AUTHOR'S NOTE:
The overarching theme here is parent/adult-offspring incest, so if that's not your thing this might not be for you. The story takes an atypical path that includes emotional, psychological, and fantasy aspects of taboo sexual behavior rather than jumping straight into family sex. Although, you'll find plenty of erotica along the way.
I love hearing from you; I read and appreciate all comments and messages, even if I'm unable to respond promptly.
Finally, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or event, past or present, is purely unintentional and coincidental. All characters are over 18.
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Chapter 1:
My breath caught, and my body froze; I felt the blood drain from my face. The phone in my hand subtly trembled as I looked at the text I'd just received.
The familiar face, large expressive brown eyes, dark wavy hair cascading down around her face, over smooth, lightly tanned shoulders. The familiar mischievous grin I knew so well, smiling at me, eyes twinkling.
Then, the less-familiar aroused nipples erect like little erasers atop soft, curving bare breasts. And the utterly unfamiliar graphic display of wispy trimmed pubic hair framing open labia, glistening with moisture as I'd never imagined. Never could have imagined.
My daughter Sophia. I was holding an explicit nude photo of my 19-year-old daughter.
Myriad emotions flashed through my psyche: confusion, shock, bewilderment. The text was from my daughter—or at least, her phone. It was only the photograph, no accompanying message.
How did I get this? She accidentally texted the wrong person? A third person sent it? Why? What should I do? I don't want this on my phone, for god's sake. Fuck.
As I struggled to comprehend the photo I'd just opened, part of me realized how beautiful Sophia had become—a beautiful, sensual woman—a sexy, mature, attractive woman. But she was my daughter, my little princess, who loved ponies and kittens and danced around the house in a costume tutu and tiara. The juxtaposition of the contrasting images was bewildering.
I remembered to breathe and took a deep, cleansing breath. I dropped my arm down, closed my eyes, and tried to regain my composure. With another deep breath, I peeled open my eyes and stared vacantly at a drop of condensation tracing its way down the side of a glass of iced tea I'd poured just before getting the text.
Okay. It's just a picture. Might not mean anything. It must have been sent by accident, wrong number and all. Then who was she sending nude pics of herself like this to? A boyfriend? I don't know of anyone she's seeing.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts of such tangential concerns. Not really my business who Sophia was texting naked photos to—she's an adult, a grown woman who can do whatever she likes in this regard. But still. Almost against my will, as if drawn by some outside force, I lifted the phone and examined the photo again.
My little girl—my same smiling, cute little girl—somehow had a woman's body attached to her smiling face. I blinked slowly and looked at the photo more carefully, with less shock and confusion than with my first viewing.
Obviously, I recognized her. And I'd seen Sophia topless at our pool many times over the years, including that summer—as recently as the week before. Over time, in passing, I'm sure I'd clinically noted that her breasts had developed. To me, however, they were just a natural part of my daughter—she had a cute figure and corresponding cute compact boobs. I'd also occasionally seen Sophia fully nude, but usually briefly, in passing or at a distance. But never like this.
The photo in my hand showed my daughter totally naked and graphically posed. Sophia faced the camera squatting with her legs open, with one hand on her inner thigh next to her pussy, pulling it slightly to the side and the other cupping and lifting her breast. Her smile wasn't mischievous after all; it was an alluring, sensual half-smile. Her sexual expression, eyes boring into the camera with wanton desire, was something unrecognizable on my daughter. Not my little Sophia.
As I looked at the toned young woman on my phone, I noted her soft, well-formed breasts—a whole handful at least—with deep pink, perfect nipples, and I felt a warm flutter in my belly. Her toned abs reached between her hipbones and her rounded mons and vulva. Her wavy inner labia peeked out between soft, closely trimmed, almost black feathery pubic hair and aroused puffy outer lips.
My cock stirred involuntarily in my shorts. I was seeing my daughter Sophia for the first time as a sexy, hot woman. A naked, aroused woman. I looked away from the phone and tried to will my swelling dick to stop reacting.
Fucking, hell, man, you're getting turned on by your own daughter. Get control of yourself here.
I gave a final quick glance at my daughter's pic—okay, maybe a lingering look—and swiped the phone back to its home screen and slipped it into my pocket. Took a few deep breaths. Didn't have a clue how to react or what to do.
I sat down heavily on a stool at our kitchen island and pondered. I took a long swig of iced tea. As I mulled things over, I absentmindedly swirled the base of the glass in the rings of condensation on the counter. I batted and spun my wife Angeline's phone with my finger; she'd left it on the counter before going upstairs to shower after an afternoon of sunning and swimming. I kicked my foot lightly on the side of the island. My mind raced.
Reasoning that sending the photo was accidental, I could make light of the error and text Sophia back, telling her I believed she had meant this for someone else. That would be embarrassing for her, but it would address the matter, and we could laugh and move past it.
Or, I could wait and see if she catches the mistake and says or does something herself. Or wait and mention it in person. That might be uncomfortable and embarrassing for us both.
For a millisecond, a niggling thought flashed that maybe the text was not an accident. I instantly shoved that idea back into the dark recesses of my mind to join the ranks of the unthinkable and dismissed it. My daughter couldn't have intentionally sent a sexy nude to her Dad. Certainly—well, pretty sure—not.
I considered whether a different person sent it to me using Sophia's phone, either accidentally or intentionally, as a joke or to embarrass Sophia. I also weighed whether to tell Sophia's mother, Angeline, before doing anything else to get her take on things.
Finally, I decided the best course of action was to talk with Angeline because I knew that she and Sophia were very close. I hoped that my wife might have a better feel for how to handle things.
Standing to go upstairs, I noticed a text message notification on Angeline's phone. We knew each other's passcodes and often used each other's phones to answer, make a call or text, check our mutual calendar, or send messages. I casually picked up her phone and opened the text without a second thought.
The text was addressed to "Mom & Dad," part of a chain discussing our summer plans to go to a local lakeside resort. My eyes widened as I saw that the most recent text was from Sophia, with an attached photo—THE photo.
I paused as I absorbed this new information and shook my head. I looked at my phone and noted that the photo I'd received was also in the "Mom & Dad" chain, but I hadn't noticed Angeline was included when I first saw it. My surprise turned to amusement. I chuckled, firmly convinced by this new information that the photo had to have been sent by accident.
Oh, this is rich; Sophia accidentally sent the nude to both of us. Can't wait for Angeline to learn about this; teasing our daughter about careless texting will be fun.
I felt relieved to no longer be alone in this debacle.
I dropped Angeline's phone into my pocket and headed off to surprise my sexy, hopefully still-naked-showering wife with our daughter's little blooper. But I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and quirked my head with a random logical thought.
How would it have happened for Sophia to text the picture accidentally? To both of us. She would have seen the previous conversation with our names in the chat.
I reasoned that maybe Sophia's intended recipient had a text next to our chat in a list of her text conversations, and she could have inadvertently clicked the wrong one. I supposed that was possible.
As an alternative scenario, I again considered the possibility that a third person had used Sophia's phone and sent the text and picture, maybe without Sophia's knowledge. I pulled out Angeline's phone again and opened it to her texts. "Mom & Dad" was the most recent text—our group chain that included the nude.
The message before that was to "Mom." Curious but without particular expectations, I clicked on the messages in that chain. There was a long, sporadic exchange of earlier texts over time: going shopping, notifying going out, asking to borrow the car, that she'd picked up dry cleaning, a picture of Sophia and her girlfriend in a restaurant eating sushi, and some GIF of a dog kissing a duck or something. I scrolled to earlier messages and stopped at one that caught my attention.
The text read, "Remember this?" A photo showed Sophia standing nude in the kitchen with her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder, and smiling. A lovely picture, but the written question piqued my curiosity more than the actual photograph.
It wasn't unusual for there to be non-sexual nudity in our family. We were comfortable with casual nudity at home, such as changing or going to and from the shower. Angeline and our two girls, Sophia and her older sister Marie, would often go topless or even nude at our private swimming pool, and I would sometimes do the same. However, as the girls got older, when we were all together, they tended to keep their bottoms on, and I generally wore swimsuits.
