Chapter 1

The phone on my desk rang insistently, snapping me back to the real world and out of the fantasy that I was trying to create in my mind and on my keyboard. Without checking the call display, I grabbed the intruding device and answered what I thought would be another telemarketing call.

"Telephone harassment department, prosecution desk," I intoned.

"Oh shut up, Dad. That one's getting stale." the voice on the other end growled at me.

"Angie?" I asked. "Sorry, Honey, but you know how much I hate those damned telemarketing calls." My apology fell on deaf ears as my daughter let the conversation hang in the nether lands of silence.

"This is serious, Dad. Fancy and I need a place to stay. Could you stand a couple of visitors for a while?"

My sixth sense let me know that something was wrong in my daughter's world. Under normal circumstances, she'd never call before coming to visit, she'd just drop in. I wanted to ask her what kind of problem she'd encountered, but knew I wouldn't get a full explanation until we were face to face.

"Sweetheart, my door's always open. You know that," I reminded her. "When can I expect to see your pretty little faces? Where are you?"

"Just coming through Griswold," I was informed. "We should be there in a little less than half an hour. Is this going to be okay, Dad? Fancy and me dropping in unannounced and unexpected, I mean?"

I'd driven the road from my home to where she lived too many times. From where she was would take less than half an hour to cover. "Home" for Angelina was a good seven hours further east. Whatever had happened in her life, being alone in the middle of nowhere wasn't a good idea. At that moment, all I wanted was to comfort and shelter my only daughter.

"Looking forward to seeing you two, Honey. Are you okay? You sound a little tense."

There was a long and uncomfortable silence before my daughter Angelina finally answered.

"Not really, Dad, but I will be. I just need a chance to sort out some of the shit in my head first. It's your granddaughter that I'm more concerned about. I'll explain when we get there. I know your curiosity is probably killing you, but I need you to trust me for now, and so does Fancy. We both need someone to help us sort out the mess we're in, and you're the guy I need to talk to."

I could tell from the tone of Angie's voice that not only was something wrong, it was very wrong. I could hear the pain in her voice, and it left me with an empty feeling inside me that I hated. My heart ached for her, and if my granddaughter was hurting as bad as I thought her mother was, I hurt for Francesca, too.

"I love you, Angie." I re-enforced our father-daughter bond.

"I love you too, Dad. We'll be there as soon as we can," she replied.

My granddaughter had always been known as Fancy. When she was first learning to talk, she could never get the "R" sound out. Her version of her own name came out as "Fan-ses-ca". Her mother had tried the name Francie, but it had migrated to Fancy. Now, after all these years, it was a name she answered to with an element of pride.

I got to work cleaning up the pile of dishes in the sink, the dirty laundry laying on the floor, and the clutter spread almost everywhere. It was a mad dash that was hindered by my concern for my daughter and granddaughter. That hurt in Angelina's voice was the centre of my worries. I caught myself beginning to pace in front of the livingroom window as I waited. Finally, Angelina's car pulled up outside. I was out the door before it stopped moving. My granddaughter waited until it did, but only just, then ran into my waiting arms as I offered her a place of refuge and a sheltering hug.

"Grandpa, he's a miserable bastard!" was all the hint she gave me, her tears starting to flow. One quick glance told me that these weren't the first ones of the day. I'd have to let her get over them before I could find out who "he" was. I had an empathetic feeling of loss and confusion from my granddaughter that hurt, especially without knowing what was going on. I resigned myself to wait until my daughter explained their problems. Angelina pulled herself out from behind the wheel and joined in our embrace, clinging to me almost as tightly as her sixteen-year old daughter.

"I'd ask what the hell's going on, but it looks like you guys need a break first," I strongly suggested. "Leave the bags in the car and I'll get them later. Right now, you two need to unburden yourselves."

I kissed my thirty-six year old daughter's forehead, and she pressed herself a little closer to me in response.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered, "I needed that. Only you can make me feel this safe and secure, and right now neither one of us is feeling either way. Let's get inside, so I can unload some of this shit before it crushes me. I'm just sorry you have to put up with the bullshit, but there's no one else I can turn to."

With that, Angie gave me another kiss, squeezed me a little tighter, then laid her head on my shoulder to absorb some more love and security from her Dad.

"That's what father's are for, isn't it?" I tried to assure her. "To listen, and to try and help if we can?"

She smiled at me, her features becoming the most relaxed I'd seen since she'd first arrived. We walked to the front door with our arms around each other's waist, and I knew that whatever had brought her back to me, we'd get it behind us.

Once at the kitchen table, I waited for an explanation, leaving the timing to my daughter. It took her a few minutes to compose herself, starting her explanation slowly and carefully, then letting the momentum of her rushing words expel themselves.

"Dad, I've left Darren. After what he's done to Fancy and me, I never want to see that son-of-a-bitch again. There's not much left in that house that I want, and nothing of that life. Not any more. But until I can get us back on our feet, I need some place for my daughter to call home. That's why I asked if you could handle a couple of visitors for a while. If it was just me, I could live in the car for all I care. But Fancy's hurting as badly as I am, and I can't fix it for her. That bastard's humiliated me for the last time, but he just had to hurt my daughter to.! I swear he did that just to get back at me for something, but why the hell he had to break Fancy's heart I just don't understand."

I had no idea what had happened that had Angie so angry with her husband. My daughter's marriage had been a little shaky for a year or two, but something had finally destroyed it. I wanted to ask what, and yet really didn't want to know. Despite my better judgement, I enquired anyway.

"Dad, I came home to find my husband in bed with some bimbo after he bragged about it to my daughter. If you were me, what the hell would you do?" Angelina started. "No, don't answer that, because we both know exactly what you'd do. You'd bundle up and get the fuck out of there. Whether you'd bother going back doesn't matter. I also know that you'd do whatever it took to protect me, because that's you, and I love you for it. Hell, your granddaughter was the one that suggested I call you. She's counting on you to help us pick up the pieces. She believes in you as much as I do, if not more. Deep in my heart, I know she won't be disappointed."

Before she'd succumbed to cancer, my wife of over thirty years had been the most loyal and loving woman a man could ever hope to find. She'd been gone almost four years, and I still missed her as much as ever. Right about now, I'd have done anything to have her back, for her support and assistance to sort out this mess. I tried to think of what Fay would have done, the course of action she'd embark upon

"Okay, Angie, let's start from the top," I began. "How about you tell me the whole story?"

Angelina swiped at the tears trying to slip past her eyes, then began her tale of heartbreak. My granddaughter had come home and called out for her parents. Her father – she refused to call him 'Dad' any more – had called out that he was upstairs in their bedroom. She'd gone up, only to find him and a woman that she'd never seen before laying on top of the bed naked, and they had quite obviously just had sex. They made no effort to cover themselves up, or offer any kind of apology to her. The sight had been devastating, especially their blatant defiance and denial of any wrongdoing. Fancy had run down the stairs and out of the house, then phoned her mother.

Angie had dropped whatever she was doing and had rushed home, only to be subjected to the same sight and attitudes. From there, things had gotten worse, her husband totally unconcerned with what had occurred, or its affect on Fancy. Angie had grabbed enough clothing and personal items for her daughter and herself, and had phoned me. The rest I either knew or could guess.

"Sweetheart, I knew something was wrong as soon as you phoned. For your whole life you've never called me before coming over, or needed to, so as soon as you did, I knew. What can I do to help?" I enquired. When I reached out for her hands, she slipped both of them into mine, her fingers gripping almost tight enough to be painful.

"Dad, can you stand having us here until I can figure something out? Can you handle a teenager who's feeling really hurt after what she saw, what she felt, what I know she's going through? That, and a daughter that feels like she's just been chewed up and spat out after almost seventeen years of being married to a man that she doesn't even know any more? Because you're the only person that I trust to be there when I need an anchor, and right now, I need you, so bad."

"Angie, you have to ask?" I questioned her need for confirmation. "That front door's always been open for you, and always will be. It'll be a little cramped until we get settled and used to living under the same roof, but I'll clean out the office so Fancy has a room to herself. I'll sleep down here on the sofa and you can have my room. We'll put Fancy in the spare room once I get the office cleaned out. That sound okay?"

"No Dad, Fancy and I can share the spare room. You're entitled to your own room, and I refuse to push you out of it. But I really do appreciate you taking us in. Fancy will appreciate it, and you, more than even your daughter does. She looks up to you, you know, and she loves you so very much."

With that, Angelina wrapped her arms around me once more, hugged me, and kissed my lips in a way that was more than that of just a daughter. I was tempted to ask her why, but just let myself go and enjoyed every second of it.

The three of us spent most of the afternoon rearranging furniture and getting the girls moved in. By the time we finished, everyone was ready for supper. I dug out some pork tenderloin and barbequed it on the grill. With steamed rice, a green salad, and some of the cake I'd baked a couple of days earlier, we all just sat back and let the food settle into our stomachs.

Fancy tried to watch some TV, but her dark brown eyes refused to stay open. She turned in, kissing her mother lightly on the cheek, then on my lips for a lot longer than Angelina had received. I felt my eyebrows lift, then caught the smile on my daughter, and gave in to Fancy's affections.

"Night, my young Princess," I whispered to my granddaughter as she finally released me from the confines of her arms and lips. "I love you."

"Night, Grandpa," she replied, a definite sparkle in her eye that told me a story I didn't understand. "I love you, too. Thanks for taking us in. You're a life-saver."

I got another kiss, but on the forehead, and not anywhere near as long in duration. I thoroughly enjoyed it anyway. "See you two in the morning. Love you, Mom," and she stumbled upstairs and into the room that had once been my office.

"Okay," I turned to Angelina with a real burning question in my mind, "what was all that about? I get a real loving kiss from you, a long kiss and one hell of a wonderful hug from Fancy, and you're grinning like a Chester cat. What did I miss here?"

"Umm, before I answer that, Dad, can I ask you a question first?"

I should have clued in that I was about to be washed and hung out to dry, but I didn't. Some things just naturally slow down with age. In my case, anything to do with brain activity will do it.

"You can ask anything you want, Sweetheart., so fire away," I told her. There was a bit of a pause before Angelina spoke, showing a very quizzical but knowing look on her face.

"Are you still writing smut for the same on-line site?" she finally asked me in a calm and quietly accepting voice. Sure, I wrote a lot of short stories, and was currently working on an attempt at a full-length novel. But how did she know that I submitted to one of the more popular erotica sites?

"Where'd that come from? Smut? Is that what you think I write?" I tried to deliver my question with a hurt tone in my voice, and failed miserably.

"Dad, don't try to bullshit me. You know I could always tell when you were fibbing. I know about your writing, so no sense trying to deny it. I've read some of it, and it's not bad," she explained quickly, that warmth and softness still in her voice.

"Care to explain?" I tried to defend myself without tipping my hand.

"Fancy and I had a pretty frank conversation one night, mostly about sex. I told her some things that I wouldn't tell anyone else – except maybe you. Anyway, after we finished, she went up to her room and was surfing on the internet. She called me up to look at something, and at first I was a little shocked at what she'd found. It was a serial story about a man and his daughter that had become lovers, even though she was still a teen and he was probably in his late thirties. Fancy had read the first part, and had the second one up on her screen. I had no idea why she'd started reading erotica, or why she'd called me up.

"She asked me to read the first few paragraphs, while she followed my eyes as I scanned the text. There was just something about the way the story was written. She'd felt it too, which was why she'd called me. The tone sounded so familiar, but she couldn't figure out why, and did I have any idea how come. I re-read the first half-dozen paragraphs again, and it hit me right between the eyes! That author sounded exactly like you! He even used the same worn cliches that I'd grown up with as a girl! I knew damn-well who wrote that story. That was your story, wasn't it, Dad?"

Busted! It was one of the first ones I'd published on the 'Net. It had been decently received, and for a first effort, I was kind of proud of it.

"Honey, do you remember the title of the story, perhaps?" I asked her.

"No, but I remember that I started to read it on Fancy's computer, and couldn't help but find the site on mine so I could read it from beginning to end. And all through the whole story, I could hear your voice in the background, narrating to your audience. Gawd, Dad, I must have read that story about half a dozen times! Lord knows how many times Fancy's read it. I know it got me all excited, and I think it gets her horny as well."

I was almost in shock at being discovered as the author by my own daughter.

"That girl in the story, Dad. That was me, wasn't it? Anita, I think her name was, and his was Jim? The way you described them made it seem so real."

"Yeah, I guess. I needed to write to get my mind off of things, and the words just tumbled off the keyboard," I confessed. I never could hide anything from my daughter, and I wasn't about to start trying now. There was a long pause as Angie looked at me with a face that I couldn't quite read. I wasn't sure if she was going to kill me quickly or let me suffer in agony for days.

"If Mom had disappeared like that guy's wife did, could that have been us, Dad?"

Well, I had to give my daughter credit for being blunt and direct. I wondered if I could do the same.

"Maybe, Sweetheart. It's not like I've never had my fantasies, but that was written just after your mother passed away, and I was suffering from a bad case of loneliness. I used you as my character model because you'd spent so much time making sure that I didn't do something stupid. When I finally got back on my feet, I realized that I love you more than you'll ever know," I explained to her.

"You're ducking the question, you old goat! Out with it! Could that have been you and me? If the opportunity ever came up, would you want to make love to your daughter, the way that man loved Anita? Truth, Dad, because if you fib, I'll know," Angie demanded.

I had to recall the story in my head, and it took me several minutes to remember what I'd written. Could that have been Angelina and me? Would I have made love to her if the chance ever presented itself? More importantly, did I know my daughter as well as I thought I did? There was only one way to find out.

"If the opportunity ever came up, would I make love to you, Sweetheart? If you were as interested in making love to your Dad as that girl in the story was, I might. There's a special warmth and love that's always existed between us since the first time I laid eyes on you. Does that answer your question, Honey?"

Angelina looked into my eyes as though seeing me for the first time in her life, and maybe in a way, she was. I just wasn't sure that who she saw was who I wanted her to see. Fear rippled in my chest, making it a little difficult to breathe. Then suddenly, she leaned into me, planted her lips tightly on mine, and threw her arm around my neck to keep me in her grip. Angelina's tongue probed my lips, almost forcing itself into my mouth. I was helpless to deny her, and opened up willingly, inviting that soft feminine tongue to explore every part of me. She held me captive for several minutes, and by the time she finally broke from my lips, I had one hell of a hard cock. My own daughter had gotten me turned on and horny.

"That's what I thought, Dad," was all she whispered before she stood up and walked back into the kitchen.

If I thought I was confused earlier, I was completely lost now. Sure, the story had been a fantasy, written in a bout of depression while I was feeling like love had left me before I was ready to let it go. Everyone grasps at straws when they're feeling that down and alone. I was no exception to the rule. But would I really make love to my own daughter, allow myself to succumb to her beauty and warmth if the situation arose? At the time, I couldn't say yes, but I couldn't say no either. For that moment in time, all I could do was set the question aside.

Angelina returned with two beers, one she sipped and the other she passed to me. The look in her eye told me that we were about to have a long and intimate conversation, exploring each others thoughts while learning more than we might really want to know.

Was I up to this? I said a silent prayer, then prepared myself. Angie sat beside me, staring into my eyes as though she was trying to find a magic door into a hidden part of my soul that would reveal all the answers to her questions.

"I'd assumed that, like the guy in your story, you'd had some fantasies, Dad," Angelina started as she sat down next to me again. "I see the parallel between him feeling lonely and what you must have gone through when Mom died. But I'll let you in on a little secret. Like your character Anita, I've had my fantasies too, and most of them included you. Just because you tried to duck the question doesn't mean I'm going to. For what it's worth, if the opportunity ever came up to make love with my own father, I'd jump at the chance."

I took a big gulp of my beer, hoping the alcohol would dull the raging turmoil in my head. Angelina set hers down on the coffee table, then took mine and put it beside hers. I watched like I was going through an out-of-body experience as she turned her attention back to me, her lips preparing to capture some part of me. As though in slow motion, she came closer and closer, until she was just inches away, then slowly let her eyelids close. I stared at this vision of loveliness and beauty that was my daughter, my own off-spring, the panic welling up inside me as I realized what she had in her mind, what her intentions really were. Then suddenly, when she was no more than an inch away from my lips, I felt an overwhelming calmness take hold, pushing all my fears out of my mind. In that last second, I felt my own eyes closing, waiting and anticipating her kiss. Our lips finally made contact, and her touch was magical, electrical, and scary, all at once.

Angie leaned over, pressing me into the back of the sofa, her arms wrapped around my neck in a way that made me her captive. As soon as I felt her lips on mine, I instinctively enfolded her in my arms, my hands running up and down the full length of her back, tracing over the ridges and outlines of her shirt and bra as they stood out in tactile relief. Her tongue pushed against my lips, and I opened to receive her, feeling it probe and search every part of me again. This time though, she was in no hurry to surrender me until she intimately knew every nook and cranny that her tongue touched, and I was in even less of a hurry to have her stop. We kissed like that for several minutes, the excitement she fanned in my heart bursting into all-consuming flames of lust for her. Eventually, Angelina broke our lip-lock and pulled her head back just enough to focus on my face.

"Are you going to make love to me, Dad, or do I have to rape you, to quote your story?" she whispered softly.

I had no words to answer her question, but pulled her back to my hungry lips in silent acquiescence to her demand. She melted into my embrace with a hunger and passion of her own, driving any thoughts of the immorality of what we were doing right out of my head. I felt her breasts pushing into my chest, calling to me to touch them, squeeze them, fondle them, and I began to slip my hands under her shirt. As I played with her breasts, her nipples hardened between my fingers. Without missing a beat or loosening her lock on my lips, Angelina reached behind her and unclasped her bra, leaving me to find and pleasure those glorious orbs, the wrinkled skin of her areolas, and the rubbery hardness of her teats. I twisted and pulled them gently, softly, lovingly, while my daughter moaned her delight at my capitulation to the decadent seduction of her father.

"Gawd, I've dreamed of feeling you touch me for so many years, Dad," Angie moaned as she broke her kiss on me. "You feel a lot better in real life than you ever could have in my dreams. So much better. Do that some more."

There was no doubt in my mind that I'd do "that" some more alright, and a few other things, too. I could feel my daughter's want in her touch, her grasp of my body, the pressure of her lips.

I felt a twinge of conscience sweep through me. This was my daughter, the fruit of my loins, for god's sake! I had no business doing what we were about to do, and the guilt washed through my brain. I thought seriously about extracting myself from her arms, her embrace, the warm inviting closeness of her presence. I was on the verge of doing something when I felt Angie's hand slide down my chest, over my belly and in between my legs as she began to rub my hard cock. That was all it took to convince my lustful body to surrender, to give her whatever she wanted of me, fully and completely.

If I had ever intended to follow a path to the moral high ground, I immediately abandoned it. In that one moment, I realized that I wanted this woman, my daughter, as much as she wanted me. I returned to squeezing her firm yet pliable flesh, marvelling at the smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her body, and her desire to have me savour her mysterious allure. As soon as my hands resumed roaming over her breasts, she attacked my lips with more lustful vengeance than I thought a woman could muster.

It was a bit of a struggle to move, both because of our position and because of the delicious sweetness of her flavour. But struggle I did, finally finding myself kissing, licking, and sucking on her nipples that reached out and begged to be gently nibbled. When I lightly chewed on her teats, Angelina moaned for more, her arms clasping the back of my head and squishing my face tightly against her breast, giving no thought to whether I could breathe. Her excited mammaries covered and engulfed both my mouth and my nose, and I didn't care. All I knew was that I loved being able to pleasure her breasts while she started to unfasten the button and zipper of my pants in a desperate bid to find the hardness of my cock.

In the fog of my lust, I detected that musky feminine aroma as her juices sent wave after wave of aphrodisiac-like enticement to my head. I knew that I had to taste her, lick her, make her cum for me as I ate her pussy, and her sex became the only destination that my mind could comprehend. My hands roamed down over her belly to the waistband of her pants, my thumbs hooking into them as I began to slide them and her panties down long slim legs. That intoxicating aroma, now released to waft through the air, reached out and grabbed my senses to the exclusion of everything else. In preparation for my tongue to savour her, I slipped a finger into her gash, dipped into the warm wetness of her entrance, then lightly teased and tickled her knotting nubbin. Angie jumped from my initial contact, then pushed herself against my hand, hard, and with all intentions of taking my fingers as prisoners in her engorged and pulsing pussy. She groaned in delight as I began to softly rub my moistened finger over and around her clit.

"Oh Gawd, yes, Dad!" was all she managed to moan as I ran my finger the length of her outer lips, dipping into her depths on my way between her clit and her puckered rosebud, revelling in her wetness, her heat, and her desire to be touched, loved, and cherished. Then returning my thumb to her clit, I let my finger slide inside her until I had no more to give. That soft, velvety lining broiled the skin of my finger with her heat, her walls getting ready to accept the onslaught of my throbbing cock that she instinctively knew would be hers eventually. But in that one moment of time, I was completely mesmerized by her receptiveness, and by my want, desire, and need of her body.

With a finger now buried deep inside her, I augmented it with another, gently sliding them both in and out of Angelina's cunt, her juices flowing like water from that heated centre. My thumb gently rubbed her rock-hard little pearl, lightly circling around that sphere of nerve endings that had exposed itself from under her hood as it pleaded for attention.

It was all I could do to keep my focus on Angie's pussy because of the unbelievable pleasure she was delivering to my cock, her hand insistent on possessing me. But I still had an overwhelming need to lick, suck, and taste her pussy, there to finally drink of that heavenly nectar that called to me.

Angelina released me just enough to allow me to resume my journey into the valley of her feminine folds. My thumb yielded to my tongue for her clitoris. That aroma of her musky juices filled my nostrils, driving me further down this road of incestuous lust. I knew that we'd never be able to return to the way we'd been once we'd had each other fully, completely, and to a degree that would have us cumming for each other.

I sucked Angelina's swollen nubbin, feeling her push her pussy harder against my lips. She forced me tighter to her, a bid for more pleasure and a signal of acceptance of my need of her. Those groans of delight were replaced by a series of erotic and sensual mewls that fanned the flames of lust. I slipped my fingers out and replaced them with my tongue as it sought her liquid heat. Angie pushed my lips between her legs, letting me know that I had no chance of escape unless and until I made her cum. I renewed my vigour like a man possessed with the necessity of expressing his undying love for this woman that was giving herself to him so freely.

My efforts were rewarded a few minutes later as Angie's breathing became quicker, shallower, and more intense. Her pussy walls fluttered, then clasped my probing tongue. With the hope of sending my daughter to a peak of electrified pleasure, I searched for that magical spot that would escalate her orgasm, managing to actually find it, then softly rubbing and stimulating it as Angelina began to twitch, shudder, and eventually spasm with her climax, augmented with an intense scream of rapturous joy.

The glow from her orgasm swept over my daughter, her grip loosening just enough to allow the release of my mouth, but not enough for me to raise my head and gaze into her eyes as I so badly wanted. Lightly kissing every part of her, I patiently waited until she released me, being rewarded with the look of rapture that she radiated. Her expression was enhanced by the gentle pulling on my head as I returned to her lips, pausing at her breasts to kiss, lick and suckle her teats, and feeling that shudder of excitement as they were caressed and enjoyed.

"Gawd, I don't remember ever having felt so good before, Dad. Now I know why Mom loved having her pussy eaten. She told me about it once when I was a teen, although I had no idea what the hell she was talking about at the time. Now I do."

Chapter 2 »