“Hey, sweetie,” he greeted me with a quick hug and kiss to my forehead. Just like old times. But it's funny, I don't remember in old times him being so damned attractive. He wasn’t a big burly bodybuilder, with a beard and tattoos and rippling, sinewy muscles. He was an insurance agent, for God’s sake! But he's tall, and slim, and good looking in a really solid kind of way. He's fit not because he went to the gym, but because he was born with great genes. Those same genes that he passed down to me. If you looked closely, you could see that I look like my mom a little bit. But a passing glance is more than enough to positively identify us as father and daughter. Tall, slim, not especially curvy, but reasonably attractive. But to me, he looked like a dream come true. Where the fuck did that come from?

“Hey, dad,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He knows me so well. He can tell that there’s something on my mind. “Okay, what's wrong?” he simply went straight for it.

I looked up, meeting his gaze. I could see the concern in his eyes, and I knew that he was not going to let this go until I told him what was bothering me.

I hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. But the words spilled out before I could stop them.

“It's about the story you published, the one about us.”

“You read it?”

I nodded, looking away as a blush spread across my cheeks. “Yes, I read it. Every word.”

He sighed loudly. “I'm sorry, but we said we wouldn't talk about it. I never said I stopped writing.”

I flinch at those words, feeling a pang of guilt and anger. “You're right, we did say we wouldn't talk about it. But the fact that you continued to write about us after everything that happened is hard to ignore.” I crossed my arms over my chest, looking back at him with frustration and hurt in my eyes. “Why couldn't you just let it go? Why do you have to keep bringing it up in your writing?”

His brow furrowed and he wiped his hand down his face, rubbing his eyes. A sure sign that he was very annoyed with me.

“Really, Jilly!? Does that website just automatically pop up on your tablet? Already open to my stories? Who's holding the gun to your head, making you read them?”

I scoffed at his accusation, my irritation growing. “It's not about a website, Dad. I'm just not blind to what you're writing. I see the titles, I see the tags, I know exactly what you're writing about. And it's driving me crazy!”

“Again, you wouldn't see that if you weren't going there, looking for it. And make no mistake, You're no longer innocent here. You're finding EXACTLY what you're looking for!” he pointed directly at my heart, accusingly.

His words hit me like a slap in the face, and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I pause. Then, “You're right, I'm not innocent. I'm actively seeking out the things that I shouldn't be.” I look away again, unable to meet his gaze. I feel ashamed of myself, of the desires that I can't seem to control. Jesus, I want him so bad. What has he done to me?

“Why do you keep reading? Tell me that. What keeps dragging you back?”

I take a deep breath, my heart racing as I try to find the words to explain. “I... I don't know, okay? I don't know why I keep reading. It's like I'm addicted to it, like I can't get enough. And every time I read one of your stories, it just makes me crave more. It's like a drug, and I'm hooked.”

“Well I don't know what to tell you. I'm not removing them, and if I don't write more, you'll just go back and re-read them. Won't you?”

I nodded slowly, shame washing over me. “You're right, I would re-read them. Over and over again. I can't seem to get enough of the sick, twisted fantasies you've written.” I bit my lip, gazing at him, desperate and wanton, yet still in denial that I wanted the same thing. “Please, just don't make it worse. don't write more.”

“Jilly, just because I write does not mean you're obligated to read. You could always stop. Delete the bookmark. Get on Facebook or something.”

I shook my head, and felt a sense of resignation wash over me. “It's not that simple, and you know it. I can't just delete the bookmark and pretend like none of this is happening. The damage has already been done, and I'm stuck in this twisted cycle with you.”

I looked at him, my eyes pleading for him to understand.

“Dad, it’s not that easy. I can't just turn it off, the thoughts, the desires; they're always there, no matter how hard I try to ignore them.”

“Fine. You win. I won't write another word. For now,” he conceded. He looked very annoyed.

I felt a surge of relief at his words. Part of me was glad that he was finally acknowledging the impact his writing was having on me, but another part of me couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him stopping completely.

I looked up at him, my eyes searching his for any sign of deception.

“Wait. For now?”

“Gillian, it’s my hobby and I enjoy writing. But maybe I'll write something else, about other people. But that's not what you want, is it?”

I bit my lip, my heart racing as I heard him say that he’d write something else. The thought of him writing about someone other than me filled me with jealousy and possessiveness. Just like with that needy little urchin, Sasha. I took a step closer to him, my voice barely above a whisper.

“No, I don't want to read about anyone else. I want you to write about me and only me.”

Suddenly, my sweet, kind, and unassuming father became positively unrelenting. He looked me dead in my eyes, and with the faint trace of that evil grin from the other time, said, “That's not what you want, either. You want what Patricia, Jordan, Sierra, and all my other characters have.”

Silence as I refused to answer. He whispered, “Don't you?”

I look away. It’s like he’s reading my soul.

“Admit it,” he persisted. “You’re tired of just reading about it.”

“You're right!” I exclaimed, exasperated and defeated. “I want everything that those characters have. I want my father!” I admitted it out loud for the first time. Finally free, I threw myself into it. “I want your attention, your affection, your love. I want you in my arms, and in my bed, and I want your cock inside of me! I want to be the center of your world. There! I said it! I admit it! Are you fucking satisfied!?” I screamed. I was breathing hard from the exertion of kicking that closet door open. 

I took another step closer, my body almost pressed against his. “Yes, Jackson… Dad. I want all of that, and more.”

Finally speechless, his self-assured smirk finally removed, he only uttered, “Gillian…”

I looked up at him, my eyes locked on his as I struggled to say the words. But the desire burning inside me was too strong to resist.

“Dad, I... I want you to claim me as yours, in every way possible. I know that’s what you want.”

He stroked my face ever so gently. “I do want that. But not yet.”

I let out a frustrated whine, my body trembling with anticipation and desire. “I want you to claim me now, not later,” I whined. “I can't wait any longer.” I reached out and grab his shirt, pulling him closer to me.

“Please, don't make me wait.”

“No,” he said softly. “It's in the open. I want you. You want me. We're contemplating incest, together. Go to bed, alone mind you, and think about this. I'm sure I want this. But I need you to be just as sure.”

Less than a month ago, I found the shockingly erotic stories that he had written about us. About me. I wanted to hate them, and I accused him of being a sick, incestuous pervert. How dare he look at his own daughter like that? I desperately wanted to be disgusted. And I tried unsuccessfully to tell myself that I hated him.

Instead, his stories broke me, seduced me, and turned me into one of the characters from his stories: a young woman desperately in love with her own father, yearning for his forbidden love, his taboo touch, his very heart and soul. And now, this ‘pervert’ was being the very thing that I wanted most, a father. Rather than greedily reaching out and grabbing the thing that he wanted most, he was being a good father and making sure that I was absolutely okay with all this. I let go of his shirt, my hands trembling slightly as I step back.

“Fine, I'll sleep on it. But I don’t see anything changing. I want this.”

As I walked away to my bedroom for what was likely to be a restless night, I heard, "Hey."

I stop in my tracks, turning around to look at him, hoping he’ll change his mind. "Yeah?"

“Look, I need you to understand. This isn’t just a kink for me.” He took my hands in his and looked deeply into my eyes as he spoke. As if it was very important that I got all of the meaning of his words.  “I don't want a girlfriend, or a booty call, or a daughter with benefits. I don't want a 'thang' or a squeeze, or a 'Boo'. I'm too old for all that.”

I couldn’t help but smile slightly at his words. The thought of him calling me his ‘squeeze’ or ‘Boo’ made me laugh a little.

“So, what do you want then?”

“I want it all. I want you as my life partner. My soul mate. The mother of my children. My wife. The person I grow old with and die beside. I want the happily ever after.”

My heart fluttered in my chest as he described what he wanted from me. What he was describing made me equally terrified and elated. We stood there for long moments, gazing into each other's faces as I digested his words. After a few moments I nodded and simply said, “I understand.”

I stood there for a moment, trying to process everything that had just happened. Then, I turned and headed to my room, my mind racing with thoughts of him and our future together. As I walked into my room, I heard my dad turning on the stereo. Soft music filled the room. I went into my room, undressed, and got into bed.

I tossed restlessly for the first half hour. Then I picked up my tablet and tried to peruse social media. But as I looked at the images and pictures, all I could see were the explicit images evoked by his stories. Except now, the father and daughter that I saw writhing in uninhibited passion, were me and my father. Unbidden, my fingers automatically find his stories. Before it finished opening, I threw it down. I was so wound up, I didn't think I need any further stimulation.

My fingers slid down towards my already damp pussy. I know how he feels about me... that's what started all this. Now I've come to realize I feel the same way. In his stories, the couples just throw caution to the winds and go for it. They understand that no one is looking. No one is paying attention to them. I realize that's how life is. People have their own lives. No one cares what you do. Why wait? I got out of bed, putting on a thin robe and nothing else. Suddenly I’m standing next to my father. He’s not looking at his phone or watching a movie. He was sitting there, eyes closed, listening to music. Feeling my presence, he looked up.

"What's wrong, Jilly? Can't sleep?”

My voice soft and seductive I answer, “Yeah, I can't stop thinking about what we talked about earlier... about us.” I sat next to him on the arm of the sofa. “It happens, Dad. I haven't just read your stories; I did some research. Not porn, real research.”

The look on his face told me that was unexpected.

I continued, “It happens between consenting adults. No one knows how much because no one will admit to it or talk about it. But the people doing it, seem to think it's the best thing just this side of heaven. I don't want to miss this, worrying about others."

I stood up and held out my hand. “Come on, Jax. Take your Jilly to bed.”

He hesitated, but then he took my hand, and I led him to bed. His bed.

“What changed your mind? What decided it for you?” he asked, sitting on the bed.

I got onto the bed, my body pressing against his as I straddled his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked into his eyes.

“I fought it, Dad. You saw me. I fought it with every bit of strength that I had. But when I thought about not doing this, the thought of never being with you, it broke my heart. And I realized, this is what I want more than anything.” Our faces come nearer for our first kiss.

I’d convinced myself that our first kiss would break the spell. That as soon as my lips touched his, my brain would scream, Eeww! you're kissing your own father! And the wrongness of it all would slam back into place, ending this delirious rollercoaster of taboo obsession.

Our lips touched and he immediately inhaled my kiss, his tongue invading my mouth. We passionately shared the most amazing kiss of my entire life. The kiss was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It was raw, intense, and filled with so much desire. My tongue tangled with his, and I moaned against his lips. My body was on fire, and I could feel myself getting lost in the moment. I kept massaging his tongue with mine, chewing his lips, fully pouring myself into our oral coupling.

I couldn’t get enough of his taste, his touch, his everything. I was completely consumed by the kiss, my hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders as I continued to kiss him with an intensity that surprised even me. I could feel his hardness under me as I rotated my hips against his lap while straddling him. It only serves to inflame me further.

Finally the kiss ended. I pulled back to look into his eyes.

“Wow,” he whispered. “More?”

I was panting slightly, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. I looked at him, my eyes hooded with lust and desire.

“Yes, Dad... I… I want more. I want all of it!” The last piece of the puzzle slid into place in my mind. Jackson is, and will always be, my father. And I love him as a father. But he’s also my soulmate, my love, my world. That settled, there was nothing left to do but give myself entirely him. I got up off his lap, and pulled the thin robe from me, leaving me naked before him.

Naked, I lay on the bed and watched as my father undressed before me. He pulled off his pants and his cock came into view for the first time. It didn't feel strange, or unnatural at all. And looking at it, I just knew it would fit me perfectly. I just knew that that one was mine. He got on the bed, kneeling over me. He leaned down and we resumed kissing. His tongue tasted so sweet in my mouth. All too soon, his mouth left mine and started tracking down my body. He kissed my breasts, nibbling and licking my tiny little A cups. I've never felt like they were enough, but for him I knew they were perfect. He licked and sucked down my stomach, and I thought back to his stories. The fathers of his stories loved going down on their daughters. Now I knew what his inspiration came from. As if he were on a quest, he was soon face-to-face with my needy, aching pussy. It was so empty for him. I felt his nose nuzzling into my hair, and he inhaled deeply, and for the first time, I felt his tongue between my lips.

He put his hands under my ass and lifted my hips to his face and began to devour me. From my untouched starfish up to just before my clit, he licked and sucked every inch of my sex. His tongue pushed deeper inside me than I thought possible as he pulled my precious honey straight from the source, swallowing every drop. As he licked higher, he repeatedly neglected my clit despite my efforts to circle my sex into position… did he even know where it was? The teasing was driving me crazy!

Out of nowhere, his lips unerringly zeroed in on my clit as he captured my tiny little button between his lips and did something I’d only read about in his stories. He rapidly sucked it in and out of his lips while flicking the tip of his tongue against my clit. His words did not do this act justice. It felt like my pussy was being pleasured by something not of this world. He kept up the impossible pace and I felt my body getting closer and closer. He slid his finger inside me and rubbed the top of my channel; he knew exactly where that button was too, and he pressed and massaged it mercilessly. I could no longer hold it, and my body exploded into a million pieces of light.

I was moaning loudly and thrashing all over the bed. I felt wetness on his face and in the bed, and realized, like Patricia, like Darby, like most of the lucky...