Emmy And Her Daddy Ch 03

I have been working on another mother-son story while editing this, the third chapter of Emmy and Her Daddy. I am contemplating, when done with my present projects, on either returning to July 4, My Sister, the Lake and/or a fourth chapter of this tale. The response to July 4 has been overwhelming and although the consensus has been to continue the story with Shane, enough of you have taken the view that Sam and Bella should shun Shane that, out of respect, the follow-up would be in a separate story. We'll see what ideas seep into my head.

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

* * * *

I woke up and checked the clock. It was 3:00 A.M. Emmy's naked perfection lay next to me, the sheet across her hips, her upper body exposed, her chest rising and falling with each quiet breath. What the fuck had I done? I would need to tell Emmy this could not continue, but in a way that would not shame her. I had no idea how to do it. I lay down, my back to her. Emmy murmured something indecipherable, rolled over, draped her arm across my body, her chest pressed to my back. I felt myself getting hard. Hell, before I convinced Emmy, I'd have to convince my own dick.

* * * *

I was drifting in and out of sleep when I felt the bed move. I heard muffled footsteps on the carpet; the bedroom door opened. The smell of fresh coffee drifted into the room. I lay there, trying to put together the words for Emmy. I heard her coming down the hall, but the words eluded me. I sat up. She entered the room, naked, carrying two cups of coffee, a bounce to her walk, a look of transcendent happiness on her face. Then her eyes fixed on my face. There was an instant transformation: the joy vanished, replaced by sadness, then by focus and determination.

She handed me my coffee and sat next to me.

"You have that look Daddy, the kind that says we need to talk."

"I didn't know I had that look, but yes Emmy, we need to talk."

She swivelled, her back to me, and leaned against my body. I placed my arm around her. I couldn't see it, but from her tone I knew she was fighting back tears.

"Daddy, you're the wisest I know. I told myself that if you said we had to stop, I'd accept your decision."

"Emmy, it was wonderful, you're wonderful, but I'm your father. There are rules, fathers and daughters, they don't do this. You need to be with guys your own age, not your father."

"Did you like it last night?"

I decided to be honest. "Yes Emmy, it was amazing."

"And our vacation, have you had a good time?"

Honesty seemed advised again. "Yes Emmy, I can't remember a better time."

"Me too Daddy and last night, well I didn't know it was possible to feel that good. I'll respect your decision Daddy, but I have a request. You can say no. I promise, no hard feelings. We're leaving in a few hours, until we land back home at the airport, could we pretend, just for this little bit, that we're together, that we're lovers?"

She turned towards me. The look on her face that of a wounded child, my wounded child. It was a look to which no father, or at least not this father, could say no. And, I figured, what was the harm.

I told her yes, we could pretend. We packed, and when we walked across the hotel lobby her arm was tucked in mind. I loved it.

* * * *

I had the window seat; Emmy sat next to me, on the aisle. Ear buds in, she was listening to music. Ostensibly, I was working on my computer, checking in on the office, but I couldn't focus, my mind kept replaying the past few days. While I knew what had happened in Miami had to end there, Emmy was right, I couldn't remember enjoying myself more. And there was something else, something bigger. I turned it over and over in my mind, but I couldn't escape it: I was besotted with my daughter. Bouncing from urge to urge, more confident of what I should not want - my daughter as lover - than what I did want, I longed to get back home, to my job, to normal.

Emmy sensed my mood. She popped the buds from her ears and kissed me. "You okay Daddy?"

"Yeah honey, just a lot on my mind."

"I understand Daddy." She unbuckled her seat belt. "I'll be right back. When I do, do you mind," referring to a colorful blanket she'd bought from a Miami street vendor , "if I pull the shawl over me. It's chilly in here. "

"That's fine, honey."

"Thanks Daddy." She headed for the back of the plane, returning a few minutes later. When she leaned forward to pull her bag from under the seat, the top of her shirt fell open. I could see her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra. She had put one on in the morning. Had she taken it off in the bathroom? Were those top buttons undone before she went to the bathroom? I recalled how good those breasts felt in my mouth the night before. Transfixed, I kept watching while Emmy, in a single motion, pulled out the shawl and dropped her bra into the bag. She laid the shawl over both our laps, raised the arm rest between our seats, and snuggled close to me. I felt the weight of her breasts against me; her hand rested on my thigh.

"Remember our deal Daddy, we get to play until the airplane lands."

"Emmy, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Now now Daddy, you promised."

Two fingers clasped the tab on my zipper. The sound of it descending seemed deafening. I glanced to my left. Two people sat in the seats opposite ours: one was asleep, the other wore head phones and was engrossed in her computer screen. No one reacted.

"Have you ever done this before Daddy? Had a lady play with you on an airplane?"

In fact, I had. "Emmy, that's none of your business."

Extending her lower lip, she put on a theatrical pout. "So you have. Darn, I was hoping to be the first. Well, maybe I can be the best."

Her hand moved inside my underpants and grasped my stiff dick; a thrill ran through my core. I'd like to say I put up a fight, but I didn't. I'd told Emmy we could play until we got back and, although that might be the flimsiest of excuses for letting your daughter jerk you off on an airplane, it was all the excuse I needed.

"Undo your belt Daddy."

I shifted position, hoping the motion would distract anyone who might be watching, and unbuckled my belt. I pulled the window shut, as if ready for a nap.

"Emmy, can you hand me a pillow?"

"Yes Daddy."

I pushed the pillow into the corner where my seat met the airplane's wall, resting my head on it. Her hand stroking my dick, Emmy leaned against me, her breasts flattening on my side.

Emmy was patient. She lightly ran her fingertips up and down my penis, sometimes grabbing the shaft, sometimes visiting my ball sac, which she'd hold in her hand while rolling my testicles around with her fingers. When a drop of pre-cum emerged, she'd rub it into the head with her thumb. She was enjoying herself. This was something she'd said she'd longed to do for years. This would be her last opportunity - she intended to take full advantage.

And it felt great, my dick was awash in a sea of delightful sensations. Then the captain's voice filled the cabin. We were thirty minutes from landing.

Emmy wrapped her fingers around the shaft, and, using only her wrist, pumped up and down. The movement was slight, undetectable to anyone not looking for it. I relaxed, trying to forget where we were, focusing on what was happening between my legs, immersing myself in the wonderous vibrations spreading through my body. Emmy moved, dragging her breasts across my back, and slid her other hand under the blanket. One hand wrapped around the base of my shaft, the other cupped the cock-head. I breathed-in sharply, barely suppressing a groan. Emmy noticed. The hand on the base of my shaft dropped down to my balls, twiddling with my testicles. The other hand, palm open, rested on abdomen, calming me.

I nodded when I'd gotten control of myself. The hand on my stomach drifted back down, taking hold of my cock. Emmy pumped the shaft with her wrist, sliding the skin up and down. I let the sensations flow over me, but monitored my breathing to make sure I didn't start moaning. This went on for several minutes; my balls began to tingle. Emmy tightened her grip on my shaft and moved her other hand behind my scrotum, thrusting my testicles forward.

I began a slight rotation of my hips, moving my body in time with her hands. Emmy snuggled closer to me, obscuring my movement, then licked my ear and whispered, "After you come Daddy I gonna lick it all up, right here on the airplane."

It was heaven. I was absorbed in the delights dancing up and down my pole, absorbed by the gorgeous brunette whose body was pressed to mine. My balls tightened up, retracted into my scrotum. Emmy let go of my shaft, grasped the crown of my penis, using the copious flow of pre-cum to slide her palm over and around the head. The plane's flaps extended, slowing us down, starting the descent, increasing the ambient noise. I swallowed some groans and then I felt it; I was coming. Cum rocketed up my penis, coating my daughter's hand. I buried my face in my pillow, muffling a single unstoppable grunt.

"Sir, you need to return your seat to..."

I turned to look at the stewardess, a comely redhead whom I'd noticed as soon as I got on the plane. She looked at my flushed face, then my daughter's mischievous smile.

"I'll be right back with some paper towels."

My daughter pulled her hands from under the shawl and, taking her time, pushed each cum-laden finger into her mouth, licking it up.

The stewardess returned. "Does he taste good?"

"Scrumptious. Like some?" The stewardess nodded and Emmy held up a hand; a few drops of cum sat atop a fingertip.

Bending down, delight dancing in her green eyes, the red head's tongue darted out, capturing my seed. She stood back up, smiled, and handed Emmy some paper towels and a small bottle of hand cleaner before turning her attention to me, "Well sir, you're one person I won't need to ask whether he enjoyed the flight."

* * * *

We were walking down the terminal, heading for baggage claim, looking like any other father and daughter. Emmy's voice was clear and precise, reflecting both pain and strength.

"Daddy, I gave you my word. We're back on the ground. We're home. I will not try to be your lover; I will date those boys you said were my future."

* * * *

Emmy was true to her word; she dated; she dated a lot. I suspect she accepted every invitation she got; guys tromped through the house: high school kids, college dudes, some of the city's young professionals. Good looking kids, okay looking kids, smart guys, dumb guys, guys driving jalopies, guys driving Porsche's. None showed up more than twice and it was clear that Emmy was captivated by none of them.

I dated more. I fucked more. I couldn't get through a sex act without thinking about my daughter.

And although we were not lovers, our relationship had irretrievably changed. On a day-to-day basis, we were, well not best-friends, I didn't talk to her like she was a guy pal, but we were intimate. During the evening we'd sit together, her body leaning into mine, sharing all the day's joys and frustrations, happy to talk to someone who cared and listened. Somehow I found it acceptable when Emmy asked, with a smirk, how my date had gone. I didn't ask about hers. I didn't want to hear about her with another man.

The physical boundaries that should separate father and daughter also broke down. We were not pawing each other or touching private parts; we did not see each other naked. However, when in the same room we sat together. In public, without thinking about it, she'd lay her hand on mine or on my back. I'd lean into her, touch her face, push a strand of hair or two back into place.

* * * *

Emmy asked me if she could stay out late on New Year's Eve. Nina, her best friend and something of a wild child, was throwing a party. Emmy said Nina's parents would be home. I trusted, Nina not so much. I called her parents, just to make sure. I told Emmy it was okay.

That day, as she headed for her room to prepare, I asked, "Who's the lucky guy tonight?"

"Melvin."

"Melvin?"

"Y'know Daddy, Melvin, Biff."

Melvin McConnell, called Biff by everyone but my daughter, had led Emmy's high school to the state 5-A football championship the year before. With an obvious crush on my daughter, he'd been a constant presence at the house. She'd hang with him, but described and treated him as a friend and Melvin, good-naturedly, accepted this status.

Since that time his star had risen. He'd signed a scholarship with the state university. While it had been anticipated he'd redshirt his freshman year, Biff was called to duty after a dismal 1 and 3 start in which the first and second string quarterbacks were injured. He rescued the moribund season, leading the team to a 6 and 1 finish, including an upset win in the Music City Bowl. He was also about as good-looking a kid as you could imagine, the heart-throb of half the women in the state.

"Nina invited him to the party." Nina had dated Biff for several months during his senior year. "He called me 'bout a week ago, asked me to go with him. I told him sure."

* * * *

Emmy was upstairs getting ready when Biff, holding a bouquet of flowers and wearing khakis and a button down white shirt, knocked on the door. He was bigger than I remembered; time in the weight room had filled out his six foot three inch frame. He kept his blonde hair short and clean cut. He was the All-American kid.

He shook my hand. "Hello Mr. Jaworski. It's been a long time. Hope all is well."

Nice grip, I thought. "Yes Biff, life's pretty good. I've been following your career. You've made us all proud. Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Thank you sir. Water would be nice."

He followed me to the kitchen. We traded stories of recent events, Biff treating his football success with the kind of aw-shucks humility which, if I hadn't known him for a dozen years, known that this was the real Biff, would have seemed to good to be true.

"Hey guys."

Emmy walked into the kitchen. She was wearing red sandals with a two inch heel, very tight jeans, and a bright red shirt that although not skimpy - it had shoulders, half-length sleeves, and showed only a hint of cleavage - still fully advertised my daughter's superb physique. She wore a bit more make-up than normal: her red lipstick matched her outfit, her eye-make up more pronounced than usual. She was beautiful.

We made polite small talk for another ten minutes, then Biff and Emmy left. I watched them through the living room's plate glass window. Biff held the passenger side door open for my daughter.

I had a date that night with a neighborhood lady who, like I, decided to take advantage of the fact that our kids were at parties. She cooked dinner, the food was good. I couldn't get Biff and Emmy out of my mind. We crawled into bed. I couldn't keep an erection. I let her believe it was work issues, apologized, used my mouth and fingers on her, left her drifting into a contented happy sleep, got home around 1:00 A.M. Emmy and Biff were still out. I turned off the lights. I couldn't fall asleep. I masturbated. Images of Emmy filled my brain and while I normally tried to push them away, that night I didn't try very hard. I came and drifted into a shallow uneven sleep.

I heard Biff's car pull up around 2:15. I got up, watched them from my window. He opened Emmy's door for her and walked her to the house. I could hear them downstairs. She thanked him, said she had a wonderful time, apologized for some act she did not identify. He said it was okay, his voice genuine, comforting; they kissed good night. The door closed; he left.

Emmy started crying and running up the steps. I opened my door.

"Emmy, are you okay?"

She stopped and turned towards me, tears and mascara smeared on her face.

"I'm not ready to talk about it Daddy."

She entered her room, shut the door hard, ran a bath.

About forty-five minutes later I heard the tub draining. I waited a few minutes and knocked on her door.

"Emmy."

"You can come in Daddy."

Wearing a short robe, she was sitting on her bed. Her hair was wet, her hair dryer and brush next to her.

"Would you do my hair Daddy?"

"Sure Emmy."

I dried her hair; we said nothing. When I was done, her back to me, she started to talk. There was an edge of near-exhaustion to her voice. The tears I saw when she came up the stairs were, I realized, only the beginning of a long hard cry, the sound drowned out by the noise of her bath. She was worn out.

"Daddy, you're the smartest wisest man I know, but you're wrong. I was not made for a boy my own age, I was not made for anyone but you. I've tried real hard like you said I should, I've gone out with lots of guys and I really really tried to like them, but nothing. Then when Melvin called, I thought it was the answer to my prayers. He's cute and very nice, every girl wants him. He's had a thing for me for years and treats me like a queen. Heck, Nina even told me - and she's had enough experience to know - he's great in bed. So when he called I figured Daddy's right, this is what I've been waiting for.

"So tonight, we snuck out of Nina's party, went to a friend's house where no one was home, made out, took off each other's clothes, and I touched his penis and it was all so wrong and I started bawling. He was so sweet Daddy. He thought I was a virgin, that I wasn't ready, that I'd rushed myself, and I let him think that. But Daddy, the idea of another man being inside me, Daddy it's horrible, it's horrible. I don't want it. I don't want it!"

She shuddered.

"There is only one man for me Daddy. You."

She started crying.

I took her in my arms. We lay down. She cried some more. When she stopped I retrieved some Kleenex from her bathroom. With a grateful smile she dried her face.

"I'm sorry Daddy, I'm being such a baby."

She rolled over on her side. I lay behind her, holding her in the spoon position. We were quiet. I waited, waited until she stopped sniffling; waited for her body to relax, waited some more. Then I said, "Emmy, if we were lovers, no one could ever know, do you understand that?"

She placed her hands on mine, pressed them to her body.

"Yes Daddy."

"There will be things about being lovers that you and I could never do; hold hands in public, kiss before others, go on dates, you'd have to give all that up."

"I understand Daddy. But I need you to understand something. I want you. I know I'm not supposed to, I understand the problems; I've struggled with this for years. I've tried a thousand different ways to stop feeling this way and when they didn't work, I tried them again. But it's you I love you and you I want. Daddy, we love each other, we want each other. There is no reason we shouldn't be together just because society has some rules."

There was no resistance left in me. Emmy was right, I wanted her. I got up on an elbow. Emmy rolled over and faced me. I leaned in and kissed her; her eyes softened. She opened her mouth to my tongue and then kissed me back, her hand on my hip. I ran a hand through her hair, kissed her cheek, kissed an earlobe.

Emmy murmured, "Daddy," then rolled on top of me. I was on my back, her slender body atop mine. Her black hair tumbled around my head. She smiled, a sweet happy smile, and kissed me, then kissed me again. One of her legs was between mine, her thigh pressed to my penis. She kissed my cheek, rose up on her knees, undid the belt of her robe, and shrugged her shoulders. The robe fell to the bed. She arched her back, displaying her unworldly body, her breasts standing firm and tall on her chest. Emmy looked down, bit her bottom lip, touched a breast. The nipple jumped to attention. Her hand moved lower, sliding inside her panties, tracing her pussy lips.