Author's note:
This is the second chapter in the story of Rebecca and her father John, in which Rebecca reconnects with her friend Janie, and admits her forbidden attraction to her father.
I strongly recommend reading the first chapter before this one.
I'll repeat my warning that it contains a bunch of daddy-daughter and female orgasm denial stuff, and that it's a (very) slow burn with heavy romance elements.
I want to send out a warm (not to say decidedly hot) thanks to all you people who are bothering to read my idle scribblings. I was sort of moved (which is the typically subdued Scandinavian way of saying 'totally blown away') by how many people read and liked it - I very much did not expect that, so thank you all again! Really, I'm so flattered!
I've eagerly read your criticism, and while I can't accommodate everyone, I have taken some of what you've told me to heart - to name a few things, I've turned up the humor a bit, and I've added a lot more dialogue than we had in the first chapter, which should (hopefully) help to alleviate the incessant introspection a little. I quite enjoyed doing that, so I plan to keep it up.
I am uploading the second and third chapters at the same time (but whether they will become available to you at the same time depends on the admins, of course). I've done this because I originally planned to do the plot you see in those two chapters as one chapter. But of course, the characters turned out to have other ideas, and it sort of ballooned completely out of control. I do so love it when that happens.
That also means that the second chapter, as uploaded, isn't much heavier on the action than the first one (unless you count Janie's habitually dirty mouth) - so sorry in advance to those of you who wrote GET TO THE POINT (or variations thereof) - but we do get some action in the third chapter, so I hope you'll bear with me.
I spent some time trying to shorten it down so I could get the first piece of actual action into the second chapter, and while I did succeed in trimming it down a bit, there are some setups and some character introduction that I'll need later which I didn't want to skimp on too much.
Also, I didn't want to shorten the actual action in the third chapter either, which also turned out to take up a lot more space than originally intended (yes, that's a not-so-subtle hint to keep at it, gentle horny and impatient readers - we're getting there, I promise, pinky-swear and all that).
So, I've finally - after a whole bunch of teeth-grinding and hand-wringing - decided to let it stand as you see it here.
Yes, I know. As at least one of you pointed out in the comments, I am a hopeless tease. Guilty as charged.
I'll shut up now, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Thursday
When John awoke the next morning, earlier than he'd usually get out of bed, the memory of the forbidden dreams of his daughter had faded a bit, but it wasn't gone by a long shot.
He went for an unusually cool shower, both to jar himself fully awake - he hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep, all told, and he felt groggy and hazy - and to try to somehow dampen his still-present arousal.
It worked, though not nearly as well as he'd hoped it would.
Of course, he knew from experience that the quickest way of alleviating that kind of excitement was to just beat himself off and be done with it. But he also knew that if he did that now, with the memory of his illicit dreams fresh in his mind, he would effectively be jerking off to his own daughter, and he did
not
want to do that.
For one thing, it was just plain wrong, but more importantly, he had this irrational but implacable fear that she would somehow be able to tell, which was the last thing he wanted. He was still convinced that, should she discover what he'd been fantasizing about, he would lose her forever. And she'd be right to leave... A father wasn't supposed to feel that kind of attraction to his own daughter.
And he knew for a fact that he just couldn't handle losing her - she was the light of his life, pure and simple, and if keeping her meant refraining from masturbating, even for the rest of his life, then so be it. So, he resisted the temptation and kept his hands off himself.
He got dressed and went downstairs to get started on breakfast, hoping the familiar routine would bring back some sorely needed normalcy into his seething brain.
Despite the nagging arousal at the back of his head that just wouldn't budge, going through the motions of a typical Thursday morning did thankfully succeed in making things seem much more like they usually did, and he was almost feeling like himself again by the time Rebecca woke up.
Actually, he was feeling completely himself, he realized - to his own surprise - there was just more to being himself than there had been just a few short days ago.
But he could do this. He could do anything, as long as it made his precious daughter happy, and that knowledge made him feel a lot better. Like they'd always done before, they would get through this together.
*****
When Rebecca's alarm clock went off, she felt like she'd run a marathon in her sleep. It took her several minutes just to remember where she was, let alone what she was supposed to be doing.
Thursday,
her phone display told her in blurry letters that kept fading in and out of focus for some reason. She was pretty sure that word was supposed to mean something. But what? Her sluggish thoughts moved with all the haste of continental drift, trying to figure it out. Thursday... Thursday?
Thursday! School. It was a school day. Groan. She needed to get up.
Uttering a wordless and hoarse sound of protest, she practically fell out of her bed, realizing at once how badly she needed to shower. Her spare pillow was wedged between her thighs, and she pulled it out and threw it back onto the bed. Intended to, anyway - it hit the edge and fell to the floor. There was a wet spot on it. She'd been humping it in her sleep, she guessed, but the feeling in her body told her that she hadn't gotten off from it - she was exactly as mind-numbingly horny now as she'd been last night, if not worse.
Trying to ignore the pillow and her arousal - and succeeding at the part about the pillow - she got up off the floor with an effort, grabbed some fresh underwear and a towel and staggered towards the door in her stupor, narrowly avoiding collisions with the doorframe and several other immovable objects during the mile-long trip to the bathroom.
Even though she could barely remember how to stand up straight, her sleepy and unguarded mind sure as hell knew what she
wanted
to do. She wanted nothing more than to find her daddy and beg him to use her like a fuck-toy. To hold her down and have his way with her every hole, to treat her like a whore, right fucking now.
But even in her hazy state, she also knew that doing that would be the worst idea in the long and illustrious history of horrendously bad ideas. He'd probably disown her on the spot, and she couldn't even blame him if he did. He'd always been the best parent she could imagine, and he'd done everything to raise her right.
And despite all that, she'd somehow turned out as some warped degenerate slut who could only get off by entertaining hideously wrong fantasies about her own father. She felt so ashamed of herself.
Deep sigh. She'd just have to try to hide it as best she could and hope fervently that it would blow over with time. What else could she do?
When she finally arrived at the bathroom after what felt like about five years of uncoordinated stumbling, she made sure the water was too cold - she vaguely noted that the shower was already set for this, instead of the scalding hot water that both she and her dad usually preferred, but she didn't really give it any further thought - before stepping under the stream with a gasp.
The water wasn't really that cold, but the contrast to her overheated body made it feel like she was taking a head dive into a pile of ice cubes. Shockingly uncomfortable, but it did the trick, blasting most of the cobwebs out of her mind.
When she was done, she almost felt like a human being again, instead of the sticky, bleary-eyed invertebrate she'd evidently been when she spilled out of bed. She still felt tired as hell, but at least her brain seemed to be functioning at almost half efficiency, which wasn't bad, considering that she'd hardly gotten any sleep at all.
She did her hair - just a high and tight ponytail, since she just couldn't muster up the energy for anything fancier - and put on the fresh set of underwear she'd brought before going back to her room to locate some clothes.
As she got dressed - simply jeans and a tight dark red t-shirt, since the more advanced part of her fashion sense sat grumbling in a corner somewhere, blankly refusing to get to work without more sleep - her nose registered the delicious smell of her father cooking breakfast downstairs. Her belly made a complaining sound at her, reminding her how hungry she was.
The smell of his cooking somehow made things feel a lot more normal almost instantly. Her daddy was making breakfast for them as he always did, and it was a school day like any other. Well, almost - as demonstrated by the fact that her fresh panties already felt sort of damp - but close enough.
She could do this. If not for herself, then for him. She could do anything for her daddy. Even if it meant that she'd never be able to cum again, she would do it.
Walking down the staircase - much slower than her usual bounce, because she didn't quite trust her legs yet - it really felt like she'd been out exercising all night, and her muscles were a little sore. Probably from squirming restlessly in her sleep, she guessed.
As she entered the kitchen, her dad was standing with his back to her, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, fussing over the bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove. Again, her eyes swept over his ruggedly handsome physique.
His broad shoulders, his well-muscled arms and torso, narrowing in at the waist, and widening again at his ass and his toned legs. She sighed inwardly before she managed to rein in her tired brain.
Stop that right now - that's daddy,
she pointedly reminded herself,
not some random cute guy walking by in the street.
He seemed to sense her presence and turned to her with a broad smile, revealing that he had opted out of shaving this morning. Rebecca always thought he looked good with a little stubble, or - even better - with a full beard. He'd had one a few years back, salt-and-pepper, a little darker than his hair, with a stylish silver streak down the center of his chin and another one down each cheek.
She hoped he was planning to grow it out again, but didn't comment on it, not trusting her weary mind to refrain from saying something stupidly revealing that she'd end up regretting. Instead, she just smiled back appreciatively.
His eyes seemed to run down her body before snapping up to her eyes again, and she tried to ignore the tingle his wandering gaze sent through her. He looked a little tired too, she thought. Probably just another late night working.
"Good morning, princess," he smiled, which seemed to jog her brain into their usual routine.
"Good morning, m'lord," she answered in an exaggerated British upper-class accent, her voice still a little hoarse with sleep, dropping into a halfway passable imitation of a curtsey.
He chuckled. She loved that sound, and it instantly made her feel better and the room look a little brighter.
"If it pleases her royal highness," he said, his own dry high-born accent much better than hers, "breakfast will be ready in a moment."
"Oh, it does please my royal highness," she grinned gratefully, slipping back into her own voice. "I'm starving, actually."
