The Scent of Jasmine: Electra Rises

"No daddy. You just can't come in my pussy." She closed her dark almond eyes on him, and when they opened they were staring at the other bedside table.

Tim followed her gaze. A bottle of lubricant.

He knew she liked to have her anus fingered, gently parted as he went down on her. Hell, she asked him for it, in that hot tub in Barcelona. But this was new.

He looked at her. A smile fighting to form on his lips against the carnality in her. His eyes passed down her back, over her womanly hips, to that perfect rear.

Tim reached for the lubricant. Jasmine chuckled to herself.

"But daddy needs to come, baby."

She looked over her shoulder at him, glistening with sweat. "What you going to do, daddy?"

She loved his lascivious smile. She closed her eyes again... and felt the cool drops landing just above her anus. She shivered in the heat. She felt his hands spread her buttocks, could almost feel his eyes penetrating her already.

A breathy gasp greeted the first touch of his lubricated finger as it moved over her arse.

She felt herself flinch involuntary as he slipped into her, tightly holding his finger. She quivered as another finger entered, bringing more lube. She exhaled deeply, trying to relax, but each movement sent tingles radiating through her, causing her to clench against him.

He was going to do it, she thought. Finally, after all the teasing, the promise, the time was here...

She could hear Tim smooth the lube over his cock. The anticipation was beating in her as loud as her heart.

A hand landed in front of her face. Thudded against the mattress. She held her breath... expecting, waiting.

She felt the bed move as he lowered himself. His knees pushed against her legs, spreading them wider. She felt her cheeks part as Tim slid forward. Her own moan excited her further. She felt him pause.

"What you doing, daddy?" She said.

The pause worried her. The bed moved as he leaned forward.

"Daddy?"

So close, his breath on her face. "I'm going to take your arse, baby. OK?"

She smiled, and locked into his gaze.

"Please don't, daddy..."

A growl reverberated from Tim's entire body. She felt her father lower himself, the head of his penis stretching her. It felt as though her entire body was opening to him. Spasms of pleasure dwarfed the pain as he encroached. She felt the slight 'pop' as the crown of his cock slipped into her... a new sensation reverberating through her.

"Uh, uh...please daddy ... please..."

Tim didn't know if she was begging for more, or feigning resistance. Nor did he care.

She was so tight. Gripping him even firmer than her pussy. He couldn't take his eyes from her arse as he finally slid into it. So tight, he was unsure if she could take it.

Gently, deliberately, further into her. One hand bracing himself, the other pulling her buttocks apart, fascinated as he watched his cock disappear into the tight dark orifice between the curved domes of his daughter's arse.

Jasmine felt consumed as never before. Possessed. Each advance dominating her. The feeling throbbing through her arse and reverberating through her pussy. Tim's breath becoming harsh grunts...

"Ahh, ahh, daddy... no..."

Tim let go of her arse and grabbed her hands, still leashed by her tie. He lifted them, dragged them to him, arching her back as he immersed himself deeper into her. Her cries became harsher, almost desperate.

Jasmine was enraptured. Her entirety absorbed into the experience. She felt him quicken, jags of pain completing her surrender.

A warm gush inside her. Her father's dark moans.

She had all of him now. Nearly.

*********

Tim lay back, still breathing heavily. He wiped a bead of sweat from his eye.

Jasmine jumped to her feet, aware of the timing.

"Dad, mum's back in half an hour."

Tim rose onto his elbows - he had forgotten where he was. He looked around the room as Jasmine headed to the door, taking another sip of the whisky.

"Shower in here if you like, I'll use the other room."

The shower. Now it was his turn to think of that time in the shower in Barcelona. Jasmine too sore, but a wonderful time nonetheless.

Wonderful? He knew this had been the greatest sex of his life.

So, she finally did it. She finally got her way with him. "...in your bedroom ... put it where you want..."

He smiled. But not for the first time, he wondered who was in control. She had evaded questions about Barcelona like a downtown lawyer. But nothing like that happened to him in this room before. Well, to him.

God, certainly the wildest thing that had ever happened in here. He was sure of that. She had been getting more adventurous of late. Rapidly. He remembered when dared slip a moistened finger into her arse as he went down on her, thinking that a risk. And now, just now, he had fucked his own daughter's arse. God. What was he doing?

Time to get moving. As he dried and dressed himself a thought came to him: well, at least this wasn't the bed Jasmine was conceived in.

He laughed at himself. Yeah, that's the weird part, Tim. Always got your eye on the big picture!

He showered, quickly, his mind only briefly fluttering over the idea of showering with her. He dressed, quickly looking around for the button missing from his shirt.

Jasmine walked in, transformed. She wore a peach coloured skirt, and a plunging, white ruffled blouse. Her hair up, the faintest touch of makeup expertly applied.

"I better tidy up in her. Have to leave soon." She said.

Tim drank her in. She was a vision.

"Dad?"

"OK hun. I'll wait in the car."

Jasmine waited until he had left the room. She picked up the bottle of lubricant and the glass of scotch. As she walked back past the bed, she kicked the letter she had fabricated just under the bed.

*********

Tim had the engine running already. Feeling sated from the experience with Jasmine, he felt good. It had been a long time since he had felt that good. He explored his notions of guilt, but they were sulking quietly, unable to disturb him.

Tim heard the front door close to his house, his ex-house, at the same time his wife's Range Rover pulled off the road into the drive.

He grimaced. Snarled. He looked back to see Jasmine's dismissive stare fastening on her mother's car.

She pulled up, not ten feet from the aging BMW, and the window rolled down.

"I thought you were out. For lunch." She said.

Jasmine replied. "We got take-away and ate here. Don't worry. We're going now."

His wife contorted her face in unnecessary rage. "Feeding her junk. Thanks."

Tim considered arguing, but a brief trip through his memory was enough to sate him. He smiled at her, knowing she would never understand how he had trumped her.

"Twelve tomorrow. Remember." his wife snapped.

Jasmine got into the car without any further words being exchanged. Tim pulled out, foot heavy on the accelerator.

*********

The thrill of her lunch date had faded on seeing Tim. A younger man, a much younger man, who saw her age as a passport to experience and unfettered, wild sex. So she thought. She slammed the door behind her.

The house would probably stink of grease now. She would have to air the house. Fuck, the cleaner would not be back until Monday. Would she ever catch a break?

She entered the kitchen, her Marc Jacobs bag dropping to the kitchen table. She inhaled sharply, twice. No smell. She checked the bin, no take away boxes. Good. But it was full anyway, so she removed the bag and walked out the back door. There was nothing in the bin outside either. She didn't understand, or care.

Her lunch date would be back this evening. She was making most of Jasmine's absence and her increasingly annoying presence. She had to prepare.

*********

Tim drove through the early afternoon traffic. Feeling calm now, sated.

He afforded himself the occasional glance to the beauty by his side. So what if she was his daughter.

No, that wouldn't ride. He knew there was more. He knew he had to find more to justify it. Maybe a new start, a new country.

He stopped at the traffic lights. Jasmine gently snoozing by his side. God, she was a clever one. He had doubted that she was ready for what they had just done. Shoma, his wife, her mother, had given her arse once, and hated it. Less than fifteen seconds if memory served him right.

And yet here was Jasmine. Impossibly beautiful, her very fibre striving to please him. Her love more encompassing than anything he had ever known. So innocent, so ... gorgeous. So his.

And yet, yet she had manipulated him into sodomising her.

Madonna and the Whore. Typical of the Catholics to take something they meant to discourage and wrap it up as the most perfectly enticing combination.

A car horn sounded behind him.

*********

Shoma headed upstairs. She had the rest of the afternoon booked for her lunch meeting, and could indulge herself. She stripped briskly in her bedroom. She dropped her clothes on her bed and walked to the en suite.

She winced as she trod on something. She lifted her foot, a button embedded to the sole of her foot. She pulled it off. Not one of hers. She left it on the bedside table, where she noticed a ring of condensation.

Tim had been here. Why? He had packed most of his belongings. Fucking prick.

The shower. The bastard had been here too.

*********

The BMW purred off the motorway, heading towards the hotel. Not a bad little engine, he thought to himself.

The car slowed, the deceleration awakening Jasmine.

"Perfect timing, hun."

She smiled. Everything was right in the world.

Jasmine took in the facade of the hotel. Elegant, regal even. Fitting. The man by her side had regained something. An inner confidence. She delighted in knowing her role in his rebirth. She just hoped it would last.

The porter took the bags from the car, another aide parked it.

Jasmine took her father's arm as they entered the well appointed foyer, tastefully decorated for Christmas.

Tim confirmed the reservation.

When Jasmine heard the words 'honeymoon suite' she took his arm and beamed at him. Tim's face showed how much he enjoyed her delight, in the power of his credit card.

The bell boy took their bags to the lift with them.

She snuggled up to him, wrinkling her nose in the most irresistibly cute manner. Tim smiled at her, happy he could still impress her.

She balanced on her toes and kissed him, letting it linger just longer enough to mean something. Tim glanced over to the bellhop, just quick enough to see him avert his gaze and smile.

The lift stopped, the bellhop ushered them out. Tim let Jasmine go first, partly from manners, partly to stop the bell boy ogling her backside.

The room was splendid. A four poster bed. Dark, perhaps ebony, furniture, off-set by cream walls. Jasmine rushed to the bathroom - a wide double bath. A curved, clear screen at one end with a delicate network of pipes providing a full body shower.

She headed back to the main room and kissed Tim as the bellhop placed the cases onto the stand.

As he finished, Tim and Jasmine were still locked in their embrace. He stood to attention and gave a brief cough.

Jasmine looked at him. "I think someone is waiting for something, daddy."

The look on the bellhop's face was priceless, she thought. Half-doubting his ears, half remembering the first rule of hotel work - You don't see, or hear, anything.

Tim gave him some cash, and turned to Jasmine just as she jumped backwards onto the bed.

"Did you see his face?" she giggled.

"Hun, we agreed..."

Jasmine rolled over and pouted at him. "Just having a little fun. It's why we're here, no?"

Tim was still annoyed, but she was right. This wasn't the time to argue, even if she was playing increasingly dangerous games. He just smiled and sat next to her on the bed, shaking his head.

He patted her bum. "How's the ... er ... how you feeling?"

"You mean ... Oh, I'm fine. I've been practicing for you."

"Oh, who with?"

She slapped him playfully on the thigh. "No, silly." She leant forward and kissed his arm. "You are all I need."

He stood up and started to unpack. "Hmm, I'd like to have seen that."

"We can do that." She replied. "Tonight's the night, no?"

"You sure, hun? I mean it's fun, but we don't have to."

Jasmine rolled onto her back again, and gripped the headboard with her hands overlapping.

"Are you sure, daddy?" She said, gently writhing as if her hands were bound.

"Well, for now," Tim said. "Let's get some champagne and have a bath before dinner."

Jasmine leapt to the bathroom as Tim called room service.

********

She teased, played with him, he indulged himself. But not much. Jasmine wanted to make sure he was ready for this evening.

********

"What do you think these people would say if they knew what we were doing?"

Tim paused, a fork full of food hovering mid air.

"Having dinner?" He said, buying time.

Jasmine toyed with the stem of her wine glass. "Not exactly."

He put the fork down.

It was something he thought about...worried about. Taboo was a word bandied about but seemed so inadequate for this situation. Sometimes his stomach turned at the thought of what had happened since Barcelona. The sheer wrongness of it all, the abuse of trust, love, his position. The rightful disgust his friends and family would feel if they knew.

And then...

She had started it. He was certain of that now. That night, dancing in the hotel room. Her subtle, slow advances. The way she planted though soft, slow kisses on his cheek, then his lips. But what did this mean of her mental state? Was she overly attached? Was she ... unbalanced? Overcompensating for the divorce and the love she had for her father?

And then ...

And then again what they had was incredible. And all that was wrong with it did nothing but add to the frisson. The sex had been incredible. She had clearly gone out of her way to deepen her sexual experience. He would have been happy with it just the way it had been, but in the last for months ... yes. She was certainly enjoying herself. Safe to explore with the one man she knew would always, unconditionally love her. Her father. Perhaps this is what had accelerated her sexual adventurism. Building up to today - first, the incredible experience in his old home, and now, when they would bring together all the little experiments, all the little games, they had been playing.

And here she was now ... dressed in an incredible, strapless gold dress. A heart-shaped cut caressing her cleavage, tailored perfectly over her narrow back and delicate waist, clinging to her hips and backside. Short on the thigh, revealing those sheer stockings, their dark hem drawing his eyes up and down her legs endlessly.

He looked into her eyes, once again totally seduced.. The swan like neck, delicate cheekbones, the deep, dark almond eyes. Love and lust for his own daughter had triumphed over social convention.

"I think," he said, as coolly as he could muster. "I think they would all say they were ... shocked. But they would all be wishing they were me."

He could see her roll her tongue around her mouth, exhaling, her lips slightly parted. All traces of doubt gone. His daughter was beautiful, and she wanted to fuck him. Who was he to say no?

"I want someone to know ..." she said.

He knew it would be impossible, or at least extremely dangerous. But he could not bring himself to break the mood.

"That would be so ... dangerous..." he whispered

"No-one we know ... "she said, still twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

"Like a bit of danger, do you?"

Jasmine brought the wine to her mouth, allowing a small sip to fall over her lips.

"I'd like to do everything with you."

That nagging thought again. That he was being played, a pawn to some larger objective she harboured, rose. It didn't last long. Under the table he felt her delicate foot on his groin.

"Mmmm. So that was what this afternoon was about?"

Jasmine smiled. "Tell me something..."

Tim nodded, "Certainly."

"Before Barcelona, that night, had you ever thought of fucking me?"

His heart seemed to expand to fill his whole chest. Once he had regained himself, he replied "No. I always knew you were beautiful. But, no...not until that holiday."

"When exactly?"

"Well, to be honest ..." he started to fumble, feeling like a teenager again.

"Go on." she said, her voice full of assurance mature for someone of her age.

"When I got back from Dubai and saw you in that swimming pool."

"I thought so."

"What about you?"

She took another sip of wine. "That would be telling."

Tim digested his words, took another mouthful of steak, despite his appetite having been suppressed by other, deeper, urges.

"So tell me." He almost begged.

"Maybe." She said, slowly moving her toes around his crotch.

Tim let it go. She was toying with him, and he didn't mind. Christ, just hours ago she had dressed as a schoolgirl and almost forced him to take her anally. Almost? No, she had engineered the whole situation.

"So, what about that letter I got this afternoon. From your 'headmaster'?"

"What about it?" She sat back, wine still in hand. Jasmine had hardly touched her meal, too excited about the evening ahead.

"Well, have you ever, well, you know ...?"

She withdrew her foot, allowing herself to lean forward. She placed her elbows close together, just in front of her plate, squeezing her cleavage as moved closer, enjoying her father's gaze as it travelled down.

She knew what he was referring to. It had been part of her plan, part of her analysis of what would fire his psyche and help him overcome any reservations that he may have harboured.

"Oh, have I ever kissed a girl?"

Tim nodded.

"Well, maybe just once." She teased.

Tim cleared his voice slightly. "Do go on."

Jasmine let her mind wander back to her first term at university. Amira, the Eyptian girl. Both starting psychology.

********

Both in the same residence hall. A welcoming party provided by the building staff that ended at 10 o'clock.

They went to a nearby pub, just a few of them. A lot of wine, and laughs. The sort of laughs you share with people that you don't really know. A quiet moment. Amira asking her what she would do if she kissed Jasmine.

Jasmine freezing. Unsure. The others coming back with the drink, the conversation apparently forgotten. Weeks later, on the same psychology classes. A visit to the university bar. Discussing if there were real differences between men and women. The open-mindedness of students, psychology students, exploring their minds. Amira saying she had inappropriate fantasies. Her step-father. Sometimes wishing he was her real father.

Jasmine's mind reeling. The alcohol helping, as did Amira's openness. The sudden idea of something impossible. The thrill of it filling her.

Amira asking her what she was thinking. Jasmine declining.

A few weeks later. A house party. Amira's older sister's place in south London. Amira was to move into the house next year, her family thinking it best she mingle in her first year, make new friends.

An aggressively drunk second year student, Law, groping Jasmine, upsetting her. Jasmine wanted to leave. Amira comforts her, asks her to stay.

The go to Amira's sister's room. Jasmine crying on the bed. She tells Amira that she thinks her mother is cheating on her father. Amira understands. Jasmine unloads her fears and insecurities.

Amira asks about Jasmine's father. The account is glowing. Amira tells Jasmine that he sounds delicious.

Jasmine laughs inwardly at her brazenness. She feels close to her new friend. She shows Amira a picture of her father on her phone.

Amira senses Jasmine relaxing. She teases the exhausted girl more. 'Hmm, if he was my dad...'