Grace and Claire

Claire came down in a t-shirt and shorts and went to grab the keys, standing in front of me longer than was necessary. When I looked up, I noticed it was a rather thin t-shirt and I could see her nipples through it. I went hot, and looked away. Is that something in fashion now? I never wanted to make Claire feel ashamed of her body or like she had to cover up because guys can't control themselves. I didn't say anything.

"Dad?" Claire asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to be out late."

"Where and with who?"

"Maggie's house. Then we're going to the movie's."

"Call when you get to the movies and when you're on your way home."

"That's it?"

I looked up. Claire was standing in front of me, an angry look on her face.

"What?"

"You don't care that I'll be out all night? Or what I'm wearing?"

I went hot again; I really did not want to talk about what Claire was wearing. Her nipples were hard in her shirt. A depraved part of me, probably triggered from all this dirty talk with Grace, wondered if she was aroused. My cock twitched. I looked away.

"You're an adult now. But yes, I care if you are staying out all night. I just told you to text on your way home from the movies. I didn't think that meant I gave you permission to stay out all night."

When I looked at her again, I saw tears in her eyes.

"It's like you don't even care if I'm here or not," she said, and then left, slamming the door.

I will never understand teenagers.

I spent most of the night with my Gracie. She was in the back of a car, texting me videos of her fingers in her pussy. I could never get enough of her. I wrote how I wanted to lick her there, suck on her pretty clit. I imagined her calling out "dad..." in her little throaty moan.

If you come to the conference, I'd introduce you as my daughter, I said. I bet they'd all want you.

Then take me to your room?

And make you mine.

I'm already yours.

Not really. Not in the way that counts. God. Maybe I couldn't even let you leave the room. There's so much I want to do to you, sweetie.

Call me kitten.

Kitten. My cock twitched. I knew why; I pushed it away. My sweet kitten wants her daddy?

I always want my daddy. Want to see my titties?

Always, cutie.

She sent me a video where she took off her top. I froze.

I've never seen that birthmark before.

Grace took a long time before typing a response.

I usually blur it out.

Why?

I don't like to show identifying features.

A part of me leaped -- did this mean she trusted me? What if she would come to the conference?

And why now?

I forgot.

I promise I won't tell.

But it wasn't just about the conference. A dark part of my mind fixated on that little birth mark. I didn't think about why. But I grabbed my cock.

Send me more, kitten.

Yes, daddy.

I woke up in the morning and scrolled through the chat once more. She sent over twenty photos of her sweet tits the night before. Pushed together, with her nipples rolled in her fingers. And in all of them, that birthmark right under her left nipple. My mouth watered.

I had not told her why it drove me crazy, maybe because I didn't want to think about it myself. But I also hadn't wanted to egg her on. Poor Grace wanted her real father, and I didn't want to give her false hope. But then I thought -- why not? She might not ever get her real dad, but what was wrong with making this fantasy just a bit more realistic? Even if it wasn't true, it would be even more arousing.

I didn't tell you last night, I typed before I could stop myself, my daughter has a mark just like that.

It didn't take her long to respond.

Right on her breast?

Yes. Though I haven't seen it since she grew breasts.

That's a shame.

I almost said no. But then... why not?

Yes, it is. They're small like yours.

You like little titties?

Yes.

Why?

I don't know. Always have.

You think Claire's breasts are as nice as mine?

I haven't thought about it really. But I bet they are.

Do you wish she would show them to you?

I thought about it hard, I really did. I would have said yes either way -- to keep the play going. But the truth was, something about seeing that mark had unleashed something in me. My skin was hot. My stomach hurt. My cock was so hard it was painful.

Yes, I do. I want that very badly.

Why?

She's my baby girl. It's so wrong but I think there's a part of me that thinks she belongs to me. This primal male part of me just wants her body. And I love her so much. But I'd never act on it. Is that awful?

No, dad. It's true. She's your daughter.

I feel horrible.

Don't. Just let yourself imagine her.

I'm so hard. This is sick.

No. Just let yourself want her. Imagine I'm Claire. Daddy, it's me, Claire.

Fuck. Send me something.

What?

Anything. Anything!!

She obliged, and sent me an onslaught of short clips. She was wrapped up in a white robe, and slowly undid it. "Dad, why do you want to see me?"

"Dad, do you like how I grew up?"

"Dad, my pussy is wet... please, show me how to touch it."

"Oh daddy, please, give your baby your cock. Give it to your kitten. Let me suck it please!"

She sent so many, so fast, that her voice stopped being in that little rasp. It was real desire now, she'd lost control, and I could hear it. But I didn't pay attention. My blood was pounding in my ears. I watched video after video, fixating on that birth mark, watching as Grace opened her beautiful lips for me, glistening and pink and virginal. I listened to her tell me she had saved herself for me, for her father. I watched her pull her legs up and offer her little flower to her father, saying she belonged to him. And all through this, I imagined Claire, my Claire.

When I came, black spots showed in my vision.

Claire was almost happy. Even if she wasn't happy, she was more sexually satisfied than ever in her life. For that past ten days, she'd been texting her father and had almost come clean. He called her Claire, every single time. Daddy also finally told her that Grace was his daughter's middle name -- of course, that was why she'd chosen it.

She could almost pretend he knew.

But she knew he didn't, knew it was still part of the fantasy. Even if he was now turned on imagining her, it wasn't the same as actually fucking your daughter. But at school, she could hardly concentrate, knowing her messenger app was filling up with messages from her father about how cute she looked in her uniform that morning, how for breakfast he wished she'd lain on the table and let him lap her cunt.

Claire, kitten, will you suck daddy? He typed one night. Tell me how you'd suck your father, my slutty girl.

So she'd sent him a long message, telling him how she dreamed about sucking him when he was asleep, so he'd wake up and cum in her mouth. I don't want to miss a drop, she wrote. Daddy, your cum made me, I need it.

Occasionally he still called her Grace -- whenever they were talking nonsexually. Whenever he asked her to come to his conference.

Once, she played with him.

What if you were expecting Grace, and Claire showed up?

What do you mean? Like if she caught us?

No. Like what if... I was Claire.

Jesus.

How do you feel?

He took a long time to respond, and then he said: Would I still get to fuck my baby girl?

Yes, daddy, yes.

But she could never be sure if he was roleplaying or not. The fantasy was what he loved; everything online was role play.

Claire could not stand it any longer. She was often reduced to tears in his real presence; they fought often over small things. Then she spent hours and hour texting him when they both should be working or concentrating on school.

Finally, the night before the conference, she made a decision.

Dad, she wrote, I'll be there.

I could hardly concentrate on my conference, but I pulled through. Mostly I was scared; so much could go wrong. Grace might not even show up. What if it was awkward? What if she was catfishing me, and a man showed up?

But she kept texting me all day, about how she had arrived at the hotel and was waiting in the lobby.

I got a drink at the bar and they didn't even card me.

Maybe I'm going to hell, but the thought that I was going to get laid tonight by a girl who couldn't legally drink made me rock hard. Not to mention the whole "Claire" game we were playing.

Ever since that day with the titty pictures, I had called her Claire. And she loved it. The truth was, so did I. At first it was just play, but soon I began picturing a face on top of those pictures. The fantasies we texted about -- one of her favorites was getting caught masturbating -- became so real and intoxicating that I barely lasted. I could cum five times in a day, which I hadn't done in so long. The truth was, it had taken me two months, but I wanted my daughter.

The night before she arrived, we played pretending that Claire would show up at the conference.

Hi daddy.

Claire? What are you doing here?

It's me daddy. I'm Grace. I'm sorry I lied to you.

You mean...

Yes, daddy, I want you.

Jesus baby. Daddy wants you too.

Take me upstairs?

We talked about going upstairs. She told me how she'd need to see my cock first, just so she would finally know what it was like. I talked about stripping her, looking at my baby girl's sweet body, knowing I was her father, her master.

I wish I could pop your cherry, I wrote.

I think it'll still hurt, she said. That's what my friends say.

I'll be gentle. Maybe. ;)

That day, she was waiting for me in the bar. I finished my meeting and hustled back to the hotel as fast as I could; I had masturbated an hour earlier just to take the edge off -- I didn't want to embarrass myself -- but I was already hard again. I imagined a girl with that body waiting for me, and I couldn't help it. What would her face be like?

"Where you headed so fast?" my coworker Mike asked.

"Um..." I remembered our plan. I smiled. "I'm meeting my daughter."

He nodded. "That's nice that she could come with."

You have no idea.

"I'm headed to the bar."

Shit. I didn't want Mike to come along; this was bound to be awkward, and what if she wasn't a good actress, and he caught on that I was fucking her? I'd be dead.

But I had to trust her. She was such a good actress on those videos.

"I need a drink," he said.

We approached the hotel bar. I couldn't see inside at first. As we got closer, my pulse got higher and higher. I couldn't even hear what Mike was saying. She was inside, I said, drinking a margarita.

My kitten.

We stepped inside. I quickly scanned the place. It was nearly empty, but still, I was looking so fast that at first I didn't see her.

But then I did.

My heart nearly stopped.

It was Claire. Not pretend-Claire, but Claire. She was wearing her school uniform. Fuck. It was horrible, but the first thing I thought was cockblock. I looked around for Grace but there wasn't another girl at the bar. Where had she gone? Why was Claire here? She was holding a frosted glass of something fruity. I saw right away that the bartender hadn't believed she was twenty-one, but instead had been enjoying her unbuttoned blouse. I wanted to hit him.

I nearly dropped my briefcase. She turned around and gave me a smile; it was sheepish, and her face was red, more than a little afraid.

It was then that I realized.

I had been so stupid.

Claire.

Grace.

Kitten.

Oh my god.

"That your girl?"

I gulped. "Yes."

We approached the bar. Mike smiled at her. I could barely get the muscles on my face to do what they were supposed to. I was torn between confusion, anger, and desire; much as I hated it, my cock was hard in my pants. Her little uniform was so adorable. I thought of all the videos I'd watched of her, all the times she'd shown her me little cunt, all the times I told her how I wanted it. And even though she was my daughter, even though I shouldn't want her, I found that was all still true.

"Hi Claire," I finally said.

"Hi dad." She looked at Mike, then made a show of yawning. "I'm tired. Do you mind if I go upstairs for a nap?"

She brought her hand to cover her mouth; she was shaking. A part of me was vindicated. She deserved to be nervous. Another, stronger part of me wanted to take her hand in my own and kiss it, ease her nerves.

"Yes, I'll show you where it is," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mike."

I walked out of the bar. As soon as we were alone, I turned to her. "You are in so much trouble."

She was bright red and wouldn't meet my eyes. "Dad—"

"This was..." I couldn't even think of what it was. A fabrication of the highest order.

"Daddy, I'm sorry."

We reached the elevator. I pushed the button.

"What were you thinking?"

She shrugged. She looked so upset, it tugged at my heart. I was her father, I couldn't stand her tears.

"I wasn't really... thinking, dad."

The elevator arrived. We went into it. I pushed twenty-three.

There so many questions I wanted to ask, but I settled on, "How many men were you talking to online?"

She looked surprised. "Just you, dad. I know you're angry... I don't even know what I was thinking. But I couldn't help it."

This rolled through me like a lightning bolt. So, everything she'd said -- that she wanted her father, that she would do anything to be his slave, that she wanted his attention, had been true.

I looked at the elevator buttons to avoid looking at her. I hoped she wasn't looking at my pants, where she'd see the evidence of how her words at affected me. This was Claire, my daughter. My real daughter, not a fantasy. And yet...

And yet hadn't I had the same desires? How many times had I grabbed my cock and closed my eyes, imagining this girl's mouth on it? How many times had I listened to Claire -- this very same Claire! -- moaning "daddy" as she came? How many times had I imagined taking off her clothes and licking her pussy, her little nipples, her asshole?

So, she had wanted me, for real. It took a few moments -- thank god for the elevator ride -- but I recalibrated my memories of her. All that time, she'd been sneaking off after dinner and sending me pictures. Me. She'd been convincing me to fantasize about her. She'd wanted me to come, wanted me to fuck her.

My little girl. My sexy, virgin, eighteen-year-old, had shown me how wet her perfect cunt could get.

It was wrong, it was horrible even... but was I going to turn it down?

I turned to her as the doors opened. "You first."

We went to the room. I opened the door, closed it and locked it behind her. She had lost some of her bravado on the way up, and looked nervous again. Good.

I grabbed her by the upper arms. She bent her face up to look at me. God, I loved that face.

"Tell me one thing."

"Yes, daddy."

"Is it true?" I gave her a little shake. "You're a virgin?"

She stepped away. Silence hung in the air. Then, she walked backwards until she reached the bed. She sat down, scooted back, until she was laying down, her hair spread on the pillow beneath her.

I stood above, looking at her. She was so young, untouched, beautiful, and gazing up at me with eyes darkened by desire. Her skin was flushed. I could not see her and remain unmoved; my heart pounded as I looked at my daughter.

"Yes, daddy," she said finally. "I was waiting for you."

I made a little sound. I wasn't sure what it was, except that I had given in. I got down on the bed, suspending myself over her.

"Then kitten," I said, "you have made your father very happy."

She made a tiny mew, and I covered her mouth with mine. It wasn't the kiss of a father, it was the kiss of a man, desperate. She tasted sweet, her lips opening to me. She was unschooled, her tongue darting across my lips like a little bird. I gripped the back of her neck and explored the inside of her mouth with my tongue, until she clasped down, sucking me in. I ground my cock against her, showing her where else I wanted that behavior.

There was so much to do; my body fought desperately against my mind, which wanted it to last. I kept my eyes open, because every time I looked down and saw her, I remembered who I was with.

"You're mine," I whispered. "Mine."

"Yes," Claire whispered. "Daddy, I always have been."

I groaned and reached for the buttons on her blouse.

"You know how many times I've seen these titties?" I whispered.

"Yes."

"No, you don't. You don't know I saved all the pictures. All the videos. I watched them again and again." I looked up as I tore the buttons. "And every time I imagined you, Claire."

She moaned. I opened the blouse. She wore no bra. I clucked my tongue, and drew my hand up, touching her pale flesh.

"So beautiful," I whispered. She lay back, bowed out, showing herself to me. I took her breast in my hand, feeling her nipple harden at my touch.

Claire gasped.

"Yes, that's it, sweetie." I smiled at her. "You like daddy's touch?"

"Yes!"

"Then you'll love my tongue."

I bent down and took her perfect nipple in my mouth. She cried out, bowing up to me. I ran my tongue around her as she pebbled, and then began to suck on her. She moaned, dug her hands in my hair. And just like in her videos, she moaned my name.

"Daddy!"

I laughed against her breast; she was a wanton girl. I felt incredible, above her; it was as if a switch had turned on. The dark part of me that wanted her was in control now. This young girl desired me, and I was going to take her; she was my daughter, my kitten. I began to lick her nipple in a lewd way. She loved it.

"That's it," I whispered, lapping at her tit. "Show your father what a slut you can be."

She groaned, deep in her throat. I felt her pressing her cunt against me. My body reacted instinctively; I pressed back.

"You feel your father's cock?" I whispered.

"God dad, you're big."

"That's right sweetie. I'm going to stretch you out."

She was trembling; I forgot that despite her desire, she was a virgin. I kissed her again.

"I'm going to be gentle," I promised. I met her eyes; something came over me. "Claire. I love you."