Nude Melissa

Julia gripped Ben's wrist, desperate for his touch. She held him tight against her body and muttered for him to slide a finger inside.

"Ben..." the woman gasped when his finger slid over her clitoris. "Fuck ... Oh fucking hell, Ben. Yes."

They kissed again, their passion surging as Ben tickled Julia's clit and then pushed a single digit into her opening. Julia's fingers worked at Ben's erection, a snail-trail of pre-cum smearing over her wrist.

Ben hefted one breast and ducked in to take a dark and elongated nipple between his lips, sucking at the woman's flesh before he swapped that teat for its twin.

Julia's free hand moved over Ben's body, the unfamiliar sensation of youthful muscle beneath her touch thrilling her so that a fresh wave of desire washed over her senses. She wanted him inside her -- now! She didn't care if he was in her mouth or her pussy; she simply craved the man and needed his beautiful cock inside her somewhere ... Anywhere.

Ben felt the same urgency, but for him it was a near overwhelming desperation for release. He saw himself pounding at Julia, his cock driving into her body as he sought his climax. He had no time for finesse or gentle love-making, Ben was blind to all that. For him it was pure, animal lust, an instinctive and visceral urge.

"Naked," Ben babbled. "You're nude and |I fucking love it." The words grated out of him, a harsh exhalation of desperation through gritted teeth.

Ben's fingers curled inside Julia and the woman gasped.

She let go of his cock, both her hands going to his shoulders for support.

"Do that again," Julia managed to mumble. "Rub me inside like that, again."

Ben, not feeling the woman's teeth as they sunk into the flesh between his shoulder and neck, braced his wrist and fucked into Julia for several stiff-fingered strokes. He then curled his digits again, the tips rubbing at a rough place inside her, the spongy wetness squelching and farting around him as he probed.

"If..." Julia gasped, her head lolling forward. "If you keep doing that ... Oh, fuck." Julia's nails dug into Ben's skin on his shoulders. The woman winced and chewed her lower lip, her eyes glazing. "If you keep doing that," she mumbled, "I'll come."

"Yeah?" Ben responded. "Are you going to come, Mrs Morgan? Are you really going to com on my fingers?"

A loose nod and a moan confirmed how close the woman was to orgasm.

"Then get there, Mrs Morgan," Ben urged, his expression wild-eyed, slightly crazed with desire. "Come on..." He licked the woman's cheek, one arm around her torso holding her upright while he massaged that place inside her. "Cum for me, Mrs Morgan. Let me see you do it." Ben began to babble again, almost incoherent with lust as nonsense poured out of him. "Big tis wobbling," he panted. "Naked ... You're fucking gorgeous. Fuck, look at you ... just look at you fucking my fingers."

The breath exploded from Julia when she came, and Ben, for all his strength, could hardly hold her upright as she grunted and writhed, her nails scoring deep rents in his chest. As softly as he could, while her climax continued to boil, Ben lowered the thrashing woman to the sand.

He was between her legs, the knob of his cock-head nudging her opening when Julia's eyes focussed on his face.

"Fuck me," she moaned and lifted her feet from the ground, knees folding. "Do it to me, Ben."

They did it twice, the first time hot and frenzied, with Ben pulling out at the moment of orgasm, his seed pouring onto Julia's belly in a thick and heavy rain before, after twenty minutes of tender endearments and long kisses, they made love.

Julia knew, as they walked back to the campsite together, her pussy seeping another man's semen into her underwear, that things between her and Eammon would never be the same. There was a rift now, a rent in their marriage that, as far as she could see, was irreparable. She was surprised at how calm she felt, the realisation dawning that her marriage had probably died some time ago, but she had just refused to accept it.

What was bad was the guilt at what she'd done to her daughter. The taint of betrayal was already curdling inside her, and for that she was sorry, so very sorry.

"I'm going to leave," Julia said as the couple paused at the crest of the dune. She threw a look at the caravan, wondering if Eammon and Melissa were waiting inside. "I'm going home, back to the house. I won't be able to hide what we've done, Ben. They'll know that we ... that we..."

It hit Ben like a shock of cold water being thrown over him: he'd fucked Melissa's mother and his first inclination was to run and hide, to get away and avoid any tears and tantrums.

In later years, married and with a family of his own, Ben would look back and feel the shame of his actions, but at the time he'd looked down at Julia Morgan and nodded, too concerned for himself to worry about the impact of his actions on Melissa or her father. "I think I'd better get out of here too," he said.

And then they set off down the track that led into the site, both of them hoping for an easy getaway.

5

When Julia stormed out of the pub, with Ben following, father and daughter had remained at the table, both of them tense, stiff and unspeaking, a wall of unspoken emotion between them.

The young waitress arrived and, sensing almost palpable disharmony, placed two pints of lager, a gin and tonic and a white wine down without bothering to ask which drink was Melissa's.

"What happened over there?" the waitress whispered to the woman behind the bar, flicking her head towards a stony-faced Eammon and the pouty Melissa.

The barmaid shrugged.

"The woman ran off. Looked upset about something. Young bloke, the good-looking one with the fit bod went after her." She winked and smirked. "Mebbe there's a tangled web of illicit sex and deceit," she added.

The girl chuckled and rolled her eyes.

"You read too many dirty books." She chanced a look over her shoulder. "Shall I leave off with asking if they want to order food? They don't look too happy."

The barmaid nodded.

"Yep. I don't think either of them two has much of an appetite." She gave her indifferent shrug again. "They'll yell if they do want to eat. I'd leave 'em if I were you." Then, already putting the minor altercation out of her mind, she smiled at a couple who walked into the pub and strolled up to the bar. "Evening, folks. Are you dining or is it just a drink ... Janine here will show you a table and take your order..."

Unaware of their fleeting celebrity status among the staff, Eammon and Melissa stayed rooted to their seats.

Eammon picked up one of the pints and drained half in three quick swallows.

"Bloody great holiday," he muttered, wiping the back of his hand across wet lips.

Melissa lifted the gin and drained the glass. "It's your fault," she replied, her voice clipped. "You don't care about Mum, you can't let me just get on with my life."

Stung by his daughter's accusations, Eammon blinked. He looked at Melissa, the injustice of her comments a bubble of pain in his chest. His mouth opened as a sharp rebuke rose out of him -- How dare she speak to him like that?

And then, when he stared into the girl's face, her features spoiled by her own anger and frustrations, Eammon saw her as she'd been when he'd watched her with Ben.

A hot wave of shame wafted over him: he'd spied on his daughter, hidden in the shrubbery all sneaky and clandestine and watched as she'd shared an intimate, a very intimate, private moment.

What kind of man behaved that way? Regardless of his feelings he should accept the fact that Melissa was a woman now. She was an adult and had every right to have a boyfriend and to ... to want to sleep with him, no matter how difficult or unpalatable as that might be for a father to accept.

"Oh, Mel," Eammon sighed, his head lolling with defeat, chin on chest. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Seeing her father so contrite leached the ire from the girl. Her shoulders slumped as the tension drained out of her, the fight and animosity evaporating.

"You're such an idiot," Melissa said, the tenderness in her tone showing she didn't mean it as an insult, more an expression of exasperation.

Eammon nodded.

"I can be," he said, lifting the glass. He swallowed the remaining half pint and continued with, "I know I can be overbearing and authoritative. But that's the job, Mel. I've got to be tough for work."

Melissa rolled her eyes and batted her father's reasoning aside.

"You're not a police inspector at home, Dad. I know they say a policeman is never off duty, but you could just relax when you're not at work?" She leaned across the table and touched her father's hand.

The physical contact, no matter how innocent the gesture was meant, sent a thrill of arousal through Eammon. A vision of Melissa all nude and lovely, smiling that lop-sided grin as she'd flaunted herself at the soldier, knowing she was desirable, flitted across Eammon's inner screen. His cock stiffened.

"I love you, Mel," Eammon said, the words coming out thick and gargled.

Melissa blinked at the weird look that had suddenly crossed her father's face. She shrank back away from him, puzzled at his tone.

She picked up the wine glass and took a sip, eyes heavy with suspicion as she regarded her father.

"Uh ... I love you, too, Dad," the girl replied, uncertain.

Had she really heard that tone in her father's voice? It had sounded like he fancied her. Surely not? It was a mistake. Her dad was just choked up with reaction to all the upset, just like she was. He'd not meant it like it sounded. He loved her, yes, but not like that.

"I love you too, but you've got to stop trying to run my life." Melissa glugged more wine and felt the pleasant buzz of the gin she'd already downed. Her confidence surged. "I'm all grown up. I'm a woman. Dad, you've got to let me get on with it," she said, her tone soft.

Eammon sighed as though he carried an almost intolerable burden.

"I'll try, Mel," he said. "Really, I'll try."

"Do you think we should try and find them?" Melissa asked.

Her father pointed at the beer and wine.

"In a few minutes. Let's not waste these, eh?"

Fifteen minutes later, after checking the caravan and finding it empty, Eammon and Melissa searched further afield. Neither of them considered the beach, reasoning that Ben and Julia would be in one of the other pubs dotted along the road. Julia had been angry and upset, Ben would have caught up with her in no time and probably have steered he to another pub.

Eammon and Melissa tried three more pubs, taking a drink in each before deciding, both feeling the effects of alcohol, to check the caravan again.

"That's funny," Eammon said, slipping on the S. "Ben's tent's gone."

It took three attempts to get the key into the lock, with Eammon squinting one-eyed, concentrating hard. Too much booze too quick on an empty stomach.

The note was propped up on the kitchen counter.

"How could she do it?" Melissa sobbed, stunned by her own mother's duplicity. "And him ...? How could he do it to me? With my mother!"

Eammon couldn't help himself. Melissa's body was pressed against his front, his arms were around her. His instinct was to hold her and comfort her, soothe her like a father should. But his head fizzed with ale and his responses were all messed up. The combination of beer, carnal yearning for his own daughter and the girl's distress somehow grew muddled. His thinking blurred, the line of morality distorted, and in a moment of weakness, unable to resist, Eammon allowed his hands to slide under the hem of Melissa's tee-shirt.

The skin of her back felt incredible, smooth under his palms as his hands slid higher, fingers reaching the strap of Melissa's bra. He pulled the girl closer, his nose in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, the embrace tightening as his cock swelled.

Lust boiled inside Eammon, it was all too much. She was so pretty, so bloody gorgeous. Melissa smelt so good and she was so warm pressed to him.

Eammon groaned, a long, low moan of visceral longing as, without truly knowing what he was doing he unclasped his daughter's bra and, stepping back, hauled its cups and the front of the girl's tee-shirt upwards.

"Melissa," Eammon sighed, his eyes fastened on his daughter's breasts. "You're so lovely..."

Part Two

1

Melissa, her responses slowed by alcohol, eventually realised she was standing there with the front of her tee-shirt yanked up, her breasts somehow bared. Then, stunned by alcohol and surprise, the shock at what her mother and Ben had done still rocking her, it came to Melissa: her father had done this. He was the one who'd undone her bra and pulled her tee-shirt up.

A dim recollection of his expression and the husky timbre of is voice, so laden with sexual desire, came back to her, penetrating her fogged mind. The way he'd looked at her in the pub...?

At the time she'd shrugged it off, dismissed it, but now she couldn't deny it, he was there in front of her, eyes all glazed, his face almost idiotic. Her father was almost salivating with whatever deep, base desire he had curdling inside him.

The girl pulled back, wrenched herself free of the man's grip, her tee-shirt tearing.

"What the fuck...?" Melissa spat, sobering quickly in the adrenalin rush. "Dad ... Jesus, Dad, what are you doing? Have you gone in-fucking-sane?" The girl pawed at her bra, struggling to cover herself.

"I saw you," Eammon blurted. "Out there, with him." His arm flapped in the vague direction of the dune. "I saw you with him." The man sucked in a breath, blinking at Melissa as the girl took a step backwards. "You were so lovely, Mel," he whined. "So bloody gorgeous. I couldn't help it, darling. I watched you, with him and I wanted it to be me. You're such a pretty girl, Mel, so precious. I..."

Eammon swallowed quickly several times, his throat working as he struggled to get the words out. He had to make Melissa understand. He loved her; he wanted her.

"...I love you, Mel," he finished with a gasp, rendered incapable of further speech by the whirl of desires inside him.

"Dad... No, don't, don't say that. Don't look at me that way." Melissa's mouth moved, her jaw opening and closing, her eyes wide with incredulity as, stunned, she struggled to make sense of all that had happened -- was still happening.

Her father took a pace towards her, his hand reaching out. He wore a maniacal grin, a rictus of stretched skin around clenched teeth that reminded Melissa on some distant yet oddly lucid level of a Hollywood zombie hungry for brains.

"Fuck off, Dad!" she yelped. "Leave me alone. Are you fucking mental?"

A few moments later, after being brought to his senses by Melissa's frightened, outraged cry and the slap she'd cracked against his cheek, his head still fuzzy with booze through the ringing in his ears, Eammon found himself outside the cubicle that was Melissa's bedroom in the caravan.

"Mel," he mumbled, his forehead resting against the door panel. "Please, baby, let me in. I'm sorry. I ... I need to talk to you ... Mel?"

It would be a simple thing, forcing the lock, but Eammon knew that he'd frightened his daughter enough without resorting to breaking the flimsy latch and barging in on her. He might be pissed but he had enough sense left to realise that.

Eammon felt the beginnings of a headache and stumbled along the short corridor to the kitchen. He poured a glass of water and drank.

What the hell had he been thinking? What a stupid, insane thing to say. How could he have just stood there and babbled all that crap?

Eammon groaned, his toes actually curling inside his shoes with mortification at the recollection of unclasping his daughter's bra and hauling up her tee-shirt.

What must she be going through now? What must she think of him?

Eammon went back to Melissa's door.

Her voice came from the far side of the door panel at her father's knock.

"Go away, Dad. Please, just fuck off."

Eammon heard her distress and acceded to Melissa's request with a heavy reluctance pulling in his guts.

What choice did he have?

The man went to the kitchenette and filled the kettle with water. There would be no sleep for him that night, nor Mellissa either he assumed. Eammon made the coffee and, after discovering a packet of his wife's cigarettes in the drawer when he scrabbled about for a teaspoon, staggered outside, the caravan door clattering against the side panel as he stumbled out into the night air.

Melissa found him there the next morning, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, forehead in the palms of his hands, cold coffee in a cup on the grass at his feet amid the cigarette butts.

2

When her father's face swivelled towards her, Melissa saw his tortured expression -- the anguish etched into parenthesis at the corners of his mouth. She realised with a jolt just how troubled her father was; Melissa thought she understood her father's pain: after all, her mother had just walked out following her infidelity and he'd made a clumsy pass at his own daughter. It was obvious he hadn't slept. Her father looked dog rough, emotionally battered and bruised.

Despite her shock and subsequent anger over Eammon's behaviour, regardless of her own heartache at Ben's betrayal and abrupt, cowardly departure, Melissa experienced a sudden breathlessness and what felt like a huge balloon swelling in her chest.

She felt so sorry for her father and, for all his faults -- the way he tried to rule her life, his apparent lack of care for her mother -- Melissa was caught in the strong current of feelings for him. He'd been great as she grew up, a really good dad, and things might have gotten a little bent out of shape in the last year or so but there were enough good times in her memories that Melissa could find it in her heart to forgive him the aberration of the night before. The drunk with lust-crazed eyes wasn't her Dad, that bloke was boozed up and reeling from his wife's infidelity. It wouldn't happen again, Melissa was certain.

They could put this right, Melissa knew they could. Besides, with her mother having done a runner Melissa needed her father.

"Dad," the girl murmured. "Why don't you come inside? We've got things to talk about."

"Y-you're still talking to me?" Eammon croaked. His throat felt raw, unused to cigarettes and Eammon grimaced at the taste in his mouth. "After what I? ... Mel," he hesitated, unable to bring himself to speak of the way he'd ripped his daughter's tee-shirt and exposed her breasts.

Eammon asked himself the question, again, the one that had been running around in his head all night: What the hell had he been thinking?

He sucked a deep breath in through is nostrils, vaguely registering the early start to what promised, weather-wise at least, to be a glorious day.

"I'm sorry about what I did, Mel. I was in a crazy place. You know, with your mum and everything."

The feelings of sympathy and love for her father swelled in Melissa's chest again, rocks of anger and a need to punish her mother and Ben lurking below the surface.

"I ... I think I understand, Dad," the girl stuttered. "What Mum did..." She shook her head and sighed. "Why don't you come inside and I'll make some tea and toast. We can try to talk about it. We can try to make some sense out of it all, Dad."

Tears prickled Eammon's eyes. He blinked up at the lovely young woman standing framed in the doorway to the caravan.

"Do you forgive me, Mel?" he rasped, not quite believing the strength and maturity of his daughter.

The girl nodded.

"I think so."

She turned quickly and called from inside the caravan.

"Tea and toast, Dad! Then we can talk."

Following brisk activity at the kitchen counter, father and daughter sat at the round table set in one corner of the room, Eammon seated on the curved, moulded plastic bench, with Melissa on one of the spindle-legged chairs, the bulk of the caravan behind her.