It was 4am when Jacob heard the back door click shut. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in the armchair he'd fallen asleep in. He knew that Trista, his daughter, was sneaking up the back stairs to her room, as quietly as she could in high heels, and too drunk to remember to remove them. He shook his head, this was the second time this weekend he'd waited up for her but not had the heart to get into another screaming match. He sat silently, listening to her platform shoes click softly on the wooden stairs, until he was certain she was in her room. He got up then, and went to the kitchen, shutting off lights as he went. After a glass of water and some aspirin, Jacob heard Trista in her bathroom, throwing up into the toilet. He shook his head and grabbed a few kitchen towels before starting to climb the stairs.
Trista wasn't a bad kid, she was going through a rough period in her life just now. Her mom had run off with some biker she'd met a bar nine months ago and never called or let them know where she was or if she was even alive. About then, Trista started hanging out with a rough crowd of her own, stopped thinking about college, and started getting drunk every night. She was barely making it through her last year of high school, and Jacob could figure out no way of helping her that she hadn't already tried. He was drinking more these days, too - nothing better to do at night when you're sitting alone, wishing a good woman was there to wrap her arms around you, settling instead for internet porn and beer.
As he rounded the stairs to Trista's room and adjoining bathroom, Jacob was greeted with a beautiful sight. Trista, her makeup washed off and face scrubbed clean, her hair hanging down in sweaty tendrils, resting on all fours in front of the sink. It looked like she had made it halfway up, but couldn't find the strength to actually stand. Jacob took a moment, admiring the curves of her body - only admiring, mind you, he wasn't a pervert - thinking of what a beautiful child he'd helped to create. It was then his cock noticed what he was looking at, too. Jumping to attention, it was his cock, not him, who noticed the tightness of her ass, and the way her lips were parted and moist. It was his cock who noticed her firm tight breasts pressing against the black mesh of her top, pert and steady without a bra. It was his cock who noticed her achingly long legs that led into her black vinyl skirt, caressing the edges of a crimson thong.
Jacob knew his cock had noticed Trista for a long time. He ignored it, divorced those feelings from his own, personified his penis in such a way that he felt no guilt for the raging hardons his daughter gave him, but only a mild distaste for what his other personality, his penis, lusted after. Ever since her mother had left them both though, it had been harder and harder to silence the voice of his cock inside his head.
"Look at her, bent over like a little slut, I bet she's had guys in all those hot wet little holes. She drinks enough, she might not even notice one more..."
Jacob cleared his throat, both as a way of announcing himself, and to silence the hideous whisper inside him. Trista turned her head only briefly before lunging at the toilet again, her lunch joining her dinner where it would do her no further good. Jacob leaned over his precious baby girl, wet towel in hand, and held her hair back off her neck. Soon, it was over and in his arms was just a sobbing mass of girl. He held her close, smoothing her hair and letting her cry into his shoulder. They sat like that, on the floor of her bathroom for a few moments, father and daughter, exhausted but together. Then, Jacob realized his cock was awake again. In only a second, he had gone from father to molester as he realized under her soft, trusting body, he had grown harder than iron, and his hips wanted desperately to press upwards into her. He held his breath, willing Trista to not notice, and edged her off his lap slowly.
"Bedtime, Princess," he cooed quietly. She stood up wobbly, and he couldn't help but glance at her toned thighs, her little tummy, and her long black hair. She yawned, and his skin tingled as he glimpsed that pink little tongue dart in and out of her mouth. He took her to her bedroom and sat her on the bed, leaning over to slide off her shoes. He didn't dare stare anywhere but at her little pink toes, fearing his own body's betrayal if he did.
Jacob wasn't a bad looking man, in any way. 6'2", still fairly muscular, he kept in shape doing construction work for a private contracting company he owned. He was only 35, as he and his ex-wife had been high school sweethearts, marrying as soon as they graduated. He had gone to night school and worked during the day, and she had stayed home with Trista, preferring instead to telemarket from there, and help make ends meet. In spite of not having much, they had been happy for a long time. At least, until Trista reached school age. After then, her mother seemed to lose interest in their little family unit, pulling away and going on long vacations by herself, visiting old friends who lived far away, and, Jacob suspected, meeting as many lovers as she could. Until Trista's 18th birthday, though, she had never dared to leave their family entirely. It had come as a hard lesson to Trista, who had always believed that her mother would settle down, and was just a free spirit. When she realized that it would never happen, and her mother was never coming home, Trista started following in her footsteps as fast as her legs could carry her.
Trista's snoring jolted Jacob out of his reverie, and he realized he was sitting on her floor, her shoes next to him, rubbing her feet gently. He used to rub her mother's feet like that. It used to put her to sleep, too. Jacob wanted to lay his head down and cry, but propriety prevented him from doing that in his child's room. He stood quietly, his spine making popping sounds as it straightened, and looked once more at Trista, sleeping soundly on her bed. Her legs were spread slightly, just relaxed and dead weight. Her arms were resting above her head, as though she had begun to stretch and fallen asleep mid-yawn. Jacob didn't even notice the dark whisper that started in the back of his mind.
"Just undress the child and slide her into bed. She'll be more comfortable that way, won't wake up with numb arms and her cute little vinyl skirt all creased. She's only going to tell me to pay the dry cleaning bill anyway. Don't I deserve to see a little of what all that clothing covers?" Jacob's palms were sweating by this time, and he had moved to the side of her bed, his fingers curled and poised to unzip her skirt and gently tug off her top. Somehow, this didn't seem wrong.
