Whisper 16

Less than a year ago the future of Michael's family had seemed boundless. In the middle of his life Michael had decided to become a lawyer and had just landed a job with a non-profit firm. His beautiful wife of twenty years, Claire, had accepted a professorship at an ivy league institution and they were going out to celebrate. Emily could not attend as she had the final stage of her college orientation the following day. After much laughter and wine they stumbled into a cab and headed home. The driver was finishing a double shift and his falling eyelids failed to avoid a deer. His attempts to head off placed them in the path of oncoming traffic; the cab was struck several times. Claire did not survive.

In his grief Michael's life fell apart. Losing interest in work, he spent days at home, lost in mourning. Emily did what she could to help him. She would come home to clean the house and fix her father his favorite meals, like her mom would do. She'd shave Michael when he got to "scruffy" and made little jokes to get him to half-smile. Every now and then he'd stop her from what she was doing. He'd hold her hands in his, taking in deeply how much she looked like Claire.

One night he'd gotten drunk and passed out naked the bathroom floor. Emily had gotten him into the shower and washed him down. Running her hands over his body she remembered how strong he always was and how much weight he'd lost. Her eyes only glanced over his penis although the size of it, even flaccid, gave her pause. She cleaned it gently like the rest of him, her hand lingered a moment to determine it's girth; thinking if he was any other man, she'd want that in her mouth at the moment.

She took him up to bed. Putting night clothes on him seemed too daunting a task. Laying him down gently he slumped over precisely onto the pillows. She lifted his feet and pulled to covers over him.

"Shut...shut the light Claire," he slurred. "Come to bed."

Emily's heart dropped. He thought she was her mother. Emily shut the hallway light and climbed into bed with him. His light and rhythmic snoring eventually put her to sleep as well.

The rain fell hard. Lightning crashed over and over, the wind blowing violently in her face. Emily didn't know which way to run. The air was grey and blue, she couldn't see. Turning in all directions she spotted a thin women in a white nightgown in the near distance. It was her mother. She yelled without sound to her and started running. Her mother was crying, a hand over her mouth. Emily heard cracking. The ground they were standing on started to separate. Claire extended her arm towards Emily as she ran faster. But it was too late. The cliff broke way and descended slowly into the mist. Emily screamed silently and woke up.

She rubbed the side of her face and looked at the clock. 4:46 A.M. Oh good, she thought, a few more hours. Turning over her dad lay in the same position on his side. Bring her knees up to-wards her chest, Emily felt an obstacle. Lifting the covers she reached down to what she thought was an extra pillow. It was her dad's penis, fully erect. Startled she backed away a little and bit her lip. Then, curious, she reached down and ran a finger over it. It was beautiful, she thought. Putting her whole hand on it she ran it down the shaft. The knowledge that it was her father was obscure by thoughts of placing it inside her, in her mouth, against her stomach. She began to rub it a little faster, wanting it for herself. Pre-cum bubbled to the top of the head and brought her back to what she was doing. She was fondling her dad. Vacillating between arousal and disgust she turned over, forcing herself back to sleep.

Eventually Michael returned to his life, without Claire. Quitting his job at the non-profit, Michael sought employment in the prestigious Upton, Hister and Fauns, a corporate firm. He said it was to get him re-focused on his career and to get on with his life. They mostly handled probate cases and some international law. Michael threw himself into his work and all seemed to be well. Until one night.

Michael paced up and down the hallway.

His obsessions were getting the better of him. The membership in the Cloven Club had begun to take hold of his world. At first it was merely indulgence with many women. Then came the games. Last week he'd attended their Deviants Against Drunk Driving, that included a milk bar. Seven women had volunteered their milk for the event. Stepping up for seconds with the petite Spanish dispenser, he realized could pore his own provided he didn't injury the tap. Biting her lip, eyes half-closed at each serving, intimating that there was more to her service than simple sobriety. Motioning him over at the close of the event to visit an antechamber where she gathered Michael's own non-alcoholic beverage. Her firm hand wrenched his penis in several directions, covering it occasionally with her own lactating lubricant until he could no longer resist relinquishing his sperm. Filling half a glass, she merely smiled at him, never saying a word. Stunned at the sight of the topless beauty strolling beyond the curtain, lifting the glass to her lips, all he could do was exhale.

His next event was The Human Pin Cushion Contest. For a small fee a member could select a needle to insert into a volunteer. For a larger fee the insertion area widened. Suspensions and a partial re-enactment of the Wiwanyang Wacipi, Native American Sun Dance, opened the contest. At first he'd been appalled, and later numb, after thirty minutes. He'd come away amazed, even talking to a cushion or two about their experience. Several of cushions participated later in his first "pricking". Standing inside a small circle Michael bowed heavily on one knee with his left palm face-up, held above his head. Phyx, a cushion, slowly brought down a four-inch needle until it completely entered Michael's palm. With all his might Michael struggled to maintain the pose. His wave of pain cause his muscles to tense, but he held his breathing as instructed and the promised calm eventually arrived. He'd been grateful as his proctors wordlessly nodded and stepped away.

He looked at the door in front of him. Muffled sounds of rushing water vibrated against the wood. Breaking his gaze to the floor another event rose up inside his mind.

At the height of his success at Upton, Hister and Fauns, Michael's mask was beginning to slip. The Cloven Club had been a release of sorts, but now he relied on it for total distraction. His grief would creep in and the control that he'd fought so desperately for would deteriorate. Smoking marijuana his 1962 Lincoln outside the club one night Michael had an itch. He wanted to go down. Down to his base instincts. Inside he ordered several drinks, mistakenly telling the bartender that he felt the need for an exorcism.

Suggesting a visit to the Purple Room, a room he'd never been to nor heard of, Michael nodded and stumbled in the general direction. The man at the door was a tall, gaunt African-American male with black crescents under his eyes. He smiled and pulled back the curtain. There were several cabaret style chairs facing away from each other in the middle of the room. Red, floor-length curtain ran along the walls. The lights were recessed into the ceiling and began to flicker. Michael fell into the chair, the whiskey grew warm inside him. Licking his teeth Michael's mind begged for the darkness and depravity to enter; to show him the face of evil and pain to which he would say was nothing compared to what he harbored inside.

The lights grew dim. From the shadows fully robed women in sheer black strode forth with lanterns held above their heads. Circling the room without a sound. Michael's vision grew hazier as smoke because to move across the floor, following the path of the women. At first he smelled hazelnut and then nag champa. Finally the unmistakeable smell of marijuana crept into the room. All of it made his head spin a little more. The door man walked up behind him and unexpectedly clapped a hand on Michael's shoulder.

"Ayahuasca" he whispered.

Michael looked up him and swallowed hard. Ayahuasca, he thought, a tropical vine native to the Amazon region, noted for its hallucinogenic properties. Oh shit.

That's what the bartender had given him. He'd heard not to be too liberal with what was said to the bartender, but ayahuasca! Well this is what he wanted, he thought, and settled back into the ever growing stupor. His control was gone. The floor started to shift and grow small sprouts. Small drumming sounds came from the folds of the room. Across from him a black, flowing object moved towards him at an uncomfortable speed. In a death shroud came a lithe figure, sword in hand. Michael jumped as he tried to steady himself. Then the sword vanished but the figure remained. It was a woman, completely nude under the shroud. Through the mist it fell to the floor and to Michael's horror, there stood his dead wife. He'd begged for darkness to visit and it's face has risen to his fears. She slowly walked towards him and sat on his lap. Her hand reached for his zipper and found his cock. She rubbed her pussy over it, kissing his neck. He was overcome. This is what he'd wanted. Clasping her tight he kissed her back. Her gasp met his lips as he entered her. She impaled herself over and over again. He whispered her name a thousand and one times, his greatest wish being answered. He cried out as he came. Tears fell as he resigned to the moment. He could no longer feel his limbs or restrain the apparition that was now leaving him. Her face was undeniably Claire's. He watched it for as long as he could as it faded back into the mist.

Morphing back to his surroundings, Michael looked at his watch. Five minutes had passed. Whispering steam bellowed around a blue towel dangling from the knob. The door was now open. Unsure when that happened he slowly stepped one black leather shoe in front of the other. They fell silent on the carpeted floors. Effortlessly retreated at his touch as the hissing grew louder and the door. Without a thought he rolled up his left sleeve. His white button-down shirt and black pants were remnants of his evening at the Cloven Club once again. Black flowers against a white countryside made of plastic stood between him and a growing desire. He wanted to take hold of absolute certainty, what he had heard before and armed with it, attain bliss. This soft sound was being repeated over and over. Michael leaned in closer, his ears piqued.

There is was. A sound, almost a voicelessness murmur, repeating the same words over and over.

"Oh Daddy. Please touch me there. I love you. Hold me. Yes Daddy."

Michael took half a step back. He was stunned. The words filled him with a shaking fear and an exhilarated delight. His right hand moved on its own, rising and entering the plastic field. A smooth dark brown curtain of hair matted against tan skin flashed at him through the opening. Meeting the curve of her spine at the flesh and his hand move downward towards their segmentation. Fingers met others, already in motion, creating a gasp and even further movement.

Emily suddenly felt fingers between her legs. It had startled her enough to bring her back to the shower. Moments before she'd been in private train car, traveling from Brussels to Italy with her father. He'd taken her there in celebration of her eighteenth birthday. Together they read the Sunday comics on his tablet. She sat on his lap like she used to, shifting herself in her dress as the car rocked along the tracks. The train lurched to one side. Emily reached down to steady herself, her hand discovering her father's erection. She looked into his deep blue eyes and smiled. Kissing him deeply, she turned to face him and guided his hands to her breasts. He'd undressed her slowly, paying attention to every part of her. Making sure his daughter felt pleasure with everything he did. She gave him wet kisses everywhere, reaching down and stroking him deliberately. Massaging his muscular arms she leaned back, inviting him to take her right there. Licking his fingers she placed them inside her. It was perfect.

And then came the real thing. Her hand moved to cover his. Arching her back, she spread her hands wide against the tile and pushed back. The fingers curled inside of her, twisting until they found the spots to make her squeal and squirm. Emily ground her teeth as orgasm after orgasm rolled over her. Without turning around she groped through the curtain, searching for more. She closed her eyes and found her father's penis, as hard as ever. Shuffling back, Emily bent half way over. Guiding his penis inside her she pushed back hard. A small growl erupted from her and she began grinding against him. With each thrust she grew wetter and wetter, desperately trying to take all his length inside her. Her fingers clawed at the tile looking for more leverage. Her leg found cleft made by the tub and the wall providing more force. Taking hold of his hip, pulling towards her to close the gap. Her yelps became cries, decimating her concentration and the mantra. She exploded all over him, shaking violently. Every last pore rippled with pleasure her body relaxed. And then she felt it.

Michael could barely believe what was happening. His daughter had just cum on his dick, before he'd finished. Astonishment gave way to disbelief Michael threw aside the curtain. Clamping down on her hips, driving deeper into her. Her hair soaked his bandage, his fist tightening around it. She felt amazing. The scent of her juices washed over him, rising with the steam. Flexing the hand around her hip, he relinquished it to find her breast. First he slid the nipple between two fingers, then twirled, and finally pinching with an ever-growing pressure. Groaning loudly she went back to diddling herself. Inside her there was a small resistance, something that he had reached as she lowered her body to touch her toes.

Spreading her legs out, she hissed out repeatedly, "Yes Daddy," and then "Oh God Daddy. Again Daddy!!" Several screeches and a guttural moan filled the room as she came again. He could wait no longer. She's all he'd thought about for weeks, even months. He stopped and she turned, puzzled. Picking her up, he mounted her gently on his cock. Their eyes locked as he entered her. Their breathing stopped, taken over by the slow squishing sound of penetration. She leaned her forehead against his, her eyes closing as his thrusts increased. Michael was ready to cum. He pulled on her ass harder and harder. He wanted nothing more than to join with her in the release and feel at one with his daughter. Emily felt the oncoming orgasm, the feeling mounting in her belly. Her fists balled tight she wrapped her arms around her dad's neck. He felt like he was growing inside her. Aching to feel his warmth stay inside her she locked her legs. There was nothing left for him to hold onto. Michael lept from the cliff of his grief, through the veil of the orgasm into the abyss of joy as he came inside Emily. Her teeth grinding, hair matted, Emily felt his ultimate release inside her. She leaned back slowly in his arms and opened her eyes to a waking dream. Now, above all moments, was the time to tell him that she was the dancer at the Cloven Club.