Darling Nikki Ch. 01

This is a longer story than I've written in this genre before. So if you're looking for a quickie, you can probably find something more to your taste. For anyone wanting more of a story than just erotica, I sincerely hope you enjoy my efforts. And just to make sure anyone reading this is aware, this story will contain incest. It's just going to take awhile to get there. So if incest isn't your thing, you might want to move along. If it is, have patience.

All characters in this work of fiction engaged in any sort of sexual activity are 18 years of age or older

Chapter One: A Shock to the System

"Here's your Angry Orchard, Daddy. And one for me, of course." My daughter dropped onto the couch next to me, splashing a bit of the cider out of the top of her bottle. She giggled and licked her hand. She looked over at me, smirking. "Can't let alcohol go to waste, right?"

I just smiled, put my arm around her, kissed her cheek, and took a sip of my drink.

My little girl - not so little anymore, honestly. She's 22, smart, caring, kind, adorable, and just an amazing person. I could never understand how I raised such an incredible human being. Of course, much of the credit goes to my late wife, gone these last 8 years, a victim of cancer. I was only 32 when she was diagnosed; my wonderful Nikki was just 14. I tried hard, every day, to let her know that Mom and I loved her very much, and that even though Mom was sick, it didn't change the fact that we were both with her, always.

My wife, my partner, my best friend, my high school sweetheart, Meg, passed away a mere two years later after putting up a hell of a fight. The only thing that kept me from blowing my brains out was Nikki. Not just because I couldn't put her through the loss of both parents, but because she gave me something to live for. Meg came from a comfortably well-off family; the behest from her parents, the house we lived in, was Meg's childhood home and completely paid off, plus what her insurance policy provided us, allowed me to quit my job and get part-time work, leaving me free to spend all my free time with Nikki, whenever she wanted to spend time with her old dad.

When Meg got sick, Nikki quit all her extracurricular activities. We both tried to get her to stay involved, to build her activities and college resume. We wanted her to keep planning for, and building, her future. She wouldn't hear of it. Nikki's always been very strong-willed. Very focused. When she made up her mind about something, neither Heaven nor Hell could compel her to change it.

So from the time she was 14 until Meg died, the three of us spent every waking moment together. Nikki dropped out of school, instead choosing to be homeschooled so we could spend more time together as a family. She kept up with her closest friends, invited them over frequently, and had as active a social life as possible, under the circumstances. I'd occasionally have to put my foot down to force her to leave the house and hang out with friends while Mom napped. The little brat must have hidden a camera in our bedroom, though, because - without fail - whenever Mom woke up from her nap, Nikki would come waltzing through the door no more than 20 minutes later.

We buried Meg in late May. That first week I couldn't bear the thought of even stepping into the bedroom I'd shared with my wife. I slept on the couch and just wore the clothes that'd been in the dryer the night my wife passed away. After a long day of just sitting quietly together, grieving, when I noticed Nikki starting to yawn, I'd take her up to her room and tuck her in. She'd hold my hand and wouldn't let me leave the room until she was asleep.

Occasionally, while sitting on the couch, trying to desperately fall asleep myself, drinking a bit too much, I'd hear her crying, or calling out. I'd rush to her room, tuck the covers around her, lay down next to her and stroke her arms softly until she went back to sleep. Then back to the couch, another drink, and I'd finally pass out.

Invariably, I'd wake up to the smell of breakfast being prepared, the sounds of Nikki moving around in the kitchen, humming to whatever music was piping through her ear buds. She'd dance into the den, kiss me on the cheek with a, "Morning, Daddy," and bounce back into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Breakfast in 20. Get your butt moving!"

About a week and a half past my wife's burial, when I was insisting Nikki go to bed, she pulled me by the hand up to her room, crawled under the covers and asked that I just stay and talk with her for awhile. We talked until dawn, about everything. We hadn't really talked to each other about Meg's death, and grieving, or anything, really. We'd had two years to prepare for my wife to die, and in the end it was partially a relief, to see her suffering finally end.

We talked about it all, and began healing. We'd both be healing for the rest of our lives, but at least it started. We drifted off sometime after sunup, and when I woke, she was snuggled up to me like when she was really little and a bad dream had scared her.

After that, she insisted that I snuggle with her every night. So I'd snuggle her and run my fingertips lightly over her back until she drifted off, then I'd head down to the couch if I didn't drift off to sleep first. When July rolled around, I decided I'd avoided my bed long enough. I tucked Nikki in, held her until she drifted off, and went to my lonely bedroom. I didn't sleep much that night. I think I sobbed for most of it.

The next day I told Nikki that she was going back to school. She needed to get back into the world outside, getting used to people again, and schedules imposed from the rules rather than by an illness.

That did not go over well. It was the first real fight we ever had. She knew I was devastated, and lost, and hopeless. She was unwilling to leave me alone just to go to school. She argued that even with Mom's illness, she had advanced in her studies to college freshman level, and that finishing High School was a waste of time.

Round and round and round, for 2 days we screamed, plead, reasoned, yelled, begged, argued, and fussed. I finally got my way. I told her she had two choices - she could go back to school, or she could run away. Oh, was she pissed! But back to school she went.

Gods, it hurt! The first couple of days I was basically Forrest Gump. I'd walk her to the door, kiss her on the cheek, and wave her goodbye for her half mile walk to school in our small Texas town. Then I'd sit on the couch and stare out the window, watching for her to walk back home.

The third morning, after she'd left and I watched her out of sight, I turned to sit on the couch and noticed she'd left a bra on its arm. I did the laundry for our little family, so I'd seen her bras before, but usually we were fairly neat and didn't leave clothes just strewn around. Then I looked around the room, actually seeing it for the first time in a while. My gods, the place was a mess! There wasn't half-eaten food sitting around, or nasty dishes, just clothes, and newspapers and...detritus. I looked around the rest of the house, disgusted with how I'd let the house fall apart, and spent the rest of the morning cleaning. I also resolved to stop drinking so much. It wasn't really a problem, but I definitely didn't want it to become one.

When Nikki got home from school, I had a really nice lunch ready for her. We spent an hour or two just talking about everything. My daughter quickly became my entire world.

I got a succession of part-time jobs, just to have something to do while she was in school, and basically saved everything I made so I wouldn't have to work during the summer. That's what I still do, even though she's just graduated college and obviously won't have summer breaks anymore.

Our lives had a regularity to them that would probably bore a lot of people. The same routine day-in and day-out, but it worked for us. Especially since we both enjoyed a bit of spontaneity. I'd occasionally go get her out of school an hour or two after she'd gotten there, and take her for a day of shopping. Or she'd suggest we take the weekend and drive to some little town in the middle of nowhere and just go exploring.

A couple of years after Meg's passing, she seemed to fully embrace re-entering life. She'd occasionally come home from school on a Friday and tell me that the house was being invaded by her teenaged friends that night, and probably Saturday, too. I'd groan and bitch, trying hard to play the gruff Dad, but truly thrilled that she was adjusting so well to Meg's death, and moving on with her life. I'd make myself scarce, but we only lived in the one house; it's not like I could entirely escape the laughing, squealing, sometimes scantily-clad teenaged girls running around. I loved those weekends. Hated them too, 'cause they were, well, my daughter and her friends.

And, to be honest, while I heartily appreciated the flash of youthful limbs, flat tummies, breasts - often unfettered under their shirts - I never saw my daughter as a sexual being. She was just...my Nikki. Her friends? Hotties! And when they'd spend the weekend in the summer, spending most of the day in bikinis that were waaaay too small, I'd enjoy the view, but stay out of their way and let them have their fun without Nikki's old Dad hovering around and hampering their fun.

I've never really thought about it, but Nikki and I have a pretty unique relationship for a father and daughter. She told me a lot that I wasn't just her Daddy, but her best friend. We talked about everything. Since her mom was gone, I tried to be both her mom and her dad. I took her to her doctor's appointments, made sure she was on birth control. She complained when her period was worse than usual, when she got crushes on boys or girls. She'd tell me when a friend had a crush on me, and how she thought it was so awesome that she had a handsome Daddy that her friends crushed on.

Nikki used to get really exasperated with me over my "blindness to see how cute you are, Daddy!" One weekend in particular, when she was 18, she warned me that "the girls" were coming over. "And I'm going to prove to you that Chelsea has a crush on you!"

I never quite believed her about her friends. I'm only 18 years older than she is, but I'm not some heart throb. I'm just an average guy, with, you know, hair, and sometimes facial hair, sometimes not. I'm on the tall side, but nothing special in the looks department. I try to stay in shape, and for a guy who was - at the time - 36, I wasn't doing too bad. My stomach was still flat, my arms and legs and butt were all still tight, and I didn't have a double chin. Oh, and I still had all my hair, with no grey. Quite honestly, I could easily pass for ten years younger than I am. Still can. But a handsome Daddy? Nope.

I had exactly zero clue what she intended to do, but put it out of my mind. Instead, I just picked up a bunch of junk food, hit Red Box for a decent selection of movies, ordered some pizza, and retired to my office. I'd set it up as a sort of man-cave. I had my desk and laptop, plus a comfy arm chair, a really nice TV and Blue Ray player, my Xbox One, and had wired it for surround sound.

I was prepared for a - somewhat - relaxing evening of watching movies and gaming. Nikki apparently had other plans. At least once an hour, I'd hear, "Daaaaaaady!" So I'd pause my movie, head to the den and answer whatever question Nikki or the girls had, fetch them more drinks or pizza, move the couch, whatever.

As the night wore on, the girls were definitely getting more and more comfortable. I'd hear Nikki calling for me again, head to the den with giggling preceding me down the hallway. When I stepped into the den, all the girls would stare at me, smirking, each time wearing successively less clothing, or less "daytime" clothing, anyway. And every time I came into the room, Nikki would surreptitiously nudge Chelsea, who would blush from her head to her toes.

I'd get whatever the girls needed, answering their questions, tossing jokes at them, what have you. At one point when Nikki called me back, Chelsea's shirt was unbuttoned so far I could see her pierced navel, and the lacy, purple, very well-filled bra she was wearing. As casually as I could, I finished distributing the drinks and snacks, then prepared to head back to my hidey-hole. On the way to the door I caught Nikki's eye and beckoned her to follow.

Once into the den, I motioned for her to close the door, then sat back in my recliner, and just looked at her, one eyebrow raised. The silence was too much for her.

"What?"

"What are you doing to that poor girl? Why is she blushing every time I come into the room? And why the hell is her shirt unbuttoned?"

Nikki threw her hands in the air, rolled her eyes, and sighed in exasperation. "I told you, Daddy, I was going to prove she has the hots for you! Unbuttoning her shirt was her idea!"

"Uh-huh. Not all all suggested by you? Encouraged by you? Instigated, in some way, by you?"

She had the decency to look guilty. For maybe three seconds. "Well it's your fault! She's been trying for months to get your attention! If you don't give her a wink or a pat on the fanny or something, don't be surprised to wake up with your dick in her mouth! The poor girl is practically dripping for you!"

Despite how close we were, and the fact that Nikki and I talked about everything, I had absolutely no response. Not only was I surprised by Chelsea's apparent interest, but I'd never heard Nikki say anything quite that explicit. And I had no idea why she was pushing this. I opened my mouth to speak - I honestly have no idea what I was going to say - when she leaned forward and put a finger on my lips.

"Daddy, I love you. But it's been two years since Mom died, and she was sick for two years before that. You don't go out. You don't meet people. And if you masturbate, you're really, really quiet. You. Need. To. Get. Laid. So if something occurs tonight...if you're in bed, and suddenly you're not alone in bed, just let whatever happens happen. Everyone in this house is of the legal age of consent; 18 or older. So don't argue with me. If you have the opportunity to wet your wick, you had just better take it."

And with that, she bounced out of the room, back to the party. And because of that conversation, I still, to this day, have no idea what movie I was watching.

Whatever movie it was, when it was over I put the disk back in its case, turned everything off and went to bed. Since I had a raging erection I purposefully just called out, "Good night, girls," as I moved quickly past the door to the living room, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. I barely remember stripping down to the buff, crawling under the covers, and passing out.

I do, however, remember quite clearly waking up to the sensation of a warm, wet, very welcoming mouth sucking on my throbbing cock. Words escaped me, so I tried tapping the head belonging to the mouth blowing me. I got a muffled "mmph" in response, followed by increased sucking.

I tried gently pulling whoever it was off of me; she wasn't having any of that. She tried pushing my hands off her. We ended up tussling a bit and I finally slid out from under her. I flipped on the light next to my bed and looked down into Chelsea's green eyes. As I just stared at her, she started crying.

"Oh, don't cry. Please, sweetie, don't cry."

"Why don't you want me? I've been practically throwing myself at you for months! Is there something wrong with me?"

I pulled her up against me, relishing the feel of her naked flesh against mine, shivering as her hard nipples dragged along my skin. I cuddled her into my arms and stroked her luxurious brown hair. "No, sweetheart. There's not a damned thing wrong with you. But...you're eighteen. I'm literally twice your age. That's a hell of an age difference. I mean, other than apparently finding each other desirable, what do we have in common?"

She sniffled a little and snuggled up closer to me, her hand trailing down my side, then down to my thigh. My cock twitched a little at that. I felt her smile. "For right now, what more do you need? I'm sure we have lots in common, Mr. Crowley. And even if we don't, you're a man, I'm a woman, and I really, really like you. I really want you. Please, please make love to me. I've wanted you for years. Don't tell me no. Please?"

She kissed my chest. Her hands increased their pressure on my flanks. She raised off me a little, purposefully dragging her large breasts across my body. She kissed her way up to my neck, gently licking and nibbling occasionally. She kissed my lips, her tongue flicked out and licked mine; she pressed her tongue into my mouth.

I pulled away from her kiss long enough to ask, "What would your parents say?"

She laughed. "Who gives a shit? They're both too busy to notice me. So shut up and kiss me, Mr. Crowley. Make me yours." She kissed me passionately, almost desperately. I wasn't quite ready to give up, yet, so I rolled her over onto her back and pulled my mouth away from hers.

Before I could speak, though, she said, "All the boys in school just stare at my tits; they don't look beyond my boobs. My dad is an asshole and a drunk who's never home. You are the only man I've ever met who treats me with respect. The only one who's ever had a conversation with me, shown an interest in me as a person. And while I don't love you," she spread her legs and thrust upward, putting my thigh right on her crotch and began rubbing her sex against me, leaving a hot trail of fluid, "I do want you. So please shut the fuck up, kiss me, and fuck the hell out of me." She grabbed the back of my head and pulled me back down to her mouth.

Finally accepting that she actually wanted me and wasn't just up here because my daughter put her up to it, I kissed her hard. I let my weight settle on her as I pulled her hands off the back of my head, put them over hers, and locked her wrists together one-handed. She moaned into my mouth as she felt my cock pressing against her. I slid it along her nether lips, slowly, torturously, grinning into our kiss as she writhed harder and harder, trying to slide me inside.

I kissed my way down to the base of her throat, then kissed and licked my way over to dig my tongue into the nerve cluster right between her neck and shoulder. She gasped, her body convulsed, and the stream flowing from her young quim became a raging torrent. I worked on her neck and shoulders with my mouth for a few minutes, having to grip her wrists tighter to keep her from breaking free. She moaned, gasped, writhed and begged. I kissed my way down the outside of her left breast, chuckling at the sounds she was making, the fingertips of my left hand trailing teasingly down her belly toward the well-trimmed tuft of hair between her legs. I dragged them through her down; she wriggled around, trying to get my hands on her pussy. I just moved my hand over to her thigh and dug my fingers into the taught skin.

She cried out, "Holy fuck! Stop teasing me already!"

Grinning evilly, I stopped everything I was doing and just looked at her. After a moment, she looked up at me in confusion. When I was sure I had her attention, I whispered, "I'll stop teasing you when I'm good and god damned ready. But if you're a good girl, I'll make you come harder than you've ever come. Do you want that?"

She just nodded her head.

"Then ask me. Nicely. Politely."

"Please, Mr. Crowley. Please touch me. Kiss me. Please make me come harder than I ever have before. Please?"

In response, I closed my lips around her hard, pink little nipple and began sucking. My hand slid over to her pussy, my fingers grazing across her lips. I opened my mouth wider, sucking in more of her young, firm tit. I sucked gently, watching as her eyes rolled back in her head. I slid my hand down her arm, feeling goose bumps rise above her elbow. Then I bit down on her breast. Not hard, but she definitely felt it.