I emptied my glass, allowing the velvety smooth liquid to envelope my tongue. The rich aroma filled my nostrils, before that all too familiar burn comfortably gripped my throat.
I sighed as I leaned forward to place the glass on the coffee table, the milky ice cubes tinkling in hopeful punctuation. There was another half a glass or so in the bottle, I knew. And it called to me. It wasn't the numbness of the alcohol, I lied to myself. Baileys was her favourite. And every bottle I drank brought her back to me that little bit more.
My eyes fell on the photo frame next to the bottle, and I reached for that instead. I pushed back into the couch, snorting a laugh. She looked dreadful. She always did. But there was something about her that drove me absolutely wild.
The first time I saw her, she was manning the cash register at Subway. I'd left her fellow Sandwich Artist with an instruction to pile on all the salads, and moved along the counter to pay. She was tall and gangly in that ill-fitting purple uniform. Her eyes were self-consciously cast down, and untidy swathes of chestnut hair fell across her gaunt, horsey face. As I watched her avoid my gaze while she shuffled around in the register, I found myself captivated by her. To this day, I don't know what it was, but somehow, she got to me. For the first time since puberty, I was stricken with a spontaneous erection, right there in the queue of a sandwich shop.
Her cold, clammy hand brushed mine when she handed me my change. Her touch was electric. And in that moment, I knew I had to have her. I held her hand lightly as she placed the coins in my palm, causing her to look up. I smiled at her, and she blushed and looked down again, unfamiliar with the attention.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?" I smiled gently.
Her blue eyes locked on mine, shocked, confused, suspicious. I persisted, as best I could with a growing audience of Subway Sandwich Art Lovers bottlenecking beside me, and the minimum-wage sauce squeezer on the other side of the counter equally surprised. But finally, still blushing, she agreed to go out with me that night.
Even though I had arrived ten minutes early, she was already there waiting for me outside the restaurant. Far from stylish, she wore a beige, thick weave cardigan, done up over a pair of faded blue jeans that were a good three sizes too big for her. Her hair was the same uncontrolled mess, covering her face as she slouched against the wall, wringing her hands nervously.
She was a gorgeous, frumpy vision.
I strode straight up to her, snatched her into my arms and kissed her deeply. She was caught off guard, squealing her surprise into my mouth. I held her tightly around her back, enjoying the subtle taper of her torso. My hands overlapped as I caressed her, then slowly let them rub up into her hair as she sank into the kiss.
Her mouth was so soft and warm, and wet. Our lips pressed firmly together, sucking gently at each other, as our tongues swirled around and around. She was delicious.
"Sorry," I whispered, eventually pulling away. "I -- um -- just had to kiss you."
She leaned back in my embrace, her head tilted to the side, and her face lit up in the most beautiful, confident smile I've ever seen on anyone, ever.
The change in her was instantaneous: her body language; the blaze in her eyes; even the tone of her voice. She was radiant.
The rest, as they say, is history. She felt pregnant later that night. And six months later, we were married.
The seashell picture frame in my hand held one of our wedding photos. It was the two of us standing outside the church. Her hair was still badly cut. Her cheap, self-applied makeup was smeared from tears during the ceremony. And that second hand dress, horrifically altered to accommodate her pregnant belly, hung off her like it had been thrown over a hatstand.
She was so beautiful.
My eyes brimmed at the memory, and I replaced the photo on the table. I reached for the bottle, and drained the last of the Irish Cream into my glass.
"Fuck!" I gasped, wringing my eyes shut and throwing my head back.
I missed her so much.
Phoebe fumbling loudly at the door ripped me from my thoughts. It sounded like she was laughing as she fumbled to get her key in the lock. She obviously had one of her friends with her, or at least on the other end of her mobile phone.
It was a bit early, I thought, only eleven o'clock. But at least she was home safe. I quickly drank down the last of the Baileys and took the bottle to the recycling bin under the sink. A quick rinse of the glass before I slammed it in the dishwasher disposed of the last of the evidence.
When Phoebe finally burst through the door, it was clear that she was crying, rather than laughing. She was wailing in loud, hysterical sobs. She slammed the front door behind her and stormed off to her bedroom in noisy stiletto clicks across the tiled floor.
"Phoebe, Sweetheart?" I called after her.
Her bedroom door slammed shut in reply, the sound of her crying on the other side barely muffled.
I knocked on her door, but got no response. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" I called through the door. Still no answer.
Pressing down on the lever, I inched her door open just enough to poke my head through. She was lying face down on her bed, howling into her pillow. Her whole body shook with every sob.
"Phoebe?" I called gently. "Sweetheart, talk to me. What's going on?"
"Go away!" she screamed into her pillow, then turned onto her side so that she was facing away from me.
She tucked her knees up into the foetal position. The little black dress she'd gone out in pulled up as she did, exposing almost all of her long, shapely thighs. She hadn't even taken her shoes off, the long black stiletto heels threatening to puncture her pale blue bedspread.
I responded as all fathers do when they're ordered to go away by their hysterical daughters, I went in to comfort her.
Phoebe was racked with violent sobs, whining desperately as she cried. I sat on the bed, placing my hand gently on her bare shoulder. My touch had no effect, so I lay down, spooning up against her and wrapping my arms tightly around her. I buried my face into her mane of dark brown hair, breathing in that coconut and honey scent, while she continued to cry.
I held my baby girl, just letting her express all the painful emotions that had overcome her.
It was several minutes before the sobs eventually subsided, giving way to long, deep breaths and the occasional sniffle. I kissed the crown of her head, after a moment, and Phoebe slowly turned over. She wrapped herself around me, nuzzling into my chest. I stroked her long, thick hair, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Are you okay?" I whispered.
Phoebe screwed up her face and began to cry again. She shook her head as she buried her face into my chest.
"Hey," I soothed, stroking her soft hair. "Shhh, it's okay..."
"It's not okay!" Her voice was strained and high-pitched into my chest. "I'm a freak!"
I was shocked by the statement, frozen and unable to find the words to respond. "I don't under..."
"I'm a freak, Daddy!" She lifted her head up to face me. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her mascara was smeared in blurry panda smudges. "No one's ever going to want me!"
"Hey, slow down," I breathed. "Tell me what happened."
"I can't," she said, hiding her face in my chest again.
We'd been here before: a daughter in desperate need of a mother, and nothing but me to carry the load. And it cut to the bone every single time.
"Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry," Phoebe half gasped, half whined. Obviously the wave of grief that washed across me was evident. "It's just...I don't know how to talk to you about this."
"Sweetheart, you can talk to me about anything. You know that."
"I know, Daddy." She paused, then swallowed. "It's just...it's...about sex."
I swallowed myself.
I hunkered down with a deep sigh, then coaxed Phoebe into talking to me about what had happened, and what was troubling her. These conversations had always been awkward, but it was so important to me that she felt comfortable about sex.
She explained that she had gone home with a guy who was part of her group of friends. She had been interested in him for quite some time. And after months of flirting, he had finally taken the hint, and made his move.
"He wouldn't turn off the lights, Daddy," she sobbed. "He said he wanted to look at me. I told him I wanted to turn them off, but he just wouldn't.
"I should have just left," she went on.
"Why didn't you?"
"I really liked him, Daddy." Her tears overtook her again, and it took another minute for Phoebe to calm down.
I lay there silently, waiting for her to continue, stroking her hair with my left hand, and her upper arm with my right.
"He started kissing me. And then he unzipped my dress, and I was just standing there in my underwear." She paused. "And then he undid my bra.
"Oh, Daddy, it was awful," she wept. "I tried to hold it on, but he pulled it away. Oh, his face! He was so grossed out. He said my nipples looked like pen lids. He actually stepped away from me, like this." She leaned back from me, holding her hands up in front of her, as if surrendering.
"Oh, Sweetheart," I consoled as best I could, squeezing her back against me. I had no idea her nipples were so long. Regardless, I tried to reassure her. "Don't worry what a jerk like that thinks of you. You're so beaut..."
"That's not all," she said. "Oh God, I was so stupid!"
"What happened?" I whispered.
"I said, 'I can leave my bra on if you want.'"
I couldn't help but sigh.
"I know, Daddy," she whined. "It was so stupid. I should have just left. But I just liked him so much.
"But he said, 'Okay." And I did my bra back up. We started kissing again, but I could tell he was still really freaked out." Phoebe took a second, fortifying herself for the next part of the account. "he wasn't really into it." She swallowed. "So then I started blowing him."
I felt my body stiffen at the admission. It wasn't what I wanted to hear from my eighteen year old daughter, especially with such an ungrateful little prick. She deserved so much better.
"He was into it again," she went on.
"I bet," I scoffed.
Phoebe managed to snort a small laugh herself, then continued with her story. "Eventually, he ended up on top of me on his bed. I asked him to turn off the light again, but he just ignored me. And then I tried to get on my hands and knees, but he wouldn't let me turn over."
What was coming next, I suspected. My heart began breaking in anticipation.
"He said, I really want to see this.' And he started pulling down my panties. I really didn't want him to see me," she cried.
"I tried covering myself, but he kept moving my hands. And then he pulled my legs apart." Phoebe groaned, clenching her jaw tightly.
"He was like, 'What the fuck! That's so gross! You've got a dick!'
"I tried to tell him that it was just my clit. But he was jumping around the room, freaking out all over the place. He was calling me a hermaphrodite, and a fag. And he said he should beat the shit out of me."
My blood boiled at the thought of my little girl being attacked. I was numb with rage.
"And then he started saying something about a crying game, or something. I don't know. I just started crying, and got dressed, and ran out. He was like, Get the fuck out!' and all that. I had to call a taxi from outside.
"He was so mean, Daddy," Phoebe sobbed. "I really liked him."
"Oh, Honey," I sighed. "I know."
We lay there holding each other until Phoebe fell silent, breathing deeply into my chest. I didn't know what to say, so I just focussed on the tactile sensation of her hair and her skin. She was so soft.
"What's a crying game?" she sniffled a few minutes later.
"It's a movie," I explained, giving her the twenty-five word synopsis. "But that's got nothing to do with you, Sweety. You're a girl. I snorted slightly, "You're a woman. One hundred per cent."
"Nobody's ever going to want me," she whined, which then quickly became heartbreaking wails.
When the intensity of her sorrow subsided, I sat her up on her bed, sitting up next to her. She slipped off her shoes, and dropped them off the side of the bed. I held her head in my hands, her face only an inch from mine. Behind the puffy red and streaked grey, her hazel eyes were so beautiful -- light brown, almost grey, with tiny flecks of green and gold.
"Phoebe, Sweetheart, you are so beautiful."
"Oh, Daddy," she dismissed immediately, rolling her eyes so hard, her head flew back.
"Don't get me wrong," I shot back. "You look like a fuckin' train wreck right now. You've been crying for an hour, and you're covered in snot."
"Oh God!" she panicked, reaching for a tissue on her bedside table, desperate to clean herself up.
"You are beautiful," I said forcefully. Then with a smile, and the best fake British accent I could summon, "Love, you're just gorgeous!"
Phoebe wrinkled her nose at me, her brow furrowed. "Michael Caine?"
"No! Gok Wan. You know, How to Look Good Naked." I was indignant. "You made me watch it."
She knew where I was going, and sat back defensively. "Daddy, no!"
I gave her a playful grin.
Phoebe squealed, then darted off her bed for the door. I leapt up after her, snatching her up around the waist and spinning her back into the room in a flurry of dark hair and cocktail dress. With her back to me, she was hugging my arms and laughing.
"come on," I said seriously. "Let's do this.
She turned her head to face me, meeting my gaze. I could tell she recognised the sincerity in my eyes, and her body relaxed in my arms.
"Okay," she whispered.
I loosened my grip around her waist and stomach, letting my hands slide around until they were resting on her narrow hips. As we stepped across the room to the mirrored wardrobe doors, I could feel the waistband of her panties beneath her dress, and the flex and roll of her muscles in my hands.
The reflection of Phoebe standing there in a sexy little black dress, bare feet and dishevelled makeup was surprisingly alluring. She was tall, like her mother, with only my eyes and forehead poking up above the top of her head. Thankfully, she took more after me, with none of the gangly awkwardness of her mother. The rest of my body framed her lithe form, with my shoulders extending out past hers.
"Hmm," she breathed.
"Yeah, you probably need to clean yourself up a bit," I smiled into the back of her head.
She laughed, and skipped off to the bathroom. The sound of running water, sliding drawers and banging cupboards filtered into her room from the bathroom across the hall. I waited patiently, watching the doorway for her return. And when I saw the bathroom light click off, I couldn't help but smile.
Phoebe padded back into her bedroom. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, but she looked straight into my eyes as she settled back into position in between me and the mirror. Her face was still a little raw, but otherwise clean and natural.
"Wow. That's much better," I smiled, tilting my head around to the side so that she could fully see my face in the mirror. Then again with the accent, "You're gorgeous, Love. Goctastic!"
She silently laughed at me, shaking her head. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I kissed her on the cheek.
"So, how do you feel?"
"Fine," she said. "But this isn't the problem."
"Okay then," I said indifferently. And with one, smooth motion, I unzipped the back of her dress down to the base of her spine.
Phoebe gasped. And before she had a chance to react, I hooked my thumbs into the thin shoulder straps and peeled them down over her arms. The material caught briefly on the front of her bra, and I had to slide my hands around her full breasts to free it. The dress fell to her waist, bunching at her hips.
We stared into each other's eyes through the mirror, and I ran my fingers down her flat stomach, burrowing in between her panties and the folds of her dress. Sliding my hands around to the gentle flare of her hips, I pushed the dress past her curves, and it splashed to the floor, pooling at her feet.
She took a deep breath, her chest and shoulders rising as she took in the sight of herself in nothing but a frilly black lace bra and matching panties. Then she sighed suddenly, with a drop of her shoulders.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked, surprised at her reaction. "You're stunning."
"Yeah," she breathed impassively. "Until these come off."
I met her eyes in the mirror and sighed. Phoebe lifted her chin fractionally, entrenching her insecurity. Her hair fell about her shoulders, and I combed it back with my fingers so that all the soft, dark strands hung down past her shoulder blades. The cleavage exposed from the top of her bra was impressive.
Flicking the tag out from her bra strap, I looked at the size. "Ten-C? What's that? I thought it was supposed to be thirty-six or something?"
"Oh God, Daddy." Phoebe nearly clocked me in the face as she threw her head back in another epic eye roll. "Ten is my dress size, and C is the cup size. Thirty-six and all that is American sizing. I think it's inches around the chest." With that, her fingertips traced around the bottom of her bra to her sides.
"Hmm." I looked up from the tag again. "So you're rocking a pair of C cups? Dude!" My smile and bobbing head punctuating my impressed tone.
Phoebe groaned with another roll of her eyes, but she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from curling up. When our eyes met again, a full smile broke out across her face.
"So talk to me," I smiled back. "What is it about these perfect breasts you don't like?"
"It's my nipples." Her smile faded away, but her tone was still light. "They're really big. I mean, they poke out really badly." She started to cringe.
"Well, let's get a look at them then." I kept my tone light, trying to downplay the significance of her insecurity. Then I whispered, "Take off your bra when you're ready."
Time stood still, with Phoebe and I staring into the mirror. She wasn't moving. Her arms hung by her sides, her thumbs twitching back and forth across her thighs.
"Oh come on, Love," I flamboyantly called in my best British accent. "Get your bangers out and give us a look, yeah?"
Phoebe's stomach tightened with a single bout of silent laughter. And then when we locked eyes, she laughed again.
"Go on, Love!"
"Okay, okay," she giggled, reaching behind her back and finding the clasp.
Her bra popped open, and her hands quickly flapped around the front to catch the cups. Her eyes were serious as she looked at me, her head tilted to the right. I gave her a little smile, then peeled the shoulder straps down until they fell into the crooks of her elbows. Then, with one last sigh, Phoebe lowered her hands, letting the bra fall away with them.
"Whoa," I gasped involuntarily.
Those spectacular , full globes stood proudly on her chest, without the slightest hint of succumbing to gravity. Her deep pink areolas contrasted beautifully with her creamy porcelain skin. And whatever issues she had with her nipples, were a nonsense. They were large, protruding out about an inch, but they were so deliciously puffy and suckable.
In that moment, just for a second, I honestly forgot she was my daughter.
"Sweetheart," I beamed. "I don't...what are you...what the fuck? Your nipples are gorgeous."
She shifted awkwardly, tilting her head and lifting one shoulder. "It's when they get hard. They're a lot longer."
"Okay, so make them go hard and let's have a look," I suggested.
Phoebe wrinkled her nose at me, bemused. "I can't just make them go hard."
"What about if you pinch them a little?"
She laughed, holding her hands over her breasts. "Dad, I'm not pinching my nipples in front of you.""Okay, I've got an idea. Wait there."
I ran out to the kitchen, and returned a minute later with a clean short glass I usually used for Baileys, with a couple of ice cubes swirling in the bottom.
"Oh no you don't," she laughed, catching sight of the glass and shaking her head.
"Pinch or chill, Love: what's your pleasure?" My nineteenth century Cockney was first class.
Phoebe's smile was resigned. The flush in her cheeks was growing, and I could tell she was getting excited by the prospect of either. Her nipples were already noticeably longer. She pressed her lips together, lifted her chin, and looked directly into my eyes with as much dignity as she could muster. Then she crossed her arms under her breasts and exhaled audibly, filling the air with the scent of sweet, pre-mixed vodka.
"Okay," I breathed, taking a slippery ice cube from the glass.
Phoebe's breath hitched as the frozen cube touched the end of her left nipple, and I could see it lengthen before my eyes. My own breath wavered, and I looked up to see her blush deepen as she looked down at herself.
I looped the cube around her hardening nipple, leaving a glistening trail on her engorged flesh. The backs of my numb fingers occasionally grazed her nipple as I spun the ice around and around, and I was losing myself. It only got worse when I reached her dark pink, almost purple areola. I must have completed at least half a dozen laps.
I was in awe of Phoebe's nipple, now standing out nearly two inches from her ripe breast. It was unusual, to be sure. I'd certainly never seen anything like it before. And there was something aesthetically jarring about the unfamiliar sight.
But at the same time, it was the most sexy thing I had ever seen. I just wanted to suck it, more than anything in the world.
I broke away, taking the dripping ice cube across to her right breast. Her other nipple was almost fully erect anyway, but I still repeated the process, until it was nice and shiny., and we were both breathing heavily.
"Oh, Phoebe, you have the sexiest nipples," I gasped. I was actually getting really hard. what
"Yeah," she scoffed. "You're my dad. You're supposed to say that."
"Phoebe, the last thing I'm supposed to be commenting on, is how sexy your nipples are."
She looked up at me and smiled, her eyes brimming and her cheeks still flushed. Then she bit the side of her bottom lip. "You know, you can stop rubbing them with the ice if you like."
"Oops," I laughed. "See what I mean? Sweety, your nipples are gorgeous. I can't help myself."
"So are you going to stop rubbing ice on them?" she chirped.
Her giggle turned mischievous, then she snatched the glass containing the other two ice cubes, pulled out the waistband of my tracksuit pants and poured in the icy contents.
I recoiled back in shock, desperately fishing the freezing cubes from my undies. We were both howling with laughter.
"Seems ice has the opposite effect on boners," she teased, with her hands on her hips.
"So it does." I cleared my throat. "Your still not convinced you've got great nipples?"
She wasn't having it. And with the reaction of the dumb shit she'd been with earlier that night, I honestly couldn't blame her. So I thought back to what the Fairy Gokmother would do.
"Okay, I've got an idea," I started. "Remember the show? He puts a photo of the woman's bangers up on the side of a building..."
"We're not doing that!" she squealed.
"Yes, because I know just how to arrange that," I said sarcastically. "All that outdoor projection experience I have. And don't forget my billboard contacts..."
"All right!" She tilted her head with a pout. "What are you thinking?"
"We take a photo, and instantaneously put it out there on the line, and share it with other people." I was quoting The Internship we'd watched together the week before, but she didn't laugh. "I'm sure there's sites out there where you can put up nude photos and get comments."
"Are you serious?" She was frowning.
"We won't show your face or anything. Just a shot of your breasts. Completely anonymous. Just so you can see the comments."
"I don't know." Her face softened.
"Look," I reassured. "We'll just start with the photos, and see how you feel after that. Okay?"
She reluctantly agreed, and I went and got the camera from the study. She stood stiffly in the centre of her bedroom as I snapped away at her from various angles, gritting her teeth and blushing.
"That's it, Love." Gok was back. "Give me another sigh. Perfect! Now give me another one, but this time, roll your eyes too. Really throw them back, yeah?"
Phoebe started giggling, and the tension evaporated. I was bouncing around the room, clicking away like a madman and tearing the ass out of the cockney photographer routine. She played along, striking poses and blowing kisses, and generally getting caught up in the horseplay. But the wheels eventually fell off when my Gok Wan impersonation somehow morphed into Richard Simmons screaming, "Like a pony! Like a pony!"
Phoebe doubled over with laughter, her beautiful breasts jiggling hypnotically. I stood from my crouch on her floor and cleared my throat, trying in vain to recapture some of my respectability.
We hurried into the study to hook the camera up to the computer. Phoebe pulled a spare chair up next to mine, and it was then that I noticed that she was still topless, wearing nothing but those skimpy little panties.
"Hey, I'm up here, perv," she grinned.
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment at being caught looking. "You know what? I think we should make a new house rule: you're not allowed to wear a bra at home anymore. Your nipples are just too beautiful to be hidden away."
"Yeah, right." She snorted. But this time, her smile didn't fade.
We shared a brief look, then turned our attention to the screen. I'd taken a hundred and twenty-seven photos of her, which made us both laugh out loud. We scrolled through them quickly, shortlisting possibles into a separate folder. The first thirty or so captured all the awkwardness and discomfort of the moment, but as she loosened up, the photos came to life. Another fifty or so showed her face.
"Hey!" Phoebe slapped my arm as we scrolled through half a dozen shots tightly framing her perfect ass stuck out at the camera. One of which showed her pulling the waistband down over her hip, and another with her spanking herself.
"I'm an artist." I shrugged my shoulders, and blushed again.
In the end, we ended up with three photos. One was a full body shot, with her hands on her hips and her turned face hidden by her hair. The second was a upper body shot of Phoebe lifting her hair above her head, with one breast in profile and the other directly facing the lens. And the final tightly cropped shot showed her lifting and squeezing her breasts together, giving the best view of her nipples.
It didn't take long to find a nude version of instagram, with a Google search for "naked selfies" spitting out over a million results. We quickly registered and uploaded the photos, adding the tag line, "What do you think of my nipples?"
"Now we wait." I sat back in the chair, letting my eyes fall once again to Phoebe's lovely chest.
She cocked her head at me and smiled, the faintest hue returning to her cheeks. "I should put something on." She stood and strode from the room.
"Just remember the new house rule," I called over my shoulder.
Phoebe turned on her heel in the doorway and blew me a kiss, then disappeared with a giggle. I took the opportunity to get something to drink.
I called out, "Phoebe, Sweetheart? I'm making some hot chocolate. Do you want one?"
"Yes please, Daddy. Thanks."
When I returned to the study with the two steaming mugs, Phoebe was still in her room. I crossed the hall and found her standing in front of the mirror with her hands on her hips. She was wearing a tight white Hello Kitty t-shirt that didn't quite come all the way down to the waistband of her panties. She turned and pouted at me. Her nipples were stretching her top out in a taut circus tent across her chest.
"You're going to ruin that shirt," I chuckled.
"Yeah," she sighed. "I don't think your new rule is going to work out.
I stepped over to her, and took the hem of her t-shirt, whispering, "Revision to the rule:" I lifted the thin fabric up her body. "You have to be topless at home."
"Okay," she smiled at me in the mirror. "But so do you." With that, she spun around and lifted my own t-shirt up. "One in, all in," she grinned.
We started giggling, like a couple of schoolgirls. Then Phoebe quickly reached up and playfully tweaked my nipples. I jumped at the electric shock, then launched my own counter attack. When she covered her breasts, I started tickling her around the ribs, which soon degenerated into a squealing wrestling match.
Phoebe tried to escape across her bed, crawling frantically away from me. I caught her ankle and dragged her back towards me. She tried to roll off to the side, but I pounced on top of her, pinning her busy hands above her head. Her body heaved with fits of laughter, her excited nipples at full mast inches in front of my face.
I couldn't help myself. I lowered my face and sucked her right nipple into my mouth.
With my lips at the base, kissing her areola, I sucked hard on the full length of her oversized nipple. My tongue licked and sucked at her engorged flesh, bending the shaft as it swirled around.
I pulled back in shock at what I had just done. She was my daughter!
I gaped at Phoebe, her own face frozen, her eyes wide. We stared at each other for an eternity. The silence was deafening. Excruciating.
"What about the other one?" Her rasp was barely audible above the heartbeat thundering away in my ears.
My entire body flushed with an incredible warmth, with the heat at its most intense in my nose and gaping lips. Phoebe twisted her upper body slightly to the right, offering up her left breast. Her eyes were glazed over in a hopeful, forbidden lust.
I involuntarily sank back down onto her, cupping her tender breast in my hand. I lapped at her soft flesh, licking around the base of her nipple, then slowly up its incredible length. Swirling my tongue around as I went, I sucked it into my mouth like my life depended on it.
Phoebe moaned, arching her back to press more of her breast into my mouth. It was obvious from her reaction, and her insecurities, that she'd never experienced this sensation before.
In my own lust and confusion, I wanted to give my baby girl that experience, that pleasure. But it was ironically that thought that snapped me back to reality, again forcing me to throw myself back off her.
I cleared my throat after a few seconds trying to catch my breath. "Our hot chocolate's going cold."
"Uh-ha," she breathed, sitting up. "We should check on those comments anyway."
We sheepishly padded back into the study to check the comments on the photos, and hide behind our hot chocolates. When our eyes met, we both blushed and looked anywhere else. But very quickly, that cheeky little smile overtook us, causing to steal a glimpse of each other again.
"Holy shit!" I half coughed up my drink. "You've already had one thousand two hundred and twenty-nine views! And most people are scoring you five out of five. Look." I pointed at the voting results on the screen.
"How many comments are there?" Her tone was so timid.
The profile page indicated forty-eight comments, displayed across separate pages of twenty. We started reading the first page, which although fairly crass, was entirely positive.
"Oh my God!" Phoebe held her hand across her mouth to cover an astonished laugh, her eyes bulging.
I caught up to where she was. "'Your tits are so fucking hot. The only thing that would make them look better, is if they were covered in my cum.'" I couldn't help but laugh. "What a wordsmith."
"Real charmer," she giggled.
We continued reading, clicking onto the next page. As we did, the number of views refreshed itself to over fifteen hundred, and the comments spilled over onto a fourth page.
"Oh, that one's really sweet," I smiled, pointing at the screen.
"'Your breasts are so lovely. I have nipples like that too. I only wish I could be as confident as you showing them off. You make them look sexy. You've really made me feel better about mine. Thank you.' Oh, Daddy." Phoebe's hand went back across her mouth, but this time her eyes welled.
The comments kept coming, When I clicked on the fifth page, a hyperlinked "Next" appeared at the bottom of the page, indicating more than a hundred. Most of them were simple sentence fragments about how hot Phoebe's nipples were. There were plenty of incredibly graphic statements of intent, which were, in their own way, positive. And most powerful of all, were about half a dozen or so really touching messages. Phoebe was overwhelmed by the feedback, and she struggled to swallow down the lump in her throat.
I stroked Phoebe's silky smooth thigh. "Now do you believe me?" I whispered.
She nodded, pressing her lips together to try and stop herself from crying. She slowly closed her big, dewy eyes and kissed me softly on the lips. "Thank you."
I put my arm around her naked shoulders, squeezing her into me for an awkward, seated hug, and kissed the top of her head. We sat there together like that for a few minutes, silently enjoying the moment and finishing the last of our hot chocolate.
"So shall we keep going?" Phoebe sat upright, her expression hopeful.
"Sure," I smiled.
We sidled back into Phoebe's room, with my hands on her hips the entire way. As we stood in front of the mirror, I marvelled at the last thread of clothing she wore in the reflection: those tiny, black lace panties.
Her shoulders slouched slightly as she sighed. But she held my gaze in the mirror. I placed my hands lightly on her bare shoulders, conscious that I didn't have a shirt on either.
I kissed her ear and whispered, "It's okay."
Phoebe hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She hesitated a second, then slowly pulled them down over her subtle hips. A dark thatch of pubic hair came into view as her panties collapsed into a thin line across her sex, before continuing down. She bent over in front of me to guide her underwear down her gorgeous thighs, her naked ass pressing back into the hardness in my tracksuit pants. At her knees, she let her panties drop the rest of the way to the floor, then straightened again.
Completely naked, my daughter was a vision. An absolute vision.
I could see her throat tensing as she searched my reflection for reassurance. She didn't know what to do with her hands, and her fingers ended up lightly tracing the gentle ridge of her hip bones.
"Sweetheart, you're stunning."
"You can't see my clit?" she squeaked nervously.
"Not from this angle, Sweety." I slid my hand around her hip and ran my fingers through the thick pubes on her mound. "Then again, with this Don't Mess with the Zohan bush of yours, it's a little hard to see anything."
She half turned and slapped my arm in retaliation. But she was still smiling.
"Here." I pointed. "Come over and sit on the bed."
I guided her over to her bed by her hips. She spun out of my grip and sat on the edge of her bed, her long legs pressed tightly together. I could still see that dark tuft at the apex of her thighs as she sat there looking up at me, her hands resting on her knees.
I pulled the stool from her dressing table over and sat in front of her, our knees touching. Then gently laying my hands on hers, I breathed, "Are you able to show me?"
Phoebe gave me the sweetest smile, almost pleading with me not to hurt her. I returned the most reassuring look I could, and with that, I felt her knees part beneath our hands.
Honestly, I was shocked. It took everything I had not to flinch at the sight. It looked like a little finger, about two inches long, surrounded by a dark forest of pubic hair.
"What do you think?" Her tone was painfully insecure.
"I can see what you're trying to do. But I think you might be making it worse trying to cover it up." I reached out slowly towards her. "Here, let me..."
I gently brushed back her pubes, bringing her labia into view. Her lips were long, soft pink petals, hugging the sides of her clit, the creases between them forming an elongated "V". Her inner labia protruded slightly at the bottom, a darker shade of pink, and shining slightly from her earlier arousal. And there was that sticky, earthy smell.
I don't know how long I looked at my daughter's vulva, but the strain in my back from leaning forward so long finally forced me to stop. When I sat up, Phoebe stared into my eyes expectantly, her cheeks still flushed.
I smiled, my own eyes welling with tears. "Sweety, you are so pretty down there."
Phoebe's chin trembled. A few tears started leaking from the inside corners of her eyes. She wanted to believe me so much.
"I think if we trim back your pubes, it'll look a lot nicer," I reassured softly. Then I went Goktastic again, "At the moment, Love, you're all bush and clit. Let's hack that back and let everyone see how gorgeous it is underneath, yeah?"
Phoebe started laughing, her whole body rocking in bouncing fits. "Okay. I trust you."
I took her hand and led her into my ensuite. Sitting her on a folded towel on the edge of the bath, I got my beard trimmer and reset the length of the comb to about a centimetre and a half. My George Michael designer stubble look wasn't quite what she needed.
"When did you and Mum know I had an enlarged clit?" Phoebe broke in.
"I suppose we found out when you were born. Before then, we actually thought you were a boy from the ultrasound."
"That's why my room was blue for so long?" she smiled.
"Yeah," I chuckled. "We didn't have a lot of money back then, and we couldn't afford to re-paint."
With a low, high-speed hum that made us both giggle, I mowed the pubic hair on her mound in long, slow strokes. Then repeated the process, going back the other way. Little dark curls fell to the floor between her feet, contrasting heavily with the white tiles.
"So you guys were expecting a boy?"
"Yeah," I snorted a laugh. "We had a name picked out and everything. We were going to call you Edmond, after your mum's grandfather."
Her bush was already beautifully shaped to fit nicely into those skimpy little panties she wore. And now the length made her muff look much neater. Much sexier.
"that must have been a shock?"
"Not at all. We both secretly wanted a girl. And when we found out, we both started crying." My eyes brimmed at the memory. "You were perfect."
I dialled the comb down to its shortest setting, only about a millimetre, then slowly ran it through the long, uncontrolled pubes running down either side of her labia. The clippers crackled through her hair as I very carefully traced the contours of her vulva. More and more, her pretty pussy came into view, framed only by short stubble.
"Careful there," she giggled. "That's not the buzzing down there I'm used to."
"I bet," I laughed.
We shared a knowing grin as I tapped the last of her pubic hair from my trimmer. I told her to stay put, and quickly retrieved a bowl from the kitchen, and a dustpan and brush from the hall cupboard. She was still sitting spreadeagle on the edge of the bath when I returned, and after tidying up the mess on the floor, I filled the bowl with warm water. Then I sat down on the tiles between her legs with my shaving supplies.
"So you knew I wasn't normal when I was born?" she continued.
"Oh, Sweety," I sighed. "You're normal. You just have a bigger clit than most girls. I think it's called something like clitomania, or clitoromegaly, or something. We got you checked out, and you were perfectly healthy."
I squeezed out a dollop of shaving cream into my palm and loosely rubbed it between my hands. Phoebe bit her lip as I reached between her legs, then gasped sharply as the cold foam made contact with her sensitive skin. We smiled broadly at each other, silently sharing the humour of the moment.
"Did you ever think about getting it reduced?" Phoebe tilted her head slightly.
"Yeah, it came up. One of the bigwig doctors came around shortly after you were born. He was the Chief of Surgery or something. Anyway, he heard about your clit, and was chomping at the bit to perform a reduction. I think he hadn't done one before, and was keen to tick it off his bucket list."
"You didn't let him?" She wrinkled her nose. "Obviously."
"Yeah," I struggled to remember back. "He was a real arrogant asshole. Really put us off side. He had us scared to death that you had to have the surgery right away."
"Hmm."
With a fresh blade in my razor, I gently shaved Phoebe's pussy, rinsing the shaver in the bowl between every stroke. The dark stubble disappeared, leaving behind perfectly soft, creamy skin. A few stubborn hairs forced me to gently hold her labia to the side to allow me access. The incidental contact of my fingertips on Phoebe's clit caused her breath to hitch.
"So why didn't you guys have him do the surgery?" Phoebe whispered, her breath shaking slightly.
"It was actually the trainee doctor that helped deliver you. She said there was no reason to do the surgery, other than for aesthetic reasons."
"That's the problem," she whined.
"Oh, Sweetheart." I pressed my lips together. "The doctor, the good one, she said the risks weren't worth it. Your clitoris has thousands of nerve endings. And if we'd got you a clitorectomy, or clitoplasty, or whatever the fuck they call it, there was a big chance you could have lost sexual function.
"The doctor was so nice about it," I went on. "She really took the time to explain it all to us. She really looked out for you, and what was in your best interests." I snorted a laugh at the memory. "You should have seen her stand up to the asshole doctor when we told him we didn't want the surgery. She was fierce."
Phoebe smiled at the story, or at least the parts I could remember. I could tell by the way she was looking at me, her eyes dewy and her head tilted, that she was making her peace with it. Her eyes stayed fixed on me as I ran a facecloth under a warm tap, then sat back down on the floor, with plenty of groaning and cracking of joints. And then I gingerly dabbed her freshly shaven pussy with the wet cloth.
"She sounds great." Phoebe beamed.
"Yeah," I smiled, feeling my eyes well. "She was. And you know what? Her name was Phoebe."
"Oh," she squeaked, holding her hand across her mouth as the tears flowed from her eyes.
"Yeah," I said softly, placing my hand on her bare thigh.
She laid her hand on mine. "So it was either orgasms or a pretty pussy?" I think you guys made the right choice."
"Well, don't get too carried away, Love," I flamboyantly beamed in my dreadful British accent. "If I don't say so myself, I think we've got both here."
Phoebe's pussy was gorgeous. She now had a cute, dark little muff on top to draw the eye, and her clit was much less prominent against her labia and smooth, pale flesh. You would need a second, much closer look to know exactly what you were looking at, and by then, the intoxicating charm of those beautiful pink folds would have you.
"Daddy, you're staring," she giggled.
I looked up at her, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "You are so beautiful, you don't even know."
"I can't see it from here" she smiled, excited.
"My shaving mirror!" I leapt to my feet and raced off to Phoebe's bathroom. She'd long since taken it from me to do her makeup, especially as I was doing the stubble thing now.
I bounded back in with my prize, and handed it over as I sat back down between her legs. She held the round shaving mirror in front of her pussy, her eyes fixed on the reflection. I couldn't read her expression, but she was fixated. Then with her free hand, she reached down and touched herself.
Any notion that she was my daughter had long since gone, and the sight of Phoebe studying herself like that, had me rock hard.
"Well?" I looked up at her.
"It's really pretty." Her smile was wide. Then her voice trailed off in a whisper, "Oh my God. Thank you, Daddy."
"Do you want to put some photos instantaneously on the line?"
She giggled. Finally. "I don't think we need to. Do you?"
"I'd certainly like to take the photos," I suggested, feigning innocence.
"I bet," she chuckled confidently as she stood.
I rose to my feet in front of my naked daughter. She was different, changed somehow. She radiated confidence, holding her shoulders back and beaming with that same self-assured look that her mother had given me on that first night so many years ago.
"I love you, Daddy." She threw her arms around my neck and pressed herself firmly against me.
I felt her hard nipples poking against my bare chest, and my erection against her pubic bone. The silky smooth contours of the muscles in her back licked at my fingertips as I held her, smelling her soft, tropical hair.
I told her I loved her too, and we kissed softly on the lips. Then I kissed her again, much more slowly. Then again.
"I think we need another new house rule." I stroked her hair behind her ear.
"Let me guess." Her eyes twinkled as she leaned her face into my hand. "I'm not allowed to wear anything at home?"
"Look, I don't like making rules..." I smiled.
"Uh-ha," she laughed, as she turned to leave the bathroom.
My hands stayed in contact with her, sliding around her waist as she turned. I let them caress her smooth skin down to her hips, then across the impossible softness of her ass as she strode into my bedroom.
She stopped at the foot of the bed, spinning quickly and whipping me in the face with the ends of her hair. "You really want me to be naked all the time?"
All I could manage was, "I do."
"Okay," she chirped. "But you have to be naked too." And with that, she started tickling me around the ribs.
Phoebe squealed as I tickled her back. Then she hooked her arm around my neck, pulling me back towards her. I felt her kick my foot out from under me, and we tumbled together onto the bed, laughing. She was on her back, scrambling away as I crawled on top of her.
"Come on!" she laughed, tickling at my sides and pulling at the waistband of my tracksuit pants. "Get 'em off. Rules are rules."
I was between her legs, and as she clawed at me, I could feel her get my waistband down over my ass. Her body arched beneath me, my hands finding the softness of her breasts. I instinctively pinched her nipples, eliciting a squeal out of my gorgeous daughter.
"You rat!" she half laughed, half moaned.
Then she hooked her toes into my pants, and kicked them down my legs, rolling and bunching them as she went. Her nails dug into my ass as I pawed her breasts, pinching her enlarged nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. I could feel Phoebe's freshly trimmed muff brushing the underside of my shaft.
"I love you, Daddy," she gasped.
"I love you too, Honey. You're so beautiful."
Our fevered breath and moans reached a crescendo, and we finally surrendered ourselves to the forbidden lust that had been building ever since she came home. I kissed her burning lips hard and open mouthed, sucking at her wet lips and tongue passionately.
She ran her fingers through my hair, pulling me into her. Our noses mashed together as we kissed, and licked, and sucked, moaning into each other's mouths.
Phoebe threw her head back, drilling it into the maroon bedspread as she arched herself. I kissed down her chin and throat, gently nibbling and sucking as I went. I steered her nipples like tiny joysticks as I kissed my way down between her breasts. Then for no reason in particular, I attacked her left breast with my mouth, devouring the soft flesh until I had that magnificent nipple between my lips.
I licked up and down its length with the tip of my tongue, then sucked it hard as I swirled around and around. I kneaded her swollen breast as I nibbled gently on the tip, and then continued sucking.
I repeated the process on her right breast, until it too was shiny with my saliva. Keeping my hands glued to her tits, I kissed my way down her taut belly, spiralling my tongue into her navel.
"Oh, Daddy, yes," she moaned from her depts., holding my head in her hands as I continued my journey.
I brought my hands down over her hip bones, transiting from the softness of her stomach to the hardness of her frame. Then my palms found the tantalising tenderness of her splayed inner thighs.
I kissed my way through her dark patch of pubic hair, scratching my nose and breathing in her lightly perfumed scent. I could still detect the faint aroma of my shaving cream, bringing a mischievous smile to my face. Then my lips found the newly naked flesh on either side of her glistening sex.
I teased her mercilessly, kissing and licking every millimetre of skin near her pussy, without touching what she wanted me to most of all. I even tickled her perineum with my tongue. Phoebe bucked up, trying to thrust herself at me, but I held her firmly in place by her thighs.
"Oh, Daddy, please," she begged.
I very slowly kissed my way up the left side of her pussy, tilting my head ever so slightly, so that my nose barely grazed the side of her enlarged clit. Phoebe's whole body spasmed, her back arching impossibly as she moaned out in ecstasy. She was racked by wave after wave of her orgasm, each one not letting the last subside before it struck.
I Eskimo kissed her lovely clit again, gently rubbing my nose up and down her length. Phoebe was whimpering at my touch, now holding my hands on her thighs. Her pungent earthiness filled my nostrils, and I decided to up the ante.
I licked the full length of her clit with the tip of my tongue, causing her to cry out. Then I licked again with as much surface area as I could, the rough wet sensation of my taste buds pushing her over the edge.
I let her recover by plunging my tongue into her sopping cunt. I sucked and chewed at her labia as I fucked her with my mouth, my nose occasionally flicking the end of her clit, causing her whole body to jolt.
When her breathing steadied, I burrowed one, then two fingers into her, and stirred her gooey depths as I sucked her clit into my mouth. My lips and tongue worked her engorged organ rhythmically, and Phoebe rolled her hips in time with me until she lost herself in another all-consuming climax.
My beautiful little girl collapsed back, flat onto the bed, heaving with exhaustion. She held her forearms across her face, trying to compose herself. But those incredible nipples still called to me.
I clambered back up her supple body and gobbled her breast into my mouth. Phoebe giggled, then grabbed my face and pulled me up to kiss her.
"Oh, Daddy, that was incredible. Thank you so much."
"I love you, Sweetheart," I breathed back.
Phoebe's hand found my cock, and guided the head to her opening. I couldn't wait. I sank myself into my daughter's horny cunt, feeling her roll her hips up to meet me. I was sheathed in her molten core, and it was all I could do not to come right then.
Our eyes met as I bottomed out inside her. The bright flecks of green and gold sparkling. We kissed, then shared a brief giggle. And then I started grinding my cock into her.
"You feel so good inside me," Phoebe moaned.
The sensation of her smooth thighs against my hips was incredible. Her warm skin. The sound of her moaning. The look in her eyes. It was too much.
I rocked back and forth inside her, making love to her with more and more of my length, until I was sawing in and out of her with lusty abandon. I lost myself, fucking my daughter senseless. Her drenched pussy gripped my cock so tightly as I thrust into her. She was so hot.
"Oh, Daddy," she moaned. "I love you."
Her words were too much. They pushed me over the edge. "I'm going to come!" I groaned.
"Yes, Daddy! Come inside me. I want to feel you inside me."
The tingle in my limbs overtook me, growing into an immense warmth. Then the overwhelming pleasure as it exploded out through my cock. I roared as spurt after spurt of my seed gushed out into my daughter's bare cunny. I ground into her as deep as I could, until I was paralysed by post-orgasmic sensitivity.
When I returned to my senses, I noticed Phoebe panting beneath me. Her brow was furrowed with concern, and she stroked my hair.
"Are you okay, Daddy?"
I kissed her gently. "I love you, Phoebe. You are so special."
"Do you think I'm beautiful, Daddy?" Her eyes glistened.
"You are so beautiful," I breathed with a kind smile. "You're just gorgeous, Love!"