WARNING: There is INCEST between a father and daughter in the setup to this story.
All characters are over 18. This is the beginning of a series, but the story is a concluded part.
This is a story about a slightly unrealistic compulsive behavior, which leads to situations similar to mind control. There is reluctance, and there is perverted sex between an old man and a younger woman, including piss. Avoid if any of this is not for you.
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Old man Isac could tell that something was off when he saw Helen sitting on the stairs. She was staring down between her feet and didn't even look up.
The young woman from the apartment below his own struggled with everyday life, and you could always tell. Recently, much of her time seemed to be spent caring for her father, who was pleasant-enough but had his quirks just the same as his daughter. The oddest thing about them was probably the way they were still living together when she was already an adult woman. There was never a sign of a guest or a boyfriend. Isac was curious, but he also didn't want to intrude on their privacy.
To Isac, she was a beautiful flower, withering slowly in that apartment. If he was to guess, she had to be a couple of years over 25 at most. At 71, he was too old to be making inappropriate observations about her large well-shaped breasts or her young and tight ass, so he made a point to always knock those thoughts straight out of his head.
After his wife's death years ago, his sex life sadly appeared to be over. It was a difficult thing to accept. In his opinion, the purely physical part of fucking was the greatest pleasure life had to offer, and now he just had to be glad for old times' sake. Either way, the years dragged on, and horniness didn't bother him the way it used to.
And if the young woman on the stairs had any need for him now, it was as a provider of support and wisdom as opposed to a lecherous simpleton neighbor.
"How are you?" he asked with honest care as he stopped before passing her by on the stairs.
He noticed that the door to her apartment was open. There appeared to be someone inside.
"Hi Isac," she responded, and then she took a long pause before she continued. "Well, you know, my father died."
"Oh," Isac responded, standing there stunned. "I'm sorry. I-Well... I don't know what to say."
After some hesitation, he started going up the stairs again.
"No, stay!" she begged, looking up. "It was a few days ago. I think I'm ok. Except, his sister is in there now, going through his stuff for things to take. I could use an ally."
Isac sat down. He didn't know quite how to act, but the way she leaned in against him seemed to invite some form of embrace. He carefully put a comforting arm over her shoulder, and she didn't pull back. He didn't want to pry for information, but there was really only one question on his mind.
"I didn't know your father well," he finally phrased it. "I've seen you spend your whole life caring for him. You must be a very loving person. I'll be here, if you need help."
"You've always been nice to me," she praised him. "I feel like I can trust you. You know, right now I really need someone."
She paused for while, trying to find words. You could tell she was looking for courage.
"I stayed with him for myself too," she volunteered. "I have a problem, and I guess you can say he helped me."
Then, she proceeded to tell Isac about her life. She clearly had a pent-up need to share this with someone. The story poured out of her.
* * *
She told him about how she'd had obsessive thoughts all her life. Apparently, the problem had been passed down from her mother, and throwing a child into the equation had been too much. The mother had left them and cut all contact when Helen was very young, leaving Helen with only vague memories.
In later years, Helen's own problems had started spiraling out of control, rendering her incapable of handling the simplest tasks. There had been no money to put her in therapy. Her father had spent all his resources just seeing her through school.
Then, through a lucky blessing, her father had figured out how to use her obsessions in a constructive way when she was 18. It had been nothing short of a miracle, making her able to deal with anything. She'd taken nursing school, and she'd gotten a job, and she had supported him so he'd been able to have a few final years of well-earned rest.
* * *
At this point in the story, the aunt came out of the apartment and looked at the pair with disapproval. She started walking up and down the stairs with things from the apartment. Soon, she came by one last time and explained that she had everything and that Helen should just call if she wanted more help. They politely said their goodbyes.
Isac asked Helen if she wanted to come up for a coffee, or if she just wanted peace and quiet.
"I have some coffee," she answered. "Would you like to come in? I don't feel like being alone right now."
They kept up some small talk in her kitchen while she made coffee. She talked about her plans to sell the apartment and find a smaller place to save money. Everything was going fine until Isac asked her about finding a boyfriend. This turned her quiet for a while.
"I was going to look for one now," she said eventually, as if she was revealing a big secret. "There was no point while Dad was alive. The way he dealt with my obsessions was... well... special."
Isac's interest was roused, but she was hesitant to elaborate.
Building courage to trust someone was difficult with her obsessive tendencies. But this old man was her neighbor since 7 years, and he was always but supportive and pleasant. He wanted to help. If she couldn't trust him, then who could she trust?
"I'm actually scared to talk about this," she admitted, hesitating again. "But I think I might need advice. I might be about to say something very personal about my father."
"I'm not the judging kind," Isac reassured. "I just want to be helpful, I promise. And if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to."
She had been waiting forever to share this secret.
