Jamelia Won't Take No for an Answer

Jamelia heard his collision with her desk and opened one eye to peek over and see if he was being hooked. She was pleased to see he had fallen into her carefully laid trap. She had even placed her worn, dirty underwear on the desk in the hope that he would inadvertently find himself holding them in his hands, just as she had done. The thought of him sniffing and licking her stains excited her more than anything. Last night she'd dug out his boxers that she had stolen and masturbated again to their intimate scents and flavours, thinking how exhilarating it would be if she knew he was doing the same with hers.

The bait did not take. He left her dirty knickers behind as he cursed under his breath and exited the room, softly shutting the door behind him. Jamelia luxuriated in her victory, laughing at her own deviousness. Her finger idly diddled around in her aroused pussy and she felt that it would be a shame to waste this precious horny excitement. She reached over to her bedside drawer, pulled out her vibe and let the shivery, tingly, warm feelings of love and lust for her father take over for a quick and happy saturday morning orgasm.

She bustled into the kitchen, whistling happily. Her father was drinking coffee and reading the news on his phone. Everything was deliberately normal. There could have been a large neon sign on the wall stating in flashing letters: 'ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WEIRD GOING ON HERE!'

"I thought we were going on that day trip today?" she said as she poured herself a cup and put bread into the toaster, "You were supposed to wake me up. Early start, you said."

"I, um, looked in on you but you... looked so peaceful it seemed a shame to disturb you."

"Awww, thanks, Daddy," she touched his arm affectionately, "I was rilly rilly tired. I needed a good sleep. Been having lots of straaange dreams lately."

She leaned over to inelegantly adjust her underwear which had ridden up uncomfortably.

"Why are you wearing that?"

He was frowning at her and gestured to her bosom. She looked down (innocently, completely innocently) at her body. She was dressed in a pair of tight pastel-pink panties (living in their isolation for many years, walking around the home in their underwear was not an uncommon occurrence, particularly in the unbearable height of Summer) and an even tighter teeshirt that sported a cartoon bear on the front.

"What? Oh, this. I was digging out some clothes for welfare but I thought I'd wear this once more before I gave it away."

She proudly pushed out her chest, the thin cotton teeshirt stretched over her ample boobs, her thick nubs clearly visible. It barely reached her belly-button.

"I was obsessed with these bears, do you remember?"

"No. Maybe."

"Of course you do. You must've watched the cartoon with me a hundred million times!"

She hummed the cartoon's jaunty theme tune and bent over to reach into the fridge. He watched as she wiggled her bottom and kept fiddling with her obviously too tight panties. She poured herself a coffee and came over to the table. She didn't pull out a chair but plopped her butt on to his lap and put her arms around his neck.

"Er, you alright?" he asked.

"Daddy, I want you to know... how much I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Don't be silly."

"No, it's important that you know. Before I leave and everything changes. For some time I've been wanting to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

He looked into her big brown eyes, they seemed to be brimming with emotion.

"It couldn't have been easy, bringing me up. I know I was a handful."

"Shush."

"After Mom deserted us-"

"Don't call it that, she-"

"Don't defend her. She threw us both away like garbage."

He wanted to be diplomatic but he couldn't truthfully argue with her.

"After she left," Jamelia continued, "I was so mixed up and angry. You kept me on the rails. You work so hard to give us our nice home and all the things I ask for, or most of them, and now you're paying for me to go build a future."

"I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Just me and you."

"I just love you so much!"

She buried her face in his neck, carried away with a depth of feeling she hadn't planned on. What she had planned was that her father would at this point lean in and kiss her neck in a familiar gesture of paternal comforting. In her room, she had prepared for this moment by perfuming this area of her skin with her own cummy juices, fresh from her orgasming cunt. She held him tight and felt him linger near the nape of her neck. She felt the soft breeze of his sniff. He kissed her slowly. She felt him reluctant to withdraw his face. She sat up, happily victorious again, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

She jumped up, grabbed her coffee and began to butter her toast, after fiddling again with her underwear.

"And what about them?" he asked gruffly, "They're obviously too small as well."

"What are?"

"Your panties."

"Daddy!"

"Well, they are. Or you wouldn't have to keep pulling them out of your buttcrack like that."

"Stop fussing," she said, pulling them out of her crevice.

"If you need some new clothes, you don't have to parade around in..."

Inspiration smacked into her intelligence at supersonic speed.

"That's a wonderful idea, Dad! You can take me shopping!"

"I wasn't sugg-"

"I need a tonne of new things for when I go away to college."

"Maybe you should go with a fr-"

"I'll go get dressed. This will be fun!"

The bounced out of the room. Not for the first (or last) time that day, her father was left feeling utterly bamboozled.

At the lingerie store in the huge mall, Jamelia spent a couple of hours delighting in her father's growing distress as she held up bras to her boobs or nighties to her torso and asked if he thought she looked too plain or too slutty or too old-fashioned. She ran pairs of pantyhose through his fingers so he could see why the smooth soft nylons would be so expensive. She was holding up a pair of silky silvery cheeky panties when a shop assistant came over and asked if they needed any help.

Jamelia's father cleared his throat and said, "No, we're fine, thank you."

"We have a changing booth in the back," the shop assistant insisted, being helpful and directing her sales-smile at Jamelia, "If you'd like to model any garments for... your..."

"Father," her father cut in.

There was a dead silence then both Jamelia and the shop assistant burst into giggles.

Left alone, Jamelia, held up another pair of knickers, this time a lace thong in soft shimmering black.

"These look nice, don'tcha think?"

"They're completely see-through at the front!"

"Daddy, if a boy gets as far as seeing these, then... he's gonna see everything anyway, y'know?"

"I'd rather not dwell on that, if it's all the same to you."

Carrying their bundled bags of goodies, Jamelia and her father entered the elevator to descend seventeen floors to the car-park. Just as the doors were closing a rush of people clambered inside, loaded down with their own bags and with baby buggies. Jamelia had her back to the far wall and her father squeezed up against her. She smiled to herself and put her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. She was sure she could hear his heartbeat getting faster. Someone in the elevator moved and Jamelia's dad was pressed even closer. She hugged him tight and her boobs squished against him. She felt his cock rubbing on her thigh through the materials of his clothes. She leaned on her leg, pressing closer and felt him growing harder and longer within his pants.

When the elevator reached the car-park level, she had a delicious minute of not letting go until everyone else cleared out. Eventually, reluctantly, she released him from her embrace.

"Thanks for today, it was nice," she said as they walked to their car.

She had planned to capitalise on this forward momentum and her brain was exploring even more avenues of seduction when her father dropped a bombshell.

"I'm out tonight," he said as they crammed the many bags on the back seat of the car.

"Out?"

"Yeah. One of the guys' birthday. I'll be out all night."

She was gutted, the wind taken out of her sails.

"All night?"

"Well, 'til the early hours, say."

"Oh."

"So don't bolt the door," he joked, "Will you remember?"

"No."

"You won't remember?"

"I'll remember, I'll remember, okay!?"

Thwarted, she sulked all the way home and for the rest of the day.

Evening came and Jamelia was slumped on the sofa in one of her father's best shirts (out of spite she'd picked one she knew was very expensive and would cause him the most worry). Her father entered the room, fiddling with his collar and tie. She looked him over jealously. He looked good, damn it. Too good. He looked very... approachable. Very inviting.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Fine," she shrugged.

"Thanks for the confidence boost."

He looked in the hallway mirror and toyed with his hair.

"You're always saying I should get out more, meet people."

'Yes,' she thought, 'I do fucking say that, don't I?'

She got up and held him at arm's length, appraising him professionally.

"Not too shabby, I suppose," she concluded.

She leaned in close, stretched up and placed her nose and lips on his neck. She held herself against him for an extended couple of minutes, gently snuffling his skin.

"You smell good," she said.

"It's a cologne I bought in a dinky little salon on my business trip to Belgium."

"Very swish, very... I'm sure she'll love it."

She flopped back down on the sofa and started clicking through teevee channels.

"Who'll love it?" he asked, sniffing himself cautiously.

"Whoever the lucky lady is."

"It's just guys. It's Robbie's birthday, I told you."

"You mean, you aren't hoping to hook up? You look very smart for a few beers with 'The Guys'."

He couldn't fathom her changeable mood but, having brought up a raging hormonal teenage daughter and having been married to an often viciously displeased woman, he had long given up thinking he would ever understand the intricacies of the feminine psyche.

*******

Jamelia's father came stumbling through the front door, made some loud noises in the hall (told himself to shush in a comedy whisper) and then entered his lounge to find his daughter still slumped in front of the teevee.

"Pewf! What a night!" he exclaimed as he whacked his shin on the corner of the coffee-table then collapsed next to her.

"You're back earlier than I expected."

"Yeah, well, hell, I can't keep up with the younger boys. Your old man's an old man now, babe."

She looked at him rubbing his injured shin then looked back at the screen. He noted, even in his fuzzy state, that she was still pouting.

"Whatcha been doing?" he asked.

"What do you mean? Ain't done nothing. Just sat here. Had a few of these."

She leaned over and chinked her glass against the tall bottle of vodka sitting on the coffee-table.

"Whoa, that's the good stuff. Strong too. You always said it was disgusting. Horrendous, you called it."

"I had to mix it with quite a lot grape soda," she admitted.

After a while, she asked, "Did you meet any women?"

He eyed her suspiciously, "I did, actually. A very nice lady. Chatted to her for quite some time."

"You didn't bring her home."

"I'm not such a smooth mover as all that," he slurred.

There was a another silence, they watched with unseeing eyes the rubbish on teevee.

"Man, the price of taxis now!" he said, pulling out his wallet and flipping though his cash.

"All these years, you've never brought a woman home."

"I... I suppose not, no."

"That's because of me, isn't it?"

He pondered, then plumped for honesty, "Maybe. I wouldn't feel completely at ease with you-"

"I'm sorry I've been holding you back!"

She turned her face away.

"I didn't say that. I didn't say that at all."

"I'll be out of your hair soon anyway. And you can bring home whoever you want."

"Jammie, come on."

He tried to turn her shoulder but she refused to face him. He sat back and leaned his weary head on the sofa.

"Living with you," he said, "It's been a pivil-lidge, priva... privileshe that I have been thankful for, for every day. My words aren't working but it's, er, I consider it an honour to share my life with a such a kind, smart, creative, beautiful, wonderful, sexy young woman. I haven't for a single second regretted you being in my life. You ARE my life. There's no one else I could even dream about sharing my love with, all my love is for you. And you alone."

His eyes were closed. She turned and she had some tears on her cheeks, not huge ones but big enough.

"Did you just call me sexy?" she asked.

He looked at her.

"I... I don't think I did, no. No."

She laid her head on him and he drooped his heavy arm over her. She switched off the teevee and they sat together in the sudden darkness.

"Mom was a fool to leave you," she whispered.

"She had her own thing, to fly. Given time, you'll forgive her an' make it up. When did you last speak to her?"

"I don't. I hate her."

"Don't say that, she just... You can't live your life living a lie, she followed her dreams, s'all. Just so happens her dreams-"

"Didn't involve us."

"Come on, this won't do any good, let's go to bed."

"Or we could sleep together? Here, I mean."

"That's a very real possibility, so UP!"

He shouted with the effort of hauling both their dead-weights up off the sofa. Jamelia hadn't really been feeling the vodka until she stood and then her legs turned to linguine. She clunked her shinbone hard against the coffee-table. Her father nimbly caught both her and the toppling vodka bottle.

"Ow, fuck, that hurt!" she said as she limped, holding on to his shoulder.

"Mind your language, young missy."

"Oh fucketty-fuck, Dad, I'm a big girl now!"

"Don't I know it!"

At the door to her bedroom, she stopped him from dragging her inside.

"Wait, I have to pee," she said.

"Yeah, I could go too."

"Me first!"

She giggled and lurched into the bathroom, catching her elbow on the door frame as she went. He heard her cursing her

bruised arm through the semi-closed door. Waiting interminably, Jamelia's father yanked off his tie and his sweaty shirt. He leaned on the wall for what seemed like an hour. He banged on the bathroom door.

"Come on, slow-coach, wha' hell you doing in there?"

There was no answer so he poked his head in to see his daughter sleeping happily on the seat. He walked in and gently woke her. He lifted her but she stumbled, entangled by her underwear around her ankles.

"Let's get your panties off, then we can get somewhere."

"Finally!" she guffawed and then clamped her hand over her mouth.

He kneeled down and helped her step out of the twisted knickers. He looked up, she looked down, midway between their faces, barely hidden by the shirt, was her exposed naked vagina. A slight dribble of pee dawdled down her thigh. He gulped. She smiled. He stood up and led her to her room. He carefully laid her on her back on her bed.

"You don't feel ill, do you? You don't feel sick?"

"I only had a couple, Dad."

"I need to pee, I'll be back in a mo."

She lay in the dark, listening to his long, forceful piss in the next room. His groans of ecstasy as he emptied his pressured bladder made her chuckle. She unbuttoned the shirt and then arranged herself in a reclined position that would display just enough of her breasts to be tantaslising to any male. She felt the shirt's fabric brushing against her sensitive nipples. She breathed into her palm and checked her breath. She thought he wouldn't mind the hideous vodka pong. She tidied her hair and waited for her prey. There were butterflies in her stomach. He came back and sat on the bed.

"You'll be alright?" he asked.

"Do you mean in all these years, you've never been... with anyone, since Mom?"

"This again? There have been a couple of times. Nothing serious."

He closed up her shirt, covering her nakedness.

"Did me being in the way stop it getting serious?"

"Don't start that again."

He leaned down and kissed her. He smiled at her and she smiled back. He kissed the tip of her nose and then her forehead. She closed her eyes. She felt him begin to leave.

"Another," she said.

She felt his weight shift on the bed. She smelled how close he was. His lips touched hers briefly.

"One more," she said softly.

She opened her mouth ever-so-slightly and raised her head. She sensed he hadn't withdrawn.

'Now,' she thought, 'If I just stay like this, offering him my... he may just...'

She felt his lips touch hers again. This time they did not leave. Her heart swelled up to double its size. Her father breathed through his nose as they began a series of loving and gentle kisses. She wanted to embrace him violently but she didn't wanted to spook him. She repressed the moans of pleasure she wanted to emit as they kissed. His hand touched her face. Then his palm descended down her neck to her breast. He groped her boob and her nipple was teased by his thumb. A sequence of tremors triggered throughout her body. She raised her arm and stroked the hair on the back of his head, bringing him closer.

Suddenly he pulled away. She opened her eyes and he was shocked and afraid, backing away. His hands covered his face.

"Shit. I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Shit, fuck, I..." he fled the room.

She heard his bedroom door slam shut.

"Mind your language," she joked quietly.

She pulled up her duvet and snuggled into her pillows with a colossal smile on her face.

In the morning, Jamelia tried on three different outfits before picking a darling ensemble with just the perfect amount of charm and provocation. She danced out of her room, down the hall to the kitchen and found that she'd wasted her time. Her father was gone. Long gone it seemed. She stomped her foot in a theatrical display of dissatisfaction.

For the next three days he dodged and evaded any contact with her. She'd wake up and he'd be gone. When he was home, he'd shut himself away in his bedroom, not answering her knocks or calls. She pondered the problem and thought that she'd solve it by waiting on her father's bed for him to come home at night but she fell asleep and when she woke the next day she found that she'd been undisturbed. The sofa showed signs of having been slept on.

'This will not do. This won't do at all.'

She sat at her bedroom desk and composed a letter designed to tug at his heart-strings and play his guilty feelings like a violin. She intimated that she was to blame. She assumed that he hated her, that he can't even bear to be around her anymore. She said there was nothing left to do but go live with the Wicked Witch until she started college. She said goodbye at the end of the note and then arranged her room so it looked like she was packing to leave.

She left the note on his pillow. It was a glorious piece of heart-wrenching prose. When she heard her father's key in the front door, she dashed to her bedroom and rubbed her eyes hard until they were red. She positioned herself in a suitably sad pose. She refused to allow a smile to play on her lips when, after a while, her bedroom door was pushed open.

"Jamelia? You awake?"

"Yes, Dad."

"I, er, read your, um, letter."

She snuffled and rubbed away non-existent tears.

"Of course you don't have to go," he said, "This is your home. Unless... unless you want to leave?"

"I can't live like this. You've ghosted me. I feel cancelled."

"I don't know what that means but... I just needed to work some things out. In my head. To face up to some ugly truths."

He sat on the bed. She walked over and sat next to him but he edged away.

"You are in no way to blame," he said, "I... I hate myself for what I did. I am a despicable piece of shit."