Accidental Webcam
Copyright© 2007 by North Point
Chapter 11: Making Plans
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 11: Making Plans - Andy just wanted to say a quick hi to his daughter over the internet phone. Little did he know the shock he was about to get!
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Drunk/Drugged Heterosexual Fiction Father Daughter Swinging Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Voyeurism
Senior year started differently.
Amanda flew back to campus with the weight of the spring-break conversation still sitting warm in her chest. They had said the words out loud. They were going to do this—for real. Live together. Build something. The knowledge changed the texture of every call.
Andy felt it too. The house no longer felt quite as empty when he knew it was temporary. He started sending her apartment listings in cities neither of them had strong ties to. Portland. Austin. Denver. Raleigh. Nothing decided yet, just possibilities. Amanda would open them on her laptop during study breaks and imagine their furniture in the rooms, their clothes in the closets, their bodies in the beds.
The video calls grew longer. Some nights they barely had sex at all. They just talked—about money, about jobs, about what they would tell people. Other nights the need hit hard and they made each other come while staring into the camera, whispering the filthy things they still couldn’t say in public.
When Amanda came home for Thanksgiving, the domestic feeling settled over them like a second skin. She cooked in his kitchen in one of his old shirts and nothing else. He fucked her over the bathroom counter while the turkey thawed in the fridge. At night they fell asleep tangled together without needing to perform. In the mornings he would wake up hard against her back and slide into her slow, both of them still half-asleep, the taboo quiet and heavy between them.
The talk about the future started drifting into softer, more dangerous territory.
One night after he came inside her, Amanda stayed draped over his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.
“I’ve been thinking about it more,” she said quietly. “About what it might be like ... later. When we have our own place.”
Andy’s hand moved slowly up and down her back. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She was quiet for a moment. “I keep imagining little things. A second toothbrush that stays. A closet with both our clothes. And ... maybe more than that. Someday.”
He didn’t ask her to clarify. He just kissed the top of her head and said, “Someday sounds good.”
The word hung between them, warm and unfinished.
Spring break of senior year they didn’t go home.
Andy booked a small rental three blocks from the beach in a town neither of them had ever visited. They flew in on a Saturday afternoon under the names Mr. and Mrs. Harper. It was the first time they had ever introduced themselves that way. The woman at the rental office smiled politely, handed over the keys, and called Amanda “Mrs. Harper” when she wished them a good stay. Amanda felt a quiet thrill run through her every time she heard it.
They dropped their bags and walked straight down to the sand. Amanda wore a tiny white bikini under a sheer cover-up that barely reached her ass. Andy kept a hand on the small of her back the entire walk, possessive in a way that made her wet before they even reached the water.
The first three days were pure. Sex in the morning, sex after lunch, sex at night with the windows open so they could hear the ocean. They ate seafood with their fingers, drank too much, and talked about the future until their voices went soft. No one here knew them. No one looked twice when Andy kissed her in public or when his hand slipped under her cover-up while they waited for a table. They checked into restaurants as a married couple. They walked the beach hand-in-hand. They fell asleep and woke up in the same bed without having to hide.
It was only a week, but it felt like a preview. A small, sun-drenched taste of the life they would have once she graduated and they moved to their new city—the ordinary freedom of being able to touch each other in public, to share a last name with strangers, to simply exist as a couple without looking over their shoulders.
On the fourth night they ended up at a low-key beach bar with string lights and sticky tables. That was where they met them.
The couple was a few stools down. Chris looked to be in his late thirties, a few years older than Andy, with short dark hair going a little silver at the temples and a solid, broad-shouldered build that filled out his linen shirt. He had the easy confidence of someone used to getting what he wanted without having to raise his voice. Beside him, Jenna was sun-kissed and striking—long sun-streaked blonde hair that fell in loose waves past her shoulders, sharp green eyes, and a full mouth that seemed permanently on the edge of a smile. She had a soft, curvy figure, the kind that filled a summer dress in a way that made people look twice. Her makeup was light but deliberate: a touch of mascara that made her eyes stand out, and a soft pink gloss on her lips.
Conversation started the way it always does with strangers on vacation: where are you from, how long are you here, isn’t the water perfect. By the second round of drinks the flirting was obvious. Chris’s knee brushed Amanda’s. Jenna’s fingers rested on Andy’s forearm when she made a point. No one pulled away.
Later, after they had moved to a booth, Jenna leaned in and said, almost casually, “We’re pretty open. Just so you know.”
The table went quiet for a second.
Amanda looked at Andy. He looked back. Something passed between them—curiosity, heat, the shared knowledge that this was temporary and therefore safer.
“Open how?” Andy asked.
Chris smiled. “However you’re comfortable. Watching. Joining. Or just talking about it until someone gets brave.”
Amanda’s hand found Andy’s thigh under the table and squeezed.
They didn’t decide that night. After Chris and Jenna left to close out their tab, Amanda and Andy stayed in the booth a little longer, the noise of the bar wrapping around them.
Amanda kept her voice low. “You understood what they were offering, right?”
Andy nodded once, eyes on his drink. “Yeah. I got it.”
“And?”
He was quiet for a second. “It’s a lot. Watching you with someone else ... letting you watch me. That’s not nothing.”
Amanda’s thumb moved slowly over his knuckles. “I keep thinking about it. What it would feel like to have you sit there and watch me take someone else. Knowing you’re hard the whole time. And then the other way around—watching you fuck another woman while I have to just sit there and take it.”
Andy’s jaw flexed. “Does that turn you on or scare you?”
“Both.” She glanced up at him. “But mostly it turns me on. The idea of us doing that together. Not hiding it from each other. Actually sharing it.”
Andy turned his hand so their fingers could lace together under the table. “If we do anything, we do it together. No pressure. We can always say no when we see them again.”
“I know.” Amanda’s voice softened. “But if the offer’s still there tomorrow ... I think I want to at least see where it goes. I want to know what it feels like to watch you. And I want you to watch me.”
Andy gave her hand a slow squeeze. “Then we see where it goes.”
The conversation had done something to both of them. By the time they stood up, the air between them was tight with it. They barely made it back to the rental before Andy had her pressed against the door, mouth on hers, hands already under her dress. They didn’t bother with the bed. He fucked her right there in the entryway, hard and urgent, both of them still half-dressed, the talk of watching and being watched still fresh in their heads. Amanda came first, biting down on his shoulder to stay quiet. Andy followed a few thrusts later, buried deep, breathing hard against her neck.
Afterward they stayed like that for a long moment, foreheads touching, the ocean faintly audible through the open windows.
Nothing had been decided for certain, but the door was open.
The next evening they met again.
This time there was less pretense. They ended up in Chris and Jenna’s rental—bigger than Andy and Amanda’s, with a wide couch and the sound of the ocean coming through the open sliding door. Drinks. Music low. Jenna sat close to Amanda. Chris sat close to Andy. The conversation circled back to the same place.
Amanda was the one who said it.
“I want you to watch,” she told Andy, voice steady even though her pulse was racing. She looked at Chris. “If you’re still interested.”
Chris glanced at his wife. Jenna nodded, smiling.
Andy’s jaw tightened, but his eyes were dark with want. “Yeah,” he said. “I want to watch.”
They didn’t rush it. Jenna poured another round. Chris kissed his wife first, slow and deep, like he was reminding everyone this was mutual. Then he turned to Amanda. She met him halfway.