just so she could see what was going on: maybe an inch or two, if she was greedy.
The moment the door did finally begin to open, their sounds got louder, and Lucy's cheeks immediately splashed with red. It wasn't just moans anymore: now she could hear breathing and- and squelching and the slap of skin. She could also hear more of the noises her dad was making, too, and it sent a pulse of something running through her. His voice was so deep and ragged and rough, and it set something inside of her alight. For the first time, she felt heat below in a way she didn't yet understand, but she knew that she wanted to feel more of it, so she stayed and she honed in to every single noise he made while she finally worked up the courage to look through the crack she had opened up in the door.
The room was dark, which made things difficult, but there was just enough moonlight coming in from outside to make it viewable. Her mom was on her back, but she could barely see her from this angle as she laid underneath her father, who was driving his hips forward over and over and over again. He was fast, and it looked a little rough, every movement jostling the woman below him, but…there was that heat again, between her legs. "You feel so good, baby," he grunted out as his breathing picked up even more. "I'm not gonna last much longer."
"Ah! That's okay, just- just touch me."
It was hard to see, but his hand went down between her legs, rubbing at something that Lily couldn't quite see. Curious, her own hand drifted down to the weird heat she was feeling, pressing slightly and oh, she liked that. She liked that feeling a lot.
She kept watching, softly pushing against herself and feeling a pulse of unknown want every time her dad moaned. She was captivated by him, by the way he was moving, by the things he was doing.
"Fuck, Natalie, I'm gonna cum," he was clearly trying to keep his voice down, his hips going faster and faster. "Can I do it inside?"
Her mother took a moment to process, but she playfully slapped his arm. "A-absolutely not, John! I know you always wanted another kid, but it's not in the cards. Pull out!"
Lucy watched as she does, and finally saw his dick—at least, that's what she'd heard some of the boys in her grade call it. It looked weird: red and kind of angry and totally foreign to her. But he could barely wrap his hands round it when he went to touch it, moving up and down quickly for all but a few seconds before some sort of white stuff was shooting out of it, covering her mom's stomach as broken moans fell from his mouth. It's then that she felt something rise in her, the need even sharper and, while she didn't know the word at the time, she cums.
…
She watches her parents at every opportunity she gets. It becomes an obsession. She does research, she watches obscene amounts of porn as her teenage hormone-addled brain continues to develop its own tastes, but none of it compares to the feeling she gets as she watches her dad fuck her mother in their own bed. She isn't sure when exactly she started fantasizing about being in her mother's place, but her own masturbation sessions get even better when she does. She imagines it, her father—all big and broad and handsome, with a cock as thick as her forearm—pounding into her while she screams his name in ecstasy, and it produces the best orgasms without exception.
She fully realizes at this point that it's wrong: that lusting after the man who created her is a hideous taboo, but she doesn't care anymore. It feels too good, and she wants too strongly for that to matter. What harm is there in it, anyway? So what if she always gets off to the idea of her dad fucking her into the mattress and cumming deep inside of her? Nobody's getting hurt. It's just a fantasy. And who can blame her, really: her dad's hot, to the point that all of her school friends agree. He might have a few gray hairs, and a few extra pounds around his middle, but he's still hot. Besides, there were no other real men around her beyond a handful of balding teachers at school, and they certainly didn't pique her growing interest in sex. Her dad was just in the right place at the right time (and she could also spy on him having sex), so it's just convenient, really.
She's just started high school, and she's been doing all of this for so many years now that it feels routine. She sneaks up to her parents room, she listens, she cracks open the door, and, now that she has a phone, she slips it into the sliver of the room that she can see to record. She'll stay there, a silent witness as her pussy throbs and soaks her pajamas, until she hears her father cum, after which she'll hastily halt the recording and scamper back to the privacy of her room to watch it and fuck herself on her fingers before she inevitably gasps out dad! when she cums.
She wants him to walk by one night and hear it. She really, really does. Lucy wants him to come to a halt right outside her door and listen as his daughter cries out for him in pleasure. She wants his cock to stiffen, and his resolve to crumble, and for him to push open her door and hold her down while he makes her a woman. The intensity of her want is borderline violent, and the longer it goes on, the more she wants—no, needs—to be in her mother's place. She's the one her dad deserves, and she desperately needs him to know it.
So, she crafts a little plan. It would start out simple, just offhand comments here and there that were just slightly too sexual to be proper, little flirtatious speech that left enough plausible deniability if someone else heard. Then, if he wasn't taking the bait, she'd ramp it up: trying to get more time alone with him, wearing less clothes around the house, maybe leaving her door open while she showered or "accidentally" walking into the bathroom when he was. If that, by some miracle, still did nothing, then she'd get louder at night, she'd get off in risky places, everything short of asking him outright. Something along that route had to be the breaking point, right? How could any red-blooded man refuse a young, fertile girl basically begging to get fucked right under his nose? Related or not, his dick had to win out eventually.
She'll give each "phase" two weeks.
Phase 1: Flirtation
She starts on her plan the very next morning after thinking it up. Her mom is a consummate workaholic, and as soon as Lucy had hit age ten or so, went back to work in full force. She always left the house before either she or her father were awake, and comes home long after Lucy's back from school. This, of course, is incredibly convenient.
Her dad is sitting at the table with her while they eat breakfast—oatmeal for him, some painfully sugary cereal she somehow convinced them to buy despite its nutrition label for her—and watch the local news. They're covering some feel-good fodder: two elderly people reunited decades after they'd been high school sweethearts and lost touch after he went to fight in Vietnam.
"Aging's so funny," she says as they show two photos of the couple side-by-side, one taken in the late sixties, one taken last week. "He's all shriveled now, but he was so handsome back in the day."
Her dad laughs, low and short. "That's unfortunately how it always goes: you get wrinkled and you get shorter."
She needs to keep these first comments on the tamer side: she can't spook him. "Well, I think you're an exception to that, dad."
"Lucy, honey, I'm 54: I don't look like I used to, and that's okay."
"I've seen pictures of you young, dad," she retorts. "And yeah, you were obviously really hot then—it's no wonder mom said yes when you asked her out—but I think you're even hotter now."
He struggles to swallow a piece of banana for a second, but recovers quickly. "Lucy, that's very sweet, but come on. I'm your father."
"I know!" She chirps, digging into her cereal like this is business as usual. "But, I'm not going to lie just because you're my dad. You're really attractive: I'd date you if you asked me out."
"Lucy, you are fourteen," he hisses. "You shouldn't be dating anyone my age: dating anyone at all!"
She just shrugs, playing it off. "Still doesn't change the fact you've aged so well, dad."
His cheeks are a little pink, and part of her glows at that. He might've pushed back, but her words did have some effect, and that's something.
...
"Dad," she draws out the a for maximum annoyance. "I'm bored."
He looks over at her from his place on the other end of the couch, slightly annoyed his reading has been disturbed. He looks good with his readers perched on the end of his nose: all intellectual, like a hot librarian. "Then go find something to do. There are still dishes that need cleaning before mom gets home."
"I don't want to do the dishes, that's boring too," Lucy complains back, not-so-subtly crawling over until she can sit next to him. "She's not going to be home until, like, eight o'clock anyway. Can we go do something, dad? Please?"
He sighs and looks down at her, not bothered by her new proximity. "Like what, Luce? It's 5:00pm on a Thursday."
"Hmm…" she pretends to think for a minute, swinging one of her legs over his to prop her feet up. He looks a little done with her when she does, but makes no move to push her off or admonish her for it. "Ooh! I know: why don't we go on a little, like, date or something?"
He looks a bit confused, but there's also a humorous smile on his face. "A date? Lucy, come on, now."
"Yeah, like a little daddy-daughter date, or whatever people call them. Don't you want to go out with me, dad? Come on, please? I barely had any homework today, and it means you don't have to cook." She looks up at him with the best pleading face that she has, biting her lip a little so that it look like she might just be pleading for something else.
That catches him a little off guard, and a creep of hesitancy hits his face. "We'll go out to dinner, but we're not going out, Lucy: those words have a different connotation."
She pouts. "You don't want to go out with me?"
Defeated, he finally relents and indulges her specifics. "Fine, Lucy, I'll go out with you to dinner, if that wording makes you happy."
The dinner winds up not being anything special, but she makes sure to accidentally run her foot along his calf all night and, when she asks for bites of his pasta, takes them directly from his outstretched fork, rather than grabbing the utensil for herself. She can tell he's a little bit uncomfortable, but it's all about patience.
Phase 2: Seduction
Two weeks in, and nothing has happened. She's increased the amount of sex jokes she tells by a factor of three, and other than some lighthearted admonishment or feigned gasps, absolutely nothing has happened. She's taken every opportunity to compliment her father's looks, his voice, his muscles: nothing. Every flirtatious little conversation she tries to initiate is indulged for no more than thirty seconds before her dad shuts it down with a "Oh, stop being such a teenager, Lucy." It's frustrating to see such a lack of progress, and it means that she has to trigger the second phase of her plan without delay.
It's a Sunday, and she'd heard her mom leave for the office early, complaining about some client in a different timezone needing something now, and she knew this would be her first real opportunity.
When her dad calls her down for breakfast later in the morning, she strips down to just the little tiny spaghetti-strap top she sleeps in, and her panties. They're just cotton, full coverage. She doesn't want to spook him quite yet, but she's hoping his dick won't be able to ignore the young, lithe body on display when she arrives in the kitchen.
Her heart is hammering in her chest as she makes her way downstairs, and she has to do everything in her power to not dampen her underwear with arousal. Deep breaths, in and out, keep it under control. As soon as she turns the corner at the bottom of the stairs to walk into the kitchen, her dad immediately sputters, looking her up and down in shock. "Lucy, put some clothes on!"
"Why?" She cocks her head in feigned confusion as she stands behind her chair, ready to sit down. "It's just you in the house, and it's, like, ninety-seven degrees out today. I woke up all sweaty."
He's trying not to look at her. Good: so he does feel something. "I don't care if it's just me in the house, we don't walk around without clothes on. Go put on some shorts or something, Jesus."
"You walk around in boxers. I don't think that's super fair, dad."
Oh, he does not like that. His tone is harsher when he speaks next. "That's different, Lucy. Go back upstairs and put something on."
"I don't want to," she whines. "I'm comfortable, and I don't think it is different. I mean, everything is covered up: I don't get why you're so upset about it."
"Because girls don't walk around men half-naked!" He finally spits out. Now this is an excellent development. "It's irresponsible, and I raised you better."
She sits down anyway. "There: problem solved. You can't see anything below my waist anymore. What's for breakfast?"
He's clearly not happy, and his handsome features are coated in red. A decent man wouldn't care if his daughter walked in front of him like this: he has to want her somehow. "You're not eating until you get changed."
"Okay," and she doesn't move. She happily scrolls on her phone for what feels like ages, waiting for him to just give up and let her have her eggs.
Lucy can feel her eyes drilling holes into her, and she hopes he's looking down her loose shirt, or seeing the way her hard nipples press against the fabric for him to see. She can't help that she's turned on and her body responds to it like that. She feels heat bloom inside of her the longer he stares. There's clearly an anger there, too, from him. Whether it's genuine, or from guilt at wanting his own daughter, even if only for a moment, she can't say. She sincerely hopes it's the latter, but wouldn't care if it's the former: he's seeing her like a woman now, and that's all that matters.
He puts a plate down in front of her, caving after what must've been hardly a minute. "You don't do this to any other man we have over: do you understand me?"
"Yes, daddy dearest," she smiles and tucks into her eggs.
...
They're watching Breakfast at Tiffany's. It's late at night, and her mom had gone to bed an hour ago to preempt an early-morning start, so it's just her and her father sitting on the couch, lightheartedly bickering while they flipped through channels until they settled on this. She's seen it before, but he doesn't have to know that.
He looks good in the lowlight of a single remaining table lamp and the TV glow: it brings out the salt-and-pepper nature of his hair and highlights his gorgeous bone structure despite his older age. She can't help herself when she poses a question, mischief in her mind, but her tone betraying none of it. "Let me sit in your lap, dad."
He barks out a laugh, clearly thinking she was joking. "At your age? Come on, Luce. You're too big."
"I am not," she pretends to be scandalized. "How dare you!"
"You haven't sat in my lap since you were a little kid. I think you've outgrown it, sweet pea."
"Come on, it'll be just like back then! For old's time sake, you know? If I really am too heavy, I'll move." She knows she's not too heavy. She's seen her mother ride him a hundred times, and he never complains.
He just stares at her, one eyebrow cocked. "Fine. Don't elbow me in the process, for the love of god. You've always had such sharp goddamn elbows, even when you were little. You bruised me up every time you climbed all over me."
Giddy with the win, she tries to ignore the arousal swirling in her gut as she crawls closer to him so that she can begin the careful process of settling on top of his thighs, using the arm of the couch as support while she tries to get into position. It's a little tricky, especially when all she wants to do is straddle him properly, but she eventually figures out just where to settle, and make sure to back her ass right up to where she knows his cock is. "Mm, comfortable!"
He laughs again, and she shakes with him, before patting her on the shoulder. "Thank god you inherited my mom's height: I wouldn't be able to see the movie otherwise."
"I"ll elbow you for that."
They laugh quietly together, but eventually settle back down to watch the movie, absorbing dialogue in silence for a while. Eventually, though, while she's watching Audrey Hepburn, looking as gorgeous and elegant as she always was, she just has to chime in: "I like her necklace."
"Hmm?" He takes a moment to register what she's said, and she can feel the rumble in his chest when he talks. "Oh, yeah, it's pretty. Looks kind of heavy to me, though. I don't get why all you ladies like that stuff."
Lucy shifts slightly, making sure to subtly roll her hips a time or two. It thankfully goes unnoticed for a perfect moment, so she keeps it up. "I just like it."
"Stop squirming so much," he admonishes offhand, and his hands go to touch her hips and hold her a little more still. She just about cums on the spot when she realizes how much bigger and stronger than her he really is.
"I think pearls are really pretty. I don't feel like they're as trendy anymore, but they always look good no matter who's wearing them. Do you think I'd look pretty in pearls?"
He hasn't picked up on it yet."You'd look pretty in any sort of necklace you wanted, honey."
"Would you ever give me a pearl necklace? For my graduation maybe? Not as huge as that one is, but a big pearl necklace from my dad would look so good on me, I think."
He freezes up behind her, and it's then that she feels the best thing she's ever felt in her life: his cock twitches. She shifts position again, trying to rub herself up against him and coax him into further hardness. She's sure her wetness has soaked through her underwear now, and will be coming for her joggers next. "I- I, um, I think you should get out of my lap now. You actually are a bit heavy for me now: I'm too old."
"Why?" She whines. Oh, god, she can still feel him. This is the best day of her life. "I'm so comfy."
"Well, I'm not comfy, Lucy. Please, just listen to your father." It twitches again, filling out with blood and unwanted lust.
She wants to push him, she really, really does, but she figures leaving him with that image will be enough. She can fantasize about the way his hardening dick had felt against her for weeks. "Fine, jeez," she climbs out of his lap, making sure to grind into him one last time and making his breath audibly catch, before plopping back down next to him. "And you never answered my question. Would you ever give me a pearl necklace, dad?"
"Just watch the movie." His teeth are clearly gritted, and his hands are covering his lap now.
That night, she cums three times in a row, shaking with overstimulation by the end of it. She can't stop now: she needs him.
...
She never brings up what happens that night, and the longer that silence goes on, the more he seems to relax, clearly thinking that she hadn't felt her father get a hard-on because of her pert little ass and her suggestive questions. Once that tension subsides, she gets back on track, knowing just what she's going to do next.
Every morning, she still comes downstairs in her underwear and her skimpy little pajama top, but her father had stopped complaining after about four days of it. It was useless to fight her, but every time she gets up to wash her dishes in the sink, she can feel his gaze absolutely glued to her ass, even though she's only wearing bland cotton. He might be her father, but it's evident that he's also a man. So, rather than restrain him to only imagining her naked body, she decides to give him a much bigger crumb.
They went to the grocery store together after he'd picked her up from school earlier in the day, and she'd made sure to buy a new bottle of shampoo and conveniently leave it down the hall in her bedroom.
So, here she was, naked and wet (in multiple sense of the word) in the shower, and about fifty feet away from the thing she needed. What a horrific situation to find herself in.
"Dad?" She yells out, unable to stop herself from softly rubbing over her clit while she waited. "Dad! Can you come here?"
It takes him a minute or two and, always the gentleman, he knocks on the door and opens it ever-so-slightly. "What is it, honey? Are you alright in there?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," she reassures. "But I left my new bottle of shampoo in my room and the bottle in here is all out. Could you go get it for me, please?"
"Sure, honey; be right back." She hears him close the crack he'd made in the door to hear her better as he makes his way down the hall.
She hadn't just left her shampoo in there, of course. She's made sure to leave out lacy little lingerie that she'd bought in secret the other week, just barely covered by a blanket on the bed. There is no way he wouldn't see them. It's just a small touch, but it should at least make him wonder: what business did his little girl have buying things like that?
She waits patiently, enjoying the hot spray of the water on her back and toying with herself in anticipation. Any moment, her father will come in with the kindest of intentions, and she'll make sure he leaves with the filthiest of them.
Hardly a moment later, he knocks again. "You can come in. Thanks, dad."
She hears the door open and can hear him take a few steps in. "I'll just, uh, I'll just leave it on the counter for you."
Absolutely not. She pops her head out from behind the shower curtain and extends a hand out, making sure it still obscures her body. "You can just hand it to me. I don't want to get the floor all wet."
He looks hesitant for a moment, surprised to see her peeking out at him and meeting his gaze, dripping hand outstretched expectantly. But, he slightly shrugs and shoulders and approaches her, some purple, flower-scented bottle in hand. He comes closer, and closer still, until finally he's within reach.
"Here you go, shampoo delivery service," he jokes, presenting the shampoo with a dramatic flourish.
Her heart is hammering in her chest, and her cunt throbs between her legs as she leans, ready to get it, and then…
She "slips" and "falls," screeching in surprise and desperately flailing out to catch something, anything. She could've gone for the shower curtain, or the towel bar, or the edge of the tub, but she instead just about launches her naked body into the arms of her dad, who instinctually stumbles to catch her. What a good father he is. She keeps falling, forward momentum taking her now, until she's fully pressed against him, head to heel, and he has to stagger backwards to stop her momentum. Out of natural instinct, one hand wraps round her waist and another, oh another, fully grips her ass and squeezes.
There is a solid five seconds where the both of them are still reeling from the fall and she intentionally presses herself against him, one wet leg finding its way between his on what she can blame on pure happenstance. Her dad hasn't quite yet realized the way he's touching her, and all that she wants to do is move his hand to where she really wants it: no, needs it.
But, that perfect moment doesn't last long, and he's pushing her away, eyes struggling to stay averted and inevitably landing on her tits and her carefully-shaved cunt. "Jesus, Lucy! Be careful and- and put a towel on or something. I- fuck."
He practically runs from the room, face crimson, and gate awkward. She didn't feel it, but she knows: he got hard then, too. Just like the other night with the movie, feeling his own teenage daughter's body had turned him on. Breathless and giddy with it, she carefully gets back into the shower and leans against the wall so that she can reach back down and frantically get herself off. She imagines her dad doing the same, stumbling into the master bedroom with a tent in his pants and sinful thoughts on his mind. Maybe he's undoing his belt with trembling hands, knowing it's so wrong but unable to stop the way his body is reacting as he strokes his stiff cock with he feeling of his daughter's ass in his hand fresh in his mind. Oh, god, she hopes that's what he's doing.
She's seen him cum so many times before, knows just what he sounds like when he finally tips over the edge, and she can envision it so clearly as she gets closer herself. All that she wants is for him to cum with her name on his lips, just like she had done countless times with his. Maybe…maybe if she does this again, he'll stay. Maybe he'll stay and chastise her for being so reckless and push her up against this very same wall and free his cock and push—
Lucy cums so hard that her hearing stops working for a moment, and she isn't careful: her noises flow freely for a few seconds.
She hopes he hears.
Phase 3: Enticement
Just like the movie incident, they don't really talk about it. She thanks him briefly at dinner that night and apologizes for her fall, an apology that he accepts with a clipped answer. She can tell there's a shame there, and that's good. It's an awkward meal, and they go to bed on an off note, which she does regret. Hopefully, if there's just some kind of cooldown period, everything will go back to normal enough. She's making such good progress with him, and she knows there's no way he'll be able to stop seeing her carnally now that he's felt aroused by her multiple times. All the groundwork has been laid, and she just needs to keep pushing, brute-force it until she can persuade him.
The most promising sign, in all honesty, is that when her mother gets home, he doesn't say a word about any of it. He doesn't confide in her that their daughter is acting weird, or that these odd incidents keep happening. She listens in to their bedtime talks at night, ear pressed to their door, and he never mentions anything. Tellingly, they also don't have sex. At all. For a week.
So, with nothing else left to lose, she decides that it's time to be more brazen than she already has been and implement what should be the final phase of her little plan.
Every four weeks or so, her mom takes a week-long business trip to her company's headquarters for…some reason. Lucy doesn't know shit about corporate life, so she simply never questions why. But, that trip means that she'll get a week fully alone with her father where no one else can hear her at night, or interrupt her when she puts herself in compromising positions for her dad to find her in. She'll have free rein to draw him in, to make him want her her. And it will be perfect.
When they bid her farewell that morning, Lucy resolves to have one day of normalcy. If nothing else, it will put her father at ease, as he seems a bit more nervous than usual on account of all of their…encounters recently. So, she goes to school, comes home, does her homework, eats a normal dinner full of small talk with him while they watch the nightly news, finishes her homework, takes a shower, and goes to bed without incident. She still fantasizes and plans and waits, but the day of breathing room proves to be fruitful because, when she comes downstairs the next morning, he seems markedly more at ease.
Breakfast is easy, even though he's still stealing glances at her underwear-clad ass anytime she gets up. He seems to have just accepted that as part of their new normal, and she's thankful for it. She sways her hips a little more, and he keeps on covertly staring, thinking that she's none the wiser. His restraint at this point must be paper-thin…just a little more.
When she comes home that afternoon, she knows that it's time to start pushing. She strips down to just her underwear and a t-shirt, but makes sure to wear something lacy: a little nicer, a little more attractive. It's not much of a change from the usual, but it should be enough to make his gaze linger a little longer, make him think a little bit more with his dick than his head, and that's her only goal for the next week. Lucy even goes out of her way to fix up her hair a little and reapply her mascara. Anything to make her appear just a little more tempting.
It's another couple of hours until dinner is ready, and she spends half the time impatiently doing work, and the other half of the time absentmindedly edging herself, partially because she's painfully horny, and partially just to pass the time.
Finally: "Lucy! Dinner's ready."
She scrambles from her seat, not even bothering to wipe off her hand, covered in herself. "Coming, dad!"
She makes sure to puff out her chest as she arrives in the kitchen to draw attention to the fact she isn't wearing a bra, but her father's gaze immediately goes to her lacy panties, and she has to do her best to hold down her smile. Lucy can visibly see him swallow.
"You usually only do this in the mornings."
She shrugs, happily setting herself down in her unassigned, assigned chair without much preamble. "I don't know. It's just more comfortable. You don't mind, do you?"
He's quiet for a time, longer than anyone should be, as he navigates his way to his own seat. "I still don't think it's appropriate, Lucy. You should put on something."
"I mean, I'm wearing something, dad," she rebuts. "All the important stuff's covered, and it's not like you're some sort of pervert, right?"
He stops breathing for a moment, and she's not blind to it. God, it makes her cunt throb. "Of course I'm not. I just want to make sure you don't think this is…normal. Or okay."
"I wouldn't do it if I weren't safe in my house with my dad." She smiles at him, a little coy, but not so much that there isn't plausible deniability.
He grumbles something that amounts to Fine, fine and lets them get on with their dinner.
Well, Lucy might as well start now, right? Fuck it. She's already wet and that fucking look on his face when she brought up him being perverted…So, with nothing to lose at this point, she readjusts in her seat and spread her legs, tilting her hips forward just lightly so that her pussy is pressed right onto the seat of the chair. Then, she starts to slowly grind. It's barely any movement, just a tiny back-and-forth motion, but she's so turned on from the hours of edging and the fact that her father, who she's been lusting after for years, is five feet away from her and entirely oblivious to it makes it feel so much better than it should. Normally, that light of a touch wouldn't even be enough to get her wet, but every possible situation is lining up right now to make it so much more insanely arousing than it should be. It feels so, so good. He's right there, her dad is right fucking there. He could notice; oh, god, he could notice right now. He could see that his daughter is siting right in front of him clearly humping her chair, getting off with him in view. Fuck, it's a turn-on.
"Did you do anything fun at school today? You mentioned something about joining a volleyball club the other day, didn't you?"
God, she's so wet. There's no way that this won't leave something behind on the seat when she gets up next. "O- oh, uh, yeah. The first meeting for that is on- on Monday. Next Monday." She really can't wait to do more of this as the week goes on. "Nothing really happened today, though. Just had a quiz in Spanish, that's all."
Her dad nodded, poking around his bowl of pasta in search of a perfect noodle-to-sauce ratio. "Think you did well on it? I know Spanish isn't your best subject."
"I have a B plus, dad; I'm not bad at Spanish," she retorts. "I just don't care about it as- as much as other stuff."
He laughs, low and soft. "I know you're not bad at it, Luce. Just making sure you keep those future college applications in mind."
"I'll probably just go to the State, nearby," Lucy starts, and her grinding against the chair is only feeling better and better. "I don't want to be too- too, ah, far from you, dad."
He smiles. "You say that now, but when you turn eighteen, the last thing you'll want is to be hanging around your old man."
She can't help but close her eyes for a second, and she's sure her cheeks are showing pink. Fuck, she's going to start getting close soon. "I dis- disagree with that. I love being around you. I love everything about you, dad."
"What, did I get the one and only kid who doesn't just hate their parents on principle?" He laughs again, clearly amused. "You should've seen me at your age."
"Couldn't hate you," she's starting to have to force things out. Lucy still tries to keep her face straight, but it's an uphill battle. "You're my dad. I love you so much."
"I've got a good girl, huh?" Those words send a spike of arousal shooting through her so violently that it knocks the breath out of her, but he's close to finishing his dinner. She has to hurry up.
"Y-yeah, dad. I try to be good for you." I also want to do awful things with you. I want you to want me. I want you to need me. That's how good I want to be.
She's close. She's really close. Then, almost as if on cue: "Are you feeling okay, honey? You're looking a little flushed."
"I-I'm fine, dad," she exhales as she continues to chase her peak. "I don't f-feel sick or anything."
"Are you sure? You're quite red, and you seem a little out of breath." There is such a genuine concern on his voice and it makes her heart ache. He's such a good father to her, and she repays him by doing sick things like this. Yet, there is no room in her for shame when arousal eats up every bit of feeling she has.
Her cunt throbs, and she's on the razor's edge of cumming right in front of her dad. And he can tell something is wrong, fuck, he can tell. "I'm a- a little warm, I guess." She can't help the soft sigh at the end of her reply, but it's easy enough to play off.
"Let me see," he starts, reaching across the table to press his hand to her burning cheek, and that's it for her.
Lucy can't help how her hips jerk a few times, but she does her best to suppress it, riding out her orgasm as subtly as she can. It tears through her with an intensity she's never even experienced before, and all he's doing is touching her face. Her hearing goes; her eyes roll back.
She honestly can't tell if she'd hidden it well enough or not. His hand withdraws quickly, but there's no great disturbance on her face when her eyes flutter open again. Maybe he really is just a bit dense. "Why don't you go lie down, honey? You do feel really warm."
"O-okay, dad," she pants, her entire body still alive with the afterglow.
It takes her a moment to gather herself and prepare to get up, shifting her legs back into a normal seated position so that she can stand properly. Her thighs are quivering and her stance is unsteady, but she manages to gather her bowl. Sparing a quick glance down reveals just what she'd hoped to see: a smear of her own slickness on the oaken seat. Good. She hopes he sees it.
Still trembling, she totters over to the counter, and can feel the way his eyes follow her. Lucy's certain that her…activities made her panties ride up a little bit, showing off even more of her young body for him to hunger after. She takes her time bending over the sink, pushing out her ass just to flaunt it and drag him further into filth. If she bends enough, maybe he'll be able to see that she's wet, too, and start to connect the dots between that and her blushing face, her fast breathing.
Finally, though, she can't excuse teasing him any longer, and begins to retreat. "Thanks, it was really tasty."
"Of course, Lucy," he calls as she makes her way to the stairs and rapidly darts up them. "Wait, Luce, push in your chair next time!"
"Sorry, dad!"
She hears the legs scraping against the ground hardly a moment later, and she can only pray that he saw.
...
The exhibitionism turns her on way more than she thought it would, honestly. She knew it intrigued her, but she didn't know quite how much she would love it until she was cumming in front of the object of her incestuous desires at the dinner table, and she wants to make sure he hears, or sees (or both) everything from now on.
The next night after her public orgasm, she happily settles in bed and prepares herself for a bit of self-entertainment. She strips, pulls up an old video of her father (one of her favorites: he'd almost accidentally cum inside of her mother, and barely managed to pull out in time, desperately jerking off as he chases the feeling Lucy would give him without hesitation), and lets her hand drift downward. She's already starting to get wet with so little stimulation, but that's because tonight is the night she's finally going to let herself be loud. She's always made sure to keep herself quiet whenever she gets off when one, or both, of her parents are home. Simply put, it's a conversation she always wanted to avoid. But, after working on her dad for so long, she knows it's the right time to forget that rule of decorum, and make just enough sound for him to hear.
In the video, he's set a rough, unforgiving pace. He got in these moods sometimes; maybe it was a long day at work, or just basic frustration, or something else. Lucy doesn't know enough to say, but she does know that whenever he gets like that, he almost always takes it out in sex: rougher, harder, more selfish. It's when he's at his hottest, honestly, and she can only hope that, if she antagonizes him enough, tempts him enough, she'll get the same sort of punishing experience. He grunts with every thrust in the video, pressing her mother face-down into the bed while he chases his own high. He's always so gentle and steadfast in his day-to-day demeanor, and seeing him so dramatically different arouses her more than anything.
With how turned-on she is, it's no surprise that Lucy can already work two fingers into herself, not wasting any time as she picks up the pace to match her dad's in the video. She imagines that it's his fingers instead of hers, even though they'd be so much longer, and thicker, and better than anything she could do. She can't help it when she moans, and she doesn't try to. It's an odd sensation, at war with what she usually has to do, but she doesn't dislike it. The man who she wants to hear more than anything is just a room and a hallway away, so she can easily accept the gut-reaction of discomfort at being noisy.
She continues on like this, pumping her fingers in and out of her soaking wet pussy as her father gets close to his own orgasm. He's almost there in the video now, his force brutal and his speed borderline exhausting. Now comes her favorite part.
"J-John, pull out," her mother moans, voice wobbling with pleasure. "I can tell you're close. Pull out now."
"I don't want to," he pushes back, only fucking into her harder. "Come on, Natalie. Can't you just take some fucking Plan B for once?"
She pushes at him in the video, but he doesn't stutter. He's stronger than her, and that's that. "No! Get off of me! You know what we agreed to: it's this or a condom."
"I'm not wearing a fucking latex sleeve to fuck my own wife. Ridiculous."
"So pull out!" She demands again, actively trying to throw him off of her. It's so fucking hot to see him holding her down. "If you cum in me, I swear to fucking god, John!"
He growls, clearly pissed off and clearly contemplating ignoring her completely and filling her up anyway. It kills Lucy that he does eventually listen to her, tearing himself out and finishing a moment later, hand flying over his cock as white spurts out all over her mother's back. He lets loose some visceral, guttural noise, frustrated and wanting, but he did relent.
Lucy lets out a loud, sharp moan as she imagines what could have been: him holding her down, forcing her to take it as she filled her up. Lucy imagines it's her instead being pushed into the mattress as hot cum floods her and he presses deep inside to make sure it all goes straight into her womb. She can give him what he wants; he wants another kid, another joy, and her mother is denying him that. But she wouldn't. No, she'd give him everything he wanted and more, she'd be better for him. If he would just- if he would just fuck her already, he could cum inside of a tight, wet pussy with a receptive womb all he wanted. The months would pass and her stomach would start to swell, proof of what he'd done, and proof of how much they loved each other. And she'd crave it, she'd encourage it, she'd beg for it. Lucy's flirted with the desire before, but never before has it been so strong.
She really wants this, doesn't she?
She imagines the feeling and lets out a final cry that he has to hear as she cums, cunt clenching around her frantic fingers while she desperately, feverishly, fantasizes.
...
She does it for two more nights, falling deeper into a desire to be filled, without a single change. She comes down in the morning: nothing. She gets back from school: nothing. She comes down to dinner: nothing. Even his lustful, behind-the-back staring seems to have stopped. It's infuriating and she doesn't understand why he's suddenly being so icy toward her all of a sudden. It's like all of her progress has been completely obliterated, when he should be descending further into depravity the more open she gets. Shouldn't he be approaching a breaking a point? There's only so much that any one man can take, and she's been pushing his buttons for weeks now. Any other man would've snapped by now, or snapped his dick off pretending that he hadn't. But, not her dear old dad. No, he has gone in the opposite direction.
They've been home alone together for five days now, and she's getting worried. She only has a very limited window to make this work, and it seems to be a fading possibility as those days progress. She puts on her sexiest panties before heading down for dinner, hoping and praying that the scant lace of them will be enough to catch his eye again. This isn't how it's supposed to be, goddammit.
Dread in her stomach, she rounds the corner into the kitchen again, and her father abruptly stands from the table. "Put on pants, Lucy."
"What? Why?" Her heart is in her throat. What the fuck is going on?
"Don't question me," he doubles down, shoulders hunching as he leans on the table. "I'm your father; listen to me. Go and wear something proper. The way you're acting right now is not appropriate."
She scoffs and crosses her arms. "What the fuck, dad? I started doing this weeks ago, and there hasn't been a problem!"
"Don't you curse at me, Lucy," There's a genuine anger in his voice, and she both hates and loves that it turns her on. "Go and put on some goddamn clothes. I am not asking."
She stares him down for a long few seconds, frustration building on her face and close to bursting after weeks of nothing from him. "You're such a hypocrite! You've been totally fine with this, but now you're suddenly changing your mind? What, are you pervert after all? What is your problem!"
He flinches at that: hard. Then, there's nothing. She can feel him fuming from over there. "How dare you. Go up to your room," his voice is rising, and it rings in the low ceiling of the kitchen. She isn't used to hearing him truly angry. "You're grounded for the next week."
"Ugh!" She shrieks. "Fine! You're such a fucking asshole!"
Before he can yell at her for that, too, she storms off and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her when she finally reaches it.
This isn't good.
Phase 4: Entrapment
Her mom comes home two days later, and it's like nothing is amiss. Lucy's still not talking to her father, but other than that, life goes on unphased. She wears pants in the house, he leaves her dinners on a plate for her to reheat after he's already finished his, they don't talk like they used to. She fucked up.
It's clear that a part of her insult had landed. She'd said it to spark some sort of anger from him, above all, but this reaction was so much more explosive than the last time she jokingly accused him of it. There's a kernel of truth there, and she knows it. Obviously, in the weeks since she'd started trying to ensnare him, he'd started to look at her in ways that he was deeply uncomfortable with. He'd held her naked body in his hands and heard her cum and that isn't something a person can ignore unless they're truly morally infallible. That's something that she knows very few men are, and her dad is seemingly no exception; his veins run red with blood and his cock fills out despite his head, no matter how he feels about it. But, rather than do what she'd wanted and give in to his warring internal dialogue, he's instead doubled down and shut her out. She hadn't even contemplated this as a possible outcome.
Lucy languishes for weeks like this: listless and disappointed and with an empty arousal she just can't fucking sate. She knows it's gone from want to pure—borderline manic—obsession, but the longer it goes on, she finds less pushback within herself. So what if she wants it so badly that it feels almost violent? So what if she imagines tying him down and having her way with him like she's—
Wait. There's an idea.
In her rational mind, she'd never think this. Her desire for her dad is fucked up and deeply immoral, sure, but forcing him? Raping him? Her own father? Every normal part of herself screams at the idea, but then she watches another video and she sees his thick cock reluctantly given on some woman who won't give him what he wants and his virile cum wasted on the sheets for the millionth time, and she just can't take it anymore.
There's this guy at school: Jason. He's three years ahead of her, in his senior year, and she knows he's the guy you go to if you want weed. It's not like he has some bustling empire or anything, but he can somehow get his hands on illicit substances and he's quite literally the only person she knows firsthand who can, so she thinks he'll be her only option. But, finding him takes time, too. Her high school isn't small, by any means, and the odds she'll randomly catch him in the halls one day are slim, so patience is her only option here.
She inquires, she reads hundreds of locker tags in pursuit of his last name, she waits outside of classroom doors where she slowly learns he should be emerging from. She bides her time and looks out for his (apparently) signature red beanie and bleach-blond hair every goddamn day, but there's nothing for weeks. The man is seemingly un-find-able, despite her best efforts.
On the verge of giving up, Lucy finally runs into him by sheer chance one day. She's coming back from her free period and sees him trying to sneak into a side door without scanning his ID after clearly coming to school four hours late; this is perfect.
She ambushes him, shutting the door so it can automatically lock just before his hand gets to it.
"What the fuck, man!" He exclaims, flipping her off on sheer instinct. "What, does the principle get you to suck his dick or something? What gives!"
"Calm down, I'll scan in and you can follow behind me," she admonishes, putting her hands on her hips and standing squarely in front of him. "I've been looking for you for ages. I just- I need- I need to…buy something."
There's a beat of heavy silence, with his face wearing a look of unimaginably annoyed lack of desire to be in this situation. "You're a subtle one, aren't ya?"
"Not particularly," she owns up to it. "So what? Everyone knows you sell. I have cash."
Jason narrows his eyes and evaluates her, thinking it through. "I don't usually like dealing to kids I don't know, but I can't let my student ID show up here this late in the day and I don't think I've got many excuses left on my attendance before they expel me, so fine. Meet me by that stupid fucking statue by the baseball field after school: you know the one. We can talk there."
...
It is a stupid fucking statue, truth be told. It's some unholy rendering of their mascot—a charging horse—but it's done all sorts of wrong. The legs are weird, the muscles are too exaggerated, the hair looks like it's been struck by lightning, and its eyes are too big by half. It's tucked away behind the stands and out of view from most; it might be a cliche place to conduct illegal activity, but it does serve its purpose.
Lucy gets there first, and she paces for what feels like ages while she waits for him. This is her final chance to back out, to change her mind and let her sick lust for her father die, like it should. She could walk away right now and never think of this again: develop a crush for some stupid boy in her grade and use condoms like she should and forget she'd ever felt this way in the first place. She could do all of that, she really could, but something in her just refuses to let it go, no matter how much she tries. She wants him, and she wants him to put a baby in her. There's no other way to do this.
Thankfully, Jason finally saunters in, hands in his pockets and stupid hat all askew. "Hey, what's up?" Before she can even get her mouth fully open to answer, he cuts her off. "I don't really care. We're here for a transaction."
Fair enough.
"What d'you want to buy?" He starts. "I sell more weed than anything, but I've got adderall and a bit of acid too."
Her heart is in her throat and she feels a little sick. "Do you, um, do you have anything to help with sleep? Like insomnia and stuff?"
Jason nods, clearly no stranger to overworked kids unable to sleep. "Yeah, Xanax," he's so nonchalant about the whole thing. "Could get you some valium too, depending on what knocks you out a little better. It'd just take me a day or two."
"Do you have any other sorts of drugs for that?" She's praying he picks up what she's hinting at, but he's known for his drug dealing, not for his stellar grades, to be fair.
"Listen, if you've got something specific you want, just spit it out. People ask me for super hard shit all the time so, like, I guarantee I won't care what you're askin' for."
"R-rohypnol," she blurts out. "I want that. Do you have that?"
He blinks at her as it settles in his ears and processes in his brain. "What the fuck, you wanna roofie someone?"
"You said you wouldn't care!" Lucy complains.
"I mean that's, like, crimes and shit. If you wanna drug yourself up, that's a you problem," he puts his hands up defensively. "I'll let you fund that habit as much as you want. But you wanna, like, rape somebody? I don't want to go to fucking jail, kid."
Shit. "It's- it's not for somebody at school," she promises. "And I'm not going to hurt anybody. My dad's being an asshole, and I just…I want to fuck him up a little. That's all: nobody's getting hurt."
"What, you want to totally knock him out for fun?"
"Yeah," she lies. "He's been so fucking awful to me lately, and he has some fancy presentation at work next week. I want to make him miss it."
Jason stares at her for a long, long time, evaluating and judging whether or not she passes some invisible standard of muster. That fact she's receiving this much scrutiny from a drug dealer is an irony that's not lost on her. "Fine. I'm gonna need like a week: it's not something I usually carry, but I know someone who can get it."
"How do you get it to me?"
"Well, give me the cash now. After that, give me the combo to your locker," he explains. "Two pill's is probably cheapest; I'll drop 'em off once I get my hands on them."
Lucy pauses for a moment, mentally steeling herself before the final commitment. "Two should be good."
...