Daddy's Cum Ch. 02byChloe n Cream©
* Note from the Author: As you may have guessed, this is the second chapter to my first ever story. Sorry it took so long, but I do *try* to work hard in college. If you haven't already, I strongly recommend that you read the first chapter, because it explains the circumstances, and I didn't want to do a whole "Previously, in 'Daddy's Cum'..." intro. So, enjoy! - Chloe
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Cold October sunlight poured in through the windows, cutting bright tracks into the shadows of the room where Chloe lay, cozily warm and fast asleep. As the sun rose ever so gradually into the late morning she began to stir, waking slowly - and then her eyes suddenly widen, a pulse of adrenaline rushing through her as she remembers exactly what happened last night. Realizing that her father was already awake and must have passed by her several times while getting ready, her hands suddenly flew up to her face... and then she relaxed. As was customary for Chloe, she had slept with the quilt pulled right up over her so that only her eyes and hair were visible. As she thought of this another burst of panic rushed through her - in the insanity that had taken place last night, her father had cum in her hair - as well as everywhere else. She had felt his thick, warm cum land in her dark hair at least twice... it might have been more, but she hadn't exactly been keeping count, nor entirely in her right mind.
Chloe sat up with a jerk and glanced around. Her father's bed had been made, and the subtle smell of his cologne was in the air. Leaning forward on her knees, ignoring the cold air as it raised goose bumps on her tanned thighs and arms, Chloe shifted the swivel mirror on the dressing table towards her. Tilting her head this way and that, her eyes always on the reflection looking back at her, Chloe looked herself over, almost clinically curious. Having fallen asleep immediately after her own mind-blowing orgasm, she had not even bothered with a tissue to wipe her father's cum from her face, and so it had dried as it lay; mostly imperceptible, but if you looked closely enough and were in the right frame of mind, you could definitely tell that Chloe had received quite a face full of cum. Dried rivulets ran down each side of her face; her nose and brow were painted similarly with evidence of her father's orgasmic bliss. Perhaps the worst was the wads of cum that had dried in her hair, matting it together and leaving a white, powdery residue that contrasted starkly with her dark locks. Since her father had, amazingly, slept through his orgasm, what would he think if he had seen the state of Chloe? Shaking her head, Chloe stood up and decided that she would just have to play it by ear, at least for today. Grabbing a towel from the cupboard, she headed down the hall to the shower.
Michael was in turmoil. He felt almost sick with guilt; he remembered having that vivid, irresistible dream about his daughter just standing there, completely naked in front of him. He remembered feeling something he thought he'd grown out of when he was 16 years old - that peak of elation as he came over and over again, his naked dream-daughter simply smiling at him, some part of his mind certain that he would wake up with slightly damp sheets.
What he *had* woken up to scared the hell out of him. He had certainly had a wet dream, that old throwback to lost high school years, but he seemed to have missed the sheet pretty well. He had swung his feet over the side of the bed ever so slowly, so as not to wake Chloe. Not really believing what he was seeing, he leaned forward, staring at the top of his daughter's head poking out from beneath her quilt. He tried one explanation, something that revolved loosely around Chloe having an accident with the toothpaste, and dismissed it even quicker than it had arrived; he had apparently, during his euphoric dream, shot such a powerful load that some had landed on his sleeping daughter's head. He reached forward to pull the sheet back, to see if he had done any more damage, and then withdrew his hand quickly; it would be bad enough to wake his daughter while he was looking to see exactly how much he had cum on her, but what would be even worse was if she awoke to see his cock rising, impervious to all the will he could muster and every thought he could conjure to stop the flow of blood to his shaft. He couldn't help himself, and for that he felt damned: he was turned on by the thought that he may have cum on his daughter's face.
Michael had rushed through his morning procedure while trying to be as quiet as humanly possible. He didn't know what would happen or what Chloe would think when she woke up, but he would certainly feel better if he wasn't around when it happened. Or at least, he thought he'd feel better. Now here he was, driving to a convenience store almost 20 miles away to get some groceries, just to ensure that, by the time he got back, Chloe will probably have left the house. He didn't know this to be true, of course; she didn't have college today, and she hadn't mentioned anything yesterday about going to see anyone, or running any errands. So, he could drive back and walk into his house, groceries in one hand, car keys in the other, a completely false and stupid-looking grin on his face, and see his daughter sitting in the easy-chair in the den, her face glowering or, worse, her head bowed, sobbing into her hands. And if he tried to get close to her? Why, she'd just start screaming, yelling about rape or something.
"Maybe I should just forget the groceries," he thought, turning into the car park of Stop-n-Shop "and carry on driving to Canada." But, by the time he had finished his thought he was turning off the engine and stepping out onto the frosty gravel.
Chloe wasn't sure what was happening to her, but she was calmly entertaining the notion that she might have gone crazy. She'd been to Sex-Ed, she knew about the raging urges that teenagers had, about hormones and pheromones and so on and so forth, but she was pretty sure that she was past puberty. And while she was used to getting horny and thinking dirty thoughts, just like every other good American teenager, the situation as it stood was getting ridiculous. After getting up, she had stepped into the shower and began to lather up, but actually delayed washing her face and hair for as long as she could. She didn't really know why (or maybe she did, but just didn't want to admit it), but for some reason it seemed wrong; she thought of when she was 13 and Nick from the Backstreet Boys had kissed her hand - she had been waiting outside the venue and didn't have a ticket, but she just wanted to *see* them - and Nick had sauntered over and started signing autographs, and Chloe had began to cry because she didn't have a pen or a book. But Nick saw her, and wrote on her hand with another girl's pen "Keep smiling for me - Nick" and then kissed it. She had vowed then never to wash her hand again. Of course, she did have to wash it eventually, and after a couple of days the signature disappeared, but she had preserved it for as long as she could.
And in the shower she had experienced the same kind of feeling, and felt simultaneously ashamed and angry with herself... this wasn't Nick from the Backstreet Boys, this was her father - and it wasn't exactly a kiss either. Her own father had cum on her face and... and... as she began to remember everything that had happened yesterday, her hands wandered to her moistening sex. Chloe thought of that second where the entire world seemed to stop still - and then she had felt the first wad of daddy's cum hit her face. Her fingers ran over her clitoris with ever-increasing rapidity, her middle finger moving in and out, in and out of her pussy until she shuddered to orgasm, half-sitting with her back against the glass of the shower stall.
After her shower Chloe sat in front of the dresser, a white towel wrapped around her body as she brushed her hair in front of the swivel mirror... and that set her thoughts wandering first, then galloping away from her. Thinking about how she had examined herself in the mirror, thinking to herself how obvious it might look, but secretly... had she been admiring herself? She began to think again of her father; his manhood only inches away from her face. How would he have reacted if, instead of simply watching, she had leaned forward and taken the head of his cock into her mouth? Her lips sliding over the head while one hand moved slowly up and down the shaft, pumping his cock-
She snapped out of it suddenly as a car door slammed directly outside the house. She glanced at the clock on the dresser and saw that it was almost 10:15 - a bad habit she had picked up since she rarely had to attend morning lectures. Quickly tying her hair back she stood up and turned out of the bedroom, running down the stairs to see what her father had brought.
Just as Michael was unpacking the bags on the dining table he heard the unmistakable sound of Chloe's steps galloping down the stairs. He tried on a few grins, then decided that it would probably be a lot better if he just turned to face the music.
"Hi daddy! What did you get? Do we have pancakes? I'm starving!"
Now that, he did not expect. He watched Chloe as she waltzed into the kitchen, her hair tied back, exposing her perfect neckline and those lovely shoulders, wearing only a white towel. She had obviously just come out of the shower, and was apparently trying to see if she could make him explode, as far as he could figure.
"Um... yeah, I got some pancakes." Michael said, sounding dazed and lost as he pulled the from the grocery bag.
Taking the pancakes from his hands, Chloe turned to her father and gave him a winning smile that lit up her eyes and lightened the load on his heart. Just as she put them on the counter and made an attempt to get inside the cellophane wrapping, the phone rang. Before Michael could do more than glance up at the sound, Chloe had already skipped into the hall and grabbed the receiver.
"Hello? Oh, hi Jen! Yeah, I'm pretty good, you?" It was Chloe's best friend from college, Jennifer and not, as Michael had been half-expecting, half-dreading, the office asking him just when in the merry hell he was coming back in to attack the mountain of paper that had surely accumulated on his desk. Jen lived in a dorm only a couple of miles from their house, but at the end of the term she would be going back home, which was around 200 miles away. Chloe turned away from her father as she spoke, and he could see the smooth line of her back where the towel had sagged down a little. Once again the incestuous thoughts that had plagued him earlier pervaded his mind now, only reinforcing the erection that had magically appeared the second he saw his daughter enter the kitchen wearing only cotton. Even though she was now facing the entranceway, she still spoke loudly enough for him to hear her as she spoke to Jen about college work and the upcoming cheerleader tryouts.
"Hmm? Oh last night, I didn't do much after class - just came home and collapsed in front of MTV."
Michael had been putting away the sparse groceries he'd picked up, but at his daughter's mention of last night his ears pricked up and he froze, his heart palpitating wildly in his chest. Realizing he was just being stupid, he felt his adrenalin climb down to a more reasonable level. "This situation is gonna kill me soon," he thought, still feeling too tightly wound.
Chloe always lost track of time and place talking to Jen - the first time they had met in class they went to a bowling alley with some other guys in the afternoon, and the pair ended up chatting in the bar for 7 hours, right up until the collecting-shoes-guy had to tell them they were closing the alley for the night. And now, talking like there was no tomorrow, feeling utterly safe in her pseudo-secretive conversation, she was about to open her mouth and change her own life.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm still sleeping in daddy's room... oh God! You're not gonna *believe* what happened when he was asleep, he..."
And at that moment Chloe's mouth dropped open as reality swept in and made her realize what she was talking about. Michael had spun around on his heels and, although he was no doctor, he was pretty sure his heart had just stopped. Chloe's hand had grown slack on the receiver and it made an attempt to slip out of her hand. As she grappled not to drop the phone on the wooden floor and, somehow, impossibly, draw more attention to herself, she let go of her towel and with a silent whisper it floated to the floor as the handset was saved. Now half-facing the wall, Chloe turned to see her father, and the look on his face registered every truth for her; he had seen the state of Chloe when he got up, he knew what must have happened in the night, and was wishing desperately that he could somehow unmake it... yet, in a bizarre repeat of the previous day's scenario, Chloe found herself staring at her daddy's crotch where an unmistakable bulge had formed.
"Daddy," she half-whispered, turning to him, not daring to pick up her towel (and, in truth, not seeing much point in it) "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to watch." Her eyes were wide and frightened, and although she wasn't crying, she would be very soon.
Watch? WATCH?! What was she talking about? As far as Michael knew (which, it dawned on him, seemed to be very little) he had had a wet dream at the grand old age of 40 and cum all over his daughter's face... and Chloe had known about this? Had, in fact, not only been awake but actually watching as her father came and came all over her face? He suddenly became aware of every molecule surrounding his body, of his own harsh, rapid breathing and frighteningly fast heartbeat, and of his impossibly hard, swollen penis jutting forward, blissfully ignorant of the turmoil his brain was coping with. Fragments of imagery began to shift lazily in his mind, a jigsaw puzzle of memory pieces and deduced logic; during last night's fevered 'dream' during which he had used his own hand to masturbate somnolently, the shuffling sounds he had been making against the sheets had obviously woken Chloe and she had sat up... and proceeded to watch him.
As Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had said under the guise of his creation Sherlock Holmes, "When you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," and as much as Michael couldn't think of his own beautiful young daughter as a voyeur, what she had just said left that scenario as the only possible shape of the madness last night. Chloe had sat in front of her father and watched until... well, until he had cum like a champion, from what he could recall of the sensation.
A single minute had passed in silence as Michael's overworked mind digested this information, and Chloe stood there, naked, yet not quite vulnerable. Initially when her towel had dropped to the floor and she saw the look on her father's face, she felt ashamed at how shocked he looked... but he didn't stop looking at her naked body, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop her eyes from glancing down at the crotch of his pants where an all-too obvious erection was straining against the fabric. When her father still didn't speak, Chloe became even more nervous and, despite her better sense, started babbling in an attempt to fill the vacuous silence.
"I... I guess I couldn't sleep, a-and then I must have... I sat up, I guess, to see if you were awake." What was she doing? Why was she talking at all? Did she actually think this would make things better?
".. but I don't think you were, you know, 'cause you looked totally out, but... but then I saw your arm kinda moving, a little, and then I just... kinda... saw it." A brief pause. Her father looked frozen in his pose, and all of a sudden, Chloe needed to tell him everything. She needed to say everything she had felt, just so that he would say something to her. Anything.
"And I guess I knew what was gonna happen, when I was watching... but I still watched. I watched you.. you know, umm, masturbating, and... I knew you would cum. I knew I was real close, and I guess I knew some of it would probably get on me, but I didn't think about it, I just carried on watching. And... daddy?" She waited for a response, and only saw a slightly expectant look on his face, as if he were in total shock, and any second all of his hair would spring up and go white.
"Daddy, I... I came. I came when, umm, when you came on me." Amazingly (to herself, at least), she laughed a little at this. "Huh, guess that sounds kind of funny."
Michael took in every word that his daughter said, and as she spoke of continuing to watch even though she knew what would happen, Michael felt a tiny little switch tick over in his head. When he realized what this little short-circuit in his brain meant, he honestly couldn't fathom whether it was a great, fantastic thing, or something terrible and dark. It seemed to be all of these things at once. He stepped forward slowly, reaching his hand out to Chloe. Unquestioningly she put her hand in his, and he guided her through to the front room, where he sat on the sheet-covered cream sofa. Chloe was still standing, and he motioned for her to sit next to him. He realized that it didn't seem awkward for Chloe to be naked any longer, at least not to him, especially since she had said the things she had, and he was about to make similar admissions to his beautiful young daughter.
"Chloe, please honey, don't look so scared. If it makes you feel any better at all, I've probably been twice as scared as you about this whole thing all morning. I saw... well, I guess I saw what I did," Chloe's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped open as if to apologize again, but Michael wasn't about to stop once he had started. "and I guess I was feeling pretty awful for doing something like that. I don't know about you, but what you've just told me has made this... a little easier, I suppose. Chloe, if I'm completely honest with you - and I guess I have to be, now more than ever - I don't really do that... you know, masturbate, very often. In fact, hardly ever since your mom died. But a whole bunch of weird things happened yesterday, and when I was half-asleep last night, all I could think of," he paused and took a deep sigh, letting his shoulders sag as he exhaled, almost in resignation of the truth, "...all I could think of was you, princess."
This time it was Michael's turn to get nervous in the ensuing silence. And, like daughter like father, he didn't fail to try and fill the tense void with some noise, even if it was only digging a deeper hole. "I know... I know it's a terrible, horrible thing, a thing that fathers should never, ever think about - but Chloe, I couldn't help it. I swear to God, honey, I couldn't stop the images from coming. I guess... oh shit, Chloe, I'm in love with you. In a way that I shouldn't be. And when I realized what had happened this morning, even though I didn't want to, I started to, um..." as he trailed off, Chloe helped him finish his thoughts.
"Get hard, daddy?" Michael's eyes widened as he looked at her, watching her beautiful, perfectly formed lips mouth those words. Hearing Chloe speak, let alone say what she did, almost startled Michael off the sofa. He looked up into his daughter's eyes, and suddenly knew; he was hers. He wanted her, desperately, and he could see in her eyes, the slight lilt in her voice, and the sly half-smile on her lips - she wanted him too. It was wrong - it was, without meaning to sound cliché, the ultimate taboo. And nothing was going to stop him, or her.
"Did it make you hard, daddy? It just felt so right - that's why I left it there, why I left your cum on my face. I didn't want to wipe it off daddy." And all the time she spoke, Chloe was sinking to her knees in front of him, her eyes never leaving his.