Kayla's Serenade

Ian looked on helpless, not wanting her to leave, but having no right, after the previous night's escapade, to keep her there. She knew she couldn't stay after how she had so brazenly exhibited herself, causing him to fantasize about her. It was not healthy, and it was improper in the extreme. He kept kicking himself for being so stupid and letting his balls get the better of his brain. After what seemed an eternity, she looked up from the ads and their eyes met. Her's were streaming with tears, and his were almost to the point of flowing too. He ran to his studio and shut the door behind him, not to come down until evening had fallen. She plodded around the house for a while, then went back to bed, crying for hours. So much for her first night's wish that she could stay there forever.

Things slowly settled down to an acceptable routine. She didn't leave, and he spent most of his waking hours in his studio. While not so overwhelmed by sadness, they were far from happy. Ian began to formulate a song from ideas planted by the sadness of parting, and the loneliness such an event brings. Tentative at first, it began to take on a life of its own, beginning to compose itself out of the strong impulses emanating from a near broken heart. Kayla began to roam the hills, sketching the wildlife, and seeking the comfort and solitude of nature.

A fortnight passed, uneventful and calm, and then one evening storm clouds began to gather to the west. It had been an Indian summer day, warmer than usual, and now contending with cooler air sauntering in from the northwest. A perfect recipe for a stormy night. Kayla had been eyeing the sky with trepidation. She didn't like violent storms. After dinner they both bid each other good night and went to their bedrooms to strip down to their skin and crawl under the covers. Then it hit. Great rumblings of thunder in the distant hills, growing closer and closer, until the sky opened up to flashing bolts of lightning and deafening thunderclaps that shook the house. Ian was just beginning to wake to the commotion when suddenly Kayla came barreling down the hallway screaming in terror, straight through his bedroom door and under the covers.

She was trembling, and every clap of thunder made her burrow down deeper beneath the covers and into his protecting arms. While he was reminded of the old days when she would crawl into his arms during storms, he realized that the old days didn't involve a grown woman trying to fit into the same space. To make it worse, they both were totally without clothing.

While the tempest outside took on frightening proportions, Ian was at a loss to control the situation. Kayla had glued herself to him like spoons in a drawer and his cock was beginning to harden, growing up the crack in her buttocks. When it was elongated and rock hard, wedged between his daughter's beautiful ass cheeks, Ian decided it had gone too far, and began to tell his daughter so, but as soon as he began to speak, she yelled, "Shut the fuck up, goddamnit!" grabbing his hand and wrapping his arm around her torso and between her breasts. She was shivering from fright and he could not but feel sympathy for her fear, so he allowed the situation to continue, though he wasn't sure how long he could cope with his dick straining against her round, tight, well-toned butt.

Every thunderclap brought a fresh tightening around Ian's penis, and her heavy, uncontrolled breathing squeezed his hand with every gasp between her full bosoms. His dick was wedged tightly between her irresistible and well-defined muscular ass cheeks which quivered with small muscle spasms every time there was a fresh salvo of thunder and lightning. His nose was nestled into the signature curls of her blonde hair which exuded the scent of trepidation and youthful pheromones.

Trying desperately not to give in to his sexual impulses, Ian gritted his teeth against the inevitable climax building up and churning deep within his groin. Suddenly his balls felt as if they were catching fire. His cock then stretched and strained against its maximum capacity to handle, and the rumbling began to rise up from his loins and into his swollen shaft and sent an explosive geyser of cum up his daughter's back. As this was happening, a series of lightning bolts lit up the sky like fireworks, causing Ian's penis to be repeatedly squeezed and milked by Kayla's ass cheeks as they clamped tight around him with each fresh explosion of thunder. Stream after stream of cum was wrested from him until there was nothing but creamy white sperm filling the space between them.

When the storm finally receded into the distant landscape, Ian began to realize what he had done with his daughter in his arms. He began to rise but was held solidly by Kayla's firm grip lodging his hand between her breasts. She had fallen quiet and was actually asleep in his protective embrace, a hint of a smile upon her placid face. Ian slowly drifted into a deep and satisfied slumber also, realizing tomorrow was another day and the two of them would work out the situation as best they could.

The morrow was woken by an early and incomparable October sunrise, the rising orb brilliantly shining, the impurities in the air washed away by the previous night's storm. Ian, on the other hand, was woken from his slumber by Kayla's singing in the kitchen. Breakfast was usually fixed by the first to rise and she had risen long before the sun, first showering, then going about her morning preparations. She was filled with a giddiness that seemed expansive and contagious.

Ian rose and also showered, washing away the messiness of the previous night, smiling at what had occurred, seemingly to no great detriment, as was evident by Kayla's happy ditties which pervaded the morning hours. In fact, Kayla, dressed in a short t-shirt and cotton panties which revealed her abdomen and navel so deliciously, was elated by the results of a night spent in her father's arms.

"I hope you slept well, Daddy?" she asked as he entered the kitchen. Omelets were frying and being turned by her deft hands, while bacon was sizzling in a skillet. "Thank you, Daddy, for comforting me in the storm. I guess they still frighten me after all these years." She walked up to him and planted a kiss on his lips, lingering a fraction of a second longer than would have seemed proper under the circumstances and giving him a hug, planting one hand ever-so-slightly lower than usual, and eliciting the now familiar tightening in his briefs, for he, like she, was dressed only in t-shirt and cotton briefs. Long was the morning, filled with pleasant conversation and furtive glances at each other's appealing attributes. They seem to have finally broken through an impasse and were ready to coexist by a new standard of mutual respect and closeness which, while not quite based on coital consummation, was one that they could both live with and accept.

The song that Ian had been composing took a new turn, veering from desperation and loss and loneliness, to hope and fulfillment and future happiness. He had left sadness behind him in this new atmosphere of unencumbered closeness. Often when the lights were out, and both had been asleep for a while, Kayla would wake and tiptoe into her father's bedroom like a little child, and crawl under the covers with him. Then would follow a slow and steady rhythmic dance of buttocks and penis as they spooned themselves to the same warm, messy conclusion of that stormy night. The nights grew colder and the cuddling grew warmer, both realizing that they had gone as far as moral strictures would allow, and both feeling a mutual acceptance of the status quo.

One frosty-edged morning in late November, Ian had risen before Kayla after one such playful night and was fixing breakfast when she came into the kitchen in a wispy musing sort of way. The nights were getting longer and colder and the cuddling was as close as you could manage without melting one into the other. On the table was an invitation addressed to Ian from the club manager of "Berkshire Studio 7," a place where artists go to be discovered and try out new acts before industry types and fans. Ian had played there times before, and in fact, was first discovered there.

Kayla grew very excited when she saw it. She had only remembered her father performing when she was a small child and here was an opportunity to see him again in his true singer/songwriter element. "Are you going to accept the invite?" she asked expectantly.

"That's up to you," he replied with a sly grin.

"What do you mean, mon Pere?"

"Well, honey, what I mean is that I've been writing a song for you, and I sent a copy of it to Stu Billings, the manager of the club, asking if he'd mind me previewing it there. He seemed quite enthused by the idea. It's called Kayla's Serenade and seeing that it's yours, you should make the decision whether or not I should accept the invitation."

Kayla's eyes grew teary and her voice faltered from the emotions she was feeling. "Of course, Daddy, but only under one condition."

"And what's that, dear?"

"That you just call it Serenade. We can keep the original title to ourselves, like our nights together."

"Done!" he replied. "I'll call Stu after breakfast. I'll be on this Friday. I assume you're not previously engaged," he said, grinning again.

"No," she replied, smiling demurely, "I'll make some time in my busy schedule."

The next few days seemed like an eternity to Kayla. Sometimes she would pace about the house, wondering what the song sounded like. She could only hear muffled murmurings through the soundproof walls of the studio above. Ian, on the other hand, was in his true element, editing and perfecting, wanting to create a piece both remarkable and enduring for his daughter.

Finally, Friday had arrived, and a cold one it was! The thermometer had dipped well below freezing and the skies were darkening as if to snow. On the long drive to Berkshire Studio, snowflakes began to dust the landscape, turning the browning carpet of leaves to a frosted white. "Ah!" Kayla sighed, "The Berkshires are always most beautiful in the snow." She had worn a black silk dress that fell softly about her rounded shoulders and accentuated the lithe lines of her torso. Ian couldn't help but admire his daughter, thinking she might accrue more attention than he. Not that he minded. This night, after all, was hers.

Upon arriving, Ian was surprised to see the parking lot so full. Stu was there to meet them at the door. "Well! This must be Kayla! Exquisite!" Stu was always the supreme complimentary host and well-wisher. It was no wonder he had been so successful over the years. The walls of the Studio were covered with signed photos of all the artists who had graced his small, but all-too-sought-after stage. Kayla wondered if her father's picture was somewhere among the multitude.

"Who's the big attraction tonight?" Ian asked. "Not that I mind someone else getting the top billing. It just means more will hear my new song."

Stu stopped in his tracks and turned to face Ian with a look of disbelief. "You are kidding, aren't you? Ian, my dear, you are the man tonight that everybody has risked a ride in a blizzard to see!" He turned, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "You've been far too long a hermit in the hills, my dear! Don't let us down!" Kayla gave him one of her amused acknowledgements. Stu seemed to speak only in exclamation points.

Ian eventually took the stage to gracious applause. His set consisted of ballads and songs from his younger days, songs that brought many a well-remembered sigh from members of his audience. Kayla couldn't help but to be impressed with the facility her father had of wrapping the audience around his stories and making them an intimate part of his music. She understood what had made him such a popular part of the culture he brought to life in his songs. Then he spoke of a song he had recently written, a serenade, a song to woo the heart of another. The room grew quiet, many wanting to see if he still possessed his old touch.

He began with a simple acoustic run of notes on the guitar. So simple, even a beginning guitarist could master it in a few lessons, but so sweet it touched the souls of all in the room. The Studio took on a hushed atmosphere of expectation...and then came the flow of words, at once pensive and lyrical. They were asking the audience if they had experienced loss and sadness, asking in such an all-pervasive manner that immediately those in their seats could empathize. From the initial reaction he guided the listeners through the redemptive process of hope and renewal, expectation and fulfillment.

But what struck the deepest chords was the devotion and love expressed in the lilting lyrics which fell so easily upon the ear and touched the heart so tenderly. Kayla was mesmerized...hypnotized by the emotions washing over her. She couldn't hold back her tears. She looked around at others in the room and their eyes also were moist. Such universal, deep-felt feelings flowed out of the music and lyrics that all were affected by them. And then, with the same acoustic run of notes that began the serenade, he brought it to a quiet and dissoluble end.

Ian closed his eyes. For a few precious seconds no one wished to break the spell he had cast. Applause seemed almost rude. Then slowly, like the fretful falling of a new snow, a few hands came together, building one upon the other, until the whole room was awash in a deafening sound of gratitude and appreciation. He had given them a gift which no amount of applause could pay back. As if on an unspoken cue, the room rose to its feet.

But Kayla was still sitting, unable to comprehend the emotions in the crowd, and the emotions within her heart. What was she feeling? She couldn't fathom, but she had never felt it before, filling her and flowing over. Her body trembled with the recognition of the power and depth of her father's words, especially when she realized those words were directed at her.

Ian left the stage and walked to the table where Kayla was sitting, but the crowd was so thick about his person, he was held back from his destination. He wanted to hug his daughter, but they were held apart by the press of fans who had come to hear the legend, Ian O'Neal. Stu managed to wake Kayla from her little world and struggled through the crowd with her until she was once again by Ian's side. He also introduced Ian to a producer who was very interested in recording what he had heard, a comeback recording that would make the music world sit up and listen. Ian put up his hand as if to quiet him and explained that he would have to take it up with his new business manager. Then looking at his daughter, he said, "How about it, Kayla? Are you interested in the job?"

"Uh, s-sure," she stuttered, still not quite comprehending the momentous breakthrough that her father had achieved with a single song. Her song. Her serenade.

Kayla was in a daze for the remainder of the evening. This was a life that Ian had experienced so many times and he easily shed the effects of the praise and adulation. He refused to be overtaken by the headiness that such crowds can instill in the unsuspecting tyro.

As they were leaving, Stu slipped a framed photograph into Kayla's hand. It was from the wall of the Studio. It was a picture of Ian O'Neal as a young man, performing at Berkshire Studio 7. Ian, in his self-effacing manner, had signed over his own face so that he was hardly recognizable, "Thank you, Stu, for everything, Ian." Sitting in the front table next to the stage, was a young woman who looked remarkably like Kayla. It was, of course, her mother. Sitting next to her was a small girl of four or five, looking up at the stage with the most enchanting and worshipping eyes...herself!

The drive home was quiet and uneventful. Both Ian and Kayla were exhausted by the reaction from the crowd. The snow had begun to fall heavier, mixed with ice which crackled as it hit the windows of the car. Ian had turned on the heat as high as it could go, both to warm themselves as well as keep the ice from freezing on the windshield so the wipers could do their job. It looked like it was going to be a rough night.

When the car pulled up to the house, the porch lights and everything else was dark. "Looks like the ice has taken the power out. Happens in storms like these," Ian said as they stepped out of the car. "Here. Take the keys and step inside. There's a flashlight just inside the door to the left. I'll get some firewood out of the woodshed. Looks like we're gonna need it tonight."

Kayla retrieved the flashlight and went out to the woodshed to help her father gather some firewood and light the way back. It was bitter cold, and their breathing emitted clouds of vapor as they walked. The inside of the house had already grown cold from the lack of heat. Ian started a fire in the fireplace of the master bedroom. It crackled to life. Kayla had no intention of sleeping in her bedroom tonight, as it lacked a fireplace. Setting the picture Stu had given her on the side table, she sat her father down on the bed and, in the warmth of the flickering fire, with a steady gaze into her father's eyes, she began to slowly take off her clothes.

First came off the hat, followed by her scarf and coat, and her shoes. Then, running her fingers up her thighs, she slowly raised the hem of her black dress up to her hips, and pulled down her smoky grey hose. Ian made no expression, sitting on the edge of the bed mesmerized by what was taking place before him. Kayla then reached behind her and undid the clip of her bra, sliding it off one arm and then the other, pulling it off without disturbing the dress, and dropping it to the floor. The black silk of her dress fell lazily against her breasts, falling like water over the erect nipples, for she was percolating inside with an intensity she could hardly contain. Then, sliding the thin straps from her shoulders, she let the silk fall soundlessly to the floor, revealing herself to her father's longing eyes.

Ian rose from the bed and picked up his daughter and laid her down. In all their moments of closeness and cuddling, he had never actually stared at her in her full nakedness. He began himself to undress before her, one piece at a time, until he pulled down his briefs, revealing a hard and erect penis aching to be free. As he stood before her, his cock stood almost straight up. In the dancing light she could see it silhouetted against the flickering fire. Then he laid himself down beside her.

There would be no talking tonight, no discussions of relationships or guilt, right or wrong. An unspoken truth pervaded the room; both wanted this, eyes wide open, bodies communicating their unutterable needs for each other. His dick rubbed against her, leaving traces of pre-cum glistening on her rounded hip, and he gazed down on his little girl all grown up now, while she looked deeply into his eyes...into his soul.

The firelight danced about the room with an amber kaleidoscopic effect, bathing Kayla's perfect tits in an ambient honey-like glow, so sweet Ian could taste them. "You can touch them," she said. He could see by the hardness of her nipples, that they were desiring his touch, his firm grasp, his lips. They were so absolutely perfect; his hand trembled as he closed it around one of her boobs. It felt so soft, so firm and pliant. He had to kiss the nipple. Running his tongue in circles around her nipples made them grow even harder and more erect.

Ian slowly began to lose control as his lips could not help but weave a pathway down from the nipples to her stomach. She giggled as he penetrated her navel with his moist and searching tongue, eager to search further. Then a long and heartfelt moan was heard from her lips as his mouth began its exploration of her abdomen and winsome blonde curls covering the delta of her desire, leading the searcher lower until his head was nestled between her thighs. He breathed into his nostrils, just a fraction of an inch from her clitoris, the scent of his daughter's sexual desire. Exhaling and inhaling, he warmed and teased her pubic mound, until she was writhing beneath him with her urging desire to be satisfied.