Cleo lay sleeping in her bed. She'd gone to bed early after dinner, just exhausted and ready to collapse after a long day, so it was all she could manage to just strip off her clothes, pull on a tank top and a clean pair of panties and slip between the sheets, the warm embrace of her bed immediately lulling her into a deep sleep.
Thomas, like his daughter, was also exhausted, but as soon as his head had hit the pillow he tossed and turned, simply unable to sleep.
It had been a long time since his wife had died, and though he was sure Cleo knew that he had other partners over the years, he hadn't brought any of them home, not wanting to have strangers around his daughter while she was growing up. The downside, one that he had accepted a long time ago, was that he couldn't just bring someone round to fuck if he got horny. No, unless he felt like making his way to a 'friends' house, he had to settle for his fist.
Burying his face in his pillow, Thomas groaned. Grinding his hardness tentatively into the bed, he let his mind go blank. He hadn't had sex in weeks, not since Sophia had gone out of town and he'd been too busy to take care of himself - he hadn't realised how long it had been since he'd found release. Wrapping his hand around his cock, Thomas began to pump himself, imagining Sophia below him. His friends had teased him about dating someone who was almost as young as his daughter, but he'd always found girls that age to be quite eager and his friends had admitted to being jealous of the never ending trail of twenty-two year-olds that seemed to flock to him. As soon as Sophia was back, he was going to ruin her, fuck her until she couldn't walk anymore, and Thomas thought about what he'd do to her as his pleasure steadily built, and he was so close to coming when a vibrant imagine flashed into his mind - Cleo on her knees between his thighs, his hand tangled in her hair as she worked her mouth on him.
He froze, horrified. Hey, you sick fuck, that's your daughter! It took him a moment to compose himself, but his cock still ached and he desperately searched through his mind for Sophia, or Nellie or Lola, or any one of the girls he had been with in the last few months. He pictured Lola, the time when she had been practicing yoga and let him roughly fuck her when downward facing dog had proven too much not to touch. He could almost hear her moans in his head.
Wait - could he actually hear someone moaning? Thomas continued pumping, it must be in his head because the only other person here was Cleo, but the moaning seemed to continue and Thomas could feel his orgasm getting closer and closer and it couldn't be Cleo, right? Because that would mean that he was touching himself to his baby girl's moans, that he was listening to the sound of her in so much pleasure that she couldn't stop herself from crying out despite knowing that her father would hear. The thought drew a ragged breath from him. Just as his orgasm took him he saw it again, a vision of Cleo, this time grinding her young pussy against her pillow and he himself moaned loudly at the thought, his heart pounding and the pleasure overwhelming any coherent thought in his brain. He collapsed in the bed, allowing the last of the orgasm to find his natural end when he realised what he'd done. He'd come thinking about his daughter, imagining her while he masturbated. Cleo's moans, if that's what they had been and not his own imaginings had stopped, and the guilt hit him like a train.
"Post-nut-clarity, huh?" Said an unfamiliar voice in the darkness.
Thomas sat straight up in bed, clutching the blanket to his still softening cock and switching the lamp on. The ghost stared at him, with a wicked grin on his face. Thomas inched towards the bedside table where his gun sat in the bottom drawer.
"I really wouldn't bother," said the ghost, "it would be a waste of a good bullet."
Accessing the situation, Thomas was inclined to agree. The ghost, while still having defined human features, was misty and grey and somewhat see-through.
"Who are you? And what do you want?" Thomas had to think quickly, he'd need to get Cleo out, make sure this thing didn't hurt her.
"Just a passing poltergeist. Thought this place would be as good as any to shack up at for a while," he had a strange accent. "As for what I want, I can assure you that I don't want to hurt anyone," he said, indicating that he had read Thomas' mind.
"Was it you? That put those horrible thoughts and sounds in my head?" Thomas blurted out, trying to keep his voice low.
"The images, those I put in your head," the ghost laughed, "the music was live, so to speak."
"If you touched my daughter, I'm-"
"Relax, nobody has ever touched your daughter, not even your daughter. I just stimulated the part of the brain that creates sex dreams."
Cleo had never touched herself? Sex dreams? "What do you want with us?" I asked, trying to keep my anger in control.
"I just wanted to tell you something," the ghost smiled and stood up from where it leaned against the wall. "Just have fun."
With that the ghost vanished.
Cleo's dream started off innocently. She and her father were on a long distance car trip. They talked about everything, Cleo's school, her dad's work. After a while she noticed that the car felt really good. The vibration of the engine, every small variation in the road changing the sensation seemed to produce pleasure that radiated through her cunt to get to the rest of her body. She was vaguely aware that she was unable to answer the question her father had just asked her, instead moaning and pressing her thighs together. It felt so good, like nothing she'd ever experienced before.
Thomas didn't see the ghost again for months.
He had been sitting in the living room, watching some movie when his daughter had come in, wearing a white tee and some yoga shorts and dragging a blanket. Of course, Thomas had made plenty of room for her on the couch, but she'd wanted to cuddle. Ever since the incident Thomas had barely been able to look Cleo in the eye, and now every innocent thing he and Cleo had been doing since she was a child felt uneasy for Thomas as a father.
But he'd pushed her away long enough and the last thing he wanted was for Cleo to question if he still cared about his daughter, so he allowed her to cuddle. Even when she had rested her head against his shoulder. Even when he realised that she was braless.
Eventually, around the middle of the film she complained that she was uncomfortable and asked if they could move. He agreed, but he hadn't realised she had intended to park herself in his lap. She threw the blanket over both of them, pulling it up to her chin, but Thomas had no idea where to put his hands, and so they ended up wrapping around her waist.
Fuck, her shorts were so thin and Thomas swore he could feel the heat radiating off her little pussy. He tried to think of anything to distract himself, the movie, the stuff he was behind on at work, organizing the family tax return and for the most part it worked. Cleo laughed and gasped along with the film and he tried to copy her so as to not alert her to how distracted he truly was, because every time she adjusted her seat he could feel her pussy slowly rub up and down the length of his cock.
Thomas ground his hands into fists, praying to God that he didn't get hard.
"What did I say?" asked the ghost's voice in his head. Thomas looked around, but couldn't see anyone other than Cleo. "Relax, father-of-the-year, only you can hear me."
Thomas tried to ignore his daughter's squirms in his lap, she must really be struggling to get comfortable.
What do you want? He asked in his mind.
"I already told you," the ghost replied. "Right now, you have a twenty-year old in your lap and you're thinking about work? You need to get your priorities straight."
