The car couldn't stop. I know this. I know she always wore her seatbelt. I know the car had state-of-the-art airbags. I know she was always careful, never on her phone, hands at ten and two. I know all these things, and I know that despite diminished speed and halogen high beams and steel belted radial snow tires, none of it was enough. The conditions weren't great to start with and had deteriorated as the night wore on, the icy road too slick.
The car couldn't stop.
My wife was killed.
That was six months ago. Six long months of mourning and loss, of grief and pain. Six months of know all those things, and knowing that the car couldn't stop.
It may have been even harder on my daughter Jessica. She was away at school when it happened, and due to their highly competitive academic nature—these were the schools where the girls all wore uniforms and boys were not allowed on campus save for special visiting hours under supervision—it was thought best if she returned to school after the funeral to finish out the semester. So while I had six months of living with ghosts in the house, the spirits in the bed, Jessica was away and shielded from it all.
This made her loss and emptiness even greater.
We connected that semester while she was away, through letters and over the phone. We were close before—as close as any father and daughter can be—but evolved way beyond the norm through our correspondence. When the term was over, I picked her up from the airport desperate to see her again. What walked off the jet way shocked and astounded me.
My little girl had grown up. Her neck length strawberry blonde hair framed her beautiful face—so like her mothers, but everything else had changed. She was tall, so much taller now, her height accentuated by the white knee high stockings and short plaid skirt that for some reason those highly competitive academic schools still saw as learning appropriate. Her chest had filled out, and was visibly straining against the white button down shirt and matching plaid vest that accompanied the skirt. Several young men were ogling her, and I found myself sliding from inappropriate erotic fantasy to enraged father mode very quickly. She smiled when she saw me, but it was the sad weary smile of one who simply has seen too much, worn down by the weight of the world. She ran the last few feet and we embraced fiercely. To my horror, I found the feel of her body pressed up against me was swinging back to erotic again, and a sizeable bulge was forming in my pants.
"Dad, it's so good to see you." She said, parting from the hug. If she noticed anything amiss, she gave no sign.
"Good flight? What do you want to do first night back? Dinner?" I asked, grabbing her carry on and holding it in front of me to hide any inappropriateness.
"Actually, I just wanna grab a pizza and go home." She sighed and tugged on the collar of her blouse. "I'd like to get out of these clothes."
And now it was my turn to smile, knowing what she meant. "Whatever my baby wants."
An hour later with pizza in hand, we arrived home. We chatted a lot in the car en route, playing catch up and as we drew closer to the house, I could feel the tension between us start to build. She was nervous about coming home, distracted by the thought of her mother not being there.
She paused by the garage door that lead into the kitchen. "I can't shake the belief that mom will be in the kitchen baking cookies and waiting to give me a big hug as soon as I open this door."
I put my arm around her and hugged her close. "I have the same feeling every time I come home. I keep expecting to see her. Sometimes I can smell her perfume, or I'll hear her voice calling me... and there's never anyone there."
She hugged me back, and after a moment, we braved the doorway together.
She wasn't in the kitchen, and there were no freshly baked cookies.
Later that night, after we had watched a movie and exhausted our pizza, I bade her goodnight. I had kept her room unchanged since she left for school, and was concerned now that may have not been the best thing for her to come home too, but she seemed pleased with the familiar trappings. We said our goodnights and it was lights out.
I dreamed of my wife that night. She came to me in my dream, and her small delicate hand reached out for me, lightly tracing up and down the skin of my penis with the very tip of her finger nails. I felt her breath on my ear, smelled the sweet intoxicating smell of her perfume.
I was awakened by a small voice beside the bed. "Daddy?"
I propped one eye open. Jessica was standing beside the bed. She was still in her bed clothes—a white t-shirt and nothing else—and had her arms laced behind her back, a common unconscious pose from her childhood when she wanted something she wasn't sure her parents were going to grant.
"Mrah?" I responded, still not quite with it, feeling the effects of the dream.
"Can I sleep with you tonight? I don't want to be alone."
It wasn't uncommon in her early years to crawl into bed beside my wife and I after a bad dream, so without thinking, I muttered a "yes."
She brightened visibly at that, and peeled back the bed sheets. I started to bark a protest, as I have slept in the nude every night since I turned fifteen, but she just laughed. "S'okay, Daddy. I sleep naked too." And with that, she stripped the t-shirt up and over her head. Time slowed to a crawl for a pounding heartbeat, as I swear I could see the soft, worn cotton slide so agonizingly up across the swell of her, teasing across one nipple with the elegance of a striptease. Then her ample breasts fell out of the T-shirt and drew my eyes in like twin homing beacons. This was my daughter, but I couldn't help but stare, becoming more fully awake by the second.
Another pounding heartbeat later, time resumed as she bounded into bed with me, rolled over and snuggled her back up against me. Horrified, I found my dream erection was no dream, and was now nestled quite snuggly against the cleft of her ass.
She giggled. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" It was an old line from an old movie we both loved, but I found the humor missing here.
"Jessica," I started, trying to pull away, but she backed up further. She reached over and grabbed my arm and guided it around her body, holding me against her.
"Lay still, Daddy. I need the comfort of knowing you're close tonight."
I was out of my mind, lying naked with my eighteen year old daughter pressed against me like that, my left arm resting gently on the swell of her bosom, but I tried to honor her request. I laid my head down on the pillow next to her. My heart was beating, pounding, throbbing a thousand times a minute, and my hardness seemed to be pulsating with readiness.
The smell hit me first. The sweet smell of my wife. Her perfume. It flowed though my nostrils and tickled my brain, sending waves of memories crashing and cascading through my mind. Without quite realizing I was doing it, I nuzzled the back of her neck. Jessica let loose a soft moan, and brought my hand down to rest on her, taking my finger and tracing the outline and stiffening nub of her nipple before cupping my hand on her right breast.
"I guess I gave you a nice dream." She said.
"Wha-?" I started to respond, not understanding. Her arm reached back up and over between us, and she ran her finger nails down the length of me that wasn't pressed against her.
"I made you hard, so I guess you liked it." And she giggled again.
The dream... She was wearing my wife's perfume. Her mother's perfume. And the touch... I sat up and moved away from her, and a part of me cried out in anguish at having to leave her nubile body. "Jessica, what are you doing?"
She rolled over and looked at me. "I just want you to be happy Dad. I know you miss mom something fierce. I know it's been hard on you. So I thought this would make up for her not being here. I thought you could... have her again. And I know you liked it." She reached for me again.
"Jessie darling, no. This is wrong. I don't want some... carbon copy of your mother. That wouldn't be fair to her, sweetheart."
She looked at me for a moment, weighing what I said. Then she sat up opposite me, the blankets falling back from her shoulders and showcasing her body in the moonlight streaming in from the window. "I understand. Don't take the dream of mother, but... take me for me. Oh Daddy, I've wanted you for as long as I can remember."
And to my eternal damnation, the part of me that knew this was wrong on every level but wanted her anyway, sent a relay message through my nerves to my penis. It had been flagging the last few moments, but now a new pulse shuddered though it, and there was no denying I wanted my daughter. I wanted my daughter with her strawberry blonde hair and long legs and big tits. I wanted her more than I have ever wanted a woman.
My indecision cost me, for to her it was a sign. She crawled forward, grabbed my pulsating dick and guided it toward her mouth. "Let me taste you, Daddy. I want this."
As her lips touched me, it was all I could do to keep from coming right then and there. And as she progressed, I realized my daughter was far from naïve when it came to giving blow jobs. She handled me like a real pro, expertly sucking and stroking my engorged member. The sight of her taking me in finally proved to be too much, and I unloaded what felt like gallons of cum, spasming over and over. Jessica squealed with delight and swallowed down every last drop, then proceeded to lick and suck me clean.
"Your turn." She said, licking her lips, as she lay back on the bed and spread herself open before me. The sight of her brought me back to arousal, but I needed to taste her as bad as she did me. I crawled between her legs slowly, and exhaled a puff of air across the soft folds of her. She shivered in anticipation. My tongue darted out for the briefest of brief touches, then again more slowly as I tasted her from the pool of her cum that had already formed, up the inside of her lips and flicked lightly at the rose bud dome of her clit.
Now it was Jessica's turn to spasm. Her right hand groped at her breast as her left hand grabbed the back of my head and forced me down onto her. "More..." she moaned, grinding my face into her. "Oh Daddy, more!" I pressed my face, my tongue, my mouth to her, and alternated licking and sucking until she had built herself into frenzy. "I want you inside me."
I found I was already hard again at the prospect as she pulled me up level with her, her hands found my hips and pulled them closer, toward her core. The head of my penis grazed across her clit, and we both jumped. The taboo electricity had us panting for each other with lust.
I pushed. I slid forward, hesitated, and then drove smoothly into her tight wet pussy. Jessica gave a sharp intake of breath, and for one brief moment, my wife was alive and young and vibrant again. Then she moaned, not my name, but "oh, daddy!" and the sensation changed, and intensified. This was not my wife, but my daughter. My sweet little girl turned into a hot woman, calling out for me do more and do it faster. I brought her upright, putting her in control of tempo, and we held each other tightly as she bounced in my lap, juices seeping out from her, down my hardness and over my balls.
She arched her back, bringing her full chest up to me, and I hungrily took her in my hands, hands that could barely contain those beautiful mounds, and sucked first on one nipple then the other. She clawed at my back as she bounced harder and faster, her breath coming in strong short bursts, sweat running down her face. "Fuck me like you fuck my mother! Oh daddy, oh oh daddy, daaaaaadddy!" She swiveled her pelvis to grind down hard, and I grabbed her body in my arms to hold her close as we both came. If my eruption rivaled the eruption of Vesuvius, hers mirrored Niagara Falls.
I buried my face between her boobs as she panted hard, and broke down and wept. As wrong as it was, as damned as I was, it was simply the most turned on and erotic sex I'd ever had. The taboo nature heightened everything, and as much as I did NOT want to pass out, did NOT want to miss a moment of the beauty and glory of my daughter in full orgasm, I knew I was dangerously delirious.
She shushed me, running her fingers through my hair. "I love you, Daddy. I always have, and I always will." And we fell asleep in each other's arms.