Lucky Fall

"Assuming that I am the woman you mentioned just now, what would you say if I told you that I will parade naked in front of you inside the house?"

"You've got a deal!" She laughed pleasantly, obviously flattered that I should find her so unquestionably sexy. On my part, I was constantly thanking my stars that she didn't run to the cops.

This time, when I stood up, my leg didn't hurt at all, but it wasn't a fact I cared to volunteer to my daughter. As before, we walked back into the living room with my hand over her bare shoulder. My fingertips were dangerously close to her nipples, and though I could have touched them anytime I wanted, I didn't want to scare my daughter by going too fast. Of course, accidentally, now and then, I did get momentary feels of her peaks.

That was enough to tell me that they were hard. To use a familiar expression, they were hard as pebbles.

Stephanie kept up a lively chatter about an old softball game of hers, perhaps as much to distract herself as to distract me. Before long, once I was comfortable on the couch, Steph excused herself to go and have her shower.

She was out in five minutes, clad in a short robe and with a towel wrapped around her hair. Her face, even when devoid of makeup, was naturally addictive, and it wasn't that she was beautiful because she had a hot body. According to me, Stephanie has always been beautiful and has always been hot - the two being mutually exclusive.

Which was why, as I was waiting for her to come out, I realized that it wasn't just a dirty lust that I felt for her. My feelings ran deeper, as deep as the love I had for my wife... even deeper. The five minutes of separation had awoken me to the fact that I had fallen for my daughter. The physical lust that I felt for her served to offset any guilt I might have about fantasizing about her, but the basic sensation was love.

As I watched her bring over a cup of water for me, I remembered her promise to be in the nude before me, but that wasn't so important any more. What was important was that my feelings, in no way, should screw up her life. The controls that had left my brain for my cock came back to my brain once again. I silently resolved that while I would enjoy our flirting with each other, I wouldn't steal third base with her. In baseball terms, it would have to be a walk.

We ordered pizza from a nearby place, and since a bath-robe is hardly appropriate attire, Stephanie changed into suspenders over an old shirt of mine. Sam, one of the waiters, delivered the cheese-topped variety, my daughter's favorite, within ten minutes, and Stephanie, as always, tipped him handsomely.

As soon as the door was closed behind Sam, however, the suspenders were off. As befitting the warm climate, Steph wore only the shirt, top three or four buttons unbuttoned to show off a lot of flesh, and nothing below the waist except for a g-string. We snuggled up on the couch and watched an old rerun on the tube, snacking on the pizza, occasionally feeding each other. It was a throwback to when Stephanie had been a little girl in pigtails and knee-length frocks.

It was around eight at night when the telephone buzzed. As I had the consideration of being the injured soldier, Stephanie reached over to pick up the receiver. Since the phone is on a small teapoy in front of me, not only did Steph have to turn her back on me, but also did she have to bend over, thereby presenting me with a close-up view of her ass. The thong she wore was a mere string that extended the crack of her butt, baring even her pussy lips.

And the feminine scent coming off her bottom was palpable...

I am sure that she knew what a view I had of her anatomy, and the little cock-teaser deliberately stood that way in front of me, almost wiggling her ass at my face, definitely tempting me. Abruptly, though, she crashed back on my lap, as if by accident, but taking care not to put any weight on my right leg. I heard her coo on the phone, offer congratulations and finally, with a very excited smile, promised whoever it was on the other end that she would be coming right over.

"Dad," she turned to me with pleading eyes, "Can I go over to Sharon's? Please? Puhleese..."

Like I said, Stephanie had me wrapped around her little finger. Like mother, like daughter. Besides, I reflected, there was no reason for her not to go over to Sharon's.

Sharon Lee was one of my daughter's best friends. She lived just a couple of houses down the street, just past the intersection. A Filipino by birth, she was as American as any other of Stephanie's friends. That she was three years my daughter's senior didn't matter to the two - they had been close as long as they had known each other. I knew Mr. Lee, but little more than a passing acquaintance, enough to greet each other if our paths crossed.

The Lees were good people - my wife was a good friend of Mrs. Lee. The Fillips were the kind of people one wished to have as neighbors anywhere on the same street. They were always cheerful, never too rude or blunt, and contributed generously to the local associations. More American than most Americans.

No sooner had I nodded than Stephanie was off my lap. She gave me a lightning-fast peck on my lips and was on her way to change when I figured out I might as well know the reason for the hurry.

"What's the matter? Their house on fire?"

Stephanie returned, a heap of her nicest clothes in her hand, and dumped them in front of me. Even as she answered my question, she unbuttoned her shirt completely and took it off. The irony was not lost on me - she was standing in a pile of clothes clad only in a thong. It was exciting to watch her bend down, select one dress, discard it, and then pick another... while her firm mounds trembled a little on her chest.

"She's pregnant!" Stephanie's voice had the joyful ring one associates with a soon-to-be aunt.

"Out of wedlock?" As far as I knew, Sharon Lee hadn't been married for fourteen years. Not unless she got married today.

"Of course," my daughter replied, and I almost felt stupid for asking the question. As if extra-marital pregnancies were a dictum of the Church...

"Excuse me, but would you mind clarifying that?"

Stephanie swooped on a tan blouse and a chocolate-colored skirt before answering. "It's not that bad, actually... she knows who the father is."

"And I suppose, by the same coin, you do, too?"

She pulled up the skirt and fastened it at her slender waist, her bosom still exposed. "Yep, I know." She winked at me.

"So..."

She smacked her lips as she fished a bra out from the pile and slid it on. "Promise you won't tell Mom."

"I swear it wasn't me!" I joked. "Okay, Zipped lips. Who's the lucky bastard?"

Opening her mouth, she paused for that dramatic effect. "Mr. Lee."

"Which Mr. Lee... oh my God, not her father!" For some silly reason, my daughter must have been thinking, I was shocked! Talk about the understatement of the year!

She nodded slowly, rolling the words over tongue, as if to give them the same sex appeal that she possessed. "Her own father. They've been lovers for the past three years now. She's getting betrothed to him today..."

"Are you pulling my leg?"

"About something like this?" She gave a little twirl. "How do I look?"

"Fabulous," I replied truthfully, admiring her lithe frame. "How?"

"You promised you won't tell Mom," she reminded me.

"Yes, I know. She'll never know... not from me, anyway."

"Okay," Stephanie agreed. "On that promise, what I tell you should never leave your mouth. You know she is a Filipino, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, apparently, her mother belongs to a local tribe there. It was a love marriage when she met Mr. Lee, an engineer with the army corps, and she eloped with him. But she still holds the rites and traditions of her tribe very close to her heart.

"Now they have - or so Sharon told me - a particular ritual in which a girl, by her own desire, gets taken in the ass by her own father at a certain point in her life. I know, I didn't believe it at first either, and neither did Sharon. They have a small function before the event, and the girl gets a chance to back out until the last moment, no strings attached.

"But that's all the father has any right to - her ass. Anally, he can deflower her. But her virginity is saved for her husband.

"Mrs. Lee didn't insist on anything until Sharon was seventeen. Sharon told me that it was her father who managed to convince her mother to hold off for at least a year, hoping that she would be discouraged by then. Mrs. Lee did wait, but she didn't forget.

"On the morning that Sharon turned eighteen, her mother insisted that they have the function. Apparently, her mother's cousins, some of them, were also invited, and before she knew it, she had agreed to go along with the idea. The funny thing is that she's always had this crush on her father, so it was just a matter of the right words and the right places before Mr. Lee warmed to the idea of having sex, at least anal, with her.

"She confided in me every step of the way. Soon, more than the sex, she and Mr. Lee wanted to make love. And one day, to use her words, they slipped and made love. They were hooked.

"Of course, Mrs. Lee soon found out, and there was hell to pay, but they talked it out. Sharon was ecstatic when her mother said 'Okay,' - I was the first person she called up to tell the good news.

"That was three years ago. Today, she discovered that she was a couple of months pregnant. They are going to have a little ceremony in her house."

"I don't believe it," I repeated, more envious than incredulous. It was possible, just possible, that such a practice was still prevalent; some of the tribes of Africa still had brothers marry sisters. But that it was happening just down the street was a little too close to home.

Besides, Sharon was an attractive girl, but she couldn't even come close to Stephanie. Whom I, as her father, was forbidden to love as I wished to love her.

"I'll be back soon, sweetie," my daughter said as she hauled back all her discarded stuff back to her room. She came back, gave me a perfunctory kiss on my lips and picked up her purse. She was almost out of the door when I said it.

I don't know why I said it. I don't know why it meant more than it ever had, to me and to her. I just said it, and it meant a whole new world to us the moment it was out of my mouth.

"I love you, Steph, darling."

She paused just long enough for me to see the smile light up her face. "I love you too, sweetie."

The two hours that she was gone really dragged. I wasn't interested in watching TV alone, in addition to which there was nothing worthwhile on. Willing myself, I tried walking a little, succeeding in fact, but it was only when I came back to the couch that the dull throbbing came back. Still, as is the way of men, I stupidly walked all over the house, grimacing in pain, and finally, deciding that I had been iron-willed enough, I settled back on the couch.

I didn't know how slow my walk around the house had been until the clock struck half past nine. Jesus! It had taken me over sixty minutes, and my feet hurt like they had been rolled over. All I wanted to do was scream. Bring the roof down.

She burst in without any notice, her face an intense mask of searching and ecstasy at finding me, and she bounded over even before the door had completely closed behind her. "God," she moaned as she came closer, "That was so romantic!"

Her lips were on me before I could gather my thoughts, much less utter anything. Instead, as I had done earlier in the evening, I kissed my daughter back with the same feeling and intensity, feeling the warm blood course through my veins again. In spite of the pain that was my leg, I could feel myself getting aroused by her gentle nibbling on my tongue.

My left hand roamed her back; the right arm could go only as high as her mid-back before I felt as if someone was tearing my arm apart. I realized, even as I was kissing her, that I couldn't hear anything other than a loud ringing between my ears. This was immediately followed by flashes of pain inside my head, perhaps an overload of all the signals it was receiving, and my eyes started to burn.

To this day, neither of us know exactly what it was that caused us to pull away - it was Stephanie who did pull away, for I was spiraling out of all deliberate actions. Her eyes, so alive with passion a minute ago, were full of concern, maybe even a little afraid that she had hurt me.

"What is it?"

I managed a weak smile. "Just the same old limbs acting up. I must be getting old."

"Old, my foot. Let me take a look at your hand... hmm, the swelling's gone down, but it's still a beetroot. How's your leg?"

"Slightly better, I hope. I lost all contact with my leg when you kissed me."

"I am certainly glad to see your leg's a lot better than your jokes," my daughter retorted. "It's just swollen around the ankle, only a little. Come on, let's get you to bed."

My head was really mixing up her signals. "Maybe we better not," I ventured, thinking that she was actually goddam proposing to me, "I mean, with this leg and all... I don't think it will be very pleasant."

"What the devil are you talking about?" she asked, giving me a funny look. "I was just saying that we ought to get you to bed so that I can massage your foot. What did you think, we were going to have sex?"

I couldn't look her in the eye and lie, so I gazed at the carpet. "No, of course not... I was just, eh, you know, I mean ...”

"It's alright, Papa," she soothed, using her inimitable mixture of a matron and a child, "Just relax. We won't do anything you don't want to regret later."

"That's somewhat reversed, isn't it? I mean, shouldn't I be the one assuring you?"

"If that's true," she replied cheekily, "Are you sure you are doing a good job at it?"

"No," I confessed.

She got up and held out her hand to support me back onto my feet, but even as I started to get up, she gestured that I sit down again. "I'll lock up, and then we'll go to bed... together."

The few seconds that she was gone - it seemed like only a few seconds - was too little for me to get a concrete grip on my feelings, and it was made all the worse when she walked back into the room, her blouse already off her shoulders. Even as she walked across the room, the top dropped down to the floor, and I was once again struck by her nonchalance - her nonchalance, I immediately realized, was a judgment I had to correct, for her nipples were quite evidently throbbing.

She bent over in front of me, her breasts pointing towards the ground, and smacked her lips sexily. Before I knew it, we were once again locked in a passionate kiss - perhaps I am getting repetitive - with her skirt having ridden up all the way up her legs to her waist. I don't know how she managed it, but I had the distinct impression that she was supporting herself on me - and yet, I felt not an ounce of her weight.

This time too, as much to my relief as to my agony, we stopped at kissing. No words were spoken for or against a continuance, no reasons offered, no promises made. Somehow, both of us just knew that we were just a couple of days, if not hours, away from slipping through that final barrier between propriety and impropriety, platonic and incest.

That night, as incongruous as it may sound, we slept in the same room, on the same bed... on the same side of the bed. And I had been stripped to my skin...

...As naked as my daughter who slept in my arms that night.

By the time I awoke the next morning, the sun was already a few degrees above the horizon, and the naked warmth of my daughter's body was missing. As if on cue, even as my eyes focused after a refreshing sleep, she walked into the room. Stephanie, the long-legged deity of my dreams and reality, was clad in a loose shirt, whose tails she had tied around her waist. She had a pair of white, conservative panties - if any panties could ever be called conservative - but the shirt was entirely unbuttoned.

She hadn't even tied the shirttails that properly; within a few steps, the knot was undone, and I was greeted to one of the best sights of any morning, that of her cleavage, her two boobs threatening to slide out from underneath the flaps of her shirt. Stephanie smiled warmly when she saw that I was awake.

"Hi Daddy!"

I guess I was still too sleepy to speak - or perhaps too distracted - so I just continued staring at her.

"God," she giggled, setting the tray that she had carried in on the small table beside the bed. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Sorry," I apologized, very insincerely - and she knew that. "But I can't help it. What's for breakfast?"

"Not me, that's for sure," she shot back.

"Too bad," I remarked, this time very sincerely.

Our eyes met, and I am sure mine conveyed the fact that I was running out of patience. To which, to me, her eyes seemed to reply, "Well, if you want to, I am not going to stop you."

As if in slow motion, Stephanie reached behind my head to adjust my pillows so that I could sit up. And, as had happened yesterday, her cleavage pressed against my face - only, this time, I felt the naked flesh of her tits press against my cheeks. Something snapped.

Stephanie squealed when I wrapped my arms around her waist and turned so that she was pinned beneath me, but she made no effort to fight me. Without giving her time to think of anything else, especially a defense, I swallowed a breast, taking it in until I almost gagged when her nipple rubbed the back of my mouth. The pent-up passion was released - I bit her nipple rather unkindly, rolling the nub between my teeth, eliciting a rather loud moan from her.

But when she should have, under normal circumstances, pushed me away, she pulled me closer. She clutched my hair with all apparent fury and pressed my face against her swollen tit. I obliged.

In the past, whenever I had had sex with my wife, I had always thought of this as, in a confession of the truly masculine ego, the subduing of her breasts. But not with Stephanie; hers just refused to soften up, even after she had climaxed! The fact that she was continuously asking me attack her even harder was something that fuelled my desire beyond all realms of control.

In the midst of all the grinding and the equally furious kissing, my leg started to act up again. It caused me to nibble my daughter a little harder, drawing a single drop of blood where tooth had pierced a rubbery nipple, and she, in reckless abandon, wrapped her legs around my waist, my penis at full mast across the length of her slit.

It was a single jolt of pain that did.

We seemed to deflate in unison, disappointed because I had shot off my load... very prematurely. Ego tells man that he needs to keep his stuff under the trigger as long as he has to - I had failed. Because I had my exhausted cock resting on her hot skin, right on the crack of her ass, I could feel my jism, warm and sticky, travel down her panty-clad underside and stain the bed sheet. I was collapsed on top of my daughter, but she said nothing about my weight.

"What happened?" she asked, concerned and... disappointed.

"Don't know," I answered, "Guess I lost it when you wrapped your legs around me."

She was silent for a while before she asked again, "Was it your leg?"

I gave a small peck on one of her nipples - I felt her tense up at the touch - before replying. "Yeah, it was something sudden."

"How's it feeling now?"

"Miserable. It knows it fucked up the most important moment in my - our - lives."

"Language, Daddy, watch your tongue," she quipped, laughing.

Feeling very naughty, I let my tongue trail a circle around her strawberry-top. "It's the company that corrupts."

"Not that tongue... ooohhhh, Daddy, will you stop it?"