Emmy and Her Daddy

This is Chapter 2 of Emmy and Her Daddy. I have a third chapter drafted and hope to post it relatively soon. I have a few ideas for continuing the story after that, but nothing definite.

I would like to thank all of you who commented on July 4th, My Sister, the Lake.

As always, all story characters are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

Stepping out of the shower I smelled coffee brewing. I dried myself off, put on my robe, joined Emmy in the kitchen.

"What's on the agenda?"

"Well, first yoga, then I figure we're in Miami, we should hit the beach. Tonight's a surprise. Did you remember to bring your navy blue suit. You look so handsome in it."

I smiled. I'd remembered. "Yes Emmy."

* * * *

Emmy did yoga; I worked out on an exercise bike. On our return to the hotel Emmy disappeared into her room, emerging in a short yellow dress. She took it off on the beach; underneath was a relatively modest one-piece swimsuit, the bottom black, the top alternating horizontal black and white stripes. It covered her butt and only hinted at her cleavage. And while skin tight, compared to the ubiquitous micro-bikinis around us it was nigh-Victorian.

"Whatta ya think?'

"You look great honey."

Gesturing to several near-by women wearing only tiny triangles of fabric, she said, "Would you prefer something like that?"

"No honey, then we'd be fighting off the boys."

She laughed. "That's exactly right Daddy. The only man for me is you."

We found a place to lie down. Emmy applied sun block to herself, I did her back. After I smeared it on my legs, arms, face, and chest, Emmy said, "Lay down Daddy. I'll do the rest."

I followed instructions; Emmy knelt next to me. She squirted the oil onto my back and worked it in. Emmy's slender fingers were strong; I issued a low-key moan, letting her know how good it felt. I relaxed, enjoying what had morphed into a massage. She took her time, rubbing the liquid into my shoulders and neck, then along the sides of my body.

She next turned to my legs, starting at my feet. I laughed when she reached the back of my knees; I was ticklish there. After a final twirl of her fingers, Emmy changed position and straddled my leg. She worked the oil into the back of my thighs, cupped her hands over then, fingers on each side, and pushed forward, forcing the liquid into my skin. It felt heavenly, but she was drawing close to my crotch. I thought about saying something, but how not to sound like a pervert when telling your teenage daughter she's getting to close to Daddy's privates?

Emmy pushed up one more time; her fingers reached my butt. I was about to caution her when she said, "Daddy, you've got great legs. I can feel all your muscles. Don't move, one last place."

She applied lotion to two fingertips and ran them along the edge of my butt, then lay next to me.

"Thank you sweetie."

"You're welcome Daddy."

Emmy snaked her hand into mine and rested a foot against my ankle. I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

I was not sure how long it'd been – I was drifting in and out of consciousness – when Emmy said, "Daddy, would you kiss me?"

I rolled up on my elbow, said, "Sure honey," and pecked her on the cheek. Then I saw the look on her face. Something was wrong.

"What is it honey?"

"Don't look Daddy, but a bunch of guys a couple of blankets over have been staring at me, talking about me."

"Do you want me to say something to them?"

"No Daddy, but I need you to kiss me, like we're together, like I'm your girlfriend. They'll get the message."

She didn't wait for a response, but puckered her lips and ran a hand through my hair. Saying no didn't seem an option. I lowered my face and her lips molded themselves to mine, dragging over the surface of my mouth. I felt an instant jolt, an unexpected arousal. She kissed me again, the pressure of her lips stronger. She turned my head, brought her mouth to my ear, whispered, "Thanks Daddy."

I rolled onto my back and, eyes obscured by my sunglasses, I glanced at a pack of guys, a few years older than Emmy, staring at us. They said a few things, all meant to be overhead: "The old dude must have money," "Check out gramps," "She needs some real lovin'." They packed up and wandered off.

Emmy, who had taken my hand in hers, rolled onto her elbow and kissed me, this time a peck on the lips.

"We must be naturals."

We lay together, but the mood had been broken, Emmy was antsy.

"Daddy, let's take a walk, but pretend you're my boyfriend. It will cut down on the leering, it will keep guys from hitting on me."

Well, it'd worked once. I stood and helped her up. We started up the beach, holding hands.

Our experience mimicked the day before; everyone noticed Emmy, she made friends everywhere. We got involved in a volleyball game, danced with a informal gathering of reggae musicians, and shared a meal with two families barbequing on the sand. Emmy treated me like her boyfriend: held my hand, leaned her body into mine, kissed my cheek. Wherever we went we were treated like a couple. I found I liked basking in the light of my entrancing daughter.

As we headed back to the hotel I said, "I can't believe we pulled it off. Everybody thought I was your boyfriend." The excitement in my voice caught me by surprise,

"Yes, wasn't it fun. You were quite the hit. The girls kept asking me how to snare such a hunky guy. I can get you some dates with some hot young chicks."

I laughed. "I doubt if, but you're all the hot young chicks, make that gorgeous young woman, I'm interested in."

There was a serious undertone in her voice when she replied. "Do you mean that, do you think I'm a gorgeous woman?"

I took both her hands in mine. "Yes, I do. But, you're even more beautiful on the inside."

* * * *

At the hotel, per instructions, I put on my blue suit. Then I waited.

Emmy appeared an hour later wearing a backless strapless black gown. It was snug across her chest and displayed a hint of cleavage. She saw the appreciation in my eyes and id a pirouette. My gaze was drawn to her behind; the dress molded itself to her backside before gracefully flowing to the floor. Her hair was down; she carried a small black purse and a black jacket. Her only jewelry, besides small diamond earrings, was the necklace I'd given her the night before. There was a wide smile on her face; she was radiant, pure class.

I looked at her, seeing something new. Something had happened in Miami. I was seeing Emmy in a way I wouldn't have imagined a week ago, unabashedly appreciating the sexy young woman my daughter had become.

"Well Daddy?"

"Emmy, you're spectacular. Wherever we're going, I'll be the envy of every man there."

She walked towards me, her stride slow and sexy. "That's the way I want it."

She leaned forward – with her black heels she was only an inch or two shorter than I – and kissed my lips. The kiss took longer, was harder, than I expected. I dismissed it; it was a special occasion. Wherever we were going, I'd be with the sexiest woman in the place.

I called downstairs for a town car and slipped Emmy's jacket on her. The front was open, accenting her breasts; it was long in the back, hanging past her rump. I took her arm in mine. Eyes followed us as we crossed the hotel lobby. The car was waiting; Emmy provided an address.

Fifteen minutes later we arrived at the harbor and boarded a yacht for a dinner cruise. Not exactly the kind of hep place I'd have expected my eighteen year old daughter to choose for her birthday; it was more an old man's speed. I took off her jacket and held her chair for her, handing the jacket to our waiter. I ordered wine, then dinner. For the moment Emmy eschewed dessert; she asked me to walk with her on the deck. I nodded to the waiter; he returned with her jacket. He pulled out her chair; I slipped the jacket on her.

It was cold. The few other couples on the deck soon retreated inside. Emmy stood on the guard rail, looking back at the city. I stood behind her.

"Daddy, I'm chilly."

"Do you want to go back inside?"

"No Daddy, I like it here, just the two of us. Hold me."

I wrapped my arms around her. She dropped her head back onto my shoulder.

"Daddy I love your strong body."

I thought about some of the guys she'd dated, far stronger than I. But why dispute a compliment?

"I love holding you pumpkin. This has been a wonderful trip. I should be taking care of you on your birthday, but you've been taking care of me."

She rotated in my arms, faced me, brought a fingertip to my face, ran it along the length of my mouth, played with my lips.

"Daddy, don't be silly. You've taken care of me all my life, I'll never be able to thank you enough. I love taking care of you; I'd like to do it forever."

I took her hands in mine, brought them to my lips, kissed them.

"Now you're being silly. You can't take care of me forever. Someday there will be a young man for you to take care of, who will take care of you."

Music from inside the ballroom, slow and sweet, flowed down the deck. "No Daddy, no one can ever replace you. Dance with me?"

I started back to the ballroom, but Emmy stood still. "No Daddy, out here, just you and me."

And so my daughter and I held each other, dancing on the deck of a yacht, alone.

When the band broke we headed back to the ball room. I took off her jacket, slid it over my chair. We ordered dessert, splitting a fudge brownie capped with ice cream.

When done Emmy went to the ladies room, refreshed her lipstick. The band came back on. We danced the rest of the night. Emmy had always been a wonderful dancer. Even as a child music would inhabit her body. But as we danced together that night, I saw something else. Emmy moved with undeniable sensuality. It had probably long been this way, but I had not seen it. I enjoyed watching her and, something rare in my rigidly controlled world, found myself in the moment. I simply held my daughter, enjoying her perfect form, not worrying about what people might think.

The boat docked. Other couples praised us, complementing us on how we danced together. Emmy deflected the credit to me. Everyone assumed we were a couple and I saw no reason to correct them. Imagine, an old man like me with such a beautiful young woman.

We left holding hands, took a cab back to the hotel, made our way to our suite. I took off my jacket, then Emmy's, and sat on the couch. Emmy, holding two glasses of wine, sat next to me, took off her shoes, reached behind herself, slid the dress' zipper down a few inches, shifted her shoulders, loosening the garment, displaying her cleavage. I reached for my tie.

"No Daddy, let me."

Emmy, her face inches from mine, deftly loosened, then undid, the knot of my tie. She laid the ends on my chest, unbuttoned my shirt, pushed her hand inside, thrumming her fingers on my skin.

"I love your chest Daddy, strong and fuzzy."

"I thought hair on men was out."

"Maybe on boys, but not on men."

Her hand resting on my chest, she leaned against me. I placed my arm over her shoulder, looked down. Her nipples, deep brown and surrounded by large distended areolas, were clearly visible. I looked up, noted Emmy's foot resting on the edge of the coffee table. Her dress had bundled at her hips. My daughter had magnificent legs.

We sat awhile, sipped our wine, enjoyed the weight and warmth of each other's bodies. Then Emmy spoke.

"Daddy, these last few days, they've been the best and happiest of my life."

I thought to pooh-pooh her statement, but I couldn't recall a better time. It was the best vacation of my life, although, on second thought, it really hadn't been a vacation. It had been a date; sans the sex, it's what I would've done with a girlfriend, not family.

The thought made be uncomfortable. If I was imagining I was dating my daughter, maybe I better start dating more. Had I had let the boundaries with Emmy slip? No, I reassured myself, I was overreacting. My daughter was a woman, trips to Disneyworld were no longer appropriate.

Emmy sensed my agitation. She kissed my cheek, ran her hands through my hair. "Why don't you take the first shower Daddy."

"It's getting late Emmy, I thought I might wait til morning."

Emmy sat up, holding the hem of her dress, which had almost completely fallen from her breasts, to her chest. "Boys are so gross. You take yours, then I'll take mine. Could you stay up Daddy? I'd like it if you did my hair."

I stood and Emmy, tugging her dress over her breasts with one hand, took my hand with the other, stood, kissed my cheek, and said in a low voice, "Don't use up all the hot water."

I hung up my clothes, grabbed my pyjamas, headed for the shower. I considered jerking off, but recalling my daughter's admonition about a quick shower, refrained. I knocked on Emmy's door on my way back to my room, letting her know I was done. I heard her turn the shower on. I knew I shouldn't, but I imagined her soapy hands running over her body, water dripping down her exquisite form. Was she masturbating?

I had surrendered; thoughts of my daughter were turning me on. I definitely needed to start dating again. Images of Emmy were flashing through my mind – I couldn't push them out – when she knocked on the door and, wrapped in a short thick towel and carrying a hair dryer and brush, she entered my room.

This had become a regular feature at our home. Emmy would take a shower, I'd dry her hair. They were nice intimate moments. She sat on the edge of the bed and plugged in the blow dryer. Eyes closed, she let me do her hair, enjoying my hands running through her hair. When done I lay the blow dryer and brush on the table beside the bed; Emmy checked her hair, nodded her approval. She got up, turned off the light, opened the blinds, letting the city's ambient light seep into the room, and cuddled next to me, slipping her hand under my pyjama tops, nestling her fingers in my chest hair. Her body was warm; she smelled fresh and clean.

"Daddy, there's no place I'd rather be than here with you, right now."

"Thank you Emmy. I love my sweet daughter."

"And I love my handsome Daddy."

Snuggled next to me, I was acutely aware that my daughter's perfect form was wrapped only in a towel. I knew I should send her back to her room, but I liked her just where she was. I was grateful for the blanket pulled over me, which hid my penis, half-filled with blood. Then Emmy said, "Daddy, do you remember when I told you that the night I turned eighteen I was going to ask for a special present."

"Yes Emmy."

"I want you to make love to me."

I've run that moment through my mind a thousand times, trying to piece together how I felt. I suspect I've re-remembered it so many times there is little original memory left. I was deeply aroused. In the past several days my relationship with Emmy had transformed. In Miami we had acted as beaus, not father and daughter. My daughter had presented herself as a very adult, very sexual creature and I, by my behavior, had accepted this version of her. I'd let the boundaries dissolve. I had, much of it at her instigation, sexualized my daughter.

And I wanted her. I couldn't remember ever wanting anything more.

But I tried. I really did try.

"Emmy, I'm your father."

"I know Daddy, I know I'm not supposed to want this. I've tried to get you out of my head, I really have. I date guys, nice guys, guys other girls rave about. I kiss them, let them kiss me. But it's no good, you're the one I want."

She brought her lips to mine, kissed me. I didn't kiss back, but offered no resistance. Instead my mind was racing, my libido threatening to run out of control. I struggled, trying to tamp down my feelings, to put together a coherent response, all while trying to get inside Emmy's head, to understand her point of view. I couldn't accuse her of doing or feeling anything wrong; I needed to say no gently.

I ran my hands through her hair and carefully moved her head away. I looked into her eyes. There was fear there? Fear I'd say no. Her question, would I be her lover, was not the impulsive act of a child, it was a woman's long contemplated wish. She had placed her heart in my hands.

The right words would not come to me.

"Daddy, do you want me?'

Flummoxed by the unexpected directness of her question, I was unable to confect a lie. "Yes Emmy."

"Can we? Tonight?"

I said nothing. She leaned forward and kissed me. I didn't kiss her back, but I accepted her mouth on mine. She ended the kiss, sat up on her knees, undid the towel, let it fall to the bed. Her face was flush, her sensual brown eyes focused. Her full round breasts, their size emphasized by her slender build, sat high on her chest. She was physical perfection.

"What do you think Daddy? Did I grow up well?"

"Emmy, you're beautiful."

"Thank you Daddy. I've wanted you as long as I remember. I need to know."

She kissed me again and when the tip of her tongue tickled my lips I let them part, let her probe the inside of my mouth. Her tongue slipped behind my lips, tripped across my teeth, visited my cheeks, the roof of my mouth. And then, when it teased my tongue, I teased back.

Emmy felt me respond. She ran her fingers up my chest, unbuttoned my pyjama shirt, licked, then nibbled on, my nipples. I groaned, acknowledging my arousal.

Emmy smiled, lay on top of me, used her feet to push the blanket and sheet down to my calves. My erection was pressed to her torso.

"Daddy, when I was a little girl I thought I had the smartest nicest sweetest best Daddy of all. When I got a little older I realized I had the handsomest sexiest Daddy. Then I got older and I knew my Daddy was the man I wanted, the one to make me a woman. I know I'm not supposed to want you, but whoever made that rule didn't have a Daddy like you. I've tried wanting other men, I really have, but I don't. And I'll never be able to until I know you."

She rolled off me, slipped her hand inside my pyjamas, grasped my penis, brought her lips to mine. I groaned into her mouth; our tongues played together, touched, licked, twisted. My hand went to the back of her head, holding her face to mine. I sucked on her tongue, then played with her upper lip, trapped it with my teeth, pulled it into my mouth.

I ended the kiss, took my daughter's chin in my hand, turned her head to face mine. Our eyes locked together. I struggled to catch my breath, the depth of my arousal unmistakable.

And then I abdicated responsibility. "Emmy, are you sure?"

"Yes Daddy, I'm sure." The tone of her voice, the look on her face, confirmed her words; she was certain. This was something long considered, something she'd looked at with her heart, her body, her mind, something she'd ruminated over from every angle, something, as she'd said, she needed to do. And in all that, I found reassurance. Or maybe I give myself too much credit. I wanted my daughter. Maybe I grabbed the first decent excuse that came along.

"You're on birth control?"

"Yes Daddy."

I smiled and kissed my daughter's sweet full lips. Emmy pulled on my pyjamas bottoms, but my erection got caught in the waist band. Emmy reached inside, pressed my dick to my body, pulled my pyjamas over it. She looked at my penis, stiff and brown and hard.

"My god Daddy, it's beautiful."

Bouncing up, she straddled my legs, took hold of my dick, looked at it with a wide happy grin, fisted it. Whenever a drop of pre-cum appeared she worked it nto the head and surrounding skin with her thumb. She was focused, intent, cataloging my reaction, listening to my breaths and gasps. Using my legs, I pushed my pyjama bottoms to my ankles, then off one leg. Emmy lowered her pussy, it was wholly devoid of pubic hair, to my leg. Her cunt lips splayed open, her vagina flush to my shin, she rocked her sex on me in short hard motions, sliding easily; easily; she was soaking wet. She closed her eyes and teased her clit with a fingertip, lost in the sensations, breathing in a deep steady rhythm. Her breasts swelled, her nipples taut and hard. She was lost in a haze of pleasure. I lay there, staring as the most beautiful woman in the world.