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This story does not condone incest. It does not condone violence or violence against women in any abusive or malicious way. The story is simply meant for fantasy purposes.
This story contains father-daughter incestuous relations and mild impact play framed in a cordial, non-abusive way.
If this isn't something you are interested in, please feel free to look at one of the many other stories that are out there.
If it does interest you, your time is appreciated and I really hope you enjoy!
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*SMACK*
Her cheeks were flushed red and right in front of me. Not the ones on her face either. She was bare from the waist down and bent over my lap. She wasn't some bratty little kid with self-control issues anymore, but rather my daughter had become a grown woman. As far as women's backside's go, her's had that wonderful combination of bubble and flare that made me wish I was giving it a grab or a grope, not unleashing my hand across it and making her whimper and cry. Seeing it shift through a light blush of pink through to a deeper crimson red left my mouth dry.
*WHACK*
The brunt of my hand slapping down echoed like a drum beat to her sobbing emotional release. Her legs kicked and fought. I could see parts of her body no father is supposed to see. Her pussy and asshole seemed to pulse with each blow as if it was winking back at me. She was beautiful and sexy to me, but I had a job to do so I fought letting my gaze linger on her exposed sexuality. With all her writhing and wriggling about in my lap, she'd have to be oblivious not to feel what effect it was having on her old man. I could tell the moment was affecting her similarly too given the glisten between her thighs.
*CRACK* *WHACK*
How did she get to be 28 and spanked by her daddy? Well, she asked me to.
Let's back up a bit. My daughter, Jill, was always a pretty bright kid. She was my Jillybean. Rambunctious and energetic as anything. She took dance classes. She played trumpet in marching band. She was a midfielder on her field hockey team. She was on the yearbook and dance planning committees. She kept busy and bought into the school culture hard. She took after me in that regard, and that's part of why she and I were always pretty close. We'd nerd out over details, and I liked trying to keep up. Made me feel young even attempting to follow her dizzying lead and energy.
What I didn't realize at the time was all that buzzing about she did wasn't exactly "normal". All those thoughts flitting from one to another seemingly at whim weren't supposed to do that. She was smart, so initially she was able to keep up with them. She kept herself organized enough that we just assumed she was a talented multi-tasker. And she was largely successful at that... until she wasn't. Until the hormones and big emotions of her teen years caught up with a vengeance and anxiety started to rear its ugly head. It started to set her back. Ironically, if she had been less able to control it, we could have started addressing it younger and avoided a lot of the rougher patches she had.
She got into trouble. Shoplifting a few times when she swears she just "forgot" to pay. Getting in fights with the mean girls to the point she kind of became one herself briefly. She wrecked two cars while learning to drive which pretty much meant she wasn't going to drive anytime soon. Her flitting thoughts became a bit of a joke to us where "Oh look! A Squirrel!" was a running refrain. She wasn't promiscuous, thankfully. But she did have her share of boy suitors that lasted anywhere from 2-3 weeks before they realized they couldn't keep up. She put out the "Overly Attached Girlfriend" meme vibe if you are familiar with that. They were probably right to run!
We could only laugh it off for so long though. She was diagnosed with having attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. It's one of those things that, like most parents, you want to initially think is some made up thing that professionals and teachers what to use to explain why no one can help you control your kid. At home, she was mostly fine. We kept things regimented for her. She studied hard. But then we'd get notes coming home about her going off on someone or messing up on some test that we knew she was well prepared for. Well, you start to see the writing on the wall.
Anxiety is real. It can be crippling if you let it. And as she got older, it got tougher to deny that her "fidgety" behavior was stemming from something a little deeper. After a few years of counseling and help, we actually got her on a decent regimen of pills that largely got her feeling functional again. There were a few really rough patches here and there. For example, we collectively agree to forget her sophomore year of high school ever happened. Yet somehow, miraculously, my ex-wife and I got her through high school and into college.
I sadly say ex-wife because after Jill left for college, I think we both realized she was just about the only thing we had in common anymore. I loved my wife. Considered her my best friend. But the magic was gone. Now that our focus with Jill was mostly just navigating a large collection of college bills, our work and connection seemed finished. We started nipping at each other until the nips blew up into full on fights. We realized it wasn't the way to live. We didn't need to just be friends. We needed to be partners and lovers. And regrettably that had left us years ago in a haze of parent taxi schedules.
Jill, for her part, took the news pretty well. There were some initial pangs of guilt that she had been the cause of our breakup, but her mom and I set her straight on that pretty quickly. I let her mom have the house, and since most of the college loans were in my name anyway, I agreed to take on that debt in lieu of alimony. I wasn't exactly happy about it, but I think we both wanted and needed a clean break. I think in Jill's eyes, taking on her college debt like that bumped me up a few notches in her esteem. Like she owed me a bit more than mom to do better since I was footing the bill. It was an unspoken sentiment, but I became the first person she would tell her grades or call about things that were happening or even if she just wanted to blab.
I welcomed it. I was really proud of her. She had dealt with a lot and achieved a lot despite it all. She eventually graduated with a degree in Agriculture and found a job with a small little landscaping company. It was good work. Allowed her to apply her love of outdoors with some of her organizing and creative streaks. Kept her in really good shape with seemingly a perennial tan, and paid a largely decent wage. Enough for her to get her own small place not too far away from my new condo.
She was still cordial and talked to her mother, but her being closer to me meant we spent more time together. We'd catch movies or have dinner after work. It was really nice seeing her so happy and finding her footing in the world. We talked about things in our lives a lot more openly than we used to. She encouraged me to try dating again, and we'd commiserate about the "weaksauce" men that she went out with. She had really blossomed and come into her own, even if her dates still couldn't quite keep up with her.
It was kind of refreshing to have that level of openness with her. We weren't talking outright about our sexual escapades. But it was a nice way to celebrate that we both did have a romantic side, even if that romantic side never really turned into anyone worth keeping around. That went on for a few years as she settled into her life. We only got closer over that time. I'd help her with a bill here and there, and she'd keep me feeling young and fresh despite my own age cresting into my 50s. We worked well together. She became my friend.
As life tends to do though, she did hit a road bump. One of the downsides of working in a field like hers is that there's not a lot of fringe benefits like say retirement or health care. I kept her on my insurance as long as I could, but eventually her age meant I had to drop her from my coverage. She bought her own, but they didn't cover most of the medications she was on that successfully kept her largely functional and stable. She tried to fight for what she needed, but she would have been better served just banging her head into a wall repeatedly than to deal with their insurance induced bureaucratic nightmare.
Her doctor prescribed some new courses, but nothing ever quite worked the same. Some worked too well and left her flat and dead feeling. Others seemingly didn't work at all. She was still prone to random manic bouts and her thoughts started to flit about and become even more unfocused than they used to be. We stayed close, but I could see the lack of control she was used to frustrating her. We worked on some techniques together to help her try to recognize when her thoughts or anxiety were starting to amp her up or whirlwind out of control. And while she didn't say it, I could tell she was grateful I was there for her.
Things did come to a head one day in mid-August. Right in the middle of her busy season. After fussing with a customer that seemed impossible to please, she lacked the self-control not to give them a piece of her mind. The company's owner had to pull her off the job. She said what everyone was thinking anyway, but that was no excuse. While thankfully they didn't fire her, they did pull her off all jobs to "cool off" while they tried to salvage the damage from her tantrum.
It didn't really help her cool off at all. Sure it hit her in the pocket book, but she was fuming and angry and depressed and uneven in general. Even her psychologist and psychiatrist were worried about her, but upping or changing dosages takes time to kick in and normalize. I tried my best to help out and calm her down, but nothing was really working. I took some time off myself just to be with her and try to steady her. It wasn't hospitalization bad, but we were still scared.
My first thought was some shopping therapy. My treat given her situation. We had fun for a little while, but the anxiety started to kick in when she put on a dress and was convinced the shopkeeper called her a fat pig when all they said was they liked the way it accentuated her hips. My daughter had curves, sure, but she wasn't even pleasantly plump. She was no beanpole model either. She was a pretty young woman, strong and athletic. It was just another irrational source of frustration and anxiety getting to her. I tried to talk her down, and eventually did with the promise of dinner at that place at the mall with those desserts that have enough calories for a whole day.
In retrospect, I should have seen that as a mistake. Medicating her body shape panic with food is never going to be healthy. But she used to like going there as a treat before, so I fell back on something that had some happy memories for us. It went downhill with another errant comment. Our well-intentioned waiter complimented her on her rather decadent choice for dessert. The gall!
