Unawares

He crossed over to the connecting door, hoping that she had left it unlatched on her end. She had - he heaved a sigh of relief; he would have hated to put something on just in case he was spotted. He slinked into her room, not bothering to shut the door to his room, for it gave him a greater kick to know that he would fuck their daughter right under his wife's nose. Perhaps, he thought naughtily, he could even fuck her right beside his wife, both the women never knowing what had happened.

No, the hint of remaining intelligence told him. Maybe some other time.

He locked her main door from within, and then, no longer a slouching drunk but a stalking man-animal, he circled her bed, taking in the way her legs projected gracefully from underneath her gown. Her breath was steady, eyes shut, and the mixed aroma of female and alcohol was working wonders on his senses. His mind screamed at the imminent realization of his self over hers, embodied physically as he slid himself on top of her, obscenely pleased as her gown rode up to her waist, exposing a lace undergarment.

The heady smell of woman filled his nostrils, giving him a sudden need to nuzzle its source, and with the savage grunt of an animal, Ian plopped his face down on her silky panties. They were wet, a trifle stale, and he licked the sides of the panties with his tongue. He shivered as he tasted her saltiness - he reveled in the odor. It was a treat so long denied him that he felt entitled to drain the essence out of her, a reward for giving her life and living.

Ian pushed his hands underneath her buttocks, and was very pleased to discover that she was actually wearing a thong. The bare skin of her ass seemed to burn his hands, but he didn't care as he pressed her crotch against his face, rubbing his cheeks all over the damp face of her thong. Then one finger, then another probed the crack of her ass; he boldly pushed a finger inside her.

Her moan startled him into freezing for a moment, and he shot his head up to see if she had wakened; the eyes were still closed, although she was mumbling something. The father let his breath out; the danger that never was. He wriggled his digit inside her anus a couple of times more, each time eliciting a similar response from his daughter, and his ego feasted on her reaction.

Ian took his finger out, a smile on his lips, and dabbed her red lips - the sleeping daughter, as if by an unknown command, ventured her tongue out for a lick-taste. Ian almost lost his rocks when he felt her suck on his finger, and he pulled himself along her height, wanting to see how her pretty little mouth was wrapped around his hand's 'dick.' Even in sleep, Ian mused, she seemed to pout at him sexily, as if still challenging him, daring him to go even farther.

"Of course, dear girl," he muttered with a leer, "There is no way I am going to back out right now..."

Ian withdrew his finger from her mouth. He studied the red lips, slightly parted, and decided that it was the most perfect set of lips he had ever seen. Now that all inhibitions were flown from his mind, he was totally free to do the unthinkable. He covered her mouth with his, relishing the soft feel of her touch, and started kissing her.

Although she was still asleep, Cathy's body started to respond to his stimulation. After what was just a few seconds, her lips parted even wider, allowing his tongue enough space to slip inside her, and her tongue greeted him. He had his hands on her sides and was rubbing the sides of her breasts even more intensely than he had ever pressed his wife, eliciting a louder moan from her.

And the phone chose that exact moment to ring...

The sound shook him out of his skin, a startling intrusion into his conquest, and he cursed openly as he crossed back into his room. The instrument was right beside his wife, but it hadn't stirred her a bit. Thank God for small mercies, he thought laconically, as he picked up the damned invention.

"Yeah," he shot into the phone, not bothering to disguise his animosity.

"Sir," the voice on the other end was a little shaken, he thought satisfactorily, "This is the front desk. Were we interrupting something?"

Ian glanced through the open door at the prone form of his daughter, her body ready for his plucking, and was about to agree with the receptionist when he thought better. "I am sorry," he replied, now gentler than before, but having enough sense to still leave a trace of irritation in his voice, "It's just that this night hasn't exactly gone as planned - my daughter passed out at a party, my wife's having a headache, and I can't figure the hell out how to ... forget it. What was it?"

The receptionist's tone relaxed, as if empathizing with the guest. "Sorry to hear that, Mr.McWillis... must be one of those days, huh?"

"Yeah, but back to the matter..."

"Oh, yes, of course. The club is conducting a one-day trip to the Islands tomorrow, sort of a surprise gift to illustrious members like yourself, Sir, and we were wondering of you would care to join us. It shall be our pleasure, at no extra cost."

"I see. When does it start?"

"Morning at six, Sir. Will return by nine or ten, tops, at night."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Fell - it is Fell, isn't it?"

Mr. Fell was pleased someone as important to the club as Ian McWillis remembered his name; it was little things like this that could get him into the Manager's spot. "Yes, Sir, Mr.McWillis. I am honored that -"

"Of course not, Mr. Fell," Ian cut in, knowing fully well what the man was going to say, "There is no need for all the flattery. I give merit its due, and I can see it in you. However, I don't think neither my wife nor my daughter will be up by then." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone, "Confidentially, Mr. Fell, I would rather no one disturbed us until ten or eleven o' clock, you know what I mean."

"Sure, sir, I'll let the boys know they aren't to disturb you. Good night, Sir."

As the pleased receptionist hung up, Ian muttered under his breath, "What an ass-licking jerk!"

Ian walked back to his daughter, sleeping just as he had left her. Her gown was bunched around her waist, thongs exposed, and her chest heaved prominently. Ian took in her very-feminine curves, the swell of her breasts as opposed to the flatness of her stomach, and slapped his erection absently.

"Soon, my dear, soon," he whispered to no one in particular.

Abruptly, startling him, Cathy rolled over the side, falling on the floor with a sickening thud. Ian rushed to her side as she started to retch, reaching her just as she spewed some liquor out of her mouth. Hooking his shoulder under her, Ian rushed Cathy into the bathroom and made her keel over the wash-basin, rubbing her back fiercely, causing her to vomit even harder.

Ian was relieved to see that it was purely the alcohol that came out, remembering that she had had nothing solid. Some of the vomit had slid down her dress, damping it, and Ian justified himself that he would have to strip her naked. Cathy was still in no condition to control herself, much less her movements, and it was as if it was just her body was reacting blindly. Even when Ian threw some water on her face and cleaned her mouth, her eyes still held the glazed look.

Ian pressed her against the wall, a hand under her armpit to ensure that she wouldn't slip. His heart raced as he slid the straps of her gown off her body, an act made easier because of her wet skin. As he pulled the material down her chest, Ian gulped at the sight of her breasts - he had never seen something so exquisite. Her orbs were nicely sized, he had always known that, but to feel them with his hand as he had never been able to before threatened to send him over the top.

Not bothering to resist himself with his conscience, Ian McWillis mounted an assault on his daughter's exposed chest. He tried to swallow an entire breast, succeeded in taking most of it in, and reflexively gagged when her nipple brushed the back of his mouth. He pushed the other hand in between her other armpit, squeezing slightly so that she would not slip, Ian started to caress her tit with his mouth, suckling as he had back when his wife had just delivered.

He could still sense the sourness of the alcohol on her body, but it could have been shit for all he cared. The feel of her naked body against his mouth was so deliciously sensual that he regretted he would get only this one night to act out his fantasies - as he beheld her body, he wanted to do so many things to her, things that were bad, things that no father should even want to do to his daughter, that he cursed time and all the impatience it possessed.

As he frantically ground her breast, Cathy, although still out of the loop, started to moan her encouragement. Ian was faintly aware that she was clenching her thighs - open and close, open and close - while striving to push her body towards his face. A feminine hand reached over his head, clutched a handful of hair, and pulled him ruthlessly closer, making him bite her nipple fiercely. A loud moan escaped her mouth and her eyes opened wide, but she perceived nothing that was not abstract.

With a savage grunt, Ian McWillis hoisted his daughter, naked but for her thong, onto his shoulders, smiling to himself as he felt her rubbery mounds bounce off his back, and rushed to her bed just as fast as he had rushed her away. She was flung on the bed, and he watched with satisfaction as she looked straight ahead, eyes half-closed, definitely unconscious of her environment, seeking only the fulfillment of her carnal needs... he laughed softly as her body bounced off the mattress and settled down.

The lust-filled man had no place for the father; he lunged at her and ripped off the thing - really ripped the flimsy material off - and flung it away. Baring his eyes to the one treasure good women cherish - her pussy. He marveled at the smooth folds of her lips, absently rubbing his own jaw as a comparison to the completely shaven cunt. Mixed with her wetness, the skin glistened obscenely, as if daring him to take that sheen away.

Ian slung her legs over his shoulder as he went down on his daughter, wanting to taste what had so long been denied him, and his first taste of her true saltiness was as arousing as he had ever felt. He dived into her with his tongue like a man possessed, not bothering with the etiquette of working his way in, and ran over the sides of her wet womb.

Stimulated beyond her control, Cathy groaned as she felt her own father - but the relationship not a part of her lazy consciousness - eat her out, far more intensely than anyone else who had ever put their mouth to her lips. Within moments, she jerked into his face, rubbing her lubes all over his face, and Ian was surrounded by the heady smell of her fluids. In spite of all the women he had ever fucked, her odor alone seemed to stand out, drowning all other smells.

As the licking grew in intensity, so did her reaction. She responded with abandon, shamelessly thrusting her pussy into her father's face, knowing, yet not knowing, that there was something taboo about enjoying such pleasure.

She came on his face, and he drank her as if he had been starved of everything for years.

Even as his daughter's exhausted body sought the softer comforts of the mattress after an earth-shattering orgasm, Ian was just getting warmed up. He tickled her bare skin with his moustache, wet with her own cum, trailing his tongue after it to lick her body clean. He probed between her legs until he reached her anus, then reversed direction and moved up her body, towards his constant object of fixation, her magnifique! breasts.

Her moans rented the air once again as he conquered mound after mound, rough in his hunger for her flesh - for his own flesh, he mused, for he was her father - driving her to orgasm each time, not letting go of her teat until her body surrendered whatever resistance it could offer. That he had come close to blowing his load was of little matter to him - the way he felt, it would only be a matter of seconds before his cock reared up again.

Ian lay on his back beside her, pacing himself, as he listened to her breathing come back to more normal levels. Her body was as aroused as it was arousing, he noted as he tweaked a hard nipple, bringing forth another involuntary moan from her lips. Effortlessly, Ian slid her on top of him, aided by the sweat on both their bodies, and there was the familiar kick in his stomach once again as he felt his hardened penis slide between her legs, the friction against her sopping crotch electric.

He placed his arms at her waist and pushed her upwards, wanting to see her properly. As if in a trance, Cathy, assisted by his strength, her legs on either side of his chest, sat upright. Her breasts were firm, topped with pink nipples of a very dark shade and areolas little bigger than the top of his thumb. Hanging in the valley between her tits was the gold necklace that Ian himself had bought her when she had turned eleven, the design that of the Holy Cross.

Sandwiched between her soft breasts, Ian thought of the pendant, it must be feeling anything but Holy!

Her blonde hair was fallen about her shoulders, reflecting the lamp's light, giving her face an angelic glow in the midst of her unplanned coupling with her father. And her entire torso looked as if it had been besieged by bed bugs, for so thoroughly had Ian pecked her skin as he explored her body.

She had a half-smile on her face, a contented expression that seemed irresistibly sultry to her father, but her eyes were no wider than they had been half an hour ago, when Ian had commenced the realization of his fantasies about her. "Hummm," she hummed as he started to knead her breasts.

Ian realized that she was in no condition, neither to initiate, nor to carry on, the real penetration. Just as easily as he had pulled her up, Ian maneuvered so that he was on top of her once again, the entrance into her just teasing his cock. As before, he flung her legs onto his shoulder, then slid between her legs as they dropped limply to his sides. He covered her mouth with his, locking her in a kiss even as his cock crashed all over her crotch.

With a grunt born of the increasing need, Ian broke contact just long enough to orient his assault on her pussy. Cathy had no more than a fraction of a second before the simultaneous impact of his cock slamming into her and his lips fiercely resealing hers caused her to reflexively wrap her legs around him, driving him even further into her waiting cunt.

Teeth and gums mashed wildly as the two lovers, one as conscious as the other was not, entered that final phase of becoming one entity, and Ian could feel her gums bleed a little blood onto his tongue. He massaged her mouth, torn between passionate need and a mild paternal concern for his offspring, while his crotch rammed against her pussy lips repeatedly, mercilessly pounding her sensitivity.

The end was sudden.

Ian felt the buildup within his balls a second before he lost all control, flooding her insides with the same stuff that had once, to use a cliche, caused her life. Her climax was just a step behind, and lost no time in milking him dry into its thirsty confines. Ian started to kiss her on her nose, earlobes, nape, neck, cleavage, anything to distract him... he was going mad with the deliriousness of consummating a forbidden moment with his own daughter...

Exhausted and spent, at least for the moment, Ian McWillis collapsed on top of Catherine McWillis, father having fucked daughter, but he was careful not to drop his entire weight on her. Her legs, which had, by their own volition, locked just over his ass, unwrapped themselves and slid down, allowing him to breath freely again - until then, he hadn't realized what was strangling him.

Ian allowed himself a minute to gather himself, noting with satisfaction that Cathy was in deep slumber. Her face was towards him, seemingly refreshed by what had just happened, and there was, it appeared to Ian, the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were now shut completely, the eyelids wrinkle-free indicating that the sleep was natural, not forced, and that she was not holding her eyes shut deliberately.

The guilty father rolled away, but not before he gave in to temptation and kissed her once on her lips. It was just a touch, really, something that was a spontaneous compliment to the most memorable hour in his life, and he added, with a slight touch of guilt now that the act had been done, "I love you, honey."

To which, eyes closed, nothing more than a mumble, she had replied, "I love you too, Daddy."

Ian slid out of the room, locked the interconnecting door behind him, washed himself in his bathroom and threw on a pair of clean briefs. He crawled in beside his wife, threw an arm around her and watched her. As the guilt started to hit, he could not face her; instead, he turned and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

A part of him was celebrating his most coveted conquest; the other was just as disgusted as was possible. Conflicting emotions that were just to confusing to resolve... he fell asleep, dreaming of one more night.

One more night. Like tonight.

The father awoke after his wife, groggy, with a rising recollection of what he had done the previous night. It did not cause remorse, however; he wanked to the erotic images, trying to convince himself that those memories would be enough to last his remaining lifetime.

The daughter awoke, sporting a killer hang-up, and felt the stickiness between her legs a second before she could focus on the mess. She stared with unbelieving eyes at the dirty precipitate of the lovemaking she had unconsciously participated in - she was shocked!

When?

Where?

How?

WHO???

As she regained her head, the answers started to come to her. Then 'when' was obvious - the night before. She spotted her torn thong near the wall away from her bed, so the 'where' was no longer a mystery.

How? She had no clue, and she checked herself for bruises. There were none; it was inconsistent that a person - a stranger - who violates another's privacy would not inflict a wound or a bruise, it was like a calling card for them. Her psycho-analysis instructor had claimed that the credit for a crime was as important to the rapist as the successful execution of the crime itself.

It was the 'who' that disturbed her. Even without knowing it, she reached under her bed for her tennis racket, glancing around warily, suddenly fearing an attack from whoever had raped her the previous night. There was the sound of running water from the bathroom! Wielding the racket like a club, she crept towards the bathroom.

She debated with herself whether it was the more prudent of her choices - it would be far safer to shout. But such an action would bring swift repercussions, she immediately understood. In addition to the fact that she had nothing on, her attacker could shut her up before she anyone heard her, or worse, if she had unknowingly brought someone to her room from the party last night... the embarrassment, more than anything else, would kill her!

She gave the door a slight push, and was more than a little surprised when it swung open easily. Without a second thought, she stepped inside, bringing her bat down, assuming that she would connect with his head, if he was there...

And she almost tripped when she hit nothing, almost losing her balance because she had been so sure of impact...

The wash-basin tap was open, she saw, but she couldn't say for sure she hadn't been the one to turn it on. Then she saw her gown, lying crumpled on the tiles, and she groaned. There were still some traces of vomit on her dress, and the continuous dampness had ruined the velvety material. She flung the useless dress into the hamper.