It Was The Best Of Daughters

I gasp, and then I start crying. I just plain burst into tears, right there in front of my beautiful daughter.

I feel her hands all over me. They're guiding me into her. I can't fight it. My head is against her bosom. I sob, and sob.

She comforts me like a mother would a small, stupid, selfish boy -- a boy who knows he's been bad, and just can't deny it anymore.

"Oh, Daddy," Jennifer says. "Oh, Daddy, I know. I know. It's okay."

I pull myself away from her. I compose myself enough to speak.

"Please don't call me that," I say.

Jennifer's green eyes cool a hundred degrees in a mere moment.

"That's what you are now, Daddy," she says. "You're Jessica's daddy. You need to accept that. You made that choice."

I suck in a gallon of snot and wipe my face. I try to hold her gaze. It's so hard.

"I'm sorry, Jenny," I say. "It's not just about that. I'm so proud of you."

Jennifer's face shifts again. I'm not entirely sure what's happening. I know I saw the green eyes flicker. I know I saw her shift on the couch.

"It's amazing," I tell her. "It's everything you've been working towards for the past three years. I know how much it means to you, and I know you don't believe it, but it means even more to me."

Jennifer's melting. I can tell. The naughty little boy feels hope. He sees a way out. I make another bad choice. I choose to try to manipulate my daughter into forgiving me, and loving me again, even though I deserve neither.

"It's just... the difference." I say. She knows exactly what I mean. It's the difference between her and Jessica.

She nods, then pats my leg. Her eyes are no longer pure ice. I see sympathy.

"It's time, Daddy," she says. "Show me."

Jennifer hasn't been home since Jessica's nineteenth birthday. She had her chances, but she explicitly declined them. She'd tried to go easy on me, but she also didn't lie.

"I just can't handle it yet, Dad," she'd said on the phone. "I know what I said before, but 'best' doesn't mean 'good.' I have to stay focused. I have to keep my grades up."

She sure as hell wasn't lying about that last part.

I take a few moments to dry my tears and blow my nose. I try to explain to Jennifer that Jessica doesn't react well to me being sad, but she cuts me off and says she knows. The way she says it is unnerving. She's telling me she knows everything. I almost believe her.

She can't possibly, though, because then she'd murder me. I'd let her. My last words would be: make sure you get away with it, and take care of Jessica. I love you.

"Jessica, baby," I call out. "Come downstairs and say hi to Jenny."

I hear rustling and scampering. A door clicks open and then shut, and then Jessica is bounding down the stairs. She's fresh and clean, with her mousy brown hair up in a ponytail. She's wearing a short-sleeve baby-rib, a modest skirt, and casual socks. She even put a bra on -- one of the new special ones I bought for her, that won't excite her nipples while she moves around. I panic for one moment, then remember I told her to remove the plug.

Jennifer stands up to greet her younger sister. I turn around to watch. Jessica stops short before she makes it all the way to Jennifer. She's happy and enthusiastic, but she doesn't touch guests without permission.

"Hey Jessica," Jennifer says. I recognize the tone of voice. Nurses use it to talk to children. "Do you remember me?"

I think to myself: what an odd question! Then I remember where we live, and what my younger daughter is now. I pinch my own hand and bite my tongue so that I don't cry again.

"Sure I do, Jennifer!" Jessica says. She's chipper as anything. "Welcome back!"

Jennifer looks over to me expectantly. I gulp.

"Jessica, baby," I say. "Jennifer's your sister, so you can relax around her. If she's okay with it, you can touch her all you want."

Jennifer cocks her head knowingly, then refocuses on Jessica. She holds out her arms. Jessica leaps towards her and gives her a full-body hug. They were both such great huggers when they were younger. Jennifer never stopped being one. Jessica never forgot how. She just stopped.

It's a wonderful moment, but I see more than just two sisters hugging. Jennifer's tone was the clue. Now I see her looking, sniffing, touching -- inspecting, examining.

The hug ends.

"Well, you look like you're doing really well, Jessica," Jennifer says. "Is Daddy taking good care of you?"

"Oh, yes," Jessica says. It's embarrassing how sincere she is.

"And are you being responsible now?" Jennifer asks. "Are you eating right, exercising, doing your chores?"

Jessica nods along to every piece of the question, then answers "Yes I am!" proudly at the end.

These answers are automatic. They rest at the heart of the brainwashing. You check the box that says, not in so many words, 'happy to be a slave,' and this is what you get.

Jennifer reaches out and rubs Jessica's arms.

"That's really good, Jessica," she says. "I'm glad you're being such a good girl."

Jessica doesn't respond like she would for me, and thank heavens for that. She does seem to like the praise regardless. Maybe the fact that Jennifer's her sister still means something to her.

"So, did you miss me?" Jennifer asks.

Jessica's expression changes. I panic. She's confused, and not just I-never-learned-how-to-boil-water confused. This is the deep confusion. This is where the Heartland's stolen and repurposed technology comes up short.

I try to speak, but Jennifer shoots me a stern warning with her green eyes. My mouth closes. She refocuses on Jessica. She lets the short-circuited slave-confusion linger. Jessica's supposed to be happy unless she disappoints me, or unless she's separated from me for too long without lots of advance preparation. That doesn't leave room for something as simple as missing her sister. I think of Huxley. I spare a thought for John the savage.

"Are you glad to see me?" Jennifer finally asks, and Jessica snaps out of it.

"Oh, definitely!" she says, once again as chipper as can be. "You're my sister! I love you!"

Jennifer moves in and hugs Jessica again. She gives her a few rough kisses on her forehead.

"Awww, I love you too!" she says.

She finishes the hug and pats Jessica's arms.

"Okay, Jessica," she says, "Daddy and I need to have a private, adult conversation upstairs, so why don't you stay down here for awhile?"

Jessica looks to me immediately.

"That sounds like a good idea, Jessica," I tell her. Somehow, I keep my voice steady. "You can do any chores you need to do, and then play down here however you like until we call for you or come get you."

"Okay Daddy!" she replies happily. "Can I use the big holoscreen?"

I smile, in spite of it all.

"Well, you've been such-" I begin, but I stop myself.

Jennifer looks at me again. Without saying anything, she gives me the order: say it. Fucking say it.

I hesitate. Jennifer keeps staring me down. She wins.

"You've been such a good girl," I say slowly.

Jennifer turns and watches Jessica shudder in delight from the trigger words.

"...so that will be okay," I finish. Jessica comes back to reality and smiles.

"Oh, thank you Daddy!" she says, and she scampers off somewhere -- probably to get some pencils and synthetic paper.

Jennifer silently orders me upstairs. I comply. I can think of a few places up there I wouldn't mind dying. The bathtub would be a good way to dispose of the blood quickly.

I follow her into my bedroom. I close the door. I'm glad she's decided to let me lie back and get murdered comfortably, even though I still think the bathtub would be the better choice for a clean getaway. She sits on my bed -- the bed where, hours ago, I passionately sodomized her younger sister. Jessica changed the sheets and did laundry after that. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to hide the evidence of all my sins.

Jennifer pats the bed. Her eyes are fire and ice all at once. They're judgment and sympathy.

I sit down. I don't know whether to give my last confession, or just wait.

"She seems good," Jennifer says. "She looks healthy, physically - way better than the last time I saw her."

If people actually did double takes in real life, I would have. I'm sure Jennifer gets the message.

She puts her hand on my leg again. Is it closer to my groin this time? It can't be. I'm just a pervert who's gotten far too used to having sex with one of my daughters.

"She's close to the best I've seen, Dad," she says. "I think you got her through it as well as you could."

I look at her, baffled. She sighs, then lets me off the hook.

"I'm already doing internships, Daddy," she says. "Nurses have to know a lot about slaves."

I'd smack myself for being so stupid. How could I not have thought about that?

"There was a man..." I begin.

She stops me by rubbing my leg.

"Well, that's a small blessing," she says. "They really do throw you in the deep end. It's on purpose, I'm sure."

I nod. I don't know what else she wants from me.

"Daddy," she says, "I need to tell you something."

"Okay," I say weakly.

Surprisingly, Jenny's gaze falters, not mine. Her eyes get wet. I don't understand what's happening.

"I have to tell you something, and it's going to make you hate me," she says. "And it's okay. I don't want you to hate me, but I just have to say it. I have to say it, and then it's said, and then... I don't know."

I nod again. I deserve this.

Jennifer exhales forcefully and dabs her eyes. She looks up at the ceiling -- at nothing, really, just anything but me -- before she steels herself. When she looks at me again, I radiate acceptance and understanding. I'll never be ready, but, well, I have to be.

"I get why Mom left," she says, "and I think I could've forgiven her."

I remain completely silent. This is hard for my beautiful daughter, and I feel it. I feel it like a father should. A father should rush to carry any burden he can for his children. Even when it's a burden he can't, he should want to.

"I could've forgiven her for leaving you, if you'd decided to stay," she continued. "I could've, if only she'd taken me and Jessica with her."

She cries. I cry. It's ugly. It's cathartic.

"I know," I blubber. It doesn't make sense in the air or on the page, but it conveys everything to my darling girl. Both of her parents failed her.

"Do you hate me?" she blubbers back.

"I could never," I say. "I love you so much, Jennifer. You're my daughter. You're my real daughter. You're the best of us. You are this family."

Jennifer's still crying. I'm trying to stop, because that's what men do, stupid and stubborn as they are -- especially here in the Heartland. I can't help but notice a change, though. Jennifer seems to have come out the other side of something. The crying is different. The tears are different.

She grabs at my arm with both hands. Then she seizes my hand with one of hers.

"Daddy," she says, "I want you to tell me how I made you proud all these years. I want you to convince me. Show me you were paying attention to me. That you remember. That you really cared."

I have no idea what the hell is happening, but how could I ever deny my daughter such a simple request? The words come out in a jumble.

I remember science experiments from fourth grade, and then gymnastics from middle school, and then back to her demanding to hold her new baby sister at just three years old. It all spills out. The classic achievements -- honor roll, female valedictorian, cross-country trophies, scholarships, the perfect GPA these past three years -- blur together with moments that only a father would remember and care so much about.

There's a pause, finally, and Jennifer rushes to fill the silence.

"Daddy, I need you to let me do something," she says.

I nod quickly.

"Anything," I tell her.

"Give me your arm and hand," she says. "Don't fight me."

She already has my arm and hand. She's been holding them this whole time. I nod again.

She pulls my hand to her pelvis, covered by loose track shorts. She does it so forcefully that the rest of my body is pulled towards her. I almost lose my balance from my sitting position.

I make a halfhearted attempt to pull away. That only makes her tug again, harder.

My hand is there. I feel her, underneath her shorts.

She's wet, and she's on fire.

"Jennifer!" is all I can think to say. It's stupid. I sound like a schoolmarm.

"Jennifer, I can't -" I begin again, but we both know it's a fucking lie. My heart isn't in the words. Jessica is downstairs, drawing and watching holovids. She's living, breathing, brainwashed, sodomized-this-morning proof that I can, and have, and probably will again, unless Jennifer stops me.

Jennifer doesn't seem like she's going to stop me.

"You tried so hard with Jessica," my daughter says -- my real daughter, my free daughter, the daughter who worked hard all her life in a country that doesn't deserve a shred of her value.

"And while she was breaking your heart," she continues, "you somehow managed to be there for me too. You missed, what, one track meet? That was because Jessica was at a party after curfew where three kids overdosed, and you were the only one that could go get her. You left me home alone without a chaperone once, because Jessica was at a Watchdog outpost with a cut-up hand, held on suspicion of trespassing."

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Jennifer remembers all of that. She was always whip-smart, just like her mother. Unlike Jessica, she'd kept her head clear all throughout high school. There was never a hint of drugs or alcohol. She'd barely dated.

Jennifer starts to move my hand up and down her groin. She pulls and tugs, again and again, urging my hand onto her body.

"Jessica's paying you back, now, Daddy," Jennifer says. "She didn't love you like a daughter when she had the chance, so she loves you like this now. But it's not enough. You need more. You're not happy. You miss Mom. You miss having a wife. You and Jessica is not a whole family.

"I can love you like that, Daddy," she says.

I make my choice. I stop resisting. I push into my daughter's mound. I use my fingers. I find the vague outline of her lips, and then guess where her clit is. I push her down onto the bed, and she lets me. I loom over her and give her an intense over-the-clothes hand job. I lean down and kiss her, straight on the lips. I push my tongue in. She welcomes it. I break the kiss, and I give her what she needs.

"Jennifer," I say, "you are the best daughter I could have ever hoped for. You are so smart. You work so hard. You keep yourself so healthy, and you're so fucking sexy I could die. My cock has been aching for you since you first hugged me at the door."

"I do it all for you!" she cries.

My touches cannot possibly be doing this to her. They're probably not. Well, maybe they're helping just a little.

"And I love you for it," I say. "It makes me so proud. I am so proud of you. You are such a good daughter."

"Say it, Daddy," she says. "God, say it, please!"

I know what she needs.

I lean right next to her ear. The position is painfully awkward, but I hold it. I do it for her.

"Good girl," I whisper.

My hot breaths make her shudder, but not nearly as much as the words do.

"You're a good girl, Jenny. You're a good girl for Daddy. Daddy loves you so much. You're being such a good girl for Daddy."

Jennifer bucks against my hand. She gets quiet, but her mouth opens wide. I kiss her all along her earlobe and neck. I take in her smell while I do it. It's intoxicating.

"Cum for Daddy," I whisper, even though she's already there. I sense another change, though, and it's a good one. The risk paid off.

I keep whispering praise and encouragement for as long as she keeps going -- and she keeps going. She's been waiting for this for such a long time. After fifteen seconds or so, she takes control of my hand again so that I don't overload her. After thirty, she's ready to stop.

She splays out. One of her legs is off the bed. She pants heavily. I roll off her and do the same. My arm aches.

We stay like that for a few minutes. Then I hear her get up, so I try to sit up too. It's difficult, but I get there.

Jennifer is stripping off her clothes. The room begins to smell of her. It's wonderful.

"Clothes off, Daddy," she says. It's clearly an order. It's probably the voice she uses with difficult patients -- well, except she's just had an orgasm, so I'm probably getting off easy.

I get up and strip. We're both naked, facing each other. I take in the sight of her toned, trim, twenty-three-year-old body. I feel shame that mine - twenty-one years older - can't possibly compare.

I see her lightly-tanned skin, green eyes and honey-blonde hair in a new light. I look down and see a neatly-trimmed patch of pubic hair. I'm surprised that it's the same color down there; I would've thought it would be darker.

Jennifer scans me up and down. My cock deflates in shame, but Jennifer huffs in approval. Then my little guy is just as confused as I am. There are some things that even he can't accept right away.

"So," Jennifer says, putting her hands on her hips, "this is how this is going to work."

I stand there, naked and dumbfounded. I wait for her to continue.

"I didn't get into just one MSN program," she says. "I got into six. The one at your school isn't the best, but it's good. It's free, because of my record, but also maybe a little bit because you work there."

"Baby, congratulations, I-"

Jennifer holds up one hand and chuckles.

"Okay Daddy, you know one of my weak spots, but don't be a dick about it," she says.

I laugh. She smiles. My cock decides to stay flaccid for the moment, but it still pulses and twitches with hope. It also likes what it sees.

"Once this year is finished, I'm officially transferred and I'm moving back in," she says. "You need a wife, and Jessica needs a mommy."

"A wife? But -" I begin.

She cuts me off again with the same hand.

"Do you eat Jessica's pussy?" she asks.

"No," I confess, and I feel ashamed all over again.

"Do you lick her ass?" she asks.

"Sometimes," I say.

Jennifer gives me a knowing look.

"Mmm, because she needs attention back there for all sorts of other things," she says.

I try to play the stern father. I try to radiate disapproval. It's pathetic, and she laughs at me.

"Dad, I know," Jennifer says. "I know what you and Mom liked. It's fine."

The fatherly look didn't work, so I just give up. I shrug, and let her continue.

"You keep Jessica smooth, too," she says. It's not even a question. I nod.

"Well then," she says, "this is going to work exactly how I'd planned.

"See my bush, Daddy?" she asks.

I look at it again, and nod dumbly. It's not really a 'bush,' but that's a quibble. I stay quiet.

"I keep everything else smooth for you, Daddy," she says, "but this bush is how you're going to know that I'm your lover, not your slave. And you're not going to lick Jessica's pussy. I'll let you keep licking her ass from time to time, since Lord knows she's paying for it, but this is the only pussy on your menu.

"And it's going to be on the menu a lot," she says. "In fact, get on your knees right now and get to know it."

"Yes, Jennifer," I say. I walk over to her. I sink down onto the carpet and position myself. I gently place my hands on her thighs and lean in.

"Smell it, Daddy," she says.

I breathe in deeply through my nose. It's still a little stuffy, but I can smell my beautiful daughter just fine.

"Taste it," she orders.

I do, and once I do, I want to devour it. I look up with the question in my eyes. Jennifer meets my gaze, and she mulls it over.

"Is my pussy prettier than Jessica's?" she asks.