Why Do You Hate Me, Daddy?

He shook his head wistfully and whispered, "I don't know how to stop trying, either."

Rolling my eyes, I sighed loudly. Then I muttered, "I'm really frustrated."

"I know," he said. He paused, thinking, and then added, "I didn't mean to frustrate you. And I didn't mean to... well, I shouldn't have done anything with you."

I found myself studying his face. He looked... disconsolate. And I was fairly confident that he was fighting a war of desire about what was right and wrong. I decided to just speak my mind. Leaning closer to him, I whispered, "But I wanted to do something with you."

He slowly lifted his head toward me until our eyes met again. His seemed to flick back and forth between mine, like he was trying to decide where to focus while he stared at me. I felt a warmth blossom in my stomach as I watched him stare at me. His expression was blank and yet, I felt like I could read him anyway. I had the distinct impression that I knew what he was thinking and that his thoughts were not truly all that different from my own.

"Don't you want me?" I heard myself whisper. I leaned even closer to him, my hand on the bed between us.

"Gracie," he said my name, sounding slightly out of breath.

I leaned even closer until our faces were less than a foot apart. My body was trembling. Whispering, I begged him, "Touch me, daddy."

My dad sighed gently but then he reached a hand out and brushed his fingers down my cheek. I closed my eyes, reveling in the feeling. My skin tingled. Pulling myself closer, I finally laid down right beside to him. His hand was still on my face, caressing me slowly. Fluttering my eyes open, I looked up at him.

"Lower," I whispered.

He frowned, but then his hand slid down onto my neck. It tickled, but in an arousing way. His fingers danced along my skin until he reached the sliver of exposed chest at the top of my nightshirt. I shuddered then and basked in the warm tingle that his touch elicited. Slowly he dragged his finger along the upper hem of my shirt, tickling my skin. He went back and forth a few times like that.

Then I said again, "Lower, daddy."

I could hear his breath catch and his hand felt like it was shaking. But then his hand slid down onto my shirt, gliding in between my breasts. He didn't stop moving until he reached my stomach. The combination of his light touch and the fabric of my shirt created a rippling tingle down my body. It felt like waves were gently lapping from both sides of his hand, filling my skin with warmth. I was trembling.

"Go... go lower," I whispered, swallowing. My vagina was smoldering. My entire body was almost boiling.

I was wearing shorts instead of pants tonight, since it was warmer than it had been. His fingers caressed their way lower until he bumped into the elastic waistband. He stopped moving then. Sucking in a breath, I reached my hands down to my waist and gently tugged my shorts down my legs, exposing my naked vagina to my father for the first time. He gasped and then I could feel his hand shaking. His fingers were mere inches above it. It had been a week since I shaved, so there was a gentle patch of fur between his fingers and my slit. He was staring at my crotch, eyes wide.

"Please, daddy," I begged.

His entire body was shivering but I knew it wasn't from being cold. The room was quite warm. But then he started moving his hand lower. I felt his fingers play across my pubic hair. When he reached the very top of my slit, his movement slowed. Lifting my hips just slightly, I offered myself to him. He was breathing irregularly and his hand was still shaking. But he noticed my movement. Inhaling deeply, my father pushed his hand lower. I felt one of his fingers gently dip in between my labia, brushing across my clitoris as it traversed downward. My body convulsed at the contact.

My father's hand slid all the way down to the bottom of my slit until his finger fell into the small indentation of skin that was my vagina. I gasped and then held my breath.

"You're so wet, Gracie," he whispered, his voice sounding enthralled.

"Because of you," I whispered back.

He slowly lifted his head away from staring at my vagina and looked at my face. My mouth was open and I was breathing funnily. Shallowly. I couldn't quite catch my breath. His finger was still pressed against my opening and my entire crotch was charged up.

Still focusing on my face, I felt my dad push his finger against my hole. He entered me and my eyes began to flutter. Pleasure buffeted me so strongly that I had to clench every muscle in my body to hold still. Forcing my eyes open, I saw that he was still looking at my face. His lips were parted, too. He inhaled and then I felt his finger push a little deeper into me. I gasped, trying to keep my eyes open so I could watch his reaction. Instinctively, I spread my legs a little. He pushed again and the rest of his finger disappeared inside my vagina.

I was so worked up, so charged from weeks and weeks of stimulation, that I felt an orgasm churning its way into my crotch. Deep in my vaginal canal, the tingling raced toward the surface. I gasped as I stared up at my father's face. He looked so timid. So scared. But I wanted him to be ok with this! I squirmed, pushing my hips toward him. His finger sank another centimeter inside of me and I gasped. Then he started moving it, very gently. He pulled his hand back, then pushed it forward. Slowly. In and out he fingered me at an almost agonizingly slow pace. But I loved it. It felt wonderful. And best of all, I was close to having an orgasm.

His movement stopped. I could feel his finger still inside me, but he wasn't moving. He sighed and then said, "This just isn't right, Gracie. You're... you're my daughter."

Reflexively, I thrust my hand out and grabbed hold of his wrist, just as he started trying to pull his finger out of me. Holding onto it, I started moving my hips, forcing his finger to penetrate me. I was so close! My body was shaking. I undulated myself, moving a little faster. I felt his finger sliding in and out of my chute, bringing me closer and closer to release. I started gasping.

But then he started resisting, trying harder to pull his finger out of me. I wanted to scream.

"Why don't you want to give me an orgasm?" I asked, my voice dripping with scorn and frustration.

He was shaking his head as he whispered, "I do. Very... very badly."

But he was still tugging his arm against my restraining grip. I finally let go of his wrist and his finger slid easily out of my vagina. Panting heavily, I squeezed my eyes shut. My entire body was a tingling, writhing mass of arousal. I had been right on the brink of release!

Despite my extreme frustration, I sighed and said, "Oh daddy. You're being too moral about this." The second the words were past my lips, I realized just how strongly I believed them. My father was being too moral. And, more importantly, I realized that my own concept of right and wrong had shifted. I no longer felt like it was wrong to want my father. But how was I to get him to see it that way, too?

We didn't talk anymore after that and I didn't do anything physical with him. I just laid beside him until I could tell he had fallen asleep. I was alone with my thoughts for over an hour. I felt like that had been the most progress we had made yet. I was frustrated, but it dissipated as I lay there. By the time I finally fell asleep, my previous resolution was completely dissolved and replaced by a new one.

I was determined to get my father to see things the way I did.

[Ch 21. Suspicious.]

That Friday, my sisters wanted to watch a movie together "as a family". My dad and I agreed, of course. After dinner, we all changed into our pajamas and then we settled into the living room. I sat on the end of the couch, right next to my dad's recliner. My two sisters were at the other end of the couch, snuggled together under a blanket. Dad turned the lights out and started a new action-comedy movie with Ryan Reynolds that came out a couple months ago that none of us had seen.

My thoughts were too busy to pay much attention to the movie. My sisters were talking quietly, so they didn't seem very interested, either. But that also meant they weren't paying attention to me. My dad seemed to be the only one actually watching the movie. I decided to try to talk to him anyway.

"Daddy?" I whispered, leaning on the arm of the couch so my face was only a couple feet away from him.

He turned toward me, glancing over my head to look at my sisters briefly before focusing on me again. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Can I ask you something?" I said quietly. He frowned at me but nodded. I glanced toward my sisters to see if they were looking but they were both staring at their phones. Turning back toward my dad, I lowered my voice anyway as I asked, "Do you feel ashamed?" I knew he knew what I was talking about.

His frown deepened and his eyebrows furrowed. He opened his mouth and then closed it, then looked away from me, staring at the tv. I waited patiently, my stomach filling with dread. I didn't want him to feel ashamed. Finally, he turned toward me again and whispered, "Not exactly, no."

"Not exactly?" I asked. Then I added, "What then?"

He shrugged, shifting in the chair uncomfortably. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. He looked over at my sisters again and then back to me before whispering, "I don't even know how to describe it, Gracie. It's just... wrong."

"Says who?" I whispered back, trying to keep the heat that I felt out of my voice. I didn't want my sisters to hear us.

My father lifted his shoulders and his hands and then growled, "I don't know. Everybody?"

I rolled my eyes at him. Then I tried to whisper but my heated words made it a little louder than that, "Yeah? Well 'everybody' is like saying 'they say'. But who the hell are 'they'? There's no rule book about it."

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes at me. When he answered me, he sounded irritated. He did manage to keep his voice at a whisper, though, "Actually there is. There are laws against it."

"Pffff," I made a vexed sound. Pulling myself a little more onto the arm of the chair to get closer to him, I spoke quietly, "I don't care about some stupid law. Those were probably made hundreds of years ago."

Dad looked at me and his eyes flicked up over my head. Then he whipped his head back toward the tv and stared at it like he was watching the movie. I couldn't help it, so I glanced over my shoulder and found Monica staring at me. Her expression was blank, but she was clearly looking at me and dad. Had she heard anything we said?

I waited a few minutes, acting like I was watching the movie again. Then, after checking to make sure both of my sisters were preoccupied again, I whispered to my dad without turning my head toward him, "I don't care what anyone else thinks."

He didn't answer me right away, but I could tell he was stewing on my words, mulling them over. Finally he leaned closer to me and whispered back, "It's wrong for me to feel this way."

"What way?" I asked, not quite whispering.

He turned toward me and looked me hard in the eyes and then turned back toward the movie without saying anything. I guess I didn't really need him to answer my question. I knew what he meant. So instead, I turned so both my elbows were on the arm of the couch and leaned forward. I felt my small breasts squishing against my arms. I craned my neck over the couch and got really close to my dad's face.

Then I whispered, "Do you think it's wrong that I feel the same way?"

He slowly turned his head toward me. Our faces were six inches apart. I could feel his warm breath on my chin. I held myself there, staring at him. Finally, he cleared his throat and pushed himself up off the chair, twisting his torso so he didn't bump into me. When his weight was off the recliner, it rocked backward and almost made me fall off the side of the couch. I pulled myself back into my seat and stared up at my father. He wasn't looking at me, but at my sisters instead.

"I'm heading to bed, girls. Make sure you brush your teeth before you get into bed, ok?" he said to them.

"Ok," Ally responded. Monica didn't answer him.

I stared longingly at my dad as he walked down the hall. When he got to his bedroom door, he turned toward me and held my gaze for a few seconds before disappearing into his room. I sighed, closing my eyes briefly. Opening them again, I turned to look at my sisters and froze.

Monica was staring at me, frowning. What was she thinking about? Did she hear some of our conversation? She was a smart girl. I probably shouldn't have had this particular conversation with my dad with the two of them in the same room.

When I stood, my legs were both asleep and I almost fell. Stumbling across the living room and trying to work feeling back into them, I told my sisters goodnight and walked through the kitchen to the basement door. When I opened it, I looked toward the living room again. Really, I was looking past that, down the hall toward my father's room. But I noticed Monica staring at me, so I gave her a small smile and then headed downstairs.

[Ch 22. Surrender.]

When I reached my bed and climbed into it, despair hit me. I started sobbing in my bed as I lay there, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face. It went on for the better part of an hour before I stopped. That left me with a blaring headache that seemed to throb at both my temples at once.

An hour later, my father came to me. I was surprised to see him, but I didn't let it show. I was lying on my back, my head on my pillow. The only light in my room was the lamp on the table next to my bed, but it was dim. Without a word, he walked right up next to the bed and then sat down beside me.

I decided to let him be the first to speak. After our mildly heated discussion in the living room, and my hour of tears, I didn't have the energy to start a conversation. It was almost five minutes before he finally said something.

"I'm sorry, Gracie," his voice sounded strained.

"Sorry for what?" I asked.

He stared at me, his eyes seeming to glow in the dimly lit room. Without looking away, he said hoarsely, "That I can't give you what you want."

Looking for any crack in his façade, I slowly nodded. Then I whispered, "It's ok." It wasn't, really. But I wanted him to feel comfortable. I would deal with whatever decision he ultimately made. To me, he was still trying to make up his mind. Or he wouldn't keep letting himself get physical with me at all. Tugging the bedspread until it caught where he was sitting on it, he lifted his butt and then climbed under the covers with me. This time he laid right next to me, both of us on our backs.

Our usual bout of silence ensued for the next ten minutes. Until I finally gathered enough strength to roll myself toward him. I put my hand on his stomach and he flinched, looking over at me. We stared at each other for a minute and then, very deliberately, I lifted my hand and placed it right on his crotch. I felt heat radiating from his penis. Giving it the slightest of squeezes, it was as I suspected. My father was hard.

"You're already hard," I said.

"I know," he answered.

He didn't push my hand away so I held it there, enjoying the heat that was rising from his erection through his pajama pants. Our eyes were still locked on each other. Whispering, I asked, "If we're not supposed to feel this way about each other, then why are you hard?"

He shifted slightly and then whispered back, "I can't help it."

I held his eyes and he never looked away. A minute ticked by and then slowly, I started moving my hand. His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply. I ran my fingers along the length of his shaft, watching his face the entire time. Then I said softly, "Well, if you can't help that, then I can't help wanting to do this."

I started stroking him through the fabric of his pajamas. He grunted softly but didn't tell me to stop. Bending my fingers at the knuckles, I wrapped them around his penis, with my thumb on one side and my four fingers on the other. Then I worked my hand into a slow, gliding movement. Up and down his shaft I slid my fingers. Still holding onto his gaze, our eyes never broke contact.

"Does this feel good?" I asked as I continued to stroke him. He was breathing quicker and he had his lips parted.

"Yess," he whispered. I squeezed my fingers together just slightly and then he added, "Too good."

I never stopped what I was doing with my hand. Up and down I let my fingers caress the sides of his penis. Purposely moving very slow, I kept at it for almost fifteen minutes. My father and I stared at each other the entire time. Suddenly his facial features changed. That's when I decided to speed up my stroking. His mouth opened wider and he started breathing faster. That's it. I could feel his erection starting to swell. It was fascinating to me that I could feel how it changed.

"Are you close?" I whispered.

"Gracie," he said my name and I knew what it meant. He was about to ask me to stop.

"I don't want to stop this time," I said. My fingers gave his penis a little squeeze as I stroked my way back to the tip. When I started down again, I whispered, "Let me do this for you daddy. Please."

He didn't answer, so I kept stroking him. Unable to resist, I sped up my movement a little. I was still moving at a relatively slow pace, but I could tell the slight increase in speed was having an effect on him. He started breathing more frequently, taking tiny breaths and letting them out. I kept going, feeling the hot contours of his penis through the fabric as my fingers glided up and down its length. He shifted his body but didn't pull away from me.

Finally, I decided to give him one more option to back out. Just in case. I didn't want him to resent me. So I asked, "Do you want me to stop?"

My dad didn't answer. That made me excited. My stroking grew faster. My body felt warmer. It was hot between my legs. My arousal was growing at an exponential rate. Faster I stroked. His penis twitched between my fingers. I could hear his breathing getting heavier, louder. It was encouraging. Still staring directly into his eyes, I continued my pleasure-producing rub of his very hard shaft. Faster. He started shaking and I squeezed tighter.

My dad started moaning softly with each breath. I never stopped. I just continued manipulating his erection with my fingers until his body started tensing up.

"Mmm hmmm," I cooed, smiling as I continued to stare into his eyes.

His mouth opened wider and his eyes threatened to flutter shut. But he held on, continuing to look at me. I moved my hand faster still, stroking up and down, up and down. He was breathing short, loud breaths. The noises he made were an aphrodisiac to my ears. Pleasure pulsed between my legs but I ignored it. I just kept stroking him.

"Gracie!" he said my name in a sharp whisper just as his body bucked upward. His arm flailed out and then his hand grabbed hold of my shoulder in a death grip.

Still stroking, I watched his face contort and I knew it was about to happen. Up and down I slid my fingers, which felt extremely hot. His breathing got even shorter, louder. His body was tense beside me and he was shaking.

Then he finally let go.

"GAAUHNNNNNNNNNNNN MMMMMMM MMMMMMMM HMMMMMM OOOOHHHHHHHM MMMMMMMM FFFFFFFFFFFFMMMMMMMMM MMMMM OOOHNNNNN!!" his moans were loud and wild. I felt his penis throbbing between my fingers, like it was pulsing. The pulses felt timed with his moans. Every flinch of his penis brought another moan.

My father was having an orgasm.

It lasted well over three minutes, and I continued stroking him the entire time. His body sank back onto my bed, and then it was done. He had finally given in and closed his eyes. I stared at his face, watching as his mouth hung open and he gasped for air. Between my fingers, I felt his penis slowly shrinking. I kept running my hand up and down it anyway. He convulsed, shuddering. He swallowed gulps of air and probably saliva. His gasping gradually slowed until he was breathing somewhat normally again.