A Father's Weekend
Copyright© 2026 by Kinjite
Chapter 3: Departure
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 3: Departure - Emma thinks a weekend in the mountains is just another awkward obligation with her divorced dad. She doesn't know it's a desperate bid for closeness—or that her father's charismatic mentor has brought his own teenage daughter to serve as a living example. In the isolating silence of the remote cabin, a brutal philosophy of intimacy will be taught, and Emma will become the final, necessary step in her father's education.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Incest Father Daughter Cream Pie First Oral Sex Pregnancy AI Generated
Part 1: Friday Morning - The Goodbye
Emma’s phone buzzed against her palm at 6:43 AM. Two minutes before her dad was supposed to arrive.
She stood in her bedroom, her duffel bag already by the door, wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie that used to be her mom’s. Through the window, the street was still dark, the neighborhood quiet except for the distant hum of early traffic on the main road.
The morning was cold and overcast—typical June gloom in Seattle. Gray clouds hung low, promising rain that hadn’t started yet.
Downstairs, she heard her mom moving around in the kitchen. The coffee maker hissed. Cabinets opened and closed.
Emma picked up the box of tampons from her dresser—the ones Lexi had insisted she bring—and shoved them into the side pocket of her duffel. Her fingers brushed against the bikini she’d bought at Target. Black, two-piece. Shows less when wet, Lexi had texted.
Shows less what?
Headlights swept across her window.
Emma’s stomach dropped. She grabbed her bag and headed downstairs.
Her mom was waiting in the hallway, wearing her black cardigan wrapped tight against the morning chill, arms crossed over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. Her eyes were red-rimmed, shadowed with sleeplessness.
“You don’t have to go,” her mom said.
“I know.”
“If you want me to call him—”
“Mom.” Emma shifted her bag to her other shoulder. “It’s fine. It’s just four days.”
Her mom’s jaw tightened. She pulled Emma into a hug—fierce, desperate, lasting too long. “You call me from that landline the second you get there. I don’t care what time it is.”
“I will.”
“And if anything feels wrong—”
“I know, Mom. I’ll call.”
Her mom pulled back, holding Emma at arm’s length. Her hands were shaking. “I love you so much, baby.”
“Love you too.”
The doorbell rang.
Emma’s mom released her and moved to answer it. Through the screen door, Emma could see her dad on the porch—hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, trying to look casual and failing.
Her mom opened the door but didn’t step aside. “She’s ready.”
“Good morning to you too, Sarah.”
“I need to say this one more time.” Her mom’s voice was quiet, controlled. “If anything happens to her—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to her.”
“—if she comes back different—”
“Sarah, please—”
“I will make your life hell. Do you understand me?”
Her dad’s face went tight. “She’ll be with me. She’ll be fine.”
Her mom stepped aside finally, and Emma moved past her onto the porch. The morning air was damp and cold, smelling like wet grass and car exhaust.
“Em.” Her mom’s hand caught her arm. “You promised. Anything feels wrong, you call.”
“I promise.”
Emma walked down the path to her dad’s car, her duffel bag heavy against her shoulder. She didn’t look back at the house. If she looked back, she might not get in the car.
Her dad loaded her bag into the trunk. Emma climbed into the passenger seat and pulled her hood up, earbuds already going in.
Through the window, she watched her mom standing on the porch—arms wrapped around herself, face pale in the dim light—as they pulled away from the curb.
The house disappeared behind them.
Part 2: Friday Morning - The Rendezvous
They drove in silence for the first ten minutes. Emma stared at her phone, scrolling through Instagram without really seeing it. Maya had posted a selfie at some party Emma hadn’t been invited to. Riley was at the beach with her family. Everyone was doing normal things.
Everyone except Emma, who was driving into the mountains with her dad and two people she barely knew for four days with no phone service.
Her dad cleared his throat. “So we’re meeting Chuck at a park-and-ride lot. About twenty minutes from here. Then we’ll transfer to his RV for the drive up.”
Emma’s thumb stopped scrolling. “RV?”
“Yeah. It’s really nice. You’ll see.”
Emma went back to her phone.
“Em, can you take those out?” Her dad gestured at her earbuds. “Just while I’m talking to you?”
She pulled them out slowly, letting them dangle around her neck.
“This is going to be good,” her dad said. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles pale. “I really believe that. This weekend—it’s a chance for us to really connect. Without all the distractions.”
“Right.”
“I know you’re nervous. But Chuck’s a good guy. And you’ll have Lexi to hang out with. Someone your own age.”
Weird Lexi, Emma thought but didn’t say.
They turned onto the highway, heading east toward the mountains. The sky was getting lighter, revealing the low gray clouds in detail now. The air looked heavy, oppressive.
Emma’s dad kept talking—about the cabin, about the lake, about hiking trails and swimming and quality time—but Emma barely listened. She watched the passing landscape instead. Suburbs giving way to strip malls giving way to bigger box stores giving way to stretches of nothing.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom: Call me when you get there. Love you baby.
Emma typed back: I will. Love you.
She almost added I’m scared but deleted it. What good would that do? She’d agreed to go. She’d told her mom she’d be fine.
She set her phone down and stared out the window.
The park-and-ride lot was nearly empty when they arrived—just a handful of commuter cars scattered across the wet pavement and, dominating three parking spots at the far end, an enormous RV.
Emma stared at it through the windshield. It was huge—sleek lines, tinted windows, gleaming despite the overcast sky. The kind of vehicle that cost more than her mom made in three years.
“Wow,” her dad said. “That’s ... that’s really nice.”
Emma said nothing.
Her dad pulled into a space near the RV and killed the engine. For a moment they just sat there, neither moving.
Then the RV’s side door opened and Chuck emerged, stretching like he’d just woken from the best sleep of his life. He wore expensive outdoor gear—jacket and boots and pants with too many pockets—everything brand-new and spotless.
“There’s the man of the hour!” Chuck’s voice boomed across the parking lot.
Emma’s dad climbed out. Emma stayed in the car, watching through the window as Chuck approached with that wide, confident smile.
“Right on time.” Chuck’s handshake was firm, dominating. “I like that. Shows respect.”
Her dad said something Emma couldn’t hear, gesturing back at the car.
Chuck’s eyes found Emma through the windshield. His smile widened. “Emma! Good to see you, kiddo. Ready for an adventure?”
Emma opened the door and climbed out slowly. The morning air was cold against her face.
“Hi, Mr. Bass.”
“Chuck, please.” He moved toward her, hand extended. “We’re going to be living in close quarters for four days—no need for formality.”
His grip was warm, strong, lasting a beat too long. Emma pulled her hand away and shoved it into her hoodie pocket.
“Lexi’s already inside getting the road snacks organized,” Chuck said, gesturing toward the RV. “Why don’t you head on in? Make yourself comfortable. Your dad and I will get the bags loaded.”
Emma looked at her dad. He nodded encouragingly.
She climbed the three metal steps into the RV.
Part 3: Friday Late Morning - Into the Mountains
Inside was even more impressive than outside. Leather captain’s chairs up front. Full kitchen with granite countertops. A dining booth with cream-colored upholstery. Everything immaculate, organized, expensive.
And sitting in the booth, phone in hand, was Lexi.
She looked up when Emma entered. Her blonde hair was cut in that same sharp bob, her face carefully neutral. She wore tiny athletic shorts and a fitted tank top despite the cold morning.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” Emma stayed near the door, suddenly feeling awkward in her oversized hoodie and leggings.
“You can sit.” Lexi gestured at the booth across from her.
Emma sat, setting her backpack on the seat beside her. Through the tinted windows, she could see her dad and Chuck loading bags into the storage compartments underneath the RV, talking and laughing like old friends.
Silence stretched between the two girls.
Emma pulled out her phone. Five bars. She refreshed Instagram, scrolled through a few posts, anything to avoid the awkwardness.
“Service dies in about an hour,” Lexi said without looking up from her own phone. “Once we hit the mountains.”
“Oh.”
More silence.
Emma snuck a glance at Lexi. She was scrolling through something—texts, maybe—her thumb moving with mechanical precision. Her face remained completely blank.
“So,” Emma tried. “You’ve been to the cabin before?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it nice?”
“It’s a cabin.”
Emma waited for more, but Lexi didn’t elaborate. Just kept scrolling, her expression unchanging.
The RV’s door opened and her dad climbed in, followed by Chuck.
“All set,” Chuck announced, moving to the driver’s seat. “Paul, you’re riding shotgun. Girls, you’re good back there?”
Lexi nodded without looking up. Emma did the same.
Chuck started the engine—a deep, powerful rumble—and pulled out of the lot.
For the first hour, the drive was almost normal.
They merged onto I-90 eastbound, the highway cutting through suburbs before beginning its long climb into the mountains. Up front, Chuck and her dad talked about something Emma couldn’t quite hear over the engine noise. Sports, maybe. Or work.
Emma and Lexi sat across from each other in the booth, both scrolling through their phones, neither speaking.
Emma’s thumb moved across social media on autopilot. Maya at that party, smiling with people Emma didn’t recognize. Riley at the beach, tan and happy. Everyone living their normal lives while Emma drove deeper into the mountains with strangers.
She checked her messages. Nothing new. She thought about texting Maya—Hey, heading to a cabin for the weekend, no service, talk to you Monday—but that felt too much like a goodbye.
The landscape changed gradually. Suburbs gave way to forest. Trees pressed closer to the highway—dark evergreens that seemed to swallow the light. Traffic thinned. The towns grew smaller.
Emma pulled up Google Maps. She zoomed in on their route, watching the blue dot move along I-90. Tried to screenshot it.
But they were still on the highway. The map was zoomed out too far to be useful. And once they left I-90—she could see it ahead on the map—there were no roads marked at all. Just green. Just forest.
She tried anyway. Screenshot after screenshot of mostly useless green space with tiny gray lines that might be logging roads or might be nothing.
Then she noticed the signal bars at the top of her screen.
Five bars. Four. Three.
She watched them drop like her stomach was dropping. Two bars. One.
She refreshed Instagram. It took longer this time. Then longer. Then not at all.
Her thumb moved faster across the screen—refresh, refresh, refresh.
Nothing.
No bars. No service. No connection.
Emma looked across the booth. Lexi was staring at her own phone, face still blank, but her thumb had stopped moving too.
“And we’re free,” Chuck called from the front. “Welcome to the real world, ladies.”
Emma’s hand tightened around her phone. She pulled down to refresh again. And again. And again.
Still nothing.
She looked out the window. The trees were so dense now she couldn’t see more than twenty feet into the forest. The canopy overhead blocked out most of the sky. The road ahead looked like it was leading into darkness.
Her chest felt tight. She pulled her hoodie tighter and tried to breathe normally.
Across the booth, Lexi reached over and touched her arm. Brief. Almost gentle.
Emma looked up.
Lexi’s face was still blank, but something shifted in her eyes. Something that might have been sympathy. Or warning.
Then she withdrew her hand and went back to staring at her phone.
Emma looked at the empty screen of her own phone and tried not to think about how far they’d already come from anything familiar.
They stopped once, about two hours in, at a gas station in North Bend.
Chuck pulled the RV into the gravel lot and killed the engine. “Bathroom break. Five minutes. Then we’re back on the road.”
Emma and Lexi climbed out together, neither speaking. The air was cold and damp, smelling like diesel and pine. The gas station was old—single pump, gravel lot, hand-painted sign that read “Last Gas 60 Miles.”
Emma looked around. One other car. A rusted pickup with Idaho plates. No other people visible. No town. Just the gas station and forest pressing in from all sides.
Inside, the bathroom was tiny and grimy. Emma locked herself in a stall and pulled out her phone.
One bar. Flickering. Unstable.
Her hands shook as she typed:
Emma: At a gas station in North Bend. About to lose service completely. Love you mom.
The message hung there. Sending ... Sending...
Then: Delivered.
Emma’s breath came out in a rush. She wanted to call. Wanted to hear her mom’s voice. But Chuck had said five minutes and she’d already used two.
She typed another message:
Emma: If you don’t hear from me by tonight call
She stopped. Call who? The police? And tell them what? That her daughter went camping and hasn’t checked in after six hours?
She deleted it.
Emma: I’ll call from the cabin landline when we get there.
Delivered.
She flushed the toilet for cover and emerged. Lexi was washing her hands at the sink, watching Emma in the mirror.
“You okay?” Lexi asked.
“Yeah.”
Lexi dried her hands with mechanical precision. “This is the last place with service for about sixty miles. If you need to call anyone, do it now.”
The way she said it—flat, factual—made Emma’s stomach clench.
“I already texted my mom.”
“Good.” Lexi moved toward the door, then paused. “My dad gets weird if we take too long. We should go.”
They walked back across the gravel lot. Chuck was pumping gas, his back to them. Emma’s dad stood nearby, hands in pockets, looking uncomfortable.
Emma climbed back into the RV. Sat in the booth. Pulled up her messages one more time.
Her mom had replied:
Mom: Love you so much baby. Call me tonight. Please.
Emma typed: I will. Promise.
Sending...
The bar flickered.
Sending...
Failed.
Emma tried again. Again. Again.
Nothing.
She looked up. Lexi was watching her from across the booth, face blank.
“It’s gone,” Lexi said quietly. “We’re past the range now.”
Emma stared at her phone. At the failed message. At the last connection to her mom dissolving before her eyes.
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