Tammy’s gift could not have come at a better time. Emptying yourself in Vika had also emptied the sexual thoughts plaguing you, and with several days of singular focus you’re as prepared as you could ever be come Saturday.
Claire’s sporty red convertible pulls into your gated driveway late in the morning. Not wanting to seem overeager you wait until Ashley texts you to head outside.
“Hi, Mr. M,” Claire giggles the moment she sees you. “Looking sharp.”
You’d donned your best polo and golf shorts, even breaking out the gaudy Rolex you rarely wore outside formal functions to round out the rich older man look. Ashley launches herself into your arms for a grateful hug. You kiss both girls on the cheeks and help them unpack, insisting on taking the heaviest bags for yourself. Your display of chivalry is also the perfect excuse to flex your strength. It works wonders. Claire purrs and runs a finger up your taut bicep too overtly for Ashley not to notice.
When all of Ashley’s trunkful of belongings are inside, you give Claire a gift card to Lucien’s as a thank-you present to wrap up this affair in a neat little bow. But as you’d feared, she’s too determined to send off that easily.
“I was thinking,” she says. “Such a nice day for a swim and your pool’s so big. All that space to yourself must get lonely.”
You try your best to come up with an excuse on the spot. Ashley doesn’t let you.
“Please, Dad? I brought my swimsuit and Claire’s already wearing hers underneath. It’ll be fun!”
You have no choice but to reluctantly agree. Of course Claire had planned all this out in advance. You’re more surprised Ashley would agree to an idea that would leave her a third wheel to her best friend’s tactless teenage seduction of the most important man in her life. Perhaps you’d overestimated Ashley’s attraction to you, or underestimated her own devotion to Claire. Both are disturbing thoughts.
You leave them to get changed and head upstairs to do so yourself. Before you do though, you make one last pass into Ashley’s new room to double-check the surveillance gear you’ve set up inside. Perfect.
You arrive at the pool to find the girls already in their bikinis. To your disappointment and relief she’s not wearing the revealing red number you’d stroked yourself off to, instead sporting a conservative white two-piece nonetheless a tasteful contrast against her bronzed skin tone. Claire, however, does not pass up the opportunity to test your self-control.
What this little slut wears is swimwear in name only. Crisscrossed strips of neon green form the bra; a matching slip the size of your palm, the crotch of a thong that barely conceals her pussy. Even though mentally you’d steeled yourself for such a sight your cock still stirs.
Even for your libido you haven’t felt nearly so excitable since before your first “child” was born over twenty years ago, and perhaps not even then. Your body knows its reproductive clock is running out, you think, and has blessed you with this inexhaustible second wind at forty to fulfill its need to breed. A need Jessica denied from you, a debt you now know a daughter she stole from you was born to settle.
“Are you fucking serious?” you hear Ashley hiss. “You said you’d wear something appropriate.”
Claire shrugs it off. “I did. You saw the real showstoppers in my closet.”
You dive into the deep end headfirst and kill two birds with one stone. The crisp splash of cold water nips your burgeoning hardness in the bud; the loud splash, the girls’ bickering chatter. With their full attention you swim the twenty yards of your nearly Olympic-sized pool in strong measured strokes to emphasize the full range of back muscles you’ve sculpted repetition by painstaking repetition in the weight room.
And when you emerge in front of your little audience with hair wet and spray glistening on your skin, you’re glad you’d agreed to this. Claire squeezes her breasts between her biceps and eyes you like a piece of meat, but this time Ashley is too occupied to care.
She’s been checking you out too.
Not as overtly as her friend, of course. But you’ve always been keen to a woman’s tells. This girl you yourself raised is an open book. Wavering eye contact. Flushed cheeks. Teeth biting the insides of her lips. Legs ever so subtly crossed.
The thrill of confirmation races your heart. Consciously or not, you’re more than merely attractive to Ashley.
You’re her forbidden fruit, too.
___________________________________________________________________
Despite the stimulation, entertaining two teenagers makes you feel your age for the first time since your birthday. The ordeal is an exhausting one compounded when Ashley and Claire jump into the pool with you. You’re obliged to swim laps every few minutes when you get erect again. Worse yet, Claire spares no effort in her relentless mission to tease you. Presses breasts into your back, hooks a leg around yours underwater until you can make out the shape of her vulva grinding against your thigh. Even flashes you a pink, mouthwateringly puckered nipple the moment Ashley swims the other way.
Of course you reprimand Claire when she crosses the line, but you can’t quite find the self-control to make her stop. Fantasies of tearing that farce of a swimsuit into shreds and taking her by force in front of her best friend run away with your imagination. You wonder if this shameless slut would even object. Jessica certainly would not.
Had not, on several occasions.
The delicious torture finally ends when one or both girls’ stomachs start to grumble for lunch. Claire gives Ashley a choice of several local restaurants, many of them your competition in name. You have other plans, however, and seize their indecision as an opening to take back control of the day’s itinerary.
“Ash and I already have plans,” you tell Claire with a saccharine smile. “But thank you for offering.”
To your surprise both girls comply without a fight. Ashley seems to have had enough of Claire’s brazen advances for the day. Why the latter would take no for an answer escapes you. Regardless, you figure you haven’t seen the last of her when her departing remark is a loud whisper of a “favor” in your former daughter’s ear.
“Why’d you lie to Claire?” Ashley asks you over the nostalgic poolside lunch of crudites and chicken sandwiches you’d prepared.
“I didn’t. Your afternoon’s fully booked unpacking and getting yourself settled in.”
“We can do that whenever,” she whines. “How about later tonight? I might go to a fling with some friends in a few.”
You see your chance. Now or never.
“No, Ash,” you say. “You won’t. Not today.”
Ashley quails at the sudden firmness of your voice. Your fatherly voice.
“But I can finish in an hour! I didn’t even pack that much shit.”
“Language. And if you have spare time, feel free to my home office to catch up on studying.”
The meaning of your words dawns on her. Upsettingly so.
“You’re grounding me already? For what Claire did today? That’s not fair!”
“No, you’re grounded because you’re a month away from repeating senior year.”
She gapes. “I’m not….I’m passing the classes I need.”
“Ashley Menendez.” You use the name Jessica had stolen from both of you for effect. “Do NOT lie to me.”
It works. She’s that naughty little girl caught misbehaving again. Her posture crumbles from defensive to defeated.
“Who told you? Mom, Claire?”
“Your counselor took me for your mother’s boyfriend. Do you understand how shocked I was hearing my little girl called a bad influence?”
Not very, of course, after her tantrum in your gym. But she doesn’t need to know that.
“Dad, please.” She’s on the verge of tears. “I’m doing my best.”
You shush her and wipe some dressing off her lip. Whether from genuine sympathy or not, you don’t know.
“I know you’re not a punk, Ash. You’ve had a hard home life and I’m here to change that.” For your own benefit, you silently amend. “If I let you do whatever you want you’ll fall into your mother’s bad habits.”
“I’m an adult,” she pleads. “You can trust me, Daddy, I’m not like Mom. Don’t you trust me?”
“I do.” You don’t. “But trust goes both ways and being an adult means taking responsibility for yourself. You agreed to following my house rules, remember? That’s all I ask. No rent, no job, no eviction date.”
Nothing but that sweet body in due time.
“When will I not be grounded?”
“When you graduate, baby.” You concede some measure when her face falls. “Or prove beyond any doubt you will.”
A token compromise, one she seems to accept in defeat. With Ashley now helpless and cowed you lay down the law. Unyielding yet fair, the diametric opposite of Jessica’s tyrannical whims. Basic chores, passing grades, no disciplinary news from the school. No parties or hangouts. No friends over save for study dates you’ll supervise.
Your rules are set in stone, save for one. The right to decide her punishment should any be broken. A concession you know she’ll regret despite agreeing to now, while eating from your palm.
A palm you fully plan on introducing to her plump rear when she inevitably fails.
___________________________________________________________________
Ashley spends the rest of the day dutifully studying; you spend it studying *her*. Directly, of course: cooking dinner together, eating, enduring more of her ridiculous reality show as a reward for honest work. But you also observe her when she isn’t looking, courtesy of the state-of-the-art spyware you’ve installed in strategic locations throughout her room. A tiny camera disguised in a gem-crusted photo frame on her bookshelf, microphones tucked beneath her bedframe and inside a false compartment of her desk. All feeding directly to your personal cloud in the highest definition video and audio your money can buy.
It is your house after all. Her privacy is a privilege here, not a right. A privilege she certainly hasn’t earned between her dishonesty, disciplinary issues and questionable choices in company.
As you wait patiently in your room for Ashley to finish her nighttime routine, you hear a notification from your phone. Instagram, and not merely a “like” or “follow.” You’d muted those after getting a hundred in a day once. You open your messages ready for Claire to have given in and offered nudes. And she has sent something- lurid in nature no doubt- but there’s someone unexpected too. Someone you haven’t seen in ten long years.
*kittenkristen713*
*Long time no see, old man. Can I go with that? We can’t really call you Daddy anymore but using your name feels weird too.*
*Ash told me she was moving in with you. I’ll be in town this summer and I gotta make time for lil sis before she goes off to school and starts ignoring me too. Anyways, I just wanna say my friend and I might have to crash at your place too once in a while. Either that or I tell Mom and drag Ash back to her place. None of us really want that, do we?*
*Love, Kristen*
Your heartbeat spikes dangerously as you read this for what it is. A threat. Lighthearted blackmail, but blackmail nonetheless. All three of your false children had inherited Jessica’s manipulative wiles and none more so than Kristen, the middle child starving for a fickle mother’s attention. You curse Ashley’s lack of discretion. Father or not, you’d been out of their lives a whole decade. She’d been foolish to assume her sister would be nearly as loyal to you or reveal your arrangement for it.
At least you have your first infraction of many. You’ll need to tighten the screws quickly if you’re to make Ashley yours before Kristen’s arrival disrupts everything.
Frustrated, you send the milquetoast reply of a concerned father- questions about her life, a promise to discuss the deal later- before deciding to scour her profile for information. Even after seeing her sister grown up, you’re still not prepared for what you find.
Kristen is your wife’s spitting image. A teenaged Jessica come again with just a few major differences. She’s taller and more athletic, a varsity volleyball star at her glamorous seaside Christian school. Her hair’s a lustrous gold rather than Jessica’s sandy brunette. And she’s even more beautiful than her mother.
You hadn’t done your memory justice comparing her to Vika’s harsh features or Claire’s strictly neotenous ones. Kristen’s face is your ideal balance. A pointed chin, high nose and cheekbones, softened by wide blue eyes and the last hint of the baby fat your remember in her cheeks. She may very well be the most perfect blonde you’ve ever seen and you’ve had literal supermodels at your restaurants.
Despite the risk of missing surveillance you can’t help but lose yourself in Kristen’s feed. You gave up prowling social media long ago but still know a rising Instagram model on sight. Her follower count dwarfs even your rather popular restaurant’s. Nearly a hundred thousand men drooling over professional-quality shots of her body in tight fitness wear. You pick a beach volleyball clip in a white bikini that resembles her sister’s swimsuit today, if considerably less virginal. The skimpy number reveals nearly every inch of a body as perfectly sculpted as your own. Abs cut like an hourglass mold, arms with just the right amount of muscle tone, thick thighs meant to ride for hours and hours.
Your arousal burgeons when her modest but perky tits nearly spill from their cups when she serves, bouncing with a natural fluidity silicon could never replicate. Not that Jessica would ever buy implants for a daughter who threatened to outshine her in the eyes of men. Her shot’s a violent beauty, and successful as well. Kristen celebrates her ace. She shimmies, tugs the strings of her bottom in a victory dance and gives herself a cameltoe.
The insecure little girl who’d once fish for compliments on her body is now brazenly showing you- and her tens of thousands of followers- the shape of her pussy.
All of a sudden you’re so hard you can feel precum staining your boxers at the tip. Thoughts of all the ways you could punish this exhibitionist former daughter of yours for daring to blackmail you run wild in your head. You picture spanking those firm, juicy buttocks until she submits to you and lets you take out your stress on her delectable body as recompense.
You can’t take it anymore. Just days after draining yourself in Vika, the need for relief again is too much. You tear your boxers off and reach so frantically for lube you nearly miss the sound coming from your software.
“Daddy! Oh, Daddy.”
You’re frozen in place. Ashley. Her voice, relayed in real time. You dive for the laptop you’d tossed carelessly across the bed and wrench it open with shaking hands. You’d never pay a cent for pornography but this? This footage is already worth every single dollar of the thousands you’d spent setting up your surveillance suite.
Ashley lies topless on her bed, spread-eagle with both hands between her thighs. Under the light from her nightstand her skin glows a burnished caramel and glistens with her sweat. Her ample breasts are soft orbs almost pale in color from her tan lines, tipped with those peaked dusky nipples you’d spied under her soaked dress the first day. She takes her sweet time slipping a finger beneath the dark fabric of her boy shorts before kicking them off. You get just a glimpse of her bare pussy- two toned, both dark and pink- before she begins to pleasure herself in earnest.
It’s the most erotic sight you’ve ever seen. You lube up and immediately start pumping into your hand.
“I’m here, Daddy,” gasps Ashley. “Don’t look at Claire. Look at me.”
Consumed by her fantasy of you, Ashley plunges two fingers to the root inside herself. You’re already not too far from blowing. Somehow you find the sheer presence of mind to not storm next door and plow her to completion whether she’ll let you or not.
“Tell me I’ve been a bad girl.”
“You’ve been a bad girl,” you murmur.
She moans. For a moment you’re afraid she’s heard you, but just enough logic kicks in to know the walls aren’t so thin. Regardless, she continues by bringing her other hand to rub the top of her mound.
“Make me want to be good for you, Daddy. Punish me.”
A vicious pleasure jolts from your spine straight to your cock. You picture yourself on the bed with her right this instant, flipping her over to alternate stinging blows on her prone ass with fierce thrusts into her sopping pussy and the fertile womb beyond it. Her breathy gasps turn to orgasmic squeals. You can hold it no longer and explode in searing ecstasy as she does.
When the haze of pleasure clears you resolve not to do this again. Information was the main goal of your surveillance, not voyeurism, you remind yourself. You cannot afford to make these masturbation sessions a habit lest your addictive nature lull you into settling for such a poor substitute for the real thing. Nor can you let Kristen’s sudden appearance distract you from the bird in hand. Sexual control of Ashley is well within reach now. You’ve found a welcoming crack in her psyche, an inroad and invitation to conquer. Like most of your fucktoys with daddy issues, she craves your authority as much as your physical presence.
And now you have a green light to make her upcoming punishment one that will give you the reins to both her mind and body.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vf6vwv/the_harvest_part_5_mf_2nd_person_male_pov