Daddy's Christmas Muse

SUMMARY: This is a story I wanted to get written in time to post it before Christmas. Hopefully it doesn't take long to get approved after submitting! It's a story about a girl named Marianne who finds out that her dad writes erotica. More specifically, that he writes

incest

erotica. After reading some of his work, she can't help but feel aroused about it. This one is meant to be a slow burn, like some of my other stories.

This story is written from Marianne's POV. However, I have interjected some of her dad's POV as well. You'll see how when you read it. This story focuses heavily on the warring emotions involved with being attracted to a family member, while worrying that it is wrong to have such feelings. This is the primary reason for the slow burn. This is the first of two chapters for this story. I have no plans to write any more about these two in the future.

By the way, you will notice that the dates of this story align with this year. That was done intentionally.

All characters in this story are 18 or older.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I decided to take a little bit of writer's liberty in this story and made a couple "plugs" at my own stories that I've written. There are several mentions about stories that my "dad's character" has written. At least three of them mentioned are actual stories that I have posted on my channel. If you've perused my other posted works, you may recognize which stories are referenced. There is no actual correlation between those stories and this one, and I did it merely for fun. And no, my dad did not write those stories. I assure you, they are my own. But it seemed like a cute idea to reference them here.

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to real life personae are strictly coincidental. Copying, re-posting, storing (whether digitally or in print form) or redistribution of this material is prohibited.

{CH 01 - SUNDAY DEC 1}

It looked like it was going to be a White Christmas this year. It had been snowing for several days. But my apartment had a good climate control system, so it was cozy and warm. I lived in a two-bedroom upper flat outside Minneapolis. Up until a few months ago, I shared the unit with a friend from college. Unfortunately, at the end of summer, she told me she was going to take a semester off and moved back home with her parents. That left me with a sizable rent and an apartment that was bigger than I needed.

Fortunately, I managed to get a new roommate two months ago, even if it might be considered somewhat unorthodox who I chose. You see, my dad moved in with me. He had been living in New York city for the past twelve years, since he divorced my mom. It was kind of a win-win for us. My parents split up when I was nine. Over the years, my dad and I had maintained semi-frequent contact, although I didn't see him all that often. More recently, we grew much closer, though. A little over a year ago, he started calling me more frequently. We texted a lot, too. And had video calls. That led to some really insightful conversations that helped me understand better why he and my mom hadn't worked out.

In the end, the primary reason for their divorce was the fact that my father had cheated on her. But I developed a newfound respect for how it all transpired. And I gleaned enough detail from various conversations I had had with my mother over the years that a new picture started to be painted for me. One thing I realized was that there were are always two (or more) sides to every story. My mom can see it her way, but that doesn't mean it's the only way. As it turns out, I don't think my parents had ever actually been in love with each other. My mom got pregnant with me when they were both eighteen and still in high school. After that, it was more about "duty" than "love".

Anyway. This story isn't about my mom, or my dad's relationship with her. It's about his relationship with me. But I thought I should start with a tiny bit of back story so you understand the circumstances. As I said, my daddy and I have become increasingly closer to each other over the past few years, especially the last twelve months. And after my roommate moved out, it was difficult for me to afford the rent of a two-bedroom apartment. I was almost ready to relocate, but that meant moving to a seedier area, and I was reluctant to do that. Then one day a few months ago, I was on a video chat with my dad as I lay on my couch, when an idea popped into my head.

"Why don't you just move in with me, daddy?" I asked him.

His face got all scrunched and he said, "What? No. Wouldn't that be weird?"

"Not really," I answered, sitting up a little. This might be the answer I had been looking for! If he'd be willing, that is. "Kaylee moved out, so I have an open bedroom. And honestly, I could use help with the rent."

There was a long pause before my dad finally asked, "Are you sure about this?"

My heart swelled with excitement. He was truly considering it! The thing is, my dad's a published writer. A really good one at that. Surprisingly, despite living in New York city, most of his stories took place in rural areas. Or at least less populated urban centers than New York. Oh, he had a few books he had put out that were located in the big city. But only one was actually about New York itself. Taking after him, I also dabbled with writing. But nothing as prolific as he seemed to be able to crank out.

"Why not, daddy?" I asked, feeling giddy.

He stared at me through my phone screen for almost thirty seconds before finally nodding. He started to grin and then said, "Ok. Yeah, ok. Let's do it." He looked excited, too. How perfect! He worked from home, which made my offer easier to accept, I'm sure. It wasn't like he had to quit his job to move in with me. He did everything from his laptop.

And so, as I said, he moved in with me the first weekend of October. He was a very responsible roommate, and I never worried about whether he'd come through on his half of the deal. In fact, my dad being my dad, he took care of the entire rent the first two months. But I knew we would get to a point where we truly shared it. I didn't want to be a freeloader. It was my apartment, after all.

At first, things were slightly awkward with my dad living there. My apartment did have two full bathrooms and two bedrooms, which helped. But the laundry machine was in the walk-in closet off my bedroom. Fortunately, he was very non-intrusive and gave me plenty of space. By November, I realized that he was actually extremely easy to live with. I could be myself around him. In some ways, it almost felt like I was just living with my old roommate again. He didn't nag me about what I wore, even if I decided to traipse around in a crop shirt and panties at night. Or if I walked through the place after a shower wearing only a towel. My dad just didn't care. Nothing seemed to faze him. He had given me baths as a child, after all!

I turned twenty-one in the middle of November, and my dad treated me to a fancy restaurant the following weekend, where we shared a bottle of wine together. It was a magical evening we spent together and only served to bring us even closer. Although we had been talking more frequently prior to him moving in with me, something seemed to shake loose that night. Maybe it was the wine talking. Who knows. Regardless, we shared some relatively intimate moments that night when I confessed things to him I never would have dreamed of sharing. I ended up describing every relationship I had been in, including when and how I had lost my virginity. He had soaked it all up like a sponge, an air of extreme interest the entire conversation.

In return, he shared his experiences with dating over the past decade. Some of his stories had me cracking up. He even told me that one of the reasons he liked going on dates was to get more experiences that he could potentially use in his books. That made sense to me and sounded exciting. All in all, I think we mutually agreed that we had a very enjoyable evening together. We took an Uber home that night, since we were both tipsy enough not to risk it. Then I took him to get his car the next morning, which we had left in a parking garage.

The month of December had just rolled in, and my father and I had truly gotten ourselves into a semblance of comfort about living together. We hung out frequently, but also respected each other's privacy when either of us retired to our own bedrooms. The weather had turned rather cold, but I didn't mind that one bit. Not this time of year. As I said, it looked like we were in for a white Christmas, which was right around the corner. My spirits were high. I loved snow. I loved the holiday music. Everything just felt a little bit magical this time of year.

But then I stumbled upon something I probably shouldn't have seen, and it completely changed my perception of my dad. The change was subtle at first, but rapidly started spiraling.

{CH 02 - THURSDAY DEC 5}

This seems like a good time to pause briefly from my story to say a little about myself. My name is Marianne, which comes from my mother's side since she was born in Canada. As I mentioned already, I recently turned twenty-one. I'm 5'5" tall and, although I've never considered myself overweight by any means, I would best describe my build as somewhere in between petite and compact. My hair is long and straight. It's mostly a medium brown, with strands of natural blonde highlights. I have deep blue eyes and seasonal freckles (which are currently "out of season"). My breasts are not too big, but also not too small. I would say "medium", but with nothing to compare it to, that word doesn't do much to describe them. The last time I got measured for bra size, they were undecided between 34C and 36B. I have one bra of each size, but rarely wear either. But that should at least give you an idea what I look like.

Now as for my dad, he's closer to six feet tall. He's got dark blonde hair that he lets lie however it wants. It's longer than most boys I know, but not long enough that it hangs down over his ears or anything. Unsurprisingly, he usually looks good the moment he lifts his head from his pillow in the morning. Conversely, I usually have to spend over an hour in the bathroom every day to make myself "presentable". But such is life. He has blue eyes, just like mine, and an angular jawline that I've always thought looked good on him. He doesn't sport a mustache or beard, but usually only shaves a couple times a week, which gives him a near permanent five o'clock shadow. It's a good look on him. He has a mildly stocky build, although his muscles are not pronounced with definition since he literally never works out. I don't mind, of course. He turns forty in May, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. I would peg him in his early thirties.

So that's my description of the two of us. Roommates. Now back to my story.

Our apartment had a shared entertainment room that was connected to my kitchen. The entire space was relatively large and roomy. We also had a gas fireplace built into the wall beneath the TV. We had just started turning it on over the past two weeks since it was getting steadily colder. It was a Thursday morning when I found myself sitting on the couch, pondering what I wanted to do with my day. I didn't have any classes until late afternoon and I didn't work today, so I had plenty of "free time". Finally, I thought I'd check to see if there were any sales going on at the mall. I had skipped the frenzied "day after Thanksgiving" shopping this year. No thank you.

My dad was taking a shower. I could hear the water running. His laptop was conveniently sitting on the table right in front of me so, without thinking about it, I picked it up and set it in my lap, lifting the screen. The display was black for a few seconds and then lit up. There was a document open so I guided the mouse to the corner to minimize it, but then hesitated. Several words had caught my attention and, before I knew it, I found myself reading. It was something my dad had written. A story, it seemed.

But not just any story. It was erotica.

Holy crap! Glancing toward the bathroom, I frowned but then swiveled my head back to the laptop and continued reading. Scrolling back a page, I started reading from the beginning of the fifth chapter. As the words tumbled into my brain, I couldn't stop. I knew my father was a good author, but somehow reading a story that was "spicy" took it to a whole different level. A voice in my head told me I should stop reading. This was private. My dad hadn't given me permission to read this. But I was so absorbed in the scene that unfolded, stopping became impossible.

The story was written in the third person, describing a scene between and a man and a woman who met at a bar. They were just getting to his hotel room. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I continued. Jesus my dad wrote well! It was so easy to follow along with the character's thoughts and what was going on around them. It started to feel like I was there in the room with the two of them. There was a little dialogue, but then things quickly heated up and before I knew it, I was reading a full on, steamy sex scene.

I was riveted. For the next ten minutes, my father's words swirled around in my head, painting a vivid image of exactly what was happening between the two characters. And when the guy finally slid himself inside the woman, I swear I felt a twinge of pleasure inside my own pussy. Completely committed, I continued scrolling as the scene grew more and more detailed. I felt a wave of nervous anxiety in the pit of my stomach about reading something so private. But this was easily the hottest sex scene I had ever heard described. How did my father manage to capture the details so perfectly?

The couple in the hotel room reached mutual orgasms right at the end of the story. I read the last paragraph, which described how their bodies quivered from the aftermaths of their climaxes and then shivered myself. For a few seconds, I stared at those final words, feeling stunned. Blinking, I realized that my body was heated. Beyond heated. I was fucking aroused by this! Glancing once more toward the bathroom, I could still hear the water running. Thank god.

When I glanced back at the laptop again, I noticed that I could see the edge of a folder window behind the document. Clicking on it, I found myself staring at a large number of files. The folder was called "UNPUBLISHED WORKS". Quietly scrolling through the various files, I decided to pick another document randomly and see what it was like. Sure enough, it was another erotica story. After just a few paragraphs, I deduced that it was a story about a new intern being hired in at a company, and the owner's son entering into a "forbidden" fling with her. Unable to resist, I quickly scrolled through the pages, looking for another sex scene.

Less than a minute later, I found another one. Chapter eleven. I started to read it and immediately became hooked. These two characters had so much chemistry! But they also both knew it was wrong for them to engage in a sexual relationship with each other. It was strictly forbidden by the company's bylaws. Their hesitation wasn't enough to stop them, though. And that chemistry soon started a fire as the two of them shared a fiery kiss. Their hands groped each other and started tugging at hems of shirts. My heart was beating so fast, I almost didn't hear the sound of my dad turning the water off in the shower.

With a yelp, I closed the document and then clicked the first one that had been on the screen when I first turned it on. Breathing heavily, I quickly shut the screen and then placed the laptop back where it had been sitting on the table in front of the couch. Then I bolted to my room, worried that my face would be flushed, and my dad would know exactly what I had been up to.

I managed to keep my little secret all to myself, though. My dad didn't act like anything seemed unusual. But I couldn't stop thinking about what I had read. Or about the fact that my own father writes porn. And very good porn, at that! I had a hard time concentrating when I went to class that afternoon and, even that night, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, I couldn't stop the thoughts that kept churning in my head. Most of them were visual representations of the scenes I had read. But I also had a lot of questions. Did my dad publish these stories anywhere? That seemed unlikely, especially considering they had been inside a folder that was literally called "UNPUBLISHED WORKS". But still, I had to wonder. Maybe he used a pseudonym.

Sleep eventually found me that night, thankfully. But my curiosity was intensely strong the second I woke up the next morning.

{CH 03 - FRIDAY DEC 6}

Somehow that next morning, luck seemed to be on my side. Well, if you want to call it "luck". As I said, my curiosity was piqued immensely. It was Friday so I didn't have any classes. I did have to work that evening, but that was hours away. When I saw my dad putting his coat on, I asked and he told me he was heading to the store to get some groceries. That made me excited, of course. Trying hard not to glance at his laptop sitting on the table near the couch, I added a few things to his list that I wanted and then he left.

Which is how I found myself nervously holding his laptop in my lap once again while it woke itself up. This time, there weren't any documents open on the screen. My dad must have worked yesterday and then closed everything out. Of course, that didn't stop me from starting to snoop. I opened up the folder labeled "UNPUBLSHED WORKS" again and started browsing through it. I soon discovered that he had other folders inside that one, with categories of sorts. One in particular really drew my attention. I couldn't help but click on it. It was labeled "FORBIDDEN". What the hell kind of stuff did my dad write about?

Inside that folder were literally dozens of documents. My hands were shaking as I slowly scrolled through them, reading the names of the files. It quickly dawned on me that this was not just any erotica. Every single title seemed to hint at some sort of "taboo" erotica. Maybe they were just like the one I had read the night before, about the owner's son and the intern. That was considered "forbidden" in many work environments. But no. These seemed different somehow. I finally chose one called "After School" and opened it.

My jaw dropped as I began reading the story. It was twenty-five pages, according to the little bar at the bottom of the document. But those pages were full size, so I figured it would probably be something closer to a hundred page novella. Fortunately, I was a fast reader. And once I got halfway through the first chapter, I was completely hooked. The story was about a college professor who was being seduced by a young girl in his class. By "young", I mean early twenties. My age. Which made the scene descriptions very easy for me to relate to.

The story had a lot of back and forth as the professor repeatedly resisted her advances. There was a lot of dialogue, but also a lot of descriptions about how she looked, what she was doing to flaunt herself at him, and how his body was reacting to it all. You could tell that his defenses were slowly weakening. She was wearing through them, making him consider things he never would have before. And the girl sounded extremely hot. I kept reading, unable to pull myself away from it even to go pee. My bladder was trying to get my attention, but I ignored it. Beneath even that, I felt something else in my body that was becoming increasingly difficult to deny.