*”I hate you, dad!”*
That was the last thing she remembered saying to him when her mother took her to another city across the country more than 15 years ago following their divorce. At the time, he deserved it, cheating on his mother with some woman, denying everything, refusing to apologize. She cut all contact with him, refusing to tell him when she graduated from high school, when she graduated from university, when she got her first full-time job, her first apartment in a different city. Refused to tell him every time she moved, when work finally brought her back to her home town.
She lost her mother in a car accident when she was 28, and afterwards she began to hear stories about what *really* happened all those years ago; how it was *mom* who cheated on her *dad*, not once but many times, how he finally found out, how she refused to allow him to see his daughter while still collecting support, why they really moved; not out of heartbreak but vindictiveness. How her dad truly was as kind and gentle as she remembered him to be.
She went to their old house and found he had moved long ago; the new owners couldn’t offer much help to where he might have gone. She knew none of his friends, Mom’s relatives were no help. Almost as a joke she searched for him on Tinder and to her surprise, found him there. Reached out as a match expecting him to ignore her – him being 20 years older, after all – and was surprised and pleased when he matched back. Now she could reach out and reconnect.
She met him at a restaurant one night, one of her favorite places, and was surprised when he didn’t recognize her. I mean,sure, granted, she looked a lot different at 30 than she did when she left; she was a bit taller, a bit heavier, her hair was dyed a different color, her voice was different. But to her, he still looked almost the same; a little older, but still dad. She grinned inside at the reaction he’d have discovering his ‘date” was really his forever-lost daughter.
But as it went, she never had the chance. She introduced herself as Anna, told him she preferred to be called bunny and was a bit surprised when he didn’t pick up on it. Dinner itself was pleasant; she never appreciated before just how witty or urbane her dad really was. They talked and laughed the evening away, and he was a perfect gentleman when he dropped her off, thanking her for a wonderful evening. Asked if they could meet again. Of course they could, and he was gone before she remembered that she had forgotten to reveal who she was.
Date followed date, night followed night, and she was impressed with how much they had in common; well, really that was no surprise, circumstances being what they were. They went to movies, live theatre, they both loved the park at night, and she had forgotten just how much she loved ice skating. She never did tell him who she was; she meant to at first but was shy, not knowing how to explain why she kept silent after that first evening, yet over time she stayed silent as she found herself falling for the man *as* a man, not just her dad. And one night, after a particularly sweet walk through a starlit park under the shadow of an oak tree he kissed her, and she found then she *couldn’t* tell him. Not any more.
The kiss shook her; for the next few days she wrestled with herself, for she found that not only did she love the man who took her for ice cream so long ago but she loved the man who held her hand under the moon and talked of their shared favorite authors, of far away travel and nearby places. In the end she decided: one more date. If on that date he figured out who she really was, she would confess everything. Poke fun at him at how he didn’t even know his own daughter. Invite him back into her life, apologize for everything she’d said and done in the years since. If not…if not, well, then she’d let things happen as they did.
The next night they went and had a entertaining time at the local comedy club; she’d never laughed so hard at jokes that should have fallen flat but somehow didn’t. Then a walk home in the warm night, through the park near her apartment where they stopped under their oak tree and he kissed her yet again; her cheek, her lips, her neck. And at that, throwing away the last of any misgivings, she responded in kind, pressing her body against his, her arms around his neck, his lips wine-sweet against hers. He brought her home. That night, though, she sent him off with nothing more than another good night kiss.
But that evening under the tree she’d made her decision.
She invited him out two days later to their favorite sushi place, bought their wine, paid their bill. Walked with him back to her apartment, talking all the while about inconsequential, happy things. Slipped out of his attempted embrace in the park, smiling to herself at his disappointment, laughed as he mock-chased her back to where she lived. Let him walk her to her door, opened it, grabbed his hand as he turned to go, and brought him inside.
As soon as the door closed, she moulded herself to his body, kissing him deeply. She shed her shoes then took his hand and brought it up and on to her breast as she held that kiss. Let him go, smiled at him and walked to her living room, motioning at him to follow her. Sat on the couch as he joined her.
She took his hand and took a long look at her father, barely visible in the shadows beside her. *”Am I sure I want to do this?”* she asked herself. *”Yes..,”* she decided all at once, *”I do.”* She leaned forward, kissed him again, and again. She stood, and slowly removed her blouse and let her skirt fall to the floor, standing before him in only her bra, panties, stockings. Walked away gain, this time to her bedroom, not looking back at her father on the couch, afraid that if she did he would follow her. Afraid that if she did, he wouldn’t.
She stood beside the door and in the dark of her bedroom she peeled off her stockings and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She sat on the edge of her bed for one long, tense moment – what if she heard, not his footsteps at the door but rather the sound of the entranceway closing, would she be relieved or upset? – two, three…and then she heard him walk in, closing the bedroom door behind him, casting the room in near total blackness. In the darkness she heard the sound of his clothes being removed…that was a shirt…then pants…socks… and thank-goodness-shorts…and then he was beside her on her bed, his lips on hers, his hand running along her breast, his thumb on her nipple. They kissed in the night, then he pushed her gently down on to the bed.
There beside her father, so long absent from her life, she felt the caress of his hand play down her belly, down along her panties, down between her legs, to feel the heat beginning to rise, to stroke her there and *there* through the thin cloth of her underwear. Gently, playfully, he teased one finger along the side of the cloth, to run down along the vulva, to feel and play with the wetness he felt along there, in the crack. He teased her clitoris with his thumb, and she shivered as he slid a finger up and into her while he teased her button, then another. His mouth on her breast, her father’s hand on her slit.
“*Ohhhh…,*” she breathed as he worked his finger there. “Ohhh, oh *daddy…*”
Hearing that, he lifted himself on one elbow, took his hand away. “Daddy?” she heard him murmur to himself softly, almost too softly to hear. “That’s her thing, is it…? Well, ” he told himself, “if that’s what she likes…”
She felt him move down the bed, then slide up between her legs. “You liked that, bunny?” he asked her.
“Oh, yes. Yes…daddy?”
“Then let me do something more more for you,” he said, and carefully slid her panties down her legs and off, moving back up between her legs. She tensed as his head moved, then the touch of *his* tongue along her slit, his breath hot on her, felt like nothing, *nothing* she had ever experienced before.
She sighed as he explored her, lifted her ankles and laid them along his back so she could move closer, *feel* him on her. At the caress of his tongue – probing her, entering her, licking along her, savoring the wetness coming from her – she pulled his head closer still. “*Yes*,” she breathed as his tongue turned and lipped, as her thighs grew hot and the sheets beneath her became damp, “More, please, daddy, more…” She felt a finger enter her, two, slide in and out in time with his tongue on her clit, and she felt a wave of pleasure rise and crest over her body, a groan of ecstasy in the night as she pulled him closer *still* to the point she could feel his *teeth* against the sensitive skin within, tight against her as her legs clenched his back and held him in place while a jolt of electricity ran up her belly and down her legs.
Sweating, breathing heavy, she released him and he moved up her body, to bring himself up against her. He rubbed himself along her, making himself slick and she grunted at the touch, still sensitive from the orgasm that still echoed throughout her. Then he brought himself, the very tip of himself, to her entrance,and as he did she pulled him down on top of her, kissing him deeply, letting the aftertaste of her play over her lips, and as he carefully slid inside of her, another joyous grunt escaped her throat, her tongue darting out again and again to lick the moisture off his chin as she felt every inch enter her, relaxing only when she felt him fully within her, hot and thick, feeling fuller than she’d ever felt before.
Between her legs he moved, her legs across his, her waist pressed down against her mattress to feel the length of him slide in and out, that delicious scrape along the roof of her vagina, in, *in*, wide, deep, almost, *almost* more than she could take, then out. She bit his ear, whispered how good it felt, how good *he* felt, began to move in time with him. Panting, holding him close, she revelled in the feeling of him, the wonderful, joyous feeling of him, and before long began to feel that wave build again. She began to move her hips harder, more urgently,ran her nails along his back.
She asked him, softly, “Do I *feel* good?”
“You do. You feel good.”
“How good do I feel to you?”
“Wonderful. You feel wonderful,” he nuzzled her hair. “You are soft and warm and *so* smooth.”
“Am I pretty to you, daddy?”
“Yes. You are.”
“Am I pretty inside *and* out?”
“Bunny,” he said, kissing her nose without missing a stroke, “You are *beautiful*. You are beautiful outside…*and* in.”
At that, she sighed and pulled him tighter against her still so that his full weight was on her, their skin hot and sticky to the touch. He placed one hand under her bottom, and in response she raised her hips higher still in order to take more of him, as much of him in her as she could,as much as he could give, urging him to move faster, harder, every thrust almost a stabbing that pierced her in just the right way. Faster, faster still, and she moved to match, and yet another cry burst forth as she came yet again, wrapping her legs around him to hold him close within her, squeezing tight down there, tight around his member to keep him in place, to not let him move as her body shivered again and again at the feeling she was experiencing.
At last she let him go, and he again began to move his hips, but she put a finger on his lips and asked him to wait.
“Wait? Why?” he asked. “I’m almost there…”
“I know,” she said, and pushed him off of her, onto his back. “It’s just…I want you finish like *this*,” she said, climbing onto him. She straddled his waist, moved up along his belly rubbing herself along his skin, leaving a slick trail along his stomach, his chest, used herself to moisten each of his nipples, slippery and wet and smelling of her so that when he left he would take the memory of her with him. She then slid back down to his waist, took her father in her hand -so hot, so thick through – and guided him into her, settling low on his body as again he entered her, this time in this way filling her in new ways, giving her new joy. Slowly at first, sated for the moment, in no hurry, she began to move back and forth along him, indulging in the feeling of her own father inside of her, filling her, letting her breasts swing along his chest, letting his nipples brush against hers. He stroked her hair as she stroked *him*, and his quickened breathing told her that he was close.
“Bunny,” he whispered urgently, “I’m going to come.”
“I know, daddy,” she whispered back, bending low to kiss him.
“I have no condom, bunny,” he told her urgently. “Let me out.”
“It’s OK.”
“I don’t want to get you pregnant.” But by now, she was beyond caring.
“It’s OK,” she told him. “Come.”
“But, bunny…”
“It’s OK, daddy,” she told him again. “You can come.”
He looked at her, and whispered. “Are you sure it’s OK?”
She closed her eyes and moved faster on top of him. “Yes.”
He said not another word, but instead began to move his hips in time with hers. She heard his breathing get faster, more urgent yet, and buried her hands in his hair, urging him on.
“Come on, daddy, you can come, come in me, come in me,” his hips grew faster, each thrust a little harder, “Daddy, I love you. Come in me,” he moved more urgently, “be *inside* of me, feel *inside* of me. Feel how sweet, how soft I am. How wet I am, how wet you make me, how wet and soft I am for you because I want you, I want you in me, I want you inside of me,” she was almost still now, letting him take her how he wanted, feel her how he chose, “yes, daddy, *yes*, I *want* you,” and his breath grew harder, hoarser at her words, “I want you to come. Come *inside* of me, daddy, come *inside* of your girl..,” and with that, he thrust up once, *hard* and she felt a hot stream jet deep within her, felt the loose wetness of his come. She sat up and held her father there, close around him until he began to soften and slip out of her, a trickle of stickiness sliding along her thighs as he did.
She fell alongside of him and took hold of him in one hand, placed the other across his chest and kissed him deep. Told him that she loved him, and in the warm summer night fell asleep alongside of her father, reunited again after so many years apart.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/sx1dkj/falling_for_father_fminc
So hot