Sweaty, sticky night -- Ch 05
SUMMARY: This is the continuation of the story about Ellie and her father who stayed overnight in a very hot motel room near New Orleans. Find out what happens when they return home after the trip is over.
All characters in this story are 18 years or older.
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to real life personae are strictly coincidental. Copying, re-posting, storing (whether digitally or in print form) or redistribution of this material is prohibited.
[Ch. 5 -- Ellie]
Three months. That's how much time had passed since the trip I took with my daddy. After the morning when he took me from behind while I laid prone on the motel bed, I knew I had given myself to him. He could have me any time he wanted. Not that I felt submissive toward him. It was more of an emotional bond than anything else.
We left the motel that day and traveled due west. The further we went, the more the mugginess abated, until we finally found ourselves in Utah where the heat was still present, but the wind was arid. We visited an old friend of my dad's for a few days before finally heading back home. The oddity was, despite knowing that I would let him have his way with me upon request (and I was certain he knew it), nothing happened the entire rest of our trip. It was almost as if something about the hot, sticky air in that motel room had seriously addled our minds those two nights. And as we traversed to a less humid climate, our sense of self control returned.
But as I said, that was three months ago. Well, eighty-seven days, twelve hours and thirty-eight minutes, to be exact. And that was also how much time had passed since either of us had even mentioned what happened between us. A few times, during our trip, I almost brought it up. But the moment never seemed right. Or maybe I was just too chicken to mention it. I often wondered what he was thinking about when we had long bouts of silence. As for myself, I literally couldn't stop the titillating memories of my daddy fucking me from flooding my mind, practically twenty-four/seven.
Once we returned home, our lives had returned to "normal". It was like our trip had never happened. You probably didn't realize that we came from a life where nothing out of the ordinary ever really transpired. My dad was married to a woman who I called "mom", even though she was my step-mother. I also had a brother who still lived at home, despite being in his mid-twenties.
Sometimes at home, I caught my dad staring at me. But as I said, we were back to our "normal" lives, and we seemed to have an unspoken, tacit agreement never to speak of what occurred. The fact that we had fucked each other. Twice. The ultimate taboo when shared between father and daughter. A sexual encounter with your own blood was not only frowned upon, but was strictly forbidden.
The summer was nearly over. It had been a surprisingly hot month. As I said earlier, we're from Maine. The summers in Maine do get hot, but compared to where we had travelled this summer, home was usually incredibly mild. Not this summer, though. At least not the past few weeks. It was as if mother nature was assaulting us with a heatwave to spite the weather forecasters who had called for a tepid season. It was the last week of August. Saturday night. Our house didn't have central air, because we rarely ever needed it.
That night, I would have given anything for at least a window unit in my bedroom.
Stripping out of my clothes, I crawled on top of my sheets, naked. As I lay in bed, I couldn't help but think about my father. Specifically, about those magical two nights we shared at that motel near New Orleans. Those were my favorite memories to replay in my head. The muggy air in my bedroom was like a cloying reminder of that place, lapping at my skin. Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander. To fantasize. It was hard to remember exactly what it felt like, but I tried my best to pretend my father was inside me again.
Reaching a hand down, I squished my fingers into the soft flesh of my pussy, slowly masturbating myself. It was wet, but I could tell it was mostly from sweat. I was aroused, but it was an internal arousal. Like my mind knew what I craved, but my body was protesting that I wasn't feeding it properly. As a result, my vagina just wasn't getting as wet as I wanted. And my diddling fingers didn't make it tingle as much, either. It was the first time I had tried masturbating in weeks.
When I slid a finger into my opening, it felt good, but nothing like what I knew it could be. Sweat dripped liberally between my thighs, helping to lubricate my skin while I spent the next few minutes fingering myself. But it wasn't enough. Even adding a second finger didn't do it. My dad had ruined me that day, in a way. Metaphorically at least. Could I ever experience that level of satiation again? Would anyone satisfy me like my father had? Opening my eyes, I was surprised when a trickle of sweat dribbled into them. It stung.
Sitting up, I wiped my hands across my face. Lord was I ever sweating. It was uncomfortably hot. It almost seemed like my dad had turned on the heat! Despite that, my throbbing pussy was my main focus. Before it even registered what I was doing, I slid off the side of my bed, landing unsteadily on my feet. Padding my way to my door, I opened it as quietly as I could and peered into the hallway. It was quiet and dark in the house.
Tiptoeing out of my room, I made my way down the hall. Naturally, the floor made a resounding creak as I went past my parents' room. Shit. Without pausing, I kept going until I reached the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the sink, I saw the thing I was after. Grabbing it, I made my way back toward my room. Making sure to step over the creaky part of the floor, I hesitated when I heard a rustling sound from my dad's room. Double shit. I was naked. Not that I cared if my dad saw me like that. He had fucked me, after all. But I would be mortified if my stepmother opened the door.
