Father and Daughter share a bed Ch. 02

"Thank you Daddy."

She then gave me a big hug. It's always nice to be thanked, and to get a hug as well, especially when it's from your Daughter, but I had no idea what I'd done to deserve it. However, because of how she'd reacted, whatever it was, it must be something that was very important to her.

When she released me, while smiling, I asked, "Remind me what wonderful thing I've done for you."

From the look that she then gave me, I could tell that she thought that I was joking, but she decided to humour me.

"Alex can't come with me, and you, because you are a gentleman, have come to my rescue at short notice. I love you Daddy."

I could now understand why she was happy with me, but I hadn't volunteered to help her. In fact, I hadn't even known that her boyfriend Alex had dropped out. What I did know though, was who had said yes for me. It could only be her Mother, and she shouldn't have done that without speaking to me first. I then went to find her. She was in the attic. When she saw me, I got a nice smile.

"Good, you can help me find my old sewing machine."

With some anger in my voice, I said, "What's this about me going with Emma?"

"I was going to tell you, but I got distracted. My sewing machine has stopped working, so I need to find my old one so that I can finish making the curtains."

She was calm, but I was still irritated. Any other time I would happily do it for my little girl, but next week was impossible.

"Well I've got some bad news for you. I can't go. I have too much work to do. Four paintings, and all of them need to be completed by the end of the week. One of them I haven't even started."

"That might be so, but your Daughter can't go on her own. That's why I told her you'd be going with her."

Emma was twenty five. She was a confident person, and normally more than capable of going on her own. But unfortunately, two weeks ago, she'd fallen and broken her leg. It was now in a cast. She was walking with crutches, but she was unable to drive. Somebody needed to drive her to the two and a half day training course that had been organised by the bank that she worked for, and to fetch and carry for her while she was there. And if that couldn't be me, it would have to be Sophia. Emma wasn't just my Daughter, she was hers as well.

"What about you?"

Her look told me that she regarded that as a silly question, and before explaining why she thought that, she gave a deep sigh.

"I can't. I also have too much work to do, and I can't take my work with me. But you can," and then she added, "Don't you remember, that's what you did four years ago?"

How could I ever forget it? Even after all this time, I often thought about it, and always with mixed emotions. Excitement and guilt. Circumstances, not of our making, meant that I'd had to share a bed with my Daughter. So during the night, when we were only in our underwear, we'd had to be close to each other. Our bodies had touched, and we'd lost control. We'd become intimate, and it had ended with us committing the ultimate taboo for a Father and Daughter. We'd fucked. We knew that it was wrong, but it had been wonderful for both of us. However, when we'd got home, and been warmly greeted by Sophia, we soon realized the enormity of what we'd done. We'd betrayed the most important person in our life. And so it was never repeated, or even spoken about. But it wasn't forgotten!

I didn't like admitting it, but she was right. I was the logical choice, but she should have spoken to me first before telling Emma.

It was now my turn to sigh, and then I said, "OK, I'll take her."

And this time, because we wouldn't be sharing a bed, we'd be able to maintain our normal relationship of Father and Daughter.

"Good, now come and help me find that fucking machine."

Emma was a Derivatives Trader for a large international investment bank. An important job. To be able to do it, you had to stay calm when you were under extreme pressure, so that you could make the right decisions when trading very large amounts of money. And she must be able to do that, because her last year-end bonus was an eye-watering amount.

But if you were to see her now, you wouldn't believe that she was capable of staying calm.

We were on our way to the hotel. I was driving and Emma was sitting next to me. She was as excited as a schoolgirl going away for the first time.

"The hotel is supposed to be special. I can't wait to see it."

Me too. I'd been on their website, and everything, from the rooms to the restaurant, was out of this world. I couldn't remember its rating, but it was up there with the best hotels that you could find anywhere in the country. As you would expect, it was very expensive, but thankfully the bank wasn't just paying for her room, they were also paying for mine as well.

We were now outside the hotel, and that was a relief. It had been a long journey and I was tired. But Emma wasn't, and she was excited. As soon as I'd helped her out of the car, and onto her crutches, she was heading towards the hotel lobby at an impressive speed for somebody with a large cast on their leg. I had to lengthen my stride to keep up with her.

When we were inside, it was everything I'd expected it to be, and more. Marble pillars, a plush carpet, and the largest chandelier that I'd ever seen. At the reception desk was a smartly dressed young man. And he only had eyes for my Daughter.

With a beaming smile, that showed off his perfect white teeth, he said, in a French accent, "Welcome, I'm Pierre."

As Emma returned his smile, I noticed him check her out. And it was obvious that he liked what he'd seen.

"Hi, and I'm Emma Wilkinson."

It didn't take him long to find her reservation.

"Three nights, with breakfast included. I hope you enjoy your stay with us."

"I'm sure we will."

While handing her a key card, he said, "Room 101."

I then got mine, but without him telling me my room number.

"Thanks, but what room am I in?"

When he looked surprised, I knew that there was a problem.

"The booking is for one room. Emma Wilkinson, and you, Alex Henderson."

That made her laugh.

"He isn't my boyfriend, he's my Father. Walter Wilkinson. I changed the reservation because I now need two rooms."

"My mistake, let me look at your details again."

After a lot of typing, and then a long discussion with his Manager, we found out that he hadn't made a mistake.

"I'm sorry, the only reservation we have on the system for you is the original one. We definitely received your email asking for an extra room, and your details were updated on the computer, but now the changes have been lost," and then, after moving his head closer to us, he added, in a low voice, because he was revealing a hotel secret, "It's the computer, it's always going wrong."

We were still calm. Mistakes happen, but they can be rectified. He just needed to go back onto their wonderful computer system and find us another room. But he didn't, because he'd already tried to do that, and he'd failed to find one. The hotel was fully booked.

When he told us that there wasn't another room available until the third night, I swore under my breath, and Emma's calm demeanour disappeared. She was angry, and she was having difficulty containing it.

When she asked to speak to the Hotel Manager, in a tone that said she wasn't going to take no for an answer, Pierre summoned her.

Half an hour later, both of us were in room 101. We hadn't managed to get another room, but what we had got, made it feel as if we were the winners.

The Manager had apologized profusely, but she had then explained that the only way that we could get another room, was for them to evict the guests that had taken the room that should have been ours. An old couple that were celebrating their Diamond Wedding Anniversary. So that was a no. You'd have to be a heartless bastard to agree to that. However, what the Manager could do instead was to shower us with gifts. And that's what she'd done. The bank was paying all our expenses, but there were limitations, especially for meals. We could now go beyond that without being charged. Now, instead of having a good wine with our meal, we could have a great one. And we'd also been given two tickets to see the Westland All Stars. That did nothing for Emma, but being a huge basketball fan, it got me excited. But what had sealed the deal, and stopped us complaining, was the offer of, at a later date, another three nights for two people. And it was complimentary.

"We should have asked for more."

That made me laugh. She was lying on the double bed, relaxing, and I was sitting on the fold-up bed that had been put in our room. It wasn't as comfortable as her bed, but it was adequate. Since we'd been in the room, we'd talked about lots of things, but not about the one thing that was upper most in my mind, and probably in hers as well. It was the elephant in the room, and it was a big one. Having to share a room had happened before. And sharing a room, had progressed to sharing a bed, and then onto sharing our bodies as well. This time it was going to be different, we would stay in our separate beds.

We went down to the restaurant at eight o'clock, and we were back in our room at nine thirty. The meal was sumptuous, and the wine divine. And there was a first for both of us, Beluga caviar. Compliments of the Management!

Emma had eaten heartily, but was sensible with the wine. Apparently, tomorrow's course was a tough one, so she'd need to have all her wits about her. She was clever, like her Mother, who was an Accountant, so I was confident that she would ace it. While we'd been in the car, she'd tried to explain to me what the course was about, but she'd given up after less than five minutes. I wasn't offended, I was proud that I had such a clever Daughter.

Before going to bed we had a coffee. When we'd finished it, she said, "Do you want to use the bathroom first?"

I nodded. It was better for me to go first because I would be quick, and she, like Sophia, would take a long time.

I was only in the bathroom for a few minutes, five at the most, but when I returned, she greeted me with, "What took you so long?"

Her smile told me that she was joking. It was now her turn. When she was back from the bathroom, I was almost asleep.

"I'm not sleepy, do you mind if I watch some television?"

I said no, but it wasn't long before I wished that I'd said yes. The noise and the light from it were keeping me awake. So, after giving a deep sigh, I decided to admit defeat. I was going to watch it with her.

From where I was, I couldn't see the entire picture, and she realized that.

"Come and sit next to me."

After what we'd done the last time we were in bed together, the sensible thing to do was to say no. However, I quickly agreed to it, because that was in the past. I'd made a mistake, and it was one that I wasn't going to repeat.

At first, I sat on top of the covers, but I only had my Y-fronts on, so to hide my bulge, I joined her under the covers. It wasn't that I was excited, but even when it's limp, when you have an eight inch cock, it makes a big impression in your underwear. And thankfully, she was being modest as well, because over her bra she was wearing a loose T-shirt.

Then, without saying anything, she took it off. I opened my mouth to say something, but I hesitated, because I didn't know what to say to her so that she would put it back on, without upsetting her. And before I could find the right words, she spoke.

"That's better, I'm too hot with it on," and then, after giving me a nice smile, she said more, "I hope you don't mind."

She'd said it so innocently, that without thinking, I found myself saying that it was OK. But after taking a good look at the bra she was wearing, I knew that I'd made a mistake.

Emma is pretty like her Mother. And both have bodies that men drool over. Their breasts aren't excessively large, the sort that juvenile men are obsessed with. But they are also not small, and they are exquisitely shaped. They aren't melons, they are pears. And if that isn't enough to get you excited, then their shapely hips, peachy bottoms, and narrow waist, surely will. As I've described them, you'd think that they were identical twins rather than Mother and Daughter. I'll admit to some poetic license with my description of Sophia, who is fifty five years of age, a lot older than Emma, who is only twenty five. Yes, her tits aren't as firm, and they sag, but not by much. And she has a couple of extra pounds around her waist. She also has some minor blemishes on her skin, but if you were attracted to the Daughter, then you'd also want to fuck the Mother as well.

And now, Emma's gorgeous breasts were next to me, and they were only covered by a low-cut bra. It was something that she would wear when she wanted to excite her boyfriend. But the person next to her, who was now getting excited, wasn't Alex, it was her Father. And that was wrong.

I did my best to ignore her, to concentrate on the television, but I was fighting a losing battle. All I could think about was her tits and her impressive nipples. Those nipples were now covered by her bra, but I knew what they looked like, and I knew how she would respond when a lover touched them or sucked hard on them, because for a brief time, all those years ago, I had been one of her lovers. And now, if I was to be totally honest with myself, I'd have to admit that I wanted to be intimate with her again.

As I wrestled with my conscience, trying to decide if I should act on my feelings, I thought about Sophia. And this time my emotion wasn't guilt, it was anger. And it was directed towards her. If she was more willing to have sex, and when we did, she was more responsive, then I wouldn't now want Emma.

For a long time, our lovemaking had been everything that I'd wanted it to be. And we'd taken every opportunity to do it, sometimes even twice in a day. But that was years ago, when we were a lot younger. Now it was once a week at the most, normally on a Saturday night. And even though I'd had the snip soon after Emma was born, she now insists that I wear a condom.

"I don't like the mess you make when you come inside me. It seeps out onto the sheets."

I loved pouring it into her pussy, and it never used to be a problem for her, but it was now. And when we did fuck, we were like two well-oiled machines performing a routine task. It lacked spontaneity. Don't get me wrong, it was an enjoyable experience, and we both got pleasure from it. And if you were to ask me about it, I would tell you that the sex was OK, but I wanted more than that. I wanted it to be as it had been in the past. I wanted it to be exciting, I wanted it to be special.

There was a time when she couldn't get enough of my eight inches, and I'd often joked that she'd only married me because of my big cock. There was some truth to that, but our relationship was more than just sex. And now, even though I was disappointed with what we did in the bedroom, I still loved her dearly.

When I looked at her face, I could tell that she was oblivious to what was going on in my head. For her, this was no big deal. She was just watching television with her Father, and when the programme ended, she would give me a peck on the cheek, because she loved me, and I would then go to my own bed.

I now felt ashamed, not just because of how I had been thinking about her, but also because I had been blaming her Mother. We weren't spring chickens anymore, so it wasn't surprising that because of our ages, I was forty seven and Sophia was fifty five, our sex drive had diminished. But the problem was that hers had diminished a lot more than mine had. However, that couldn't be used as an excuse for my feelings towards my Daughter. Lots of older men don't get the sex that they want from their Wife, but they then don't start lusting after their Daughter. I had to face the truth. I wasn't a nice person. And then, when Emma spoke, it was a welcome distraction.

"I still don't know what to get Mother for her birthday. What have you got her?"

The surprised expression on my face told her that I'd forgotten that on the 15th, which was the day after we were back home, it was Sophia's birthday. And that made her laugh. But I didn't find it funny, I was horrified.

"How old will she be then?"

She already knew the answer to that, she was just testing me.

It would be embarrassing if I was to get it wrong, so I took my time, making sure that I was correct before I spoke.

"Fifty six."

Her big smile told me that I was right.

"You need to buy her something while we're here. Perhaps some underwear."

That was a good suggestion. And if I was to get something that made her feel sexy, our lovemaking might improve.

"She'd like a nice bra, one like mine."

Because she'd said that, I now had permission to have a good look at it. So I did, but it wasn't her bra that I was admiring, it was her magnificent breasts. As I stared at them, my cock was stretching my Y-fronts to their limit, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I was in serious danger of losing control.

Then suddenly, without any warning, she slowly ran her fingers over one of her breasts. That was too much for me, I had to look away.

"And the material is so soft."

That brought a lump to my throat, and an even bigger one to my underwear. She hadn't needed to touch herself while she'd been telling me that, I would have believed her without the demonstration. And she could have touched the material at the edges, rather than near her nipple. If I didn't know any better, I would believe that she was teasing me, perhaps even tempting me. But that was in the past. We were now both older and wiser, so what had happened before, was never going to be repeated.

"And buy her matching panties as well."

She'd said it casually, and it was a perfectly reasonable thing to say in the context of the conversation. However, to my ears, it was as shocking, and as exciting, as if she'd asked me to finger her. And that was because I knew what she was going to do next.

She would be wearing panties that matched her bra, so she would show me them. And she would do that with her legs wide apart, a lot wider than they needed to be. Like her bra, her panties would be small. The thin material would be stretched tight, showing off all the contours of her pussy. It would be made from the same material as her bra, but she would still feel the need to tell me that it was also soft. And as with her bra, she would touch it. Not at the edges, but at her opening, and then finally, where her clit was. That's when I'd lose control, and my hand would then quickly go between her legs.

But that didn't happen. After saying it, she went back to watching the television. I did as well, but I was finding it difficult to concentrate, because I had too much on my mind. Five minutes later the programme ended.

"So Daddy, what did you think of it?"

"It was OK."

After laughing, she said, "It's a winner of eight Oscars, and one of them is for best picture. It was a lot better than just OK."

Before I could defend myself, she spoke again.

"You seemed distracted, I bet you weren't really watching the movie. And I know why."

So after all this time, we were finally going to talk about it. Our pet elephant that was always in the room with us.

"It's those paintings that you need to finish. That's what you're worried about."

So I was wrong again. And this time, she was also wrong. Yes, finishing off those paintings required a lot of work, but I wasn't worried. The deadline was tight, but it was achievable. And during the day, while she was attending the course, I would be on my own, so I'd be able to work without any interruptions. But I'd have to agree with her because I couldn't tell her the real reason.