I woke early, dad's arm loosely on my breast. I wriggled my bum backwards, rubbing myself on his none-too-flaccid manhood. I smiled, as I wrapped my hand around his warm arm. A sudden wave of sadness swept over me, knowing I'd have but another day and a half left of this idyllic time with my dad. This alone time with him had become so intense. I wasn't sure whether it was the connection, or just my inexperience and age. Shaking myself out of this sullen reverie, I slipped from the bed, quietly went to the en-suite, peed, brushed and fluffed up my hair. I crept back to bed, snuggled next to daddy and gazed at his sleeping, handsome face. I slowly ran my smooth legs against his, my slim body pressing desirously on his toned thighs and morning cock. As he began to stir, I gently moved his messy hair from his eyes. He half-opened them and wryly smiled.
"Morning, darling," he mumbled, his warm, strong hand enveloping my butt. "You're up early."
"As are you...daddy," I giggled, gently squeezing his shaft. 'Kay, I know it was corny, but...
"Our last full day, eh, Chloe?" he whispered.
"I know," I sighed, sadness filling my chest as the words came out. "But that's all right, ya know. We'll always have these days to look back on. I...I really can't ask for more," I smiled, and kissed him. "So...we can either lay here all depressed and sullen, or take a walk so you can show me a bit more of my family's Paris, hmm?" I chuckled, as I slid onto his hard body, my little tits smashed against his firm chest, and we kissed. I didn't care that he hadn't brushed yet; I needed him now. My hips and vulva slid along his hard cock, once again splitting my sex. His hands grasped my ass, as he skimmed my willing body up and down his.
His cock was jabbing my clit with every slow movement, his hands on my bum, playing me like a yoyo. My head was buried in daddy's neck, my soft moans spurring our bodies on, as I moved my hips down, dad's cock sliding easily into me on the next smooth pull-up. I let out a long, "Oooooh," and my dad groaned a long, "Fuck...Chloe," as his hands held my butt tighter, directing my pussy where he wanted it. My hips moved with his hands, his shaft desperately penetrating me. With every mad thrust, I leaned into his shoulder and sucked his flesh harder. I could feel dad's fingers slyly between my butt cheeks, prodding and pulling them open, as his finger slid down to my oozing pussy, then back to my tight, little hole. He gently pressed his finger onto my unbroken seal, my hips wildly sliding up and down his stiff pole. I jerked my body down, his stiffness sending small spasms through me. I knew he wouldn't pierce my ass, only play and tease me, which was so fucking erotic! I could hear myself giggle. The feelings he gave me, were beyond anything I had experienced in my twenty-one years.
The more his finger made those slow circles on my sensitive bum, the more my pussy gushed. I felt so wicked, enjoying what daddy could do to me. I spread my legs a bit wider, urging him to take me. I was his. As his finger pressed into my tight hole, I came, my body shaking and quivering at his touch. His finger slid into my bottom, my pussy cumming and daddy spurting his seed inside me. I could just make out daddy's moaning grunts of, "Fuck...fuck...fuc—" matching my frantic, "Ohhhhhhhh...fuck....daddy!" as we came together.
Our chests were slick with each other's sweat, my tits rubbing his chest, my young cunt taking dad's musky cum. I felt his hand spank my ass, my pussy spasming and squirting my sap over his cock and our groins. Daddy lurched four or five, maybe six times, deep inside me, emptying himself in my valley. My lithe hips continued to work his cock, eager for every drop he had for me. I was out of breath, my hair plastered on his chest, as I lay there, daddy still embedded within me.
We lay there in our beautiful, post-orgasmic glow, our bodies sweaty, but quenched. We laughed together, tenderly kissing, touching and breathing on each other. His hands delicately held my bum, fingers still sliding through my crack.
"Morning, dad," I cackled. "I love this," I sighed.
"Mmmm, as do I, Chloe. I'm almost jealous of Maisie," he smiled.
"You should be!" I said, assertively. "But this is different. You know that, don't you? This is us...just us. I...I just feel sad that I have to, well, return you to my mums. I get it, though, 'kay? You'll always be my dad...and that will be more than enough. Always, 'kay," I said.
"Always, Chloe," he tenderly sighed.
Twenty minutes later, with one arm around me, he grabbed the breakfast menu and called down with our order. We knew we had another thirty minutes to relax into the morning glow. My body was flushed, and I could have easily slipped back to sleep, but daddy had other ideas! Breakfast arrived, and was laid on the balcony table, the bell-boy smirking at my prone figure on the duvet. I'd love to read his memoirs!
I'm sitting on our patio still, the warmth of those memories coursing through my pregnant body. I could feel the little one kicking, and I wondered if my memories were affecting its morning. I re-read parts of what I have written, my hand fluttering inside my maternity dress and languidly playing with my now-much-fuller breasts. My fingers leave the laptop's keys and slide under my skirt, wistfully stroking my covered pussy. I lay my head back and moan, my mind back in Paris. I play with my excited nipples, remembering daddy's fingertips and how he'd tease me. I'm replaying every moment we were together; how he'd look at me, touch me, take me. My fingers slide under my skimpy panties and slowly rub my vulva, taking my time and relishing the recollections of our time together. I think of the innocence of those few days, me so precocious, dad being the resolute and strong one. I wondered, when we returned, what our connection would be like. Twelve years have passed, but it feels like last week. I slide two fingers into my gushy cunt, recalling his thickness and how he would play my body, his maturity and experience far beyond mine at that point. I bluntly pull my engorged nipples, milk trickling from my nubs, as I fuck myself with a third finger, my thoughts roaming back to daddy and our hours of lovemaking. My hips and butt are dancing off the comfortable chair, arching my back and recollecting his breath, his tongue and his soft words. These are my little keepsakes, I think, as my baby kicks again and I cum. Not the violent, all-encompassing climax that we shared that weekend, but an orgasm of recollection.
We finished our breakfast, our teasing and flirting growing as the sun rose higher. We took each other's hand, walked to the shower room, and spent, or so it seemed, days washing, cosseting and gelling the other.
If the only thing to come out of this weekend was the way I wanted to live, the all-encompassing, sensual and loving way my parents had loved me. I was learning how to be the lover I needed to be and how I would spoil my Maisie every day...if she allowed me.
We slowly dressed, me in a shorter, above-the-knee dress, though still 'appropriate'. I knew dad would tell me if it wasn't...if his hormones allowed him to! I held up my panties and bra cheekily, asking if these would suit me. Exasperated, he smirked at me, knowing full well my intentions. I quickly braided my hair in a chic, boho mess, dabbed a little of my new perfume behind my ears, and on my wrist, I grabbed my necklace and bracelets and was ready. Before I applied my lipstick, I approached dad, stood on my toes, and kissed him. He pulled back after a somewhat chaste kiss.
"More..." I sighed, and he kissed me again.
"More..." I said, as he pulled away, and he engulfed me, taking me in his arms, his taut hands holding me against his new trousers, and his tongue piercing my lips.
"Mmmmm," I sighed, as we broke away, his hand slapping my young ass. "That's better...daddy," I smiled, grabbing my backpack and camera, and we headed out.
We had our 'list' so headed out into the beautiful spring day. Dad headed down to Montparnasse via the Metro, saying he wanted to show me a place I might be interested in. We walked along the cobbled streets, imagining we were back in the Paris of the '20s. We headed to an old art supply shop, Sennelier, knowing I wanted to choose something for Maggie. I was taken aback by all the old oak cabinets, brimming with anything an artist would need...or want! I almost jumped into his arms.
"This...this is perfect, dad!" I almost squealed. We spent the next hour, at least, pondering, looking, touching and asking for advice. I burrowed through drawer after drawer of paper, brushes and paints, settling finally on ten luscious sheets of A3 cotton paper. It was extravagant for a budding thirteen-year-old artist. Still, she was my sister, so...I chose a beautiful painter's smock, brushes, and an excellent box of watercolour pigments. Dad wanted to pay, as it was rather expensive, but I insisted. The elderly gentleman gingerly wrapped the paper in a cardboard tube and gave me so much advice to give to Maggie. We said our heartfelt 'bonjour et bonne journée' and headed out. I found a vacant shop door, pulled my daddy to me and embraced him, my slick, smooth tongue playing with his, as I tiptoed up to touch his lips.
"Thank you, daddy. Maggie will adore these!" I sighed.
He checked his list, and we headed off 'til we came to a rather old building on the Rue de la Chaumiere, surrounded by newer ones. Daddy approached, and I immediately recognised it as Modigliani's studio. I stared at him, gobsmacked, for lack of a better word, before he knocked at the door. Daddy showed him his ticket, and we were let into his studio. I held onto his arm, squeezing him, afraid to let go lest this was a dream. It was as if Modigliani had just popped out for an absinthe and cigarettes.
"How did you...?" I began to ask, but my question was cut short by his gentle kiss.
"I know how much you admire his work, so..." he answered, with a murmur.
I was struck by the photos of him and his muse, understanding her attraction to this artist and man. I could have spent a week, if not another lifetime, here. Daddy was so indulgent, though, not ready to leave 'til I had my fill of his work and the studio's ambience. We walked out into the blazing sun, shell-shocked and stunned by what we had seen. We stopped off at La Rotonde, a favourite haunt of his, back in the day. The walls were plastered with reproductions of his and others' work. We ordered wine and a few pastries, happy and content, as we took in the day so far.
"You really are something, dad," I smiled. "Every minute we spend together, I see more and more why my mums have fallen in love with you... as I have," I shyly said.
"That's very nice of you to say, Chloe. C'mere...gives us a hug," he smiled...and I did.
We headed over to the Louvre...at last! Daddy had booked us a tour, thereby seeing the highlights, as it would take weeks to go through every gallery. The woman who guided us through the different rooms was incredible, quickly answering my questions with a practised flair.
