Including Me Ch. 02

That was the first time he came home with a woman while I lived there, but it wasn't the last. Never more than one at a time, and they were always married. Never the same one twice either, which was perhaps curious, maybe my mother was an exception too, in that sense. He left one time, with a woman remaining in bed with me. She was hung over, or still drunk really. I woke up in the morning and he was fucking her, I watched and then went back to sleep when they had finished.

I woke up to the sound of him closing the front door and she was there lying on her back, snoring softly. She was a petite brunette, young. I mean, older than me, but mid twenties maybe. I felt a little bit of an affinity. I had an urge and I hopped out of bed. I approached her from the bottom of the bed, crawling under the sheet. Between her legs and I fancied I could smell my father's cum there. I put my arms either side of her legs and leaned in to her pungent snatch, taking a deep inhale.

She stirred and, feeling me, lifted the sheet from the top. I looked up into her eyes and she looked back at me. No expression on either of us. Before the moment had a chance to break I dipped my head, keeping my eyes on hers and took a long, lazy lick. Over her clit and she shuddered. I licked again, still keeping our eyes locked and again she shuddered. And she dropped the sheet. And her legs relaxed. And I licked again and used my hands to nudge her legs open to give me more access. And then I was licking from her hole up to her clit, and teasing around the clit and licking again, and her heavy breathing was turning into light moaning and I'd never thought of doing this before, except I imagined it was what I'd like to have done to me and that seemed to be working.

And then I was licking my tongue into her hole and my nose was full of my father's cum and then it started to leak out of her and I licked up every drop I could reach with my tongue while she writhed and I held her in place now with my arms under her legs and my hands wrapped around her hips and she was squeezing my head with her thighs and bucking and grinding her pussy into my face and I kept on licking and swirling and sucking like a machine, bringing her to climax and then when it was done I seemed to have gotten all the cum taste and it was just pussy taste left now and I stopped and just lay still until her shudders subsided and I pulled out and got back in my side of the bed and I shut my eyes and lay still.

Lay still for a long time, until I heard her shifting and still I didn't move. And she shifted again and I kept my eyes closed. And at long, long last she got up and started putting clothes on, and she took ages and I didn't so much as twitch and in the end she left and even then I stayed silent and motionless for a long time. Affinity? I wanted my father's cum out of her snatch and in my throat and that was all I wanted.

Not once had he asked me to go out anywhere with him, not since bringing me here the first night. He expected me to do chores like shopping and I did them. He expected to use me whenever and however he wanted to and I let him. He expected not to be questioned on his conduct, and I didn't. I was sustained by his cum, I was going to have his baby. I was sustained by jealousy, knowing his cum was not for me alone but that he was giving it to whatever slut happened across his path on any given occasion. I was sustained by single mindedness, no future, no past, no present even, only my father, his cock and his cum.

I never did get a second period. After perhaps six to eight weeks of unprotected sexual intercourse with my father an egg inside me was penetrated by his seed, and he had fertilised me. As the lateness of my period became telling I thought about how to find out if the pregnancy I desired had come. No thoughts further than that, I still had no plan beyond impregnation.

I purchased what seemed to me to be a good test from the pharmacy. All told I'd been living with him for around ten weeks when I looked down at the blue line on the paddle. I had to see a doctor, I realised. How difficult would that be? Should I give my real name? Should I use my father's address? I didn't want to share sensitive information with anyone. I had no idea what to do or how to proceed. But I needed to know for sure. I wanted no doubt that my father's baby was inside me.

The nurse had made everything possible. Not so easy, but possible. Having no clue, I'd gone to the maternity ward at the hospital and she'd found me lurking in the halls, unsure and afraid. I confided in her. I had no choice but to. Not about everything, not about my father. Just that I was alone in the world and I thought I was pregnant and I didn't know what to do. I told her that I had somewhere to stay but not for long. She listened. She told me to wait and when she came back she had a doctor with her, an older man, kind looking and when he smiled at me I actually cried.

He took me to a room and helped me feel calm. I thought I'd have to do another test but when I showed him the one I'd taken he said it was as accurate as anything he could do now. I was certainly pregnant. He told me I needed to get properly registered so that I could receive the care I needed, but I didn't want to leave my details just then, I promised him I'd be back and he could see the sincerity I think, he urged me to keep my word but let me go.

And I knew I needed to decide what to do next.

I'd been running on instinct and dealing with only what needed attention at any given time since the moment those eyes first locked themselves in my mind. It felt like they'd stayed there, watching me whether he was with me or not. Just a sense, a part of him that seemed to be with me all the time. It kept me fazed, it kept me wanting. There was no need for thinking, or planning. No more than the next step ahead, at least.

And that didn't really change now, only the next step would be a big one. I needed to take this embryo, this fetus that we had created together, my father and me, I needed to take it somewhere and be with it. This piece of him that was going to grow within me, become another him that I would bring to term and hold in my arms. They couldn't be together, couldn't know of each other, I can't explain a reason other than I simply knew it had to be that way. Separation, something that the last couple of months was something I could hardly have contemplated, now insisted itself more strongly than whatever force compelled me to want to be with my father.

I didn't feel that compulsion wane, if anything those final weeks were even more immediate and inciteful to me than at any time before. But this new life inside me seemed already to have a will and a dominance over me that exceeded and, I knew, would ultimately displace that of my father.

The evening of the day of my hospital visit I thought out some key options. I would need to be somewhere new, my home town was dead to me and I didn't want to stay here either. I was going to need somewhere to live. I was going to need to make money, my savings and the handful of surplus I'd collected from shopping money over the last few months could get me started but it would soon run out. I'd need to be somewhere I could access the medical care required for my pregnancy. Somewhere I could remain anonymous. Somewhere safe. Somewhere...

When I was woken up late that night to my legs being spread something was unleashed in me. As my father crawled onto me and pressed his cock home my arms wrapped around his chest and behind his shoulders, my thighs raised up and I dug my heels into his backside, forcing myself onto him. I grunted at the feeling of him filling me and from the first thrust I clung tightly, my face buried into his neck and all I wanted was to hold onto him, to hold so tight he could never get away and I cried as he took his pleasure from my body, my tears hidden from him as they joined with the sheen of sweat on his chest. Our wetness becoming one on the outside, on the inside.

Our union joined to the wall of my womb, his essence now contained within me. I'd never be without my father again, no matter how far I fled. But until then, I wanted every inch of him, every thrust, every drop of him filling me. So he'd know, regardless of any other women he took, how many other children he did or didn't make in them, that I was his. I was made entirely for him, for the sole purpose of him to use. To use for his satisfaction, to carry his seed.

He pumped and pushed and hammered me and I held on for dear life and waves of fire and acid and hatred coursed through my veins. And lust and pleasure crashed around me after them, dousing the flames in a surge of the oneness and family and love and confusion and desire. On and on, now speeding up and I thought I couldn't possibly contain all the emotion within me and something must burst and I held ever tighter, hooking my ankles together and interlocking my fingers around his back. Now slowing down and finding a rhythm that sang deep into my body, sucking at my neck and licking at my ear and I wanted him to have me, always have me, I was drowning in an ocean of his heat and I never wanted to breathe again if only I drowned with him inside me.

When he came inside his pregnant daughter it started with a slowing, but accompanied with him holding himself fully inside me. Now every thrust was a full roll of his hips, pressing his pelvis into me hard and deliberate, controlled. Each one feeling like he'd found a new spot within me that I'd never known was there, a new height of pleasure that rode above anything I'd realised was possible. With each one I exclaimed into his shoulder. Please, please forever this. I love it. I love you. I love you.

Owning me now, he increased the pace and I lost all control of my body. My muscles ceased to function and my legs lay limply over his thighs now, my hands falling down his back and just barely scrabbling at his hips. Fuck me. Fuck me. Always fuck me. Your body. Your pussy. My head lay back against the sweat drenched pillow and my father drove into me, powerful stroke after powerful stroke and I was making one long groaning moan punctuated by his repeated body blows into my cunt, and my hair was plastered across my face and my eyes were unfocussed and my ears rang and my body burned fiercely from head to toe. And it seemed that his thrusts became so rapid that there wasn't any point that he wasn't thrusting and he was flooding me and it was pure, total joy and I died right there, bathed in his body and his sweat and his rape and his seed.

He lay still for minutes. Panting. He pulled out slowly. He rolled off and lay on his back, beside me on the bed. He fell asleep and snored gently and in the faint light I watched his wet cock relax and recede.

I lay where he'd left me, awash with everything he'd left inside me. After a time his cum leaked some from my vagina. His sweat evaporated and dried from my skin. The heat and pleasure cooled and escaped into the stillness of the night.

His baby remained.

We lay and watched TV together, that last day. His arm around the back of my neck, hand over my stomach. He was dozing on and off, it didn't matter. I lay into his side, my right leg dragged lazily over his left, my head resting snugly on his armpit. My left arm at my side, my right resting on his big, strong forearm. I'd learned not to mistake this for any kind of real intimacy on his part, but I'd also discovered that it didn't matter to me.

No more than I was of any real importance to him, it wasn't of consequence that he didn't love me, or cherish me, or care for me beyond the maintenance required to keep a useful commodity in good working order. That's what I was to him, a commodity. Perhaps he was to me, too. Did I love him? I suppose I did, I didn't have any choice but to. The clichéd little girl, in wanting her father to love her, loved him all the more for his failure to reciprocate.

My Dad had disappeared at the most vulnerable time in my life, and now my father was present but no more there than my Dad had been before he finally packed up and went away. I could pretend for a while, anyway. Pretend that he loved me, pretend that he cared. Wanted me to be with him because of who I was, not just for what I'd let him do. No different to a billion other father daughter relationships, maybe. Not really.

When he left that day he'd wanted some things getting that were needed around the house, sundry items mostly and then a couple of more expensive things too. He left a bunch of cash on the side, a pretty sum and it would be a useful bonus. As usual he left without saying anything and I gave no sign that it was different than any other day. After the door closed I took the pillow he'd slept on and held it against my body, inhaled it. That was something I did sometimes anyway, but I felt something at the realisation it was the last time.

I'd prepared most of my belongings the evening before and after a shower I threw everything in my suitcase and made for the door. The money lay untouched on the side and I left it there. It wasn't mine. Everything that was mine I had with me and I walked out into the autumn sunshine, pulling the door shut behind me without looking back. I had a bus to catch.

Early in the evening I arrived at my destination, a town with the amenities and opportunities I felt I needed to manage the next stage of my life, the difficult months of pregnancy that I'd be undertaking with little support, emotional or otherwise. I made my way to the hostel I'd arranged. It wasn't private, but it was cheap and would do while I got enough together to find something that I hoped would see me through the winter. I'd be able to use the address to find work, I'd confirmed that.

Once I had work I'd follow up on some leads to find a home, somewhere I could have enough space and time to focus on seeing things through to the birth. Scratch enough money aside to keep me going when I wasn't able to work any longer and try to make whatever other provision I could. Nurse the pain of being without the attentions of my father. Even though I probably wouldn't have seen him yet today, had I stayed, I missed him bitterly.

I missed him when I didn't have anything to do and that was a lot of the time. I worked my hours waiting tables and I worked extra time wherever I could. Later I got temp work at an office and continued to wait tables in the evenings. I registered with a doctor and worked on figuring out what services I could access through my pregnancy, what support was available to me. It was never enough but with the extra work I stretched things and I found my way.

Autumn turned to Winter and despite festive spirit at my jobs I was alone. New Year came and went and I worked, worked at the restaurant, worked at the office, worked at my exercises, worked at keeping my mind busy and worked at refusing to think about the future. I hid my growing belly for as long as I could. I avoided making close friends at work, resisted socialising outside of work, easy with two jobs to do. When the restaurant found out my days there were numbered but I'd expected that. The temp work continued late as I'd made a reputation as a good worker. There was a good atmosphere and I was glad to remain. I hoped to stay right up to the birth if they'd let me. I did in fact, only the birth was earlier than expected.

A hand snaking over my rounded belly from behind... a body pressing into me. Warm, so welcome. Hot breath on my ear, my shoulder. A penis sliding back and forth against my hungry lips. Making my juices flow. Making me want. Inside, please inside. Father, want my father inside me... against my lips, flick out my tongue, swirl around the head. Want to suck it into my mouth, only the head, can't suck more in, can't suck hard enough, so weak... a cock teasing my pussy, a cock teasing my mouth, want them both so much the frustration... balls boiling with cum all around me, ready to spray on me, in me, over me... anything, I'll do anything to make them cum, I'll be anything, anybody... just let me use my hands or my mouth, my tongue, my cunt, any hole, any part of me, just please let me have that hot cum, ready to erupt, my ass, use my virgin ass, I'll suffer, I'll humiliate myself, anything to be bathed in cum... anybody's cum... please cum... please...

I awoke drenched in sweat with a dull pain in my gut. Something was wrong and I knew I needed to get help as soon as possible. I called a taxi and was at the hospital mercifully quickly. The pain had intensified and the doctor identified the source of the problems and then I was on medication, activity swirling around me in a haze. Panic, but dull, distant panic. Just worry really. Nothing I could do. Just hope and fear, fear and hope.

It seemed the main turning points in my life had been this way. Out of my control, entrusted to the hands of others I didn't know, had no choice but to trust. Whether I'd carry through or fall, out of my hands. I thought of my Dad, the one who'd raised me, looked after me, driven me to clubs and classes while my mother was away with my father being used.

I felt the balance of gratitude for the upbringing I'd had on the one hand, against what I now understood to be a need attended to on the part of my mother. My Dad wasn't capable of satisfying that need. He was good, but he was weak. My mother was well cared for in some of the ways she needed while others were neglected. I finally felt a sense of empathy with her. I'd followed in her footsteps, experienced that primal desire that she must have found herself at the mercy of. We had the power of choice, my mother and me both had it.

That power to choose though, to expect to choose the rational in the face of a subconscious landslide of emotion. Anyone looking from outside would simply see the unintelligible decision making on the surface, just as I had. Anyone then going through the experience would understand just how hopeless the situation had been. We'd never stood a chance, my mother and me. All the power of choice had given her was the removal of any protection from the only choice it was possible for her to make. If my Dad had been more authoritative perhaps I wouldn't exist. My mother would have remained faithful, childless. Would they have been happy? Well, that's not what happened. Their future was their own to make, from the ruins of their marriage. And my future was...

I gave birth to my son at 6:18am on a cold May morning in a whirlwind of emergency, with his life in the balance from the very start.

And I felt myself falling.