Sheri and Daddy
Copyright© 2025 by Drcock666
Chapter 8: Quiet Hope about a future
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 8: Quiet Hope about a future - This story is a bit different than my normal ones; here we get to hear the story unfold from two different perspectives, mine and my daughter Sheri's. The story is about forbidden lust. PS; John Doe is NOT my real name
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Teenagers Romantic Lesbian Fiction Incest Father Daughter Cousins Niece Exhibitionism Oral Sex
After the girls had gone upstairs, Amy and I stayed down in the living room, just the two of us. The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing embers, casting a soft orange light that flickered across the wood-paneled walls and the old leather couch we were sitting on.
She was curled up beside me, a blanket draped over her legs and a mug of peppermint tea cupped between her hands. I had a glass of red wine in mine, though I wasn’t really drinking it, just holding it, turning it slowly as I stared into the low, quiet fire.
Upstairs, we could hear the girls. Whispering. Trying to be sneaky. Failing.
“They’re whispering up there,” Amy said, her voice soft, a little amused. “Trying to be quiet. Failing.” I chuckled. “Teenagers. I think I heard Sheri snort at one point.”
Amy laughed, the sound short but real. It felt good. It had been a while since I’d heard it like that, free and unguarded.
“It’s good to hear that sound again,” Amy said after a beat. “Her laugh.”
“Yours too,” I said, quieter now. It came out a little rougher than I intended.
She turned her head to look at me. Her face was tired, but not in that hollow way it had been during chemo. This was a different kind of tired. Earned. Honest. Her color had come back a little. There was more light behind her eyes.
“I didn’t know if we’d get back here,” she said quietly. “Not just the cabin. I mean ... this. Sitting in front of a fire. With you. With her.”
I reached out and took her hand. It was still thinner than it used to be, and the faint texture of her scars was there, reminders of everything she’d fought through. But it was warm. Alive. Her hand. I never stopped being grateful for that.
“I never let myself go too far down that road,” I told her. “Even when it got bad. I just kept thinking, one more day. Just get through today.”
She looked away for a moment, blinking. Her eyes shimmered in the firelight.
“Some days I didn’t think I could,” she said.
“But you did,” I said. “You did.”
Outside, the wind moved gently through the trees. That same sound we used to fall asleep to, years ago. Before hospitals and treatments. Before any of this.
We stopped talking for a while. I pulled her closer, and she leaned into me without hesitation. Her head rested on my shoulder. We just sat like that, breathing in rhythm, the fire humming quietly in front of us.
Then, almost too quietly to hear, she said, “You know what I kept thinking about? In the chemo chair?”
I turned a little so I could hear her better.
“I just wanted to smell pine trees again,” she whispered. “Feel the cold air on my face. Watch Sheri roll her eyes when I make a bad joke.”
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