Vignette - Little Bird

Story Info
Yes, it's trite. If you truly love someone, set them free.
7.7k words
4.5
16.7k
26
1
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
alextasy
alextasy
577 Followers

"Mom died last night."

My daughter's tearful news over the phone hit me like a fist to the midsection.

"The funeral's on Friday. Will you...will you fly out to Denver with me?" Monica asked. "I don't want to be alone."

"Of course I will, sweetie."

I would have gone anyway. There was still a warm spot in my heart for my ex-wife. Celeste and I had been divorced for—how long? I had to count up from Monica's twelfth birthday. That would make it eighteen years ago.

We were both at fault for the collapse of our marriage. In my defense, she strayed first. If I'm going to be honest, I drove her to it. Too much time at work, on the golf course, and at the conventions and the sales meetings.

When I discovered she was screwing our next-door neighbor, I blew my top. It got nasty for a while. Soon, we both saw what our fighting was doing to out only child. After that, we split amicably. She married the neighbor, and they moved to Denver.

We agreed that Monica should stay with her Mom. Until my daughter came east to attend college a few hours north, I saw her for only a week in the summer and Thanksgiving, or when the occasional business trip allowed me to swing into Colorado. But I called her regularly. I never wanted Monica to feel as though I didn't care what was going on in her life, or that I wanted anything less than the best for her and her Mom.

Monica was emotional for the entire flight. She didn't bawl, but gripped my hand while a constant stream of tears rolled down her cheeks. Though I knew she enjoyed good bourbon, she refused the free drink offered by the thoughtful stewardess.

"I'm glad you came, Dad," she said, smiling through her tears. "You don't know how much this means to me."

"You may not believe it, sweetie, but I still love your mother. She was a good woman. She gave me the most wonderful daughter in the world. I'm sorry we weren't able to be the parents you should have had."

She leaned to the side and placed a lingering kiss on my cheek. "Even when you couldn't be by my side, I always knew my Daddy loved me. That was all I needed."

We hugged each other across the uncomfortable seats.

At the funeral, Celeste's husband was distraught. He'd never imagined he might be left alone at fifty. Who would've guessed that a simple urinary tract infection could be fatal? Celeste's MS had lowered her body's resistance, and the disease spread quickly. I understood exactly what it was like to unexpectedly lose the woman I planned to live my life with.

After the service, I was commiserating with her husband—her widower—Tom. He paused, gazing across the large stone chapel. A gang of Monica's friends had come to pay their respects. She seemed more animated as they laughed and giggled, recalling adventures from their youth, stories about her Mom, and catching up on where everyone was now.

Tom said, "She looks so much like her mother, doesn't she?"

He was right. With Monica's tall, slender physique and that thick mahogany hair, it would have been easy to imagine that it was Celeste chattering excitedly with her friends. My daughter even had my ex-wife's confident posture, high cheekbones and those enchanting, sea-green eyes.

"You know, Monica never really warmed to me," he said, still staring at my daughter. "She would hug me, and insist that she loved me, but she always called me Tom. She had only one 'Daddy'."

A warmth grew in my heart. I had to fight back the urge to gloat.

Back at the hotel, Monica and I walked across the street to an upscale Italian restaurant. Monica always loved lasagna. She seemed in better spirits. but still declined my offer to share an excellent bottle of Montepulciano. Even stranger, she ordered the Fettucine Alfredo.

"I'll bet they have a great lasagna here," I mention, suggesting her perennial favorite.

She holds up her hand. Her face seems to pale. "Don't talk about tomato sauce. My stomach couldn't handle it."

I presume that she's a little off due to the emotions surrounding the loss of her Mom.

"I like this town," I mention over our salads. "It feels so spacious and open. None of those huge oak trees blocking the view like at home. The humidity's not as bad as South Carolina, either."

"Denver's okay, I guess," she says with a shrug.

"Why did you move back east?" I asked, curious. "You were so smart. You could have gone to just about any school. Or found higher paying jobs in bigger cities."

My daughter shrugs again. "I dunno. It just feels like home."

The candlelit restaurant was dark. But despite her apparent indifference, I would have sworn I caught a hint of a secretive grin, and a flash of those exciting green eyes. Just as quickly, it was gone. Had I imagined it?

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes.

"You still loved Mom, didn't you?" she asked. "Even after what she did to you?"

"It wasn't your Mom's fault. The truth is, each of us shared a little of the blame."

"She cheated on you." There was a sharpness in her voice. Then it softened. "In all the times we talked, you never said the first bad thing about her. It must have broken your heart when she left with Tom."

I lay my fork on my plate. "When I was a little boy, I found a baby bird. It couldn't fly. I brought it inside and fed it worms by hand. It grew bigger and started to fly around the cage. My mother said I had to let it go. I cried, because it was mine. Mom told me, 'If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it is yours forever. If it doesn't, it was never yours'." I shrug with a self-conscious laugh when she rolls her eyes. "I know that sounds trite, but there's some truth in it."

"Did the little bird come back?" Monica asks.

I lower my eyes. "No."

And neither did Celeste.

We chatted over the rest of dinner, but my thoughts kept drifting back to what Tom had said. Monica was so much like her mother. A strong woman, but prone to moments of helplessness where she needs someone to hold her and tell her everything will be okay. My daughter's own marriage fared no better than ours. It lasted only six years. Unlike mine and Celeste's, Monica's was childless. I had never pried into the cause of their split.

We were both exhausted when we returned to the hotel. Although I'd offered to pay for two rooms, Monica had insisted that we share a double-queen room. She was overwrought. Not wishing to add any stress, I acquiesced.

Our flight home was around noon the next day, and we were both still on Eastern time. It was early, but we agreed to call it a day. Monica retired to the bathroom to prepare herself for bed. I usually slept in my skivvies, but had brought along some cotton pajamas. Expecting that I would be hot in the extra clothing, I turned down the thermostat.

When Monica reappears, I have to do a double-take. She's in a long, button-down satiny nightshirt that falls halfway down her thighs. Celeste had often worn one just like that. I feel a stirring between my legs that shouldn't be there. Briskly, I tell her goodnight, then roll over before she catches me gawking.

The bedside lamp went out, and I heard Monica crawl into the other bed. The room went quiet except for the steady, distant roar of traffic. Then I heard it. A sniffle. Then another one. She sobbed and sniffed some more. I heard the rustle of the sheets as she moved around.

I jumped, startled when my bed moved.

"Daddy?" Monica whispered. "Will you hold me?"

"Sure, sweetie." I raised the sheets and she slid in next to me. We embraced each other.

"Thanks, Daddy." She kisses my cheek again, a soft kiss that seems to last longer than I expected. Then she curls up against my chest. She sniffs once more, then she is still, breathing slow and steady. I follow soon after.

Emerging half-awake in the darkness with a hand full of tit, my cock smiles and snuggles up against the soft, pillowy bottom. Since the divorce, I've spent many nights on the road with women I met only hours before. The appreciation of how fine and firm this tit is arrives a split second before the recognition of who it belongs to.

Slowly, carefully, I pull away. An instant later, small feminine fingers grasp the back of my hand and put it right back.

I'm stymied. Is Monica aware of what she's doing? Is she dreaming that she's in bed with one of her lovers? Surely she can't believe that my wayward touch was an effort to seduce her.

The hard nipple poking at the center of my palm is dainty, like her mother's. I'm hard, too, my single-minded erection is still impressing its embarrassing shape into her buns. He remembers the good times with Celeste, and doesn't seem to know that the warm, soft body nestled into me is not my ex-wife.

My conscience asserts itself, and I attempt to draw my hand back. Monica rolls in my arms to face me. The faint light filtering in from the balcony reflects from her eyes. It's too dark to tell if she recognizes me. I can only barely make out the lines of her face.

She seizes my wrist, pushing my hand inside her open nightshirt. Again she covers my hand with hers, compressing, guiding me to squeeze her abundant rubbery flesh. She sucks in a passionate breath.

No words have been spoken. A conflict rages inside me. Does she even realize who is touching her? Or, is she in some sort of somnambulisitic stupor? Should I awaken my daughter, chancing that she might assume I'm molesting her?

Or, is she fully conscious of what she's doing? If my lovely daughter wants my aged body, then I have a bigger problem. Maybe it's the funeral, but I'm consumed by the possibility of reliving just one memory of so many nights like this with Celeste. I can't deny that I'm aroused. And what sort of perverse creature does that make me?

Monica raises her leg, throwing it over my thigh to lock her ankle behind my knee. That gives her leverage to pull us closer. Her arm snakes downward between us. She finds the opening of my pajamas, then the slit in my boxers. I shiver at her touch.

I keep telling myself, 'this isn't Celeste'. Why can't I force myself to stop her? How much further will I let this go on before I regain control of my selfish lust?

She leans forward to plant tiny kisses on my chest while she frees my stiff cock, fishing it out into the open. Her hair smells of that delicate scented flower shampoo Celeste always loved. Guiding my crown to her slit, Monica rubs it up and down, wedging her lips apart to spread her slickness.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I have to do something. I should at least say something before we reach the point of no return.

Then Monica pulls back, looking up at me again. My inner turmoils are settled with one word.

"Daddy?"

It is a plaintive, vulnerable plea, the same one I've heard from her so many times. It is a sound built into the genetics of a young girl, designed to tap directly into the heart of her father.

She has settled my cock head in the notch at her entrance. Any doubt evaporates. Despite the fragility in her voice, Monica is a big girl now. She knows exactly what she's doing.

And in my way, I need her the same as she wants me.

I reach down to my cock, pulling her hand away. Before she can object, I give a little shove with my hips, popping into her channel. Her gasp softens into a long, lustful moan. Her hand settles at my side. The other hand curls around my neck.

Little by little, my flesh becomes one with my progeny. She straightens, inhaling sharply and shuddering with each tiny thrust. Before I'm halfway in, her fingernails begin to prick the skin of my back and my neck. Heated breaths come quicker, her tremors more frequent as I spread her open. Her nails are biting hard enough to draw blood. A series of rapid, high pitched whimpers end in a held-breath moment. Her body grows tense. Her tight pussy suddenly grows wetter.

I think she just came.

Stunned, I pause to marvel at Monica's extraordinary state of arousal. After she's had a moment to unwind, she tugs at me in a way that suggest she wants me on top. We roll together, remaining joined. Embracing me, she takes hold of my shoulder blades, and her knees rise into the air, spreading to open herself to me.

Propped up on my elbows, my fingers play in Monica's fragrant hair while I begin to move inside her. I realize this meeting in the dark, with its inherent deniability, will likely be my only opportunity to share myself with her in this way. I intend to make tender love with my daughter, to express the depth of my feelings. Varying the pace and the passion of my motions—deep thrusts, slow and steady, then faster and shallow—my hips swing side-to-side, constantly changing the angle.

The joy of being inside my daughter is indescribable. Whether she was designed to perfectly fit my cock, or because of the forbidden nature of our union, or simply because I love her so much—or perhaps a little of all of those—I haven't felt such a connection with a woman since...well, since I last enjoyed Celeste.

I'm losing control. I can't hold back. As much as I want this night to last forever, the intensity of the moment is too great. My fingers clutch her arms, and the tempo of my thrusts accelerate, gaining energy. My body seeks its release. It doesn't help that Monica's hands have slid down my back to grab my ass, pulling me into her faster and faster while her hips drive her pussy up to meet me.

My balls slap against her behind, and my cock is making wet, squishy sounds in my girl's sublime cunny. Synapses begin to short-circuit, and my thoughts crash into disarray. My body is on auto-pilot, pounding feverishly into the soft body beneath me and hurtling toward the abyss.

Her face is hidden in the shadows. That eases the cognitive dissonance that I'm about to come inside beautiful daughter. All I see are those eyes. Those eyes, shining up at me as the semen gushes through my cock and I careen over the edge with a powerful roar.

The last thing I recall is her hands on my cheeks, pulling me to her lips.

Light filters through my closed eyelids. The floral scent of her hair is all around me. My hand rests on her waist. Her warm, steady breath whispers against my face. Even without looking, I know Monica is facing me.

I'm terrified to open my eyes, to discover the hatred she must feel for me. I hate myself. What will I say to her? I have no excuse. Even if it means never seeing her again, I will accept whatever penance she decides I should pay.

I peek between narrowed lashes, acclimating to the morning light. She's looking back at me. She's smiling.

"Good morning, Dad."

"Monica..." My voice cracks. What right do I have to speak her name? "I...I'm sorry. So sorry. I shouldn't have—"

She giggles. "It's okay if you nodded off, Dad. Lots of guys do that."

Then she leans forward to give me a short peck on the lips. She withdraws a couple of inches, searches my eyes for a moment, then returns. This kiss is tender, affectionate. She lays her hand on the back of my head, her lips pressing more impetuously. Her mouth opens, yielding, and before I know it, my tongue plunges in, wrestling with hers. The taste of her is familiar. She tastes like me.

Our bodies pull together. Sometime in the night she has taken off the nightshirt. She is naked. Her plump breasts are brushing side-to-side against my chest, exciting her nipples. I'm achingly hard again, still dangling from the flap in my PJs. She sandwiches my throbbing erection between us, her belly grinding against him.

At the same time she starts tugging down on the elastic of my bottoms, my hand slides down her belly toward her pussy. That's when my conscience finally wakes up.

"Stop!" I shout, shoving her back.

The shocked look on her face is pained.

"I can't do this, Monica," I tell her. "I can't take advantage of you like this again."

"Oh, Daddy," she smiles, then laughs softly. "Are you saying you didn't enjoy our little romp?"

My face is burning. "I...uh...I did. Yes. It was...it was amazing." I admit, unable to look back at those laughing green eyes of hers. Back on firm ground, I tell her, "But it was wrong, sweetie."

"Have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut when I thought something wasn't right?"

I shake my head, chuckling to myself. My lawyer daughter was always a champion for justice of all kinds, even if it sometimes meant she was tilting at windmills.

"Right," she says emphatically. "I got that from you, Dad. This world is filled with despicable evil and perversity. But nothing we do with love in our hearts can ever be wrong. There is only one wrong thing you could do to me right now."

"What's that?"

"Push me away." Her eyes are welling.

Monica reaches under the sheets. I gasp when she takes hold of my sagging cock. A rush of tingles shoots up through my body, causing a shudder. She starts shifting down the bed, licking her lips.

"Tell me you don't want this as much as I do, Dad."

I have a different opinion. I catch her under arms, hoisting her back up the bed.

"Daddy? Please...!" she whines, blinking at the tears that are gathering fast. At that moment, she is poised to crack.

Forcing a stern look, I tell her, "You said to tell you what I want. This is what I want."

Dipping my head, I lick her nipple, long and slow. She whimpers, laying her hand behind my head. I give her other brown aureole the same. As my hand slips lower to caress her inner thigh, my lips pull on the hard little pebble of her teat. She inhales sharply. Celeste could nearly come when I played with her titties. From Monica's reaction, I'm guessing she took after her mother.

My daughter sighs, lying back while I fondle and feast on her sumptuous breasts. My finger wiggles into the wet heat between her legs. She undulates, fucking my finger. A second one slides in alongside the first.

My lips travel down across the gentle roundness of her belly. She's gained a little weight since I last saw her in a bathing suit. I nuzzle her wide, dark, neatly-trimmed vee with the tip of my nose, breathing deep the scent of her arousal. She moans, touching my head when I place a tiny, lingering kiss atop her clit. I suck and lick her labia, then spread her pussy with my fingers and thrust my tongue into the heady soup of our previous lovemaking.

Monica has pulled her knees back. Her pussy tastes like Celeste's. For a few, brief moments, I forget where I am. My thoughts swing back to a time not long after we were married.

We have been fucking three or four times every day. Six on weekends. Celeste is already pregnant with Monica, but we don't know it yet. I have never been happier.

My mouth is all over my wife's bottom. From her clit to her sweet asshole, my tongue, my lips, fingers, teeth and even my nose are busy teasing and titillating, searching for new responses. Celeste's clit is hyper-sensitive after an orgasm. I've learned to keep her on the roller coaster, taking her to the edge then backing off, until she's almost—almost—begging for mercy.

Celeste squirms and writhes in sexual delirium. I relish the flavors and textures of her cunt, but mostly the sight and sounds of her pleasure. Fucking my incredible wife is like no other woman I've known, but eating her might be even better.

"Steven!" she cries out between fitful gasps, tugging at my hair. "If you ever...ever stop whatever you're doing to me. I...I swear I...I'll leave you."

It was supposed to be a joke. Years later, when life got complicated and I forgot to show her what she meant to me, she made good on her promise.

Her words came back to haunt me. I hated myself for ignoring her. I deserved to lose her. By far, the greater pain was the separation from Monica.

"Daddy..."

The breathless, yearning voice of my daughter jerks me back to the here-and-now. Guilt still churns in my gut. I'll be damned if I'm going to make the same mistake with my daughter that I did with my wife. If she wants me to express my love this way, however bizarre it is, then I'm not holding back.

alextasy
alextasy
577 Followers