Like a Woman? Not Just a Daughter?

A quick scene. This time it's dad and daughter when dad gets overprotective. There's lust and love involved.

It's just a fun piece and, as such, I've disabled voting and public comments because I can't be arsed with the trolling and bullshit.

Please forgive any typos and errors that remain in the text as a result.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy it.

GA - Gravesend, UK - 7 April 21

***

The look on her face put me in mind of her mother when I saw the defiant flash in her eyes.

"I'm nineteen," she said, pouty and bratty.

I looked at the bloke standing next to my daughter, the smirk on his grid as close at it got to goading me into giving him a slap. Nothing brutal, just a lesson in not taking the piss. Instead, I held the violence back.

"You. Fuck off. Now," I said.

I was twenty years older but big enough for him to lose the smug, self-satisfied look.

"You stay where you are," my daughter said as he threw an uncertain glance her way.

"Nah, best you fuck right off," I said, moving to open the door. "Not you, Jemma," I added as she went to push past. "Just this cunt."

"See you later, Jem," he said, cocky and confident once he was out of my reach.

"Not fucking likely," I told him.

Jemma spat the question at me after I shut the door with a slam. "What the fucking hell are you doing?"

"Don't swear," I said.

"Fuck off," she snarled, fire in her eyes.

"Swearing and going out dressed like that," I said.

I saw her nostrils flare because I'd said it with contempt in my tone.

"Tits hanging out," I went through a sneer. "And that skirt's so short I can see what you had for breakfast. Where's your self-respect, Jemma? Have you any clue about what you look like?"

Jemma has a temper on her - from both her mother and me - and she showed by calling me another very uncomplimentary swear word and by lifting her strappy little top to reveal she was braless beneath it.

"I've got fantastic tits," my daughter said, emphasising her point with a shimmy so her large breasts shivered and swayed. "I don't fucking care if they're hanging out. Maybe I like the attention? Maybe I know exactly how I look."

I gawked, shocked at the brazen behaviour.

"Yeah, there, get a good-fucking-look at those. Take a photo, it lasts longer. Looks to me like you want to get a good long look at these tits. Go on then, get your phone. Take a picture before I put them away."

The anger rose inside me, quick and hot.

"Jemma, stop it," I gasped.

She laughed and shimmied again. "What's the matter, daddy?" she drawled, emphasising the 'daddy' and taunting me with her tone.

I was angry at myself as well as Jemma, the reason being that, just for a moment, a split-second in time, when she'd first exposed herself and made her big tits swing and shiver, I'd experienced a quick rush of desire. She was right - they were fantastic: firm and full and rounded with slightly uptilted nipples, twin orbs which, natural for a young woman of her age, seemed to float on a cushion of air.

God, and hadn't I wanted to just reach and touch them...

"Jemma, you're being disgusting," I said through a gasp.

"And you're being a knob," my daughter told me.

She laughed as I reached out to yank the top down over her breasts. The nastiness in her demeanour shifting as her expression turned contrite after I sighed and said: "You used to be such a sweet girl. I can't believe you'd go out dressed like that. I can't believe you'd flash me either."

Jemma must have seen something in my face as I said it because the fight and defiance suddenly left her.

"Oh, dad," she said on a sigh. "I'm still that girl. I haven't changed."

I looked at her, forcing my eyes up to her face from the outline of her nipples.

"You have," I said.

Jemma pulled a face, a grimace reminiscent of the daughter I was talking about. "Well, I've grown up, yeah, 'course. I mean, I grew boobs and-" Jemma stopped talking and looked down to her shoes. "I grew up," she finished with a half-shrug.

"Boys," I said.

Jemma grinned, half-shy as she crinkled her nose at me.

"Uh-huh," she said, slowly nodding, eyes on my face. "I discovered boys."

"Shit," I muttered as the residual anger faded away. "What happened to us?"

"Well, mum buggered off for a start," Jemma put in.

A moment later she snuggled in close, arms around my waist, the top of her head level with my own nipples despite her high shoes.

"Oh, dad, I'm sorry," Jemma said, breathing into my chest.

I kissed the crown of her hair, the clean just-washed scent of it reminding me of bath time when she was younger.

"I just don't like you going out with him," I said.

"Is it just him, or would it be any bloke?"

I chuckled and said: "Well, I'd be wary of anyone, but I've taken a real dislike to that one."

"Mm, yeah, he's a bad lad," Jemma said. "But he's fun."

I moved so my daughter was at an arm's length, my hands on her shoulders. "Those are the ones you need to be mindful about," I said. "He's fun now but ... well ... if he gets you pregnant ... I bet he won't be fun in a year's time. You'd be on your own with a baby."

Jemma's blue-eyed gaze held mine as we stared at each other.

"I don't plan on him getting me pregnant," she said. "And, anyway, I wouldn't be on my own ... I'd have you."

I sighed. "That's true," I said.

Jemma blurted a laugh and moved in to hug me again. As she squeezed my waist, she said: "Come on. Let's just go and stare at the telly. I'll fetch you a beer..."

Which is how I ended up on the wide, three-seater sofa, a beer in one hand while my daughter lay reclined almost full-length, her calves over my legs.

I didn't mean to do it. There was no forethought or intention on my part, but the most natural, most comfortable position for me was with my spare hand on my daughter's bare thigh, the smooth, silky-smooth texture of her skin setting little explosions of sexual longing firing inside me. I just sat there, unsure about what to do, appalled at my body's response as my cock thickened and grew. I worried if I stayed where I was Jemma would notice my hard-on but was also mindful to avoid snatching my hand away too quickly.

Then, with the tumult working inside my head, Jemma let out a long, steady sigh, a sound of contentment as she stretched, the skimpy top riding up to show of the taut, flat plane of her flwless tummy.

"This is like it used to be," she said on a murmur.

Uh-huh," I said as Jemma looked across to me.

I saw concern in her eyes as she asked: "You all right?"

I nodded, heat in my cheeks, embarrassed and ashamed.

"You've got this really funny look," Jemma said, circling her own face with a forefinger.

Then she shifted position, a slight sideways turn inwards, the action causing her skirt to slip higher up her thighs, so far I could see her pudendum packed into her underwear, the knickers white and diaphanous, not quite translucent but close enough to it I could make out the indentation of her cleft where her pussy nuzzled up against the cotton.

It shames me to say my fingers slid an inch or two over my daughter's soft inner thigh. It was an instinctive, mindless gesture, a response to the pulse down in my cock and the dark, carnal urges working within. It was a surreal snapshot in time: I knew it was the wrong thing to do but I just couldn't stop myself from letting it happen.

That's when Jemma murmured: "Daddy?"

God, I swear I could see the shadowy tiny triangular outline at the apex of Jemma's slit...

I gulped, swallowing down hard against rising lust. I forced myself to look at her face, the taboo of my own daughter's knickers all snug against her plump vulva like a magnet for my eyes.

I was only vaguely aware the tips of my fingers were gently stroking the intimate skin of my daughter's inner thigh as I murmured: "Sweetheart?"

There was something in Jemma's expression I couldn't define when, after a pause, she asked: "Uh, do you miss mum?"

The question caught me off-guard, conflicting emotions working inside me.

My fingers went still, desire cooling a little as I wondered about how to answer while also thinking about the wrong I'd already done by allowing myself to caress my daughter where a father's hand had no right to be.

"Uh, it's complicated," I managed to gurgle.

Jemma sighed, the look on her face still an enigma.

"Don't stop tickling me," she said on what was close to a whisper.

Her overt mention of it was like a cold-water shock. It was a foolish, ridiculous notion, but I'd thought Jemma hadn't noticed my fingers on her leg.

"I like it," she added in the same tone after a pause.

Common sense and decency pushed forward. "I really shouldn't," I said.

Her hand came over to grab my wrist as I went to pull my fingers away from the contact.

"No, please, I don't mind," my daughter murmured. "It's just a tickle."

I knew in some far-off place in the back of my mind I should be the parent and firmly, decisively remove my daughter's hand from where she held mine against her thigh. That would be the right thing to do, morally sound, the action of a decent father.

But, of course, weak with desire I made the decision which would alter both our lives. Seconds passed, time elastic as I looked at my daughter's face - angelic with large blue eyes and blonde hair in a ponytail - a surge of lust rushing through me when I let my focus drift to a body made for sin.

"It's just a tickle," I said, the words coming out clotted and thick with dark urges behind them.

"Mmm, that's nice," Jemma sighed when my fingertips danced over her skin.

She moved with liquid grace, feline as she stretched and breathed, the top shifting to show the rack of her ribs, her body moving so my fingers were close to where her underwear covered her vulva.

"Ooh, naughty," Jemma said on a giggle when my forefinger traced the outline of her cleft.

I could have stopped it there and then. Again, it would be the decent thing to do. I'd pushed it too far already and knew in that same distant place inside my head that I was on a road to guilt and self-loathing.

But, God, the way Jemma was breathing and the look I saw behind her eyes as she held her lower lip between her teeth and she crinkled her nose at me set pre-cum seeping from the eye in my cock. I knew my underwear would be sticky with gloop, with maybe a coin of arousal showing through my jeans when I stood up.

Desire surged, lust came to the boil, everything moral and right dissolving when Jemma grinned at me and said: "Do that again."

From somewhere I managed to croak her name.

But then she held my gaze for several infinite seconds, expression sly and vixen as, with a quick, deliberate action, she hooked her knickers aside.

Jemma spread her thighs, my focus on the precise triangle of her severely coiffed pubic fur, neat labia loose, her swollen clit exposed from beneath its sheath, the scarlet gape of my own daughter's cunt setting my libido snarling like a ravenous beast.

"Touch it," my daughter breathed, excitement in her eyes and face. She squirmed, spreading her legs wider while lewdly offering her sex to me. "Please," she urged.

"Baby," I murmured.

"Fuck, dad, just fucking finger me, won't you! Look at it. I mean, just-fucking look! See how ready I am?"

I gasped, shocked and appalled but also thrilled and aroused when I felt the creamy, slick texture of Jemma's pussy.

"Uh, oh fuck," she moaned, body tensing when I slid a finger over her clit. "Uh-huh, yeah, rub it," she gasped. "Right there. Rub it. Put your fingers inside me."

The universe condensed to a bubble in which nothing existed beyond what I was doing with Jemma. At that first illicit contact I lost it all. I had no desire to stop. We went wild, crazed with our need, both of us moaning and gasping, two of my fingers curled inside my daughter as I worked on instinct, experience, and her sobbing instructions about where she wanted me to focus my efforts.

Jemma squealed and swore, hot-eyed with her own desires, sometimes snarling at me through clenched teeth and tight jaws while at other moments during that first, frantic five minutes, she went wall-eyed and gasping, skirt at her hips, underwear hauled aside, her own hands mauling her breasts.

"Uh, please, lick it," Jemma moaned, her gaze holding my stare. She was holding my wrist, the fingers inside her while I was kneeling on the sofa, wrist a goose-neck, fingertips caressing the spongy-firm tunnel. "Lick it and I'll come," my daughter said on a half-chocked gasp. "Then I'll suck you. How about that? I'll suck you and let you fuck me."

She said it with desperate urgency, the idea of it both awful and thrilling at the same time.

"Jemma, we can't have sex," I said on a gasp of my own.

"Yeah, we can. I mean you're fingering me already. I want you to lick it. We might as well fuck. There's no going back from this."

The final thread of resistance snapped when I decided it was a ridiculous notion to think having two fingers wedged in my own daughter's cunt was any less of a sin than feeling her molten embrace around my girth. Besides, in my mind she was an absolute goddess: gorgeous; about as near to physical perfection as I'd ever encountered; lithe, young, and very, very willing...

Which is why I knelt on the floor, still fully dressed, my mouth up against my daughter's sodden vulva, her essence slick on my tongue.

"God ... Oh fuck ... Daddy," she moaned. "Uh-huh, that's right. That's so-fucking sweet..."

I went at my daughter determined to make her come. I wanted to hear her moan; I wanted to watch her body judder as the force of it hit her, pussy quivering. I used all the skills I'd developed over the three decades I'd had of being with women. Jemma's mother had been a cock-hungry nympho, a beautiful lady with a voracious sexual hunger, something she couldn't and didn't want to control, her legs easily spreading for countless men over the time we were married. It had been a tumultuous, emotional time when I discovered the true extent of my former wife's infidelities, but she had given me a lot of advice on how to please a pussy with my fingers and tongue, skills I was using on my own daughter, the beautiful young woman who matched her mother for aesthetic appeal.

It seemed to me Jemma had inherited some of her mother's appetite for sex. I worked at her clit with my tongue, squirming into her opening, teasing the pee-hole as well as the gape of her cunt, even parting her buttocks so I could probe at the dark smudge of her sphincter, the act bringing forth a yelp of delight and a low, dark chuckle from Jemma.

"That's just fucking filthy," my daughter gasped as I tickled the roundel with the tip of my tongue.

"Your mother loved it," I growled, the words coming from nowhere.

"Uh-huh, I bet," Jemma said, holding my face sandwiched between her palms. "Daddy, come here and kiss me," she sighed.

Our first, intimate kiss. Tongues swirling as we gasped into one another's open mouth, her hands at the button and zip of my jeans.

"Dad, Jesus," Jemma said after showing my jeans to my thighs.

She was sitting on the sofa while I was on my knees. Her little top was shoved up to her chest, big tits swaying, skirt at her hips, knickers aside, my cock an upward curve of solid gristle, arousal like a steel rod through my core.

"What the fuck is that! Oh my God, you should have a warning sign around your neck," my daughter cried out, excitement flashing in her eyes. "Ding-fucking-dong, that's what I call a fucking PENIS!"

"I'm six-six," I said. "It's in proportion."

"Oh fuck," Jemma said with a chuckle. "My mother divorced you? Is she fucking insane!"

"I divorced her," I said.

"Uh-huh, whatever," Jemma put in as she keened in to grab my cock. "Fuck, this is gonna tear me apart."

She said it with relish, like she was looking forward to taking my size, her hand moving over the shaft as she kissed me again. My hands were on her breasts, testing the weight and firmness, my lips going to the nipples when the kiss broke.

I moved away from my daughter's body and looked at her face, her hand on my cock, our eyes on the same level because of my height despite me being on my knees.

"Oh, baby of course," I said in response to her question.

Jemma had asked: "Will you still love me?" my response being to kiss her mouth with tender emotions passing from me to her.

"I mean, if we have sex..." Jemma added, a shyness in her expression.

"I'll love you more," I growled, the sensations sweet in my dick as her fingers kept on caressing the length.

"Like a woman? Not just a daughter?"

"Like everything," I said on a gasp.

Then we were kissing again, tongues writhing and dancing until I eased her back onto the sofa, spreading her legs so I could gaze at the ugly beauty of her sex.

Jemma yipped in surprise when I ducked in and slurped at her from rectum to clit.

Then, for the next few minutes, I entertained my daughter with my fingers and tongue, teasing her to a shivering, gasping climax which left her sprawled, taut tummy tensing as she sucked in air, awe behind her eyes as they eventually cleared.

"Oh, oh Jesus, you're going to fuck me!"

Jemma was on the sofa, legs spread, gorgeous in her deshabille, eyes on me, lids like heavy curtains, her body a temptation I couldn't resist. As she said it I was stripping out of my clothes, urgent and clumsy in my haste to get at my daughter so I could feed my size into her pussy.

"Jemma, you're gorgeous," I said as I kicked my jeans free.

"So are you," she said in reply. "I mean, fuck, I had no idea you were so well built."

As she spoke, Jemma sat upright and hauled the skimpy top over her head. She threw it aside, lifting her rump so she could yank her underwear down, skirt following quickly, her body all bare.

"Oh, baby, you're just so beautiful," I said on a sigh.

My eyes moved over the flawless body, lust and love bursting inside me, my hand slowly working over my cock.

"Yeah, so just come here and show me," Jemma said, expression all about her need.

Then she moved, easing back as she spread her legs, folding them at the knees while exposing her scarlet core. It was a provocative gesture, shocking to me because she did it with such and easy, casual manner, fingers splaying her labia, the neat folds pinned back like a butterfly exhibit, lust glistening at her centre.

"Fuck me like you mean," my daughter mumbled as I moved over her body.

"Jesus, Jemma," I said on a groan. "You're only nineteen, where did you learn this stuff?"

Jealousy curdled inside me when she looked at me, half-scrunched on the sofa, pussy exposed, tummy barely creased as she muttered: "Boys ... Men ... I've done some fucking, daddy."

I watched her eyes go huge and round when I growled and nudged her opening with the big dome.

"I don't want to hear that shit," I said. "Don't tell me about anyone else."

Damn if she didn't just pick up with the mood, her eyes flashing mischief as she said: "There won't be anyone after this. You can this whenever you want. That big-fucking cock? Oh, daddy, I want it. I'll never open my kegs for anyone else. Just you."

The wrongness of the way she looked at me and said it like a simpering Shirley Temple brought on the rush of lust, a sob coming out of Jemma as I pushed past the tiny resistance, her body taking half my length on one quick slide.

"Uh, fuck, stretch it," Jemma said, gurgling it out as she looked up at me.

Her chin was on her chest, boobs barely altered in shape as they shivered when Jemma reached down to rub at her bean.

"All of it. Give me it all. I'm tiny but I can take it. Don't be scared. I won't break. Just fuck me. God, dad, please..."

Then we were moving, her hips shunting when she thrust up to meet me o the downward stroke. We kissed, sometimes loving with our eyes as we moved together nice a slow, tender emotions rushing through me, my hands all over her body. Then we were rutting, my fingers and thumbs almost encompassing my daughter's tiny waist, her breasts large in contrast to her size at her ribs. We grunted and groaned, my focus on where her pussy was taking my dick, the shaft buttery with my own daughter's lust, the surge simmering and close to the boil.