Eleanor

*** This is a work of fiction. All characters are eighteen or older. Enjoy. ****

She couldn't sleep again. Eleanor could barely remember the last time she'd had a decent night's rest, the last night she'd drifted peacefully off, rather than slowly dragged under by the weight of anxiety and all her other insecurities.

Sometimes she'd take sleeping pills, but they didn't always help. Most nights, she resorted to the only thing that made her feel normal, the only thing that made her feel like everything was okay.

At least, it felt that way sometimes.

She tossed and turned amidst the tangle of sheets, rolling onto her side and pressing her face into the pillow, breathing softly. She squeezed her eyes shut, her legs too, sandwiching her hand between the enveloping heat of her damp thighs. She had her index finger buried deep in the snug, wet grip of her sex, and she rolled her palm gently back and forth over her mound, softly massaging her tender clit.

She knew it would be better if she could just cum, wanted desperately to, but post-orgasm clarity wasn't always her best friend. She let herself hover right on the threshold for over an hour sometimes, savouring the way the haze of endorphins numbed her mind. So she spurred her burning arousal, lulling herself dazedly along, half conscious as the sweet, comforting euphoric haze calmed her mind, all the while infuriatingly avoiding release, until she could take it no longer.

She ground hard, groaning, breathing hard into the pillow as she gripped the soft hood of her slippery clit and mashed it firmly into her pubis, feeling the swell of arousal flare for just a moment, before softening her grip, and sighing as the tantalizingly elusive threads or her orgasm slipped away once more.

She drew her hand free, her fingers glistening and slick. She was soaked, her thighs and ass dewy with sweat, her panties a saturated bundle around her legs, her sheets damp beneath her, her soft crown of dark hair matted to her skin. Her sex radiated heat, clit throbbing with need. Her whole body felt flushed, brimming with that need for release, but deep inside she knew her climax was only going to fall flat and leave her underwhelmed. She rolled onto her back with a sigh, frowning up at the dark roof.

Her eyes still felt puffy from where she'd nearly cried herself to sleep, nearly an hour ago now. She couldn't remember what had started the tears, probably nothing. She knew it wasn't healthy letting the dark shroud of anxiety and over-thinking overwhelm her to the point where she sat curled up in her room crying until she was too tired to move, and then did the only thing she could to feel normal and fall asleep.

Masturbate.

But she didn't care, it got her to the next day and that was good enough.

She felt tears welling again, and forced out a harsh sigh, gritting her teeth.

Ugh, when did I become such a mess...

She'd always had issues with stress and anxiety, but they'd been sporadic, and it was only in the last few years they'd come creeping up on her in force. In the year and a half since she'd finished high school she'd been...drifting, feeling lost and overwhelmed. She put off university, trudged to work four days a week, and took care of her dad as he did his best to take care of her.

It was just the two of them, for eight years now, since her mother had died. Neither of them had ever really gotten over it, she thought. It had likely been the root of her state of mind, but for her Dad, well, he coped in his own way.

Which usually meant he drank himself to sleep most nights. She loved him, God knows she did, he really did his best to be there for her. But she knew he was struggling, and their relationship wasn't always smooth.

He wasn't a mean drunk or anything, the opposite, at least to begin with, but then he just got all quiet and reflective and usually fell asleep. She'd almost gotten used to him stumbling home in the middle of the night and passing out on the couch, where she'd leave his breakfast on the table beside him before heading out in the morning. Nothing would wake him when he was under, just like her, when she actually managed to fall asleep. Her mother had used to joke the two of them could sleep through an earthquake.

He was lonely, she could tell. Early on, a few years after Eleanor's mother's death, he'd started brining home women. Mostly for sex, she knew now, but he'd stopped that. For her, she thought, which made her feel bad, like it was her fault he was so miserable.

She'd hear him, in his room when he thought she was asleep, watching porn as she shoved in headphones and tried to pretend she didn't know what it was he was doing. She'd even grown used to the embarrassment of him stumbling about in sweatpants in the morning, the front tented out obscenely by an erection that never seemed to dull.

She'd been shocked by the size of that bulge the first few times, her face flushing red in embarrassment, but she'd soon found herself glancing at it, unable to stop herself, like being drawn to the macabre scene of a car crash as you drove past. She'd had to stop inviting friends around, what few of them she had, after he'd done it in front of them once.

She remembered sleeping with him when she felt sad, curling up in his bed with his arms around her, feeling safe and secure, and ignoring the hard point jabbing at her back or the softness of her ass as he snored.

It was fine, for the most part. She knew it wasn't really a big deal. It was natural, he was pent up, and she was the spitting image of the women he had loved and lost.

She knew he saw her mother in her, especially when he was drunk, and knew how hard for him that was. She caught him gazing at her, lost, eyes roaming her, and she'd meet his gaze and smile, and it would take him a moment, but he'd smile too.

She had never really understood just how similar they were, her and her mother. It had dawned on her rather suddenly one day, after she'd opened her Dad's laptop, and found pornhub open. She'd almost slapped it shut, but something had compelled her to press play on the video.

She'd watched as ma teenage girl was fucked by a slightly older guy, a typical male pornstar with rugged good looks and an enormous cock. But it was the girl she stared at, the pretty young thing, comely and sweet-looking, a slight belly, curvy and wide-thighed, with a mess of brown hair, rosy cheeks, wide eyes, and large pale breasts with dusky brown nipples.

She'd stared, because it looked so much like her mother. And then, as she saw her reflection in the screen, it had clicked. This girl was her age. It almost could have been her. That was when she'd shut the screen, swallowing, and sat there very still for a long time, as she'd tried to convince herself she was wrong.

But all she could think about was all those erections, those long, lingering looks, the gazing, eyes roaming as she wandered the house in nothing but pajamas.

Was this how he had been looking at her? How he had been...imagining her?

It should have disgusted her, the very idea that her father might be thinking about her in even a vaguely sexual way, but...

But it hadn't, not quite. Instead, it had been a strange and slightly difficult to process moment when she'd realised that if anything it...excited her. It was gross, it made her a little uncomfortable, and she'd always tried to ignore the looks, the bulges, but...

But it felt kind of...good, too. She knew how messed up it was, but a part of her liked being looked at that way, like she was pretty, or desirable, or sexy, even if it was coming from her father. She knew it was harmless, just a little drunken lusting for his deceased wife's memory, but it made her feel...hot. She felt attractive, confident, and more like wearing the kinds of clothes that accentuated her sexuality, something she hadn't felt like doing in a long time.

After a while, when she was feeling down or self conscious, she'd even started doing it on purpose. She'd forgo her bra, and wear something low so that her large breasts would practically be spilling out of them, and savoured the little rush she got when her father's eyes lingered on her ample cleavage.

It wasn't a sexual excitement or anything, just a little boost to her self conscience, and she knew her dad didn't actually want to...fuck her, or anything like that. He just needed to see a real woman. She'd thought it might make things weird between them, make her feel differently abut her father, but it hadn't. It was just looks, and they both got something unspoken out of it.

Until about a month ago, that was, when she'd gone and made it weird. She'd gone to wake him one morning, in an unusually bright mood, wanting to spend some time with him before she left for work, and tugged the covers off his snoring form, revealing his massive erection jutting from his waistband. She'd frozen, hands holding the sheets, and just...stared at it, at her father's rigid cock. Even after seeing it bulging against his pants too many times to count, the size of him still shocked her. His shaft was thick and solid, curving slightly upwards and lined with subtle veins, the base crowded with dark hair, his bulbous glans glossy and deep pink.

She'd stared and she'd stared, breathing shallowly, and in that moment, she'd felt the undeniable desire to reach out and touch it, to wrap her fingers around it and squeeze his throbbing meat.

She hadn't, of course, she'd snapped out of it and got out of there, her face red, her heart pounding, an unmistakable flutter between her legs.

She'd done everything she could to forget the encounter, to squash it down into the dark recesses of her mind. But now, in her half sleep, the memory surfaced, and she saw her father's cock, clear as day.

God, why was she thinking about it? A ripple of wrongness washed through her, her lip curling in discomfort, but she couldn't shake the image. She thought it had just shocked her that he had such a nice cock, because that wasn't something your father was supposed to have. It was just like any other she'd had between her legs or in her mouth, not that there'd been many. If anything, it was nicer than any she'd seen, bigger too, and thicker; certainly not the cock of a forty three year old man.

It was no wonder he'd had trouble keeping his erections hidden.

Although, to be fair to her father, she supposed it wasn't just his cock that she had a hard time accepting was desirable. Her father was an attractive man, especially when he was younger. Eight years of heavy drinking hadn't done him any favours, but he was still handsome enough, just developing a bit of a paunch. He was well built, with a square jaw and greying stubble, and a mess of dark hair that added to the fading remnants of his roguish good looks.

He certainly shouldn't have had too much trouble picking up women if he tried, especially if he was just after sex. Who wouldn't want a ride on that...

Her eyes opened suddenly, and she went very still, realising where her hand had drifted. Her breath shuddered, finger paused in its idle circling of her clit. Tantalizing little shudders danced through her sex, thrumming from her engorged clit. She gasped and snatched her back as if burnt, sitting up, her eyes wide as she breathed hard.

"Fuck..." she whispered, shaking her head slowly.

Did I just...oh God, what is wrong with me? I can't...I can't think about dad's dick like that...Jesus El...

She slumped back down, a little wave of shame and disgust washing through her, although it did nothing to quell the fire burning between her legs. She rolled over, sighing harshly and shaking her head. She just had to get to sleep; maybe she could pretend it had just been a dream.

A door banged shut somewhere in the house, and she tensed, then groaned as she heard the jangle of keys and the stumble of footsteps.

Oh fuck, why now? Just go to sleep, dad, I can't deal with you right now...

She lay on her stomach in the dark, listening to him totter through the halls, mumbling to himself. She shook her head, willing him to head straight to his room and collapse on his bed, like he did so many nights. His footsteps dragged, and then stopped, hovering directly outside her bedroom door.

Ugh... She reached back an hurriedly tugged the sheet over her nakedness, and slumped back down, burying her face in the pillow. Aside from the saturated panties bunched just below the soft pillows of her ass, all she wore was an old t-shirt, ridden up to just below her large breasts.

The door clicked and swung slowly open. There was silence for a few moments, light spilling in from the hallway, then a small burp, and, "H-hey, Ellebear, you awake?"

She couldn't face him right now, not after that. She lay still, breathing softly, pretending to snore gently.

Go to bed, Dad...

He started tottering into the room, and she cursed inwardly and squeezed her eyes shut. He stumbled, falling to a hard seat on the bed beside her with a grunt. He threw out his arm to steady himself, and she felt his hand on her back as the bed sunk. She stayed still as he swore softly, and then sat there quietly, his hand opening and closing slowly, fingers scraping gently against her spine.

She kept up her fake sleep-breathing. What are you doing, Dad?

His hand began sliding back and forth, rubbing her upper back, and then moved up to the mess of her brown hair, stroking it softly. "Oh, my sweet Ellebear," he mumbled quietly, "my gorgeous little girl."

She let out a soft sigh, relaxing her tensed shoulders. It felt nice, his fingers trailing over her hair, brushing her softly, moving down to whisper over her back, and then back to her hair. She actually felt sleep creeping on, and she felt a restful smile spread across her lips as she sighed again.

He kept murmuring things like, "My sweet angel", "You're just as beautiful as your mother," "Fuck I miss her," and "Just you and me kiddo."

She felt herself driven closer to sleep, a faint smile on her lips, lulled by his rhythmic, hypnotic stroking.

And then she heard the slow crawl of a zip, and her eyes flew open, staring into the darkness of her pillow as her breath caught. No, no surely that wasn't what she thought, surely he was just getting comfortable, or...

A button popped, and a moment later she heard him groan softly, followed by a rustling of fabric, and a soft tug of flesh. She lay there frozen, trying to keep her breathing soft, fighting the urge to spring up and tell him she was awake.

Dad, no, tell me you're not...

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes and peering into the darkness. In the dimness, lit only by the light spilling in from the half-open door, she saw his outline, saw his hand moving in his lap.

She squeezed her eyes shut. A strange surge of emotion ran through her, led by a wave of disgust at the thought that her father was jerking off right beside her, but trailed by something she couldn't describe, a faintly tantalizing spark of...

Excitement.

She cringed at the reaction, and forced it all down, and just tried to focus on being still.

It's fine, he thinks I'm asleep, that I wouldn't wake up even if a stampede of elephants came through my room. He's drunk, just...let him do what he needs to and he'll go.

His hand trailed across her back, gripping her a little firmer, and slowly slid down, caressing her lower back. She shuddered slightly beneath him, his touch soft and unnervingly sensual. He drew invisible circles, passing lower and lower, until his fingers paused at the sheet across her lower back. He grasped it, and she felt him drawing it down.

No, Dad, what are you doing!

He pulled the sheet away, and her heart stuttered as she felt it slide over her legs, exposing her bare ass to him, panties still bunched wetly around her lower thighs. She caught his sharp intake of breath, his hand falling still.

He'll realise, he'll leave...

He breathed in deeply, then let it out in a shuddering breath, groaning softly. He breathed in again, and she knew he could smell her, smell her lust, the tangy musk of her sex thick in the air, her nectar soaking into the sheets, slick across her sweaty thighs.

"Oh Ellebear..." he murmured, breathing deeply again.

The sheet fell, and his fingers dropped to her soft, supple cheek, caressing it, feeling her smooth, milky skin. He gripped her gently, molding her large, plump rear beneath his fingers. He moaned softly, and she heard his hand moving around his cock again, slowly, rhythmically. He caressed so delicately, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to tense, trying to pretend she was anywhere else right now.

And trying desperately to ignore just how nice his fingers felt on her bare ass. His breathing came a little faster, as he ran his palm in circles, exploring her young body, trailing down to her thighs, meeting her bunched panties. She heard him groan as he felt them, rubbed them between his fingers.

"Oh, baby...you're so wet..."

He slid back up, around her lower back and back down, his thumb edging into the cleft of her ass, slick with sweat and her juices. He moved slowly, but she felt him jerking faster as he groped his daughter. She bit her lip, breath scraping, pushing back against the tickle of arousal radiating from her molten slit as he caressed her. It burned so bright, shadowing the disgust, the revulsion, the wrongness trying so feebly to quell the fire. She knew he had to stop any second, that he'd sober up enough to realise what he was doing, that he'd pushed his luck too far.

Please, Dad, please...

But his fingers only grew bolder, brushing further into the cleft of her ass with each pass, edging so close to her quivering anus, to the burning heat of her wet slit. He tickled her lightly, brushing her downy curls of dark, matted hair.

Just another inch, and he'd brush the sensitive slickness of her hot sex, and it sickened her just how badly her body craved that touch. She buried her face in the pillow, praying that he'd stop. She couldn't...she couldn't enjoy this. She didn't want this!

His fingers sunk into her pillowy ass and squeezed, gripping her plump cheek, and slowly spread her apart. She suppressed a whimper. She could feel his eyes, practically feel the drunken hunger in them as they devoured this shadowy glimpse of his daughter's intimacy, staring at her exposed anus pulled wide in the darkness of the room.

Oh dad, no, don't...don't look at me like this...

"Oh..." he breathed in a soft moan, as he slid his thumb along the channel of her parted ass, and brushed it gently over the rippled star of her sensitive rosebud. A shiver ran through her, a gasp slipping through her lips, fingers clenching the sheets at the touch. He moved his thumb in slow circles, tickling her softly, rubbing the rosy brown ring of her rubbery hole again and again, as he murmured, "Oh, Ellebear, it's so beautiful...just like Claire's..."

The thought that her asshole was apparently as pretty as her mother's barely registered. The impulse to squirm filled her, but she locked her body down. Why was he touching her...there, and why did it feel so...so...

Good.

His touch sent electric ripples through her, making her head spin, and she grit her teeth as she fought desperately not to react. His thumb pressed a little firmer, massaging her as he rolled it back and forth, and she could feel her pussy quivering with need. As if noticing, he moved his thumb down, sliding over her perineum to the parting of her nether lips. He hovered there, his breath scraping, as if fighting urges of his own.

Don't... She pleaded silently. Don't make me want this...

He lifted the thumb, and brushed it ever so softly over the puffy ripple of her dewy labia, poking from her smoldering slit. He brushed her downy hairs, and then felt her soft outer folds again, tracing the wrinkled ridges of light brown flesh. She bit her lip, not daring to close her legs.