It's a Father Daughter Thing

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially. These stories have been public for some time, but I am slowly uploading my back catalogue of stories currently.

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It's a Father Daughter Thing

Written by Amethyst Mare for Fyrdrgon

A cooked breakfast was a once-a-week affair that could not be missed whether one was a cougar or dragon, if Ropes allowed his opinion to dominate. He relished lashings of piping hot bacon and sausages, though Fyrdrgon insisted on heaping eggs, baked beans and buttered toast on to his plate regardless of his wishes. Sitting at the square dining table, the well groomed cougar licked his lips, digging into the meal prepared by his dragoness wife, Fyr, while the four tentacles, sprouting from his back, undulated peacefully. Glancing over her crimson shoulder, Fyrdrgon caught his pale eyes, smiling and somehow managing to appear radiant even in a fluffy dressing gown, yellow stripes catching the eye where revealed. Ropes held his breath, matching her smile with his own as he cast his eyes down her head-fins, framing her head, to her lips. He could always scrape the eggs to the side with a lady like that.

"Morning, dad, mum," the demon cougar's daughter, Helena, stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with the back of her paw. She fought down a yawn.

The adult dragoness, looking to make her way in the world, was the spitting image of her mother and, clad in only an oversized night shirt and panties, sparked feelings in Ropes that he would rather forget in Fyr's presence. The two made eye contact, fleeting yet electric. Her two pairs of breasts were visible beneath her pale blue shirt, pleasantly rounded and perky for their size, almost as if she was flaunting her shape for his arousal. Hiding a smirk within a yawn, the lithe dragoness stretched, shirt riding up to reveal black underwear that barely covered the curve of her buttocks, accentuating more than concealing. She flounced into a chair at the table, all too aware of her feminine charms, as Fyrdrgon whistled quietly, clueless to the tension.

"Where's Hiss, dear?" Fyr asked, dishing up another serving of breakfast. Helena grunted and shrugged, combing her fingers through her rat's nest of straw-coloured hair.

"Doing what all lads do," Helena rolled her eyes dramatically. "Sleeping."

"God knows what time that boy was up until," Fyr muttered, almost tipping the plate of bacon on to the table. "All the time on that game box or meeting ladies..."

"He'll be fine, mom," Helena groaned. Under the table, her bare hind paw touched Ropes' leg. "We're like you and dad now, all grown up." She laughed.

"God forbid you are just like me and your father," Fyr said, joining in with her daughter's mirth: it was good to laugh.

Plopping down a cup of hot chocolate with a great dollop of whipped cream at Helena's elbow, Fyr chuckled and hummed a tune as she busied herself with the dishes. Typical of an early riser, she had already eaten breakfast in the early morn peace, sitting by the large bay windows with a steaming mug of coffee. Casually, Helena dipped her finger into the cream and sucked the digit clean, swirling her tongue to scoop up every last drop. Ropes narrowed his eyes and tightened his paw into a fist, cursing his morning choice of boxer shorts. What was little temptress up to?

"So, what are you doing today, dear," Fyr joined them at the table, a cup of orange juice cradled between two paws. "It's a beautiful day. I was going to go shopping, be a shame to waste it. Would you like to join me?"

"No thanks, mom," Helena licked her lips. "I have other plans. Could you look out for some more scale cream for me though...please?"

"Running low again?" Fyr clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, secretly pleased that her daughter took such good care of herself; dry scales were a sign of ill health and one could never be too careful. Helena shrugged sheepishly, smoothing her night shirt down over her toned stomach.

"Yeah," she flushed. "But it's only the basic one I get, nothing fancy."

"I know, I know . . . It's the green tub, isn't it?" Fyr confirmed.

"No, it's changed colour again, new run," Helena scraped her chair back. "Let me get it."

"No, no," Fyr gestured to her to sit back down and rose more gracefully. "On the dressing table, right? Eat your breakfast, honey."

Not one to argue, Helena dropped back into her seat, taking note of when her mother was out of sight, but only when Fyrdrgon ascended the creaky stairs did the dragoness smile devastatingly, teeth showing in a huntress' grin. Rocking her chair back on two legs, Helena wriggled, adjusting something beneath the table that Ropes could not see. Suspiciously, the cougar sipped his coffee, willing his erection to soften even as Helena showed off. With a smug tilt of the head, she sat up and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, running her toe along Ropes' muscled calf. He furrowed his brow as something soft dropped on to his bare hind paw, something fabric...

He glanced warningly at his daughter who blinked with the innocence of an angel. Reaching down slowly, he curled his fingers around a scrap of fabric and raised his paw to reveal Helena's black underwear clutched within. Eyebrows shooting skywards, the cougar thrust aside his half-finished breakfast, knife and fork clinking, and unfolded her panties. On the strip that so recently secluded Helena's crotch from view was a thick smear of feminine moisture, luring him to taste the source from which it came. Tapping a forefinger against the side of her muzzle, the dragoness smirked, nipples perking through her teasingly thin shirt.

Unable to prevent a devilish grin from creeping across his lips, Ropes raised the soaked panties to his nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance as if he possessed a trophy beyond all comparison. His tentacles writhed in excitement, snaking out as if to pluck Helena from her seat. The randy dragoness' eyes lit up and she scrambled to her knees, simultaneously lifting her long shirt and displaying her swollen, pink sex. A drop of mouth-watering pussy juice dripped between her thighs.

"There's plenty more where that came from," Helena breathed, thrusting her hips in a demonstration of passion. Ropes swallowed.

"Are you in heat or what, Hel?"

"What?" She lashed her tail, affronted. "Can't a female fur want it like the guys do?" Ropes bit back a smile, eyes glowing: she had the fire of her mother. But he could not rile her up anymore as she was already on a short fuse, ready to blow...him.

"Of course, it's simply not...a good time, Helena. Your mother -"

"Oh, she'll be out soon enough," Helena snorted and waved her paw, peering at ropes through sultry eyelashes. "Didn't you listen, dad? She's going shopping. You know she'll spend forever finding the perfect cosmetics and all that. When she's gone...I expect a good fucking."

They quieted abruptly as an obtrusive creak heralded Fyr's untimely descent downstairs, though Ropes' whiskers still trembled from the force of his daughter's words. Putting an unneeded finger to her lips, Helena sank into her straight-backed chair, tugging the shirt down over her thighs as far as it would go. In a flash of panic, Ropes realised that he still held her underwear in his paw and fondled the fabric without conscious thought. He swore inwardly and shoved the undergarment deep into his pocket, saving the thoughts sparked for later perusal.

"Found it," Fyr stepped lightly as she re-entered the kitchen, a lively bounce in her stride. "I'll pick it up later for you, honey."

"Thanks, mom," Helena stretched out her foot, rubbing her toes over the bulge in her father's jeans with a watchful eye on Fyrdrgon.

Ropes could not concentrate on the light-hearted breakfast conversation as his wicked daughter refused him even a minute of rest. The table was constructed of dark, heavy wood and its bulky size ensured that Fyr was kept nicely out of the loop, tail swinging lazily through the gap in the back of her chair. Holding his breath, Ropes angled his chair away, trying to ward off Helena's risky advances. In Fyr's line of sight, she was the perfect daughter, laughing and smiling as the morning light brought out the more subtle tones in her hair. Her scales shone, evidence of the truth in her scale-care routine, and her attention barely flickered from conversation, even though she relentlessly teased the cougar with her hind paw, toying with his bulge. She was not one to be easily dissuaded, much to Ropes' detriment and throbbing, feline hard-on. He clenched his teeth and stared out the window, watching the occasional car pass beyond the limits of their garden, flashing in the sunlight.

Draining her mug of tea, Helena stretched luxuriously, careful to cover her thighs, and stood. Finally released from the continuous stream of touches, Ropes relaxed and his tentacles slumped in relief.

"Well, I better get on with things, hadn't I?" Helena laughed. "Got a lot to get through today."

"Don't work too hard," Fyr said, smiling at her husband who forced a tight-lipped curve in response.

Helena sashayed from the kitchen, swinging her hips as Fyr's attention turned to the linoleum. Ropes caught a muttered word about 'needing to sweep and mop' and leaped up whilst her mind was elsewhere, chasing his daughter at a brisk pace. Thankfully unnoticed, the cougar stumbled into the hallway, jeans uncomfortably tented in the expected location. Helena saw him coming and made as if to dash up the stairs like a shrill schoolgirl, tail whipping in excitement. Dodging the banister, Ropes lunged with a throaty growl that was both lustful and concealing a warning edge.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ropes hissed, catching Helena by the tail. "You are dangerously close to the cliff edge, Helena. What are you up to? If Fyr saw you...I don't even want to think of the consequences."

A flicker of doubt passed over the dragoness' muzzle like a dark cloud but was swept away by a gust of fresh thought. Fyr had seen nothing. Cocking her muzzle innocently, Helena studied her father's bulge, imagining that cock sinking into her folds, foreskin pulled back as he growled and pounded her into the bed... Her pulse quickened.

"Too hot for you to handle, is it?" Helena smirked. She slipped her tail free and slid the tip beneath Ropes' furry chin. "I'm simply setting the tone. You'll be ready for me when mom goes out."

Fyr, however, seemed to have thought twice about her shopping trip and threw herself into cleaning the house from top to bottom. By eleven she had scoured the kitchen floor, scraped depths of the freezer, berated Hiss for staying in bed for so long and deep cleaned the interior of the oven. Helena stalked her target through the house, the lustful blood of her sire pumping through her veins. It was part of the chase, the hunt, the thrill that he had introduced to her and, wearing only a short skirt and top that clung to her generous curves, she was swift to make use of her heritage.

The dragoness first pounced when Ropes returned from the garden, dusting soil from his paws. He had barely a moment to catch his breath before the dragoness pinned him to the wall with a passionate kiss, grabbing his paw and pushing it beneath her skirt so that he could evidence her lack of undergarments for himself. Groaning, the cougar curled a tentacle around Helena's neck, holding her close in a possessive, dominant grip: she swooned.

A door slammed and Ropes leapt away as if he had been stung, eyes feverish. Fyr had not yet left the house - caution had to be exercised! Helena bit her lower lip, panting lightly as she backed away in time to avoid Hiss, who padded around the corner with no shoes and no shirt.

"Off to do some hard work in the garden, are you?" Helena said sarcastically, the desperation of her arousal turning her to a side of meanness. "You look like a slob, Hiss, put some damn clothes on."

"Sheesh," the cougar rolled his eyes, two tentacles undulating, unperturbed. "What's gotten into you, Hel? Hey, dad."

"Hey, son."

It's not what's gotten into me, Helena growled, stomping into the living room. It's what hasn't.

The dragoness sat on her windowsill, craning her neck to watch her mother pottering about in the garden, mercilessly uprooting weeds from the bed of loam. In her raggedy clothes that would not have sold in a charity shop, Fyrdrgon appeared suspiciously as if she had dismissed the idea of going shopping altogether. Helena shuddered, dipping her fingers into her aching sex, masturbation a tasteless replacement for what she truly craved. What if Fyr did not leave? How long would she be forced to go unsatisfied? A fingertip grazed her clit and she stifled a cry.

Helena lifted her head. Someone light-footed was in the hallway outside her bedroom, humming a tune as he - for it was a deep, male hum - walked. Father? Quick as a flash, she swung her legs off the sill and raced across the plush carpet, barging into the hallway in a fit of excitement to see a very startled Hiss. His fur stood on end and his tentacles writhed manically as he held up his paws in a token of defence, though Helena could not imagine why she should want to do anything to him. Besides slap his muzzle for being a typical brother, that is. Where was her father? She growled. Hiss raised an eyebrow and tapped a rolled up magazine - an Xbox special - against the palm of his other paw.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" He said dryly. "Trying to run me over, are you?"

"Oh, get off," Helena snorted. "Do you know where dad's got to?"

"Coming up the stairs now," Hiss rolled his shoulders, a yawn stretching his jaws wide. "'Scuse me, sis, nature calls."

Squeezing past as Hiss disappeared into the upstairs bathroom, Helena paused at the top of the stairs, legs set slightly apart as much for balance as for unladylike poise. Ropes glanced up and froze, tracing his pink tongue over his lips. Her position provided him with an excellent view up her white skirt and it was not as if the dragoness was trying to hide her modesty. His pace quickened and the cougar slid an arm around her waist, drawing her to him. The dragoness' heart pounded at the sensation of something oh so familiar poking her stomach and she moaned reflexively.

"I've been waiting," she breathed. "Please, I can't wait longer. I need it so badly, dad. Please, fuck me now. Fuck me!"

"No," Ropes hushed her, a paw silencing further words. "Fyr says she will go shopping this afternoon. You're going to have to be patient until then."

"But you'll try to get her to leave?" Helena mumbled through his paw, anxiously searching for agreement; Ropes nodded, casually trailing his paw over the dragoness' breasts, giving each a teasing squeeze.

Leaving her in the hallway - more unfilled than ever - Ropes trotted to his bedroom, which he shared with Fyrdrgon. The dragoness groaned and paced the length of the upstairs hallway, resisting the urge to pant as if she really was in heat. She wished she was in heat. That need could be tempered. Helena fought to ignore the sound of the cougar moving around the bedroom, drawers opening and closing with a discernible thud. She wanted him. Why could she not have him? She knew why, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to listen to the rational part of her brain. She wanted to tell it to fuck off and good riddance to reason too. Pace, pace, pace, turn, pace, pace, pace, turn: repeat.

"Watch it!"

Helena pulled up abruptly, sharply curved nostrils flaring. Hiss shook his head disbelievingly, holding up his paws once again in mock surrender. Heat spread across the dragoness' muzzle and she stepped back, wishing for nothing more than to disappear into the depths of her chaotic bedroom, her one, small sanctuary. In her arousal crazed state, even Hiss was an appealing target for relief. No, she had to wait for her father. When she remained mute, inching away inch by torturous inch, the young cougar twitched his tail irritably.

"What's going on?" Hiss folded his arms across his bare chest. "You've been acting weird all day, sis."

"Weird?" Helena huffed, looking anywhere other than at her brother. "God, would it kill you to put on a shirt?"

"Why? Mom doesn't care if I don't wear one in the house. Less washing for her, she says," Hiss shrugged good-naturedly, a boyish grin plastered across his muzzle. "So what's up with you, hm? Did you break something again?"

"No!" Helena snapped, rubbing her collarbone to buy a second of time. What could she say? He was a cat after his prey when he wanted an answer. "It's a guy, all right?" That was part of the truth.

At the mention of thusly titled 'girl problems', Hiss' attention waned. He shrugged nonchalantly, muttered something about getting a new video game and disappeared downstairs, now trainer-clad hind paws clumping obnoxiously. As he slouched past the living room, Fyrdrgon yelled at him to tie his laces, which trailed on the carpet as usual.

Helena breathed a sigh of relief, though the tense interaction did nothing to ease the heat in her belly, the possessive need to be filled, to orgasm, to run afoul of sexual exhaustion. Caressing her temples, she leaned into the wall, imagining that she was pressed to the chest of a lusty stud instead, preferably hard and dripping with readiness. It was worse than when she had gone into heat and would have borne children if her father had not calmed her with soothing licks across her aching folds. No, this was a mental need that could not be tricked into any form of satisfaction.

It's okay, she weakly reassured herself, leaning cautiously over the banister to find the source of laughter, which drifted up from the living room, Fyr amused at a joke made by Hiss. I can handle this. We'll fuck when mom next goes out or goes to sleep. It'll all be fine.

At least, she hoped so.

*

Her mother did not leave the house that afternoon or evening. Fyr did not even retreat to the master bedroom for an afternoon nap, which she was normally so fond of. Bursting with energy, she breezed through the house, even if Helena privately thought it a bit late for spring cleaning. Fyr clearly had other ideas and, even when Helena enquired after the shopping trip, Fyr revealed that she had changed her mind - changed her mind! How could she do that? Helena's fist thumped into the pillow where she stretched out on her bed, the dragoness' teeth brutally clenched. Her mother changed her mind like the bloody weather! Sure, it wasn't her fault that Helena suddenly wanted any and all sex but could she not feel the need for personal space? Space to fuck?

Begging off dinner, Helena feigned illness, shaking her head blearily when Fyr poked her muzzle around the door, curious as to why she was hiding upstairs. As if she could eat a thing! Her stomach was empty and dizziness rocked her body when she stood, swaying en route to the window. The first stars twinkled in the twilight, that blue-grey time of day between day and night that she could not see enough of. It was as if the world was closing the curtains on day and day was shining through the curtains to cast diluted light before drifting entirely out of reach. It would not be long before Ropes and Fyr retired to bed and she would go another day without satisfaction, forgotten. The dragoness considered the thought of going out to pick up a hot stud for the evening, but the energy just was not in her limbs. Besides, her mother disapproved of such activity.

No, that would be the worst idea, Helena decided. She would take her own satisfaction and see what she could do about the need for a randy male the next day; more finesse could then be applied within daylight hours. Confident that her bedroom door was locked, the dragoness disrobed, scattering clothes across the floor - Fyr would berate her for that in the morning. Massaging her breasts luxuriously, her toes flexed, the feminine moisture of her sex slick upon her scales. She panted and drove three fingers into her cunny, pumping them in a lewd imitation of a male's cock. Oh, she needed this!