Chapter 2

Things hadn't turned out the way I hoped they would. Yesterday had been a waste; my father had promised to take me out shopping, to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a new wardrobe for me- but he'd been too sick do much of anything. I'd heard him moaning in his bedroom; he said he had a migraine, and based on the frequency of guttural noises I could hear him making, I could not help but imagine how terrible it must have been. I'd kept to my room all day, trying not to disturb him; even now, I could hear him shuffling about in his room, separated from me by a wall and a few feet of space.

I'd woken up wet again this morning, thighs streaked with my juices. Not for the first time on this trip, I wished I'd bought one of my exquisite toys with me; I could get off with just my hands, but it took an excruciatingly long time to do it. I vastly preferred to have something inside me, and I hadn't been able to relieve my rising tension over the past few days. It came down to my monthly cycle, I knew; my hormones were demanding that I make the most of my presently-fertile state. Unlike most girls my age, I wasn't on the contraceptive pill; I'd suffered an idiosyncratic reaction when I'd taken it before, breaking out in hideous acne and piling on weight that had proved most difficult to shift. As a result, I'd been too timid to try any other brands. For a few years after turning 18, I'd been too busy with my job and my studies to really have any romantic relationships; I figured that if- when- the time came, the lucky lad could damn well wear a condom.

I was, I supposed, something of a rarity; a virgin in the technical sense, if not the physical. I'd done in my hymen years ago with my fingers, an experience that had frightened the hell out of me. Since then, though, my vagina had welcomed an assortment of intruders, from fingers to dildos, to the odd piece of fruit or vegetable. Chewing my lower lip, I scanned my bedroom dimly lit in the early dawn, searching for inspiration.

My eyes alighted on my hairbrush. I lifted it up, considering the possibility; the handle was plastic, curved, reaching a point at the end and with a thick grip where it broadened out at the bristled paddle. The idea grew on me; I knew the curved, rounded end would rasp along my g-spot, whilst the flared plastic separating the grip from the brush could, if angled properly, butt against my clitoris. Brush in hand, I returned to my bed, spread my legs, and slid my makeshift toy inside me.

It worked better than I could have imagined. It was hard at first to keep a tight enough hold on the brush, and the bristles poked out from beneath my palm to dig into my most sensitive skin painfully, but soon enough I overcame those minor hurdles, working myself into a wanton state. I grabbed the corner of my pillow, jammed it into my mouth to create a gag, and howled as an orgasm ripped through me. I heard a squelching noise, felt something splash against my hand where I held the brush inside me, and realised I had, for the first time, enjoyed one of the near-mythical female ejaculations.

Trembling, I slipped the brush out of my still-twinging orifice, examining the slick handle. My come had splashed along the brush, the bristles wet with my secretions. I stifled a giggle. After a moment's hesitation, I extended my tongue, tasting myself on the heated plastic. My free hand opened my sex again, and I wondered if I dared use it again.

At that, my door slammed open, the light blazing on. I squinted against the too-bright light, belated realising that the intruder could only be my father- and that he'd arrived to find me not just naked, but with a slickened toy in one hand, the other at my nest, opening it to him in a way that a daughter never should under his gaze. I dropped the brush, closed my legs, and sat up, worried my father needed to be taken to the hospital.

What I saw shocked me. His face was red, and he was sweating. Like me, he was naked, and as my eyes swept down his body I realised with a gasp that he was erect, his stiff prick an angry red, bobbing with his movements as he came towards me. "Dad!" I exclaimed. "What's wrong? What are you- oof!"

That last as he roughly thrust me back onto the bed, groping at my breasts, twisting them painfully. "Dad," I whimpered, in pain and distress, "what are you doing? I'm your daughter, you can't do this!"