Beck Takes Her Clothes Off

Maybe I should just confront her.

Maybe she's just torturing me, because she knows what I dared to write, and I deserve to be punished for it, even if I was supposed to be the only one who would ever see it.

Fuck!

"Hey, Dad? Are you up here?"

For a second, I instinctively think to hide from her again, before immediately realizing that that would be silly.

"Yeah. Sorry, Mark needs a revision of something right quick. I'm not writing anything new. I promise."

She laughed in response.

"Dad, I really don't care if you have to work, you know. I mean, we can spend time on afternoons, when you're done, right?"

"Bell asked me to make sure that I didn't-"

"Ugh! Can I come in?"

I took a quick, conspiratorial look around making sure nothing incriminating was around, then opened up the door, before going back to my seat at the computer station.

"Dad, can you seriously stop living your life around what someone who walked out on you five years ago thinks? I'm an adult, and the two of us can work out for ourselves what we want, and don't want to do. Now I don't have a problem if you work while I'm here, got it?"

I shook my head.

"I don't want to; not for now, at least. I want this time for us, for you. Before you go off to college and... do whatever it is comes next."

She rubbed her arm nervously as she studied me.

"I didn't tell mom this, but... I applied for Brown."

"Brown? But that's-"

"Pretty close to here, huh..."

I shook my head.

"I don't think you should pin all of your hopes on a school like Brown," I began, and she shook her head.

"I know. I sent out more applications, but... only to colleges with great writing programs, and where I could go to... from here."

My jaw actually dropped.

"Your mom is going to-"

"Flip the fuck out?"

I nodded, and she laughed, the laughter dying away to a nervous, pleading expression.

"And, writing programs?"

She nodded.

"You know I love books. Your books, especially? Wouldn't hurt for me to get some tips from the famous author himself..."

I shook my head at her.

"I write trash," I said, and she shook her head.

"Some of it is trashy, but always well written. I mean, I'd like to think I've read enough to know the difference, right?"

"How long have you been thinking about this?" I asked, and she thought about it.

"Since I was about sixteen, I think?"

Wasn't that when Bell first let her start reading my stuff?

Part of me wanted to say, we'll talk about it, but if she'd already gone as far as sending out applications, and planning what she wanted to do, then all I could really do was punch a hole through her dreams.

Besides, didn't I always say I'd pay for whatever she wanted to do?

If she started and didn't like it, then I could just let her move on to something else then.

As I studied her though, I couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride.

That she wanted to do something so closely linked to what I'd done all my life.

"I should let you get to those revisions, huh?"

I nodded, turning to the computer, before nodding awkwardly again.

"Uh, yeah."

"Hey, is it okay if I invite a friend over? Tomorrow evening? She's coming over here to see some family over the weekend, and she really wants to see the place since I'm always talking about it."

"Sure. Is it someone I know?"

She shook her head.

"Her name's Ciara, and I think you'll like her, because she loves your books."

I shook my head derisively, and chuckled.

"You kids will read anything with sex in it, huh?"

"Not just any sex. Good sex. Besides, I told her about the new stash, and she's dying to see some of it."

I snorted at the comment, the nodded, waving her out of the room.

As she left, however, I shut the door and locked it again.

I guess I need to pretend to work for a couple of hours, huh?

I thought about it for a bit, then decided to bring up the activity log on my computer, and I quickly scrolled back to that time period; December of last year.

Because I was writing then, there would be a lot of activity to go through, but I needed to know if someone really accessed that story.

Three grueling hours later, however, I'd found no trace of anything, and I let out a sigh as I pushed my rolling chair away from the keyboard and stood up, heading downstairs.

"Did you order lunch yet?" I asked, and Beck nodded absently as she poured over a manuscript.

Had she really been reading that the whole time?

"Did you finish up your work?" she asked, and I nodded.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?"

She shook her head.

"This is too good to put down."

I shrugged, but as I plopped down on the couch and began to scroll through the stuff on Netflix, Beck crawled onto the floor in front of me, and lay down on her stomach, as she thumbed through the pages of the manuscript on the floor in front of her.

Was that really necessary?

I put something on, but even as the show flickered onto the screen, my eyes were drawn Beck's form, as she kicked her feet carelessly to and fro.

What I wouldn't give to have her lay before me like that, uncloaked for the gratification of my gaze...

As I licked my lips, my eyes travelling the length of her petite frame desirously, the image on the screen before me went black, and I caught the reflection of her eyes locked on to my reflection on the screen, rather than the page in front of her, and as soon as she caught my look, she quickly returned her attention to the book, turning the page.

"What're you reading there?" I asked.

"Warlord," she answered. "At least, I think that's the name. You also have 'Savage' and 'The Goblin Chief' listed as alternate names."

She shifted a little, then pressed her hands to the ground as she lifted her chest off of the ground, and stretched a little, letting out a little moan as she did, and I noted again that her gaze flickered to my reflection on the tv screen, almost as if she were checking to see if she got my attention.

"That's pretty stiff," she said, wiggling her hips a little as she did. "Any chance I can get one of those backrubs mom always complains about missing?"

I tilted my head at her.

"Your mom said she missed my backrubs?"

She rolled onto her side, resting her weight against one hand as she turned to study me.

"She forbade me from telling you that, but I guess I'm in the mood to be a bad girl," she said teasingly, and I winced, as the delivery caused an almost immediate reaction.

"Sorry Beck, those backrubs were just pretext for sex," I said, trying to shrug it away, and she pouted in response.

"What if I make it up to you? Ciara is pretty cute, and she likes you... I could, look the other way for a while," she said suggestively, and I shook my head at her.

"If she's your age, then that's completely out of the question."

"Why? Because mom would hate it?"

I sighed.

"Not that she wouldn't, but that's beside the point," I said.

"You know, mom dated younger guys. Before Steve? Although, dated is probably a bit of a stretch," she said, and I felt a painful twang at my heart.

I didn't need to know that...

"Well, that's her business," I said dismissively, and she continued to study me with that playful look.

"Really? Don't you feel like getting back at her sometimes, though? Like, doing something that you would enjoy, but that you know she'd hate?"

"I think about it, sure. But it wouldn't solve anything..."

"Solve? She left you, dad. There's nothing solvable about that. Wait- are you still holding onto her?"

I shook my head.

"Solve was the wrong word. I meant; it wouldn't change anything."

"Change? So, you want things to change? That sounds just as bad."

I let out a frustrated groan.

"I don't want anything from her, I just mean... it's not healthy for me to dwell on that."

Beck studied me for a bit.

"You don't have to dwell on it. Just a little cathartic release," she countered. "Like fooling around with Ciara..."

"What's gotten into you?" I asked, studying her carefully, and she shrugged, as she returned her attention to her book.

"I'm reading some steamy stuff here. I guess it's just got me in a naughty mood," she answered, glancing at me over the shoulder again, and I shook my head.

"If you change your mind about the backrub, I'm right here~," she sang, and I shook my head again, as I turned off the TV and headed upstairs.

I pulled out my phone and started browsing through my twitter feed, when suddenly, I heard a little *ping*.

Hmm, that's odd.

That wasn't a whatsapp notification; just a regular old message.

Who even sends those these days?

I opened up the messaging app, and the phone number is unrecognizable.

And I don't mean that it's nobody I know, but rather the combination of numbers is so bizarre that it couldn't possibly be a phone number, period.

I opened up the message and it seems to be a link to a reddit forum discussing a story called 'My daughter's cute friend'.

What's that about? I wonder, but as I scroll down the page, there's an extract from the story, and I freeze as I spot the name; Ciara.

I sat up, and zoomed in on the paragraph.

//

"You're younger than I pictured, Mr. B. Can I call you Finn?"

She's naked, and I can see the beads of water forming into droplets as they roll down the curve of her full, round breasts, her thighs, her coffee toned skin, and I feel an almost instinctive desire to taste them. To lick them off of her, and the inviting look in her eyes tells me that she wouldn't mind.

She casts a quick look back; Beck is still in the pool, and out of sight, and she invites me with her eyes. I move in for a kiss, and she moans softly into my mouth. My hand moves to her breast, and I give it a little squeeze before taking the nipple between my fingers, and giving the hard, erect nub a gentle tweak.

"I'm wet right now, Mr. B. And it's not because of the pool..."

//

What the fuck is this...?

The writing style is... did I fucking write this?

No, it had to be someone who was imitating me, but that imitation had been so... accurate, I felt a pit forming in my stomach.

It had to be someone who knew my style, and who had an interest in writing.

Someone who knew enough about me to know, not only my name, which I don't publish under, but the name of my daughter, who I've never mentioned...

I return to the reddit page, then find the link to the story, and as I tap on it, an amateur erotic website comes up; Literotica, and takes me to the member page which reads 'Daddys_Little_Girl'.

Fuck me, I thought.

I tap on the stories section, and my stomach lurches as I see Beck's name.

'Dirty, naked fun: Beck does the dishes nude. Can daddy resist?'

'Naked swimming: Beck gets wet as Daddy takes a swim.'

And finally, 'Naked swimming Pt2: Beck's cute friend gets naked by the pool for daddy.'

I tap on the last story, but as I read the first paragraph, I notice something:

This is written from the daughter's perspective...

Wasn't the forum excerpt from the father's point of view?

I scroll through the story and note that the POV never changes, but also, that the style is completely different from the style of the excerpt, so I quickly return to the reddit tab.

'Daddy in real life', was the name of the poster, and as I scrolled down, I saw a response from a now familiar name:

'Daddy's little girl': Wow, so amazing as usual! Got me all hot and bothered. I'd say that you should write more, but I think we both know that you already do!

There's like three winking emojis, and I shake my head as I read the response.

'Daddy in real life': I have no idea what you're talking about; followed by an emoji who seems to be whistling innocently.

What is this?

Hey, need you to check something out for me, I said, as I typed the message out to Mark.

I attached the link from my phone, then hit send.

What is that?

Someone sent that link to me, I replied.

Whatsapp? What's the number?

SMS, I replied, attaching the number nonetheless.

I don't have access to your phone records. That'll take time. What is this about?

Did you look at the link? I asked.

There was silence for a while, before Mark replied.

LOL. Looks like you have a fan.

I shook my head as I read the message.

There's no reference to me on that forum. Not by name.

Shrug*. I know a copycat when I see one. Wait, is the one writing the story Beck?

You tell me, I replied.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading through the stories and the forum, until Beck called me down for dinner.

"Hey, you missed lunch, you know," she chided, as I climbed down the stairs.

"What did you get?"

"Pizza," she said, gesturing to the kitchen counter.

She took out a few plates and set them down on the counter, but as I settled into one of the bar stools around the counter, she put down her manuscript and turned to study me.

"Hey, how come none of these taboo stories were ever published? Doesn't that genre sell like hotcakes?"

I tilted my head at her.

"Why do you know that?"

She shrugged.

"Been doing my research," she said. "Besides, this story is like oh my god, so hot!"

She slid the manuscript across the table towards me, and as I glanced at it, I immediately recognized the story.

This was a good one.

"Hard to imagine they turned this down," she said.

"I don't think they did," I replied, as I read a paragraph and felt a little stirring of nostalgia.

"Then why is it in the rejected pile?"

I sighed.

"I think this might have been one of the ones that your mom didn't approve of," I replied, and she glared at me.

"Are you kidding me?"

I shook my head at her.

"There were a few she'd never let me write, like 'wife's hot sister' or 'sexy mother-in-law' type things. All of those sell pretty well, but; well, you know..."

"Okay, so publish them now?"

"She would think I was picking a fight with her on purpose if I did that."

"Who cares what she thinks?" Beck shot back, and I chuckled at her.

"Hey, if you really wanna stay here while you go to college, you're gonna have to start caring about what she thinks too."

Beck shook her head at me.

"She can't stop me. I'm eighteen."

"She can't," I replied, "but she could probably make your life a living hell."

She frowned, as she reached for the manuscript.

"This is so good, though. Except for this weird typo."

"What weird typo? This was edited, I think."

I glanced over her shoulder to study the page, but my eyes for a moment are drawn to the visible swell of breast inside of her cotton pajama top.

"Here," she says, thankfully pulling me from my momentary indiscretion.

"That's not a typo. It's the sound of 'thundering'."

"Thundering? Wait, you're saying that's a word?"

I nodded, and she shot me a skeptical look.

"Say it, then," she challenged, and as I moved back into my seat, I cleared my throat.

"Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk."

Her eyes went wide as she followed along with my flawless enunciation of the word, and she laughed as I finished.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?"

"Thundering," I said again. "James Joyce used several of them to represent the sounds associated with cataclysmic events, stuff like that. This one was the thunderclap that sounded when Adam and Eve were cast from paradise."

"Holy shit; and you used it the first time Kathy kisses her brother! That's brilliant!"

I smiled a little at the praise, and Beck shot me a wry look.

"A James Joyce reference, huh? Is that standard stuff for erotic literature?" she teased, and I shrugged.

"No matter what you write, it's good to have a solid foundation. I mean, even if you're writing trash, if you learn by reading trash, then you'll just write trash that's worse than trash."

She giggled at me, then shot me a thoughtful look.

"So, I should start reading Joyce?" she asked, and I shook my head in response.

"Not necessarily. I mean, I do favor the modernists myself, but there are lots of places to build your foundation from. You remember Erica, right?"

"The 'freaky porn lady' that mom thought you were having an affair with?"

I nodded.

"She writes erotic stories about mythical creatures," I explained.

"Like your unicorn story?"

I suppressed a groan at that, as I continued.

"Uh, yeah, but she started with the romantic poets; Wordsworth, Keats, you know, stuff like that."

Beck studied me with a look of awe, as she shook her head disbelievingly.

"I have so much to learn," she said, before moving to my side. "But I have the best teacher."

She wrapped her arms around my shoulders from the side and gave me a quick hug, and I chuckled a little, but as she sauntered off, I stared after her, as that webpage came back to me.

Did Beck really write those stories?

There was no way that that could be a mere co-incidence.

And more importantly, who sent me that text?

I quickly finished up dinner, before heading back upstairs for my phone where a text from Mark awaited me.

I think you need to have a chat with Beck about those stories...

Why? Did she write them?

I hit send, then waited for a reply.

Yeah. There's a lot of traffic from your house to that Literotica page. It's definitely hers. But that mystery man from Reddit isn't you.

I rolled my eyes.

Of course it's not me!

I had to check, he replied with an awkwardly smiling emoji.

Whoever it is, is trying to make her think it is you though. Which is why you need to talk to her.

I shook my head at this.

How do I even have that conversation?

And those messages.

Some of them were outright... flirty.

Can't you just get that profile taken down or something? I asked.

Can try, but this is dangerous. I think you need to bite the bullet and talk to her. If she thinks that is you, then imagine what that person could get her to do...

How do I even bring this up? I ask.

Therapy. I couldn't get tomorrow, but maybe the day after? I'll make the appointment for both of you.

I let out a sigh, as I tried to figure out how to have this conversation.

I didn't want Beck to feel attacked, and she wasn't the one who'd shared this with me.

That mystery number did.

I needed to figure out who that was. And what they wanted...

Beck stayed out of my hair for the rest of the night, but as I drifted off to sleep, the matter weighed heavily on my mind...

That, and apparently Beck's stories, because I found myself waking up to a scene from one of them...

"Mmh," the moan reflexively escapes my lips, as I feel a wetness engulf my stirring part.

Ohh my, I thought. Lucid dreams are the best, but damn... do they usually feel so good?

My cock responds to the stimulation, growing to full mast, and the wetness releases me for a moment, as a probing tongue flicks against my sensitive glans.

"Mm, take me back in," I plead, and to my delight, my ethereal playmate obliges, as I slip once more between her lips.

The space is delightful; warm, slippery, and as I slide deeper in, I feel the tight space of her throat wrapping around my tip, and I long to press further in, but the momentary gasp and sound of gagging stirs me from my reverie.