This Changes Everything

"Yes, I'm going to serve dinner at the island."

Samantha tosses her hair to one side, "Good Daddy. I'm hungry. I worked hard at practice."

"How was school," I ask after a moment, not yet wanting to get down to "business."

"School sucked. I couldn't keep my mind on anything."

"I get that," I reply. "Same for me today."

The discussion is suspended as I serve the pasta.

A couple of minutes later, we're sitting across the island, bowls in front of us with sour dough bread sliced on a cutting board and a small plate of oil. She asks for a little wine and I give her a small pour, then add to my own glass.

"Dad, I'm not old enough to drink legally but in the house we've been having wine for years and you usually pour a little more," my daughter says.

"C'mon," she adds playfully and I oblige.

Samantha takes a sip and immediately more color comes into her freckled cheeks, then she picks up a fork and pushes her glasses back up her nose.

"You know we have to talk about last night," I open.

My daughter takes a deep breath and looks around the island, probably wondering what to say, then shrugs her slender shoulders and begins toying with her food.

After an uncomfortable silence, I decide I need to get an apology on the table.

"Samantha, honey, I am so sorry about what happened last night. I feel horrible. It will never happen again. I promise."

Silence again. My daughter stabs a fusilli and puts it tentatively into her mouth, chewing slowly.

I wait.

"You thought I was Mom."

I think about my response for a moment, hoping to say the right thing.

"Yes, I did at first," I say.

It's all I can think of. Honesty, I think, is the best policy, here.

"But I soon enough figured out it was you in the bed with me, and that you were scared of the storm." I am determined to confess. "Then I took advantage of you, Samantha, which I regret. I'm sorry."

Samantha begins to shake her head no.

"Dad, I knew you were in bed in there when I came in," she says and pauses. "I ... took...off...my...panties, remember?"

She continues: "I know you feel bad about this and are worried about what's going to happen but I was perfectly aware of what was going on."

It's my turn to shake my head. A little anger builds

"No, no, no," I say, slamming a hand on the island, maybe overreacting. "I'm the adult here."

Samantha spins on the stool and gets up and walks away from the meal. I want to follow but I believe that's enough tension for now and I let her go.

I hear her feet on the stairs and the door to her room close. Glancing at my bowl of pasta I say out loud, "Who the hell can eat? What was I thinking by making dinner."

Outside, I hear thunder in the distance. Maybe another storm is approaching.

After packing the food into containers and cleaning the kitchen, I move into the den and turn on the TV. A hockey game is getting underway and it captures my attention. For a time, I forget about the situation with Samantha.

Between periods of the game, I sneak upstairs and tiptoe past Samantha's room. I hear her on the phone with someone. It sounds she's on with a girlfriend, and they're not talking about anything important, like a dad fucking his daughter.

Normally I would knock on the door and ask if the schoolwork was done, but decide to hold my peace tonight.

I shrug, seemingly powerless, giving Samantha privacy.

I resume watching the game and pour myself a belt of bourbon, getting into the action.

"Hey, Dad."

Those two words shake me back to reality. Samantha is leaning against the doorway to the den, wearing her night shirt, hair up in a ponytail.

"Get your schoolwork done, sweetie?" I ask, trying to do no more than glance at her.

"Yes, I did. And I studied a little bit for the SAT," she says, a playfulness back in her voice.

The conversation dies off for a moment, then I feel her right hand on my right, prying the remote control out of my grasp.

"Dad, there's something else I want to say, please," she says and hits the power button on the remote, standing directly in front of me, and the screen goes dark.

"You have my full attention," I say.

Her brow is furrowed like she's not sure anymore about what she's intending to say. I see her silhouette, mouth and nose perfectly proportioned.

Samantha takes a deep breath. What the hell is going on?

"I've, um, overheard Mom on the phone a few times."

"Yes, sweetie? On the phone? What about? Is she OK?"

"I've heard her on the phone with other men," Samantha begins, emphasizing "men" and starts pacing between the TV and me. "The house is large and quiet and you can sneak up on someone easily enough. Well, I've heard her when she thinks she's alone making arrangements to meet men when she goes on these trips.

"Dad, Mom is cheating on you. Big time," Samantha says, hands shaking, palms up for emphasis. "She's fucking cheating on you, Dad, a lot."

Oh, shit.

Earlier today I thought that the little "thing" that Meghan and I have going was just complicating my mind, but now that arrangement is a big deal.

"Dad, you don't deserve that," my daughter says. "And, well, that played into my mindset last night."

I abandon my honesty-is-the-best-policy policy I had a couple hours earlier. Another compromise.

"I-I-I don't know what to say," I tell Samantha. "This is a lot at once. I need a few minutes to process this. You're certain about Mom?"

"Dad (with emphasis), how many conversations do I need to overhear?"

She walks over to me and places a hand on my left shoulder. It's warm and comforting. Or is that in my head?

"I'm sorry, Dad, that I had to tell you this," Samantha says. "I just couldn't stand by any more. I'll, um, let you alone, for now."

I notice her nipples are hard as she turns and walks away toward the stairs. I also notice as she passes the lit lamps that the light reveals her ass under the shirt. I don't believe my daughter has panties on.

Despite the belt of bourbon, my cock stiffens. No. No. No.

I feel the same as this morning when I couldn't, wouldn't, get out of bed. I didn't want to get off the chair. I didn't want to have any more discussion with Samantha because I didn't want to say any more.

What if I told her that I know about her mother's behavior? That I condone it? That I encourage it?

She would think very ill of her parents but it might end any obsession she has about fucking her father to make up for her mother's infidelity.

I realize I really don't know the best course of action. That thought of helplessness makes me chuckle, a nervous laugh to say the least.

A short time later, I make my rounds, making sure the doors are locked, turning off the lights, and checking to make sure the motion sensors are activated. Adjust the air conditioning. A quick swig of water. A deep breath.

Then I tiptoe up the stairs. Samantha's room is dark. It's only 9:30.

I slip around the corner and head into the master suite, pausing to close the door as quietly as possible, twisting the knob as it closes to make the least amount of noise.

Then it's the usual bedtime routine, with the exception of the melatonin tonight.

I check my cellphone again. No word from Meghan. The wife's getting her brains fucked out, yet again, unaware of the strife on the homefront.

I'm no longer sure what to tell Meghan.

I stare at the ceiling for who knows how long, mind racing.

Twenty-four hours. How things can change in just 24 hours. The red numbers read 11:58.

The door knob to the master bedroom turns and the door opens slowly, nearly soundlessly. I'm not sure I want to look.

Samantha's there in a night shirt, still with a ponytail. I can make that out in the dim illumination of a night light.

Should I pretend to be asleep?

She takes a few slow steps to my side of the bed and pulls the night shirt over her head in one motion, throwing it on the floor.

She stands there for a moment and I drink in the young body with my mouth suddenly going dry: a thin tight waist with small breasts. She parts her legs slightly as she stands, showing herself off, revealing a shaved pussy. Not a hair down there. She must have done that tonight.

I'm not interested in acting outraged and telling her to get out of the room. I can't even speak anyway.

Samantha pulls back the covers.

I'm naked. I realize that I went to bed naked purposely, hoping that my daughter would come in on her own. I wouldn't go to her but since she came to me, what will be, will be.

Samantha gets into bed, climbing on top of me, straddling my loins and my rapidly surging cock. I feel the heat from my daughter's hole as my cock strains toward the prize.

"Daddy?" she says.