Hollow
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 15
Science Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 15 - Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Those iconic words from Dorothy as she eases on down the yellow brick road. Hellooooo, this is Dragonpig, your friendly neighborhood weird dude. Have you ever wondered who will inherit the Earth if, for some reason, humanity destroys itself in a global war? Would it be algae, cockroaches, or John Stamos? Come on, readers. John Stamos is inevitable. He’s like Thanos. Well, anyway, you don’t have to wonder anymore. I think I have the answer.
Caution: This Science Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Age Gap Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Mystery Science Fiction Post Apocalypse Furry Incest Father Daughter Anal Sex Masturbation Oral Sex Violence
The shower water was hot, the way she liked it. Steam beaded on the tile in fat drops.
It had been a good day. He had complimented her on the meal and even had seconds, and then they’d done the dishes side by side, her washing, him drying. He’d put on some heist movie that was already playing, and they’d sat on the sofa and made fun of it. He hadn’t said one word about the Hollow. Then they’d taken their drinks out to the backyard bench he’d built when she was twelve, the one with her initials carved into the back rail. It had gotten late. She’d said she guessed she should head home and he’d said, “Why go home? You can sleep here tonight.” She’d looked at him. “Okay, if you want me to.”
She soaped her chest and watched her own breasts move under her hands, small and high and a handful. Her hair hung down past her shoulder blades, damp with water. Her tail hung behind her, soaked flat and thin and she washed down her stomach and through the hair between her legs.
She turned the water off, stepped out of the tub and dried off.
Her childhood bedroom was exactly the same. The canopy bed, the white dresser with the silver and red star stickers all over it. She kept spare clothes in the bottom drawer. She found an old blue sleep shirt and pulled it on over her head. It smelled like the detergent he always used.
The sheets were cool. She got under them and lay on her back and looked at the ceiling and tried to go to sleep.
She rolled onto her side. Rolled back. Fluffed the pillow, punched it, put her head down. Counted the ticks of the grandmother clock in the hallway. Her mind kept going to the artifact, the dreams and back to her dad.
“I can’t sleep.”
She got up.
The hallway was dim and the floorboards were smooth under her bare feet. She knocked.
“Come in.”
He was propped against the headboard with the lamp on low, the Book of Hollow open on his lap, its gray cover worn. He looked up and then he shut it and set it down on the nightstand.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, feeling awkward.
“That’s all right, Posy-Flower. You couldn’t sleep?”
“Just restless.”
She stood there in the doorway, feeling like she was a kid again.
“Come here,” he said and shifted over to make room.
She came in and sat on the edge of the mattress, then pulled her legs up and slid in beside him. He lifted his arm and she snuggled closer.
He smells good.
His arm came down around her, familiar and warm and his hand found her hair and smoothed it back off her forehead.
“I know I’ve already told you, thank you for spending the day with your old dad,” he said.
She nodded her head and listened to his breathing and to the crickets in the backyard through the open window.
“Do you ever miss us?”
His hand paused in her hair.
“Sure,” he said.
“It’s just that the...”