Chapter 4: The Weekend

The dinner table was unusually lively that Wednesday evening. Emma sat stiffly in her chair, pushing food around her plate with her fork, her stomach in knots. Across from her, her mother chattered excitedly about the spa weekend her husband had just surprised her with. “Can you believe it?” her mother gushed, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight. “A whole weekend at the Willowbrook Spa—massages, facials, a gourmet dinner! Your father thought of everything!”

Emma forced a smile, her heart pounding like a trapped bird in her chest. She glanced at her father, who sat calmly sipping his wine, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. She knew exactly what he was thinking. This wasn’t just a gift for her mother; it was a calculated move to ensure they’d have the house to themselves for the entire weekend. The timing wasn’t lost on her—it coincided perfectly with her ovulation. Her mother’s voice pulled her back to the present. “I’ll call Sarah right now. She’ll be thrilled! I’m sure she’ll clear her weekend for this.”

Emma’s stomach twisted as her mother launched into an animated conversation with her aunt, already making plans for their getaway. She wanted to protest, to scream, to do something, but how could she? Her mother was so happy, so utterly thrilled by the gesture. If Emma said anything, she’d ruin it—and for what? To confess the unspeakable plan her father had orchestrated? She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and stayed silent, the crushing weight of her complicity pressing down on her.

By Saturday morning, the house felt eerily quiet, the kind of silence that seemed to hum with unspoken tension. Emma stood in the living room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, feeling exposed despite being fully clothed. The door clicked shut as her mother’s Uber pulled away, leaving her alone with her father. He walked in from the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, his expression calm but purposeful. “Well, it’s just us now,” he said, his voice steady.

Emma nodded stiffly, her throat dry. She could feel the tension thickening in the air, and she hated how effortlessly her father seemed to navigate it. “We’ve got the whole weekend,” he continued, setting his coffee cup on the table. “No interruptions. No sneaking around. We can take our time, do this right.”

Emma’s stomach twisted. She knew what “do this right” meant—maximizing their chances, ensuring the timing was perfect. She wanted to stall, to delay the inevitable. “Maybe we should wait until tonight? I’m not ready yet,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His gaze hardened, and she immediately regretted speaking up. “Emma, we’ve talked about this. Timing is everything. The whole point of this weekend is to give us the space we need. We can’t afford to waste a single day.”

She looked away, her cheeks burning. He was right, of course. She’d agreed to this, hadn’t she? For the family. For her mother. But that didn’t make it any easier. “Why don’t you go get comfortable? I’ll join you in a bit,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Emma hesitated, her feet rooted to the floor. She wanted to argue, to beg for more time, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she turned and walked slowly toward her bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Emma sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she stared at the door. She knew it would open soon, and she braced herself for what would come next. Her mind raced, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find the words or the courage to take control. The thought of initiating anything, of even suggesting positions or techniques, made her skin crawl. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.

The door creaked open, and she didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Her father stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He stood there for a moment, watching her, before walking over to the bed and sitting down beside her. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice calm but with an underlying intensity that made her stomach twist.

Emma swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “I ... I don’t know. I’m scared.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch warm and heavy, and she flinched but didn’t pull away. “You’re doing the right thing, Emma. For all of us. But if you’re unsure, I can guide you. We’ll take it slow, alright?”

She nodded, her cheeks burning with shame. The way he said it—so casually, so confidently—made her feel like a child again, looking to her father for direction. But this wasn’t like teaching her to ride a bike or helping her with her homework. This was something else entirely.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate tone. “You want me to show you, don’t you? To teach you?”

Emma’s breath hitched. She hadn’t meant it like that, but the way he said it made her stomach churn. She wanted to deny it, to push him away, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she managed a shaky whisper, “I ... I don’t know how to do this. I need your help.”

He smiled—a slow, almost predatory smile—and his hand slid down her arm, his fingers brushing against her wrist. “That’s my girl. Don’t worry, Emma. I’ll make sure you’re ready. We’ll take things one step at a time, and I’ll make sure you feel everything. Really feel it.”

She closed her eyes, tears threatening to spill over. She hated how his words made her stomach flutter, how his touch sent a traitorous shiver down her spine. He was her father. She was supposed to trust him, to look up to him. But this—this was wrong. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop it.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, his voice steady and firm.

Emma hesitated, her cheeks burning with shame. Slowly, she peeled off her shirt, her pants, her underwear, each movement feeling like a betrayal of herself. The cool air of the room pricked her skin, and she hugged herself, trying to shield her body from his gaze. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with admiration. “So perfect. So ripe. Your body knows what it needs, even if your mind doesn’t.”

Emma’s face flamed, and she looked away, but he wasn’t done. “Come here,” he instructed, patting the bed beside him.

Emma hesitated but obeyed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her thigh as he guided her to lift one leg, bending her knee and placing her foot on the mattress so that her pussy was fully exposed. She clenched instinctively, trying to close her legs, but he held her firmly in place.

“Relax,” he said, his voice dripping with authority. “Let me see you.”

Emma’s breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his eyes scanning her most intimate area. Her lips, once tight and hidden, now poked out slightly, the inner folds swollen and pink from their previous encounter. The tiny muscles around her entrance seemed to remember him, stretching slightly even now, as if anticipating his return.

“Look at that,” he murmured, his tone almost admiring. “Your lips are poking out. They’re still stretched, aren’t they? My cock’s left its mark on you. You’re not a little girl anymore, Emma. You’re a woman now. My woman.”

Emma’s stomach twisted at his words, but she couldn’t deny the heat spreading through her body, or the way her pussy seemed to pulse in response to his examination. She hated herself for it, but her body betrayed her, a thin sheen of her own arousal glistening between her thighs.

Her father stood then, his movements deliberate, and began to undress. He pulled off his shirt, revealing his broad, hairy chest, and then slid down his pants and briefs. Emma’s breath hitched as his cock sprang free, thick and veiny, the purpled head glistening with precum. It looked monstrous to her, ugly and intimidating, and yet somehow fascinating in its grotesqueness.

“Come here,” he instructed, patting the bed beside him. “Take a closer look.”

Emma hesitated but obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her eyes fixed on his cock. It loomed in front of her, the veins knotted and prominent, the base thick and heavy. A drop of precum slid down the shaft, and she felt a pang of disgust—and curiosity.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he said, his voice almost proud. “But you took it before, and you’ll take it again. Look here.” He pointed to his testicles, swollen and full. “I’ve been saving this for you, Emma. A full load. For you.”

Emma swallowed hard, her stomach churning. “I ... I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“You can,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “And you will.”

He lay back on the bed, his cock standing stiff against his stomach. “Climb on top of me,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm.

Emma hesitated, her heart racing, but she knew there was no turning back. Slowly, she straddled his hips, her trembling legs barely able to support her. He reached up and grabbed his cock, holding it steady. “Here,” he said, guiding her hand to it. “Take it. Rub it against your pussy. Get yourself ready.”

Emma’s fingers wrapped around the shaft, and she shuddered at the heat and thickness of it. She hesitated, her cheeks burning, but he nudged her, his voice low but commanding. “Do it.”

She obeyed, her fingers trembling as she guided his cockhead to her entrance, rubbing the slick precum against her swollen lips. The sensation made her gasp, her body betraying her as a fresh trickle of her own arousal mixed with his, coating her pussy in a glistening sheen. The musky scent of sex filled the air, thick and heady, and Emma felt her stomach twist with shame and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Her father grunted in approval, his hands gripping her hips. “Good girl. Now, ease it in.”

Emma hesitated, her muscles tense, but he pressed upward, the blunt head of his cock pushing against her tight entrance. She winced as it began to stretch her, the familiar ache making her stomach churn. “It’s too much,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “It hurts...”

“You can take it,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “Just relax.”

She tried to keep herself from sinking down fully, her thighs trembling with the effort, but her muscles quickly fatigued, and she had no choice but to relax. Slowly, excruciatingly, she sank down onto his cock, her breath coming in shallow gasps as he filled her. She felt every inch of him, the thick shaft pushing into her, stretching her wide, until she felt him bump against her cervix. She froze, her eyes wide with discomfort.

“You’re too deep,” she gasped, her voice strained. “It’s too deep...”

He grabbed her hips, holding her in place. “You’re fine,” he growled, his voice rough with arousal. “You’re taking it all. Every fucking inch.”

Emma’s stomach twisted at his words, but she couldn’t deny the strange warmth spreading through her body. Her father’s cock throbbed inside her, the sensation both alien and somehow familiar, and she felt her body betray her, her walls clenching around him despite her protests. The wet, sucking sounds of his cock plunging in and out of her slick pussy filled the room, mingling with their uneven breathing and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

“Now move,” he commanded, his hands tightening on her hips. “Up and down. Like this.”

Emma hesitated but obeyed, lifting herself slightly before sinking back down. The motion was awkward at first, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated, but her father guided her, his hands steady on her hips. As she moved, she felt her body responding, the initial discomfort giving way to a strange, traitorous warmth.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice low and approving. “You’re doing so good, Emma. Taking all of me.”

Her breath quickened as the pleasure built inside her, her hips moving faster almost without her consent. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t fight it. Her father’s hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her down harder, grinding his cock deep inside her.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled, his voice rough with arousal. “All this baby batter, shooting straight into your womb. You feel that? You’re gonna get so full, so swollen. I can’t wait to see your belly round with my child.”

Emma’s breath hitched at his words, her stomach twisting with a mix of shame and arousal. “I ... I don’t want this,” she gasped, her voice choked with despair and something else—something she couldn’t name. The heat was overwhelming, consuming her, and she hated herself for how good it felt, even as tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. “Please ... it’s too much ... I...”

Her father groaned loudly, his hips bucking as he spilled himself inside her, his thick load shooting deep into her womb. “That’s it,” he panted, his hands holding her hips tightly against his. “Take it all. Every drop.”

Emma’s body convulsed as her own orgasm hit, her pussy clenching around him in rhythmic spasms that seemed to pull every last drop from him. She couldn’t stop the gasps that escaped her lips, the sounds half-moans, half-sobs as the pleasure washed over her despite her resistance. “Oh God...” she whimpered, her voice trembling with a mix of despair and reluctant surrender. “Why ... why does it feel like this?”

Exhausted, she collapsed onto his chest, his cock still buried inside her, her breasts pressed against his hairy chest. The room was silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing, and Emma closed her eyes, her mind reeling with shame, disgust, and the lingering echo of pleasure she couldn’t deny. Minutes passed, and the awkwardness of the moment began to weigh on her. She shifted slightly, considering climbing off him, but before she could move, he surprised her by grabbing her hips and rolling them over. Now she was on her back, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his cock still rooted deep inside her.

Before she could protest, he reached for a pillow and slid it under her hips, propping her up. “Keep your hips elevated,” he said, his tone casual but firm. “Just like this. For about ten minutes. It’ll help the sperm reach your egg.”

Emma’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she didn’t argue. She could feel his seed inside her, warm and heavy, and the thought of it made her stomach churn. He grinned down at her, his expression a mix of pride and something darker. “We’re doing this for your mom, remember? Don’t forget that.”

Emma closed her eyes, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. For her mom. That’s what she kept telling herself. But as she lay there, his cock still buried inside her, his sperm pooling in her womb, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more about him than anyone else.

After the intense encounter, Emma lay on the bed, her body still trembling, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Her father shifted beside her, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her with a mix of pride and something darker. “We should get some lunch,” he said casually, as if nothing unusual had just happened. “You’ll need your energy for later.”

Emma blinked, her heart sinking at the reminder of what was still to come. She nodded weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

As she started to sit up, she felt a warm, sticky trickle between her thighs and froze, her face flushing with shame. Her father noticed and smirked, his tone almost playful. “Ah, I thought that might happen. Hang on—I’ve got something for that.” He got up and walked out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a small, circular device in his hand.

Emma stared at it, her confusion evident. “What ... what is that?” she asked hesitantly.

“It’s a diaphragm,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. “Usually, it’s used as contraception, but in this case, it’ll help keep everything where it needs to be.”

Emma’s stomach twisted with horror. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious,” he replied, his voice firm. “This is important, Emma. We’re not going to waste what we’ve just done. Lie back down.”

Emma hesitated, but the authority in his voice left no room for argument. Reluctantly, she lay back on the bed, her legs instinctively closing as she tried to shield herself. Her father clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Spread your legs,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “I’ll show you how to do this.”

Trembling, Emma obeyed, her face burning with humiliation as she exposed herself to him once again. Her father knelt between her legs, holding up the diaphragm. “Watch closely,” he said, his voice calm and instructional, as if he were teaching her to ride a bike. Emma turned her head away, unable to watch, but she could feel his fingers gently spreading her open. She gasped as he inserted the diaphragm, the cold silicone pressing against her sensitive flesh. She felt a fresh trickle of his sperm oozing out, and her stomach churned at the sensation.